Reunited at the Altar

by Kate Hardy

  ‘Wife?’ Abigail asked quietly, raising her eyebrows.

  Brad smiled. ‘I forgot to add two letters and a hyphen.’ Then his expression became more serious. ‘It looked as if the guy was pestering you.’

  ‘He was. I was about to go and talk to the bartender and ask for help,’ she admitted.

  ‘It might still be worth having a word with the reception desk, so they’re aware of the situation and can make sure he doesn’t behave like that to anyone else,’ he said. ‘Though obviously that’s your call.’

  She liked the fact that Brad wasn’t bossing her around. ‘I will. Have you checked in?’

  ‘Just about. And, actually, I did text you to say I was stuck in traffic and I’d be late.’

  ‘I didn’t get your message.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He paused. ‘Have you eaten tonight?’

  She nodded. ‘Have you?’

  ‘I grabbed a burger from the place on the corner, on my way out of the lab. It’s fine. Can I get you another...?’ He looked at her glass. ‘That looks like orange juice, so I’m assuming you drove here.’

  ‘Actually, I got a taxi so I could have a glass of wine or something with you.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s good. Let me order a bottle of wine, and maybe we can go and drink it on the terrace.’ He looked at her. ‘Or I believe my room has a balcony, if you want to go somewhere quieter. And, just so you know, that offer doesn’t come with any strings attached.’

  The bar was becoming noisy and she really wanted to get away from the group of businessmen. Their over-hearty laughter was starting to irritate her. ‘Actually, your balcony would be nice.’

  ‘OK. What would you like me to order?’

  ‘Dry white, please. Or red, if you’d prefer,’ she added swiftly, not sure what he drank nowadays. ‘I really don’t mind.’

  ‘Dry white’s fine with me.’

  Part of Abigail felt sad that they still had to be polite to each other. There was a time when Brad would’ve known what she’d like without having to ask, just as she would’ve known what he wanted.

  ‘I’ll talk to the hotel reception about that guy while you sort out the wine,’ she said.

  The receptionist was horrified and apologetic. ‘I’ll ask the duty manager to have a quiet word with him and make sure the bar staff don’t serve him any more alcohol this evening,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Abigail said. ‘I’m fine, but anyone younger or less able to deal with the situation might have struggled, and I’d hate someone vulnerable to be in that position.’

  She’d just finished talking to the receptionist when Brad came to join her, carrying a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses. ‘All OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ she confirmed.

  They went up to his room, and she noticed that he hadn’t even unpacked; clearly he’d just dumped his suitcase on his bed and come immediately to find her.

  He opened the French doors to the balcony, which overlooked the golf course on the top of the cliffs, and the sea glittered in the distance. There were two wrought-iron chairs, a small wrought-iron table just big enough for a couple of drinks, and one of the hotel’s trademark bay trees in a terracotta pot.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed.’ He gestured to her to sit down, and poured them both a glass of wine. ‘I’m sorry I was late. There was a traffic jam.’

  ‘It isn’t your fault that the text didn’t come through.’

  ‘But I’m still sorry. If I’d been on time, you wouldn’t have been bothered by that guy.’

  She reached over to squeeze his hand. ‘I’m not blaming you. And it’s fine. No harm done.’ She smiled at him. ‘So you’ve got ten days, you said?’

  ‘I did,’ he confirmed. ‘Sunetra—my assistant manager—is keeping all the projects ticking over. I can review things through my laptop here during the day, and she’ll call me if there’s anything she needs.’

  Abigail would be busy herself during the day, so his work wouldn’t intrude on their time together. ‘That’s good.’ She looked at him. ‘So does your family know you’re here?’

  ‘Ruby’s on honeymoon. She doesn’t need to know. But, yes, I told Mum,’ he admitted. ‘She’s promised not to interfere. What about you—did you tell your mum and dad?’

  ‘They kind of noticed that we left Ruby’s wedding at the same time,’ she said. ‘So, yes, they asked me about you.’ And her mum was worried about it; she’d seen how long it had taken Abigail to pick herself back off the floor and dust herself down after the divorce.

  ‘They don’t approve, do they?’ Brad asked wryly.

  ‘They have some reservations,’ she said. ‘But they won’t interfere. This is between you and me. Our chance to work out if we like who each other is now and if we want to do something about it.’ She paused. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘Plan?’

  ‘You were the one who talked about running a project. About critical path analysis.’

  He smiled. ‘I’d hardly call you a project, Abby. But the plan, as you put it, is to spend time with you. If we were dating under normal circumstances, we’d see each other, what, once or twice a week?’

  ‘About that,’ she agreed.

  ‘Then think of this as a kind of speed-dating. If we see each other every day for the next ten days, it’s the equivalent of nearly two months of dating at once or twice a week. And then we’ll have a better grasp of the situation.’

  ‘We’ll know whether we want to take this thing further or not.’ And, if they did, then they’d have to decide which of them would be the one to uproot their life.

  ‘We could make a list,’ he said. ‘Things we want to do, places we want to go. Make it as off-the-wall or as touristy as you like.’

