by Kate Ryder
‘You’ve been wiping that plate for the last five minutes!’
‘Oh!’ Carol’s hand stops its circular motion. She smiles sheepishly. ‘Think it might be dry now.’ She places the plate on the Welsh dresser and picks up another from the draining board.
‘Well?’ Ken tries again.
Carol sighs. ‘It’s Cara.’
‘What about her?’
‘She doesn’t seem her usual self since returning from London,’ Carol says.
‘In what way?’ Rinsing a wine glass under the tap, Ken places it on the drainer.
‘I don’t know. She’s just not herself.’ Carol frowns. ‘Her eyes no longer carry the light the way they used to. Their colour has faded, like an old photograph that once held a cherished memory, now lost.’ She shivers at her words.
Ken looks at his wife. ‘Cara’s life is changing. It’s bound to feel odd. A new world is opening up to her and she’s probably trying to hold onto what feels familiar and safe.’
‘It could be that, Ken. But Greg offers exciting opportunities and I would have thought Cara would be happy about that, yet she seems weighed down. Our lovely, free-spirited girl is struggling.’
Wiping his hands on a towel, Ken removes the glass and tea towel from Carol. He puts them to one side and takes his wife’s hands in his. ‘Do you remember when we first met?’
‘Of course I do!’
‘You were the flash, blonde model from London, light-hearted and carefree. And yet, when I asked you to give up your London lifestyle and join me in Cornwall you didn’t automatically jump. You had to think about it.’
Carol nods. He’s partly right. She didn’t automatically jump, but she didn’t have to think about his offer for too long before making her decision.
‘Don’t you think it’s just a transitional time for Cara? Let’s face it; her journey hasn’t been an easy one, firstly losing Christo and then Oliver. She’s naturally strong and free-spirited, but even free spirits have to acclimatise. Bringing up three children alone is something neither of us has any experience of. I think she’s doing very well. Her children are a credit to her. Never fear, Carol, our golden girl will make the right decisions.’
Carol swallows the lump in her throat. ‘I’m sure you’re right, but I don’t like the way Greg pays for everything. It’s as if he owns her.’
‘You’ve never liked him, have you?’
Carol shakes her head. ‘I met too many men like him during my modelling days. So aware of themselves, they tend to believe their own press.’
‘Don’t forget he’s only just lost his wife. He’s probably grieving deeply.’
‘Grieving, yes,’ says Carol, ‘but I doubt deeply.’
Ken frowns at his wife.
‘No, honestly, Ken, I doubt he has the capacity to grieve deeply. I think he’s always had designs on Cara, even when Marietta was alive. He’s asked her to keep an open mind, but an open mind about what?’
Ken kisses his wife gently on the lips. ‘Don’t worry so. Cara is an adult and she can look after herself. If Greg views her as a future partner and she sees him as such, then who are we to question it? If they make each other happy, that’s all we can hope for.’
‘But, Ken, Greg is so much older than Cara, she must seem like a second chance to him. He’s never had children and, although he’s nice to Beth and Sky, they haven’t exactly warmed to him as they did Oliver.’
Carol thinks back to the day she first met Oliver and his independent, attractive wife. The woman’s strength filled the gallery, sweeping away all before her. Even then, long before Oliver and Cara met, some deeply buried intuition told Carol that Oliver’s wife had control and would never allow her husband to follow his heart. Perhaps she should just be happy for Cara if she is considering Greg as a potential partner. After all, just how much pain and disappointment can her daughter take?
Ken hugs his wife. ‘We have much to thank Oliver for. After Christo died, he taught Cara to smile again. Don’t forget, Beth and Sky witnessed her transformation too – and now they have Toby. It’s very sad that Oliver can’t be with Cara, but I know it’s the right thing for her to have rejected his financial help.’
‘If only things were different,’ Carol says with a sigh. ‘They were remarkable together.’
‘Yes, they were, my love, but it’s no use crying over spilt milk. It wasn’t meant to be and we can only make the best of what life has to offer today. If that means Greg stepping up to the mark we must welcome him into the family, not only for Cara’s sake but also for our grandchildren’s.’
Carol looks up at her husband and smiles. He’s always been so kind and fair – the very qualities that initially attracted her. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Ken, but I can’t warm to Greg. There’s something about him that doesn’t add up.’
Twenty
Deanna flings out an arm and hits the ‘off’ switch. The buzzer sounds shockingly loud at this early hour. She peers at the clock. Its luminous digital numbers display 3:30 a.m. She lies still for a moment and gathers her thoughts before throwing back the duvet and walking to the en-suite. The glare of the light is unflattering and her skin looks pasty in the mirror. Dark circles smudge beneath her eyes. She stares at her body. Still trim, it could belong to a twenty-year-old and her breasts, though small, are perfectly shaped, despite her having had four children. Thank God for good genes!
Deanna turns on the cold tap and brushes her teeth. It will be OK, she tells herself. Once she’s in London, immersed in her role as stage manager, life will fall into place, but it’s important she does this now. She needs to leave her mark if that Cornish girl is still the threat she fears she may be. Replacing her toothbrush in its holder, Deanna looks herself in the eye before walking back into the bedroom. Unhooking her long silk dressing gown from the back of the door, she puts it on and ties the belt loosely around her waist. The material feels cool and sensuous against her skin. Opening the bedroom door, she checks that none of the boys are about and quickly crosses the hallway. As she opens the door to the guest suite, she’s