  She looked at him with a smile. ‘Spoken like a true scientist.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you do in business?’ he asked. ‘Make lists and plan things?’

  ‘I have a list of new flavours I’m planning to try, and promotional activity, yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘So let’s start here. I don’t mind being scribe—I’ll copy the file and send it to you when we’re done, and then we can whittle it down.’ He took his phone out of his pocket and flicked into what was obviously a note-taking app.

  ‘Let’s do the obvious ones,’ she suggested. ‘A walk on the beach, a visit to the gardens of a stately home, a walk in the woods.’

  He typed them in. ‘A trip on one of the steam trains—I’m fairly sure there was a nineteen-forties weekend listed in the local newspaper. That could be fun.’

  ‘OK. Visit a ruined castle, go somewhere quirky for afternoon tea.’

  ‘Agreed. And we need stuff for rainy days. I know it’s summer and this is the driest part of the country, but this is England and that means rain. Museums, art exhibition, ten-pin bowling.’ He typed them in swiftly.

  ‘The cinema,’ she said. ‘Maybe going to see a local band.’

  ‘And the lighthouse,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been there for years. We need to make that on a day when it’s open to the public and we can climb up to the lamp.’ He smiled. ‘There are so many things on that list I’ve never done before. I guess you always take where you live for granted.’

  Not just where you live, she thought. It was too easy to take people for granted, too. Maybe that had been part of the problem between them, the first time round. She’d been so sure she knew how he’d react in any situation—and how very wrong she’d been.

  ‘Well. To us and our list,’ she said, lifting her glass. ‘And may it give us our answers.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said, lifting his own glass. ‘So when are your days off? Then we can plan to do the further away things on those days.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You’re smiling.’

  ‘You really are making this into a project, aren’t you?’

  ‘It just makes sense to do it this way and make the most of our time.’

  ‘Like
you did when we went to Paris.’

  ‘You remember Paris?’ His voice was suddenly husky.

  She nodded. ‘You had a list of all the places we wanted to visit, the opening days and times, whether they were covered by our museum card, and you even marked everything on a map.’

  ‘But we got to see everything,’ he pointed out. ‘The Mona Lisa, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, Montmartre, and all the Monets.’

  ‘True. Though it would’ve been nice just to go for a wander in the city and see what we could find.’

  ‘But we only had three days. If we’d been wandering around aimlessly, we would’ve missed all the other stuff we actually wanted to see,’ he reminded her.

  How different their approaches were: Brad with his strict itineraries, and her own preference for just seeing what they came across. Maybe they were too different now for things to work between them. Nowadays, she would’ve insisted on one of those three days in Paris being spontaneous. On closing their eyes and putting a finger at random on a map, and using that as their starting point for exploring. But was that too far out of Brad’s comfort zone?

  ‘Do you remember, we bought all those postcards at the art galleries and museum and stuck them on our living room wall, because we couldn’t afford a proper print in a frame?’ he asked.

  ‘I remember. And that guy did a charcoal drawing of us at Montmartre,’ she said, ‘when we were both sitting on that wall outside the church.’

  ‘What happened to that?’

  She spread her hands. ‘No idea.’ The drawing had been another casualty of their broken marriage.

  As if Brad realised they were heading into dangerous territory, he backtracked. ‘So, when are your days off?’

  She made a show of checking her diary, even though she knew her schedule without having to look it up. ‘This week, I have a full day off on Thursday, and a half-day on Sunday. Next week, I have a day off on Monday; I need to go in on Wednesday first thing, but I’ll be done by ten.’

  And then on the Thursday he’d go back to London.

  When it would be decision time.

  Would they make it together as a couple—or would they agree to part for good and ignore the pull of the past?

  Right at that moment she had no idea.

  Brad made a note. ‘I’ll work through our list and make—’

  ‘—an itinerary,’ she finished.

  ‘You say that as if it’s a bad thing.’

  ‘No. Just sometimes it’s good to be spontaneous.’

  ‘I can do spontaneous.’ And he proved it by putting his phone down, coming over to her side of the table, scooping her out of her chair and then sitting in her place and settling her on his lap.

  And of course she had to put her arms round his neck for balance.

  She could hardly complain, given that she’d been the one to make a fuss about him being so buttoned-up and such a planner.

  ‘I thought you said your balcony didn’t come with strings?’ she asked.

  He stole a kiss. ‘It doesn’t. I’m not expecting you to sleep with me, and I’m not asking you to stay the night with me. Even though we’re sort of speed-dating for the next few days, I’m not going to rush you.’ He stole another kiss. ‘But it’s good to hold you again, Abby.’

  She stroked his face. ‘It feels good to have you hold me, too.’

  ‘I’m glad that’s settled.’

  And then there was no need to talk. They just sat there together, warm and comfortable and snuggled up, watching the afterglow of the sunset and the stars shining more brightly in the sky as the night darkened.

  Finally, he kissed her again. ‘You’ve got work tomorrow. And I meant what I said about no strings and not expecting you to stay the night.’

  ‘It’d just confuse things. We’re meant to be seeing how it goes, what we still have left between us,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll call a taxi.’

  ‘But if you want to come for breakfast tomorrow, just show up,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe.’ She slid off his lap and called the taxi. ‘They’ll be ten minutes.’

  ‘OK. And thank you for giving me a second chance.’

  ‘I think we’re giving each other a second chance,’ she corrected.

  But had they both learned enough from the past? Would they make the same mistakes all over again? Was this going to be the best idea they’d ever had or a complete disaster?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ON TUESDAY, ABIGAIL took her usual early-morning run to see the sun rise over the harbour, and thought about whether to turn up at the Bay Tree for breakfast with Brad.

  Then again, today was supposed to be their second date. And she had a pile of work to do. In the end, she sent Brad a brief text.

  Up to eyes this morning. See you tonight. A x

  He responded with an email she picked up at her desk.

  See you tonight. Let me know what time. Itinerary attached. B x

  She opened the file, read it and smiled. The whole way he’d organised it was so very Brad. A table, with the date in the left-hand column, and suggestions for what they did, split between fine weather and wet weather, and with notes of opening times for the places they’d wanted to visit.

  Tonight’s itinerary was a walk on the beach after work—unless it was raining, in which case they’d go to the cinema or ten-pin bowling. He’d even noted which films were showing during the week, so she could choose what she liked.

  He’d already crossed out the gory ones—so he obviously remembered that horror films gave her nightmares, even if they were award-winning and brilliantly written. But there was a comedy and a sci-fi film listed that she thought they might both enjoy, so she marked them as possibles.

  She texted him.

  Thanks for itinerary. See you at seven.

  Then, on impulse, she added, Can’t wait.

  Can’t wait to see you either, came the reply.

  It warmed her all day and, although Abigail had intended to experiment with a new flavour of ice cream that morning, she ended up messing up the recipe twice because she was thinking of Brad and couldn’t concentrate. And she found herself clock-watching when she was doing admin during the first half of the afternoon—until she noticed that it was raining. The kind of deceptively fine rain that would soak you to the skin and make any beach walk completely miserable; and she knew that the café would start to get really busy with holidaymakers who were fed up with the rain and wanted a hot drink to warm them up. Now wasn’t the time to daydream about her beach walk with Brad, which she was pretty sure would have to be postponed. She wasn’t a ditzy teenager any more. She had a business to run and staff to support.

  She went into the café and helped out behind the counter until the rush had died down; and, when even the diehard dog-walkers had left and the café was practically empty fifteen minutes before they were due to close, she sent everyone home early.

  ‘But don’t you want us to clear up before we go?’ Joe asked.

  ‘It’s fine, sweetie. I’ll sort it out. We’re practically empty now and you were all rushed off your feet earlier.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘Off you go.’

  Once the last customers had finished their drinks and left and she’d cleared up, locked the door, and stacked the chairs, she was just about to wipe down the tables and mop the floor when there was a knock on the door.

  Frowning, she went over to explain that sorry, the café was closed now until tomorrow—only to see Brad standing there. Much earlier than they’d agreed.

  She let him in. ‘Hey. I wasn’t expecting to see you, yet.’

  ‘I thought maybe you could do with a hand.’

  She hadn’t expected that, either. ‘Are you just bored waiting for me?’

  He laughed. ‘A tiny bit. But my plan was, if I help you clear up, you’ll be finished more quickly and then you can come and play with me.’

  ‘Spoken like a true scientist. Do you want to do the floor or the tables?’

  ‘Whichever you don’t want t
o do.’

  She handed him the mop and bucket.

  ‘So do you clear up on your own every night?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but after the rain caught out some customers, it drove the rest away so I sent everyone home early.’

  He looked at her. ‘Now I get why your staff are so protective of you. You’re good with them.’

  ‘They stay late without being asked if we’ve got a rush on,’ she said, ‘so it’s only fair to let them go earlier if we’re not busy.’

  ‘And the fact that you’re prepared to do every single job in the café, including mopping floors and cleaning toilets.’

  ‘Are you telling me you don’t help your team scrub the glassware if you’ve been really busy in the lab?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I do. We’re a team.’

  ‘Exactly my point,’ she said. ‘I might have got the job originally because I’m the boss’s daughter, but I worked my way up from the ground floor. And I don’t expect my staff to do anything I haven’t either done myself or am prepared to do.’

  ‘You didn’t get the job because you’re the boss’s daughter,’ he said. ‘You worked your way up in Cambridge. You already knew how to run a team and how to organise your stock. You got the job because you earned it.’

  She had earned it. She’d thrown herself into work, put in crazy hours, to stop herself thinking of Brad after they’d split up.

  And now they were dating again. Ten days of speed-dating to see if there was still something between them and if they could make a go of things second time round.

  Did she need her head examined? Was this going to be a huge mistake? Had they both changed enough for this to work, or had they changed so much that they’d be even further apart?

  Suddenly flustered, she said, ‘Well, this café isn’t going to clean itself,’ and busied herself cleaning tables. Between them they finished cleaning the café so it was ready for the morning; and while they were working the rain grew heavier.

  ‘I think our beach walk might’ve been rained off,’ he said ruefully as rain lashed against the plate-glass windows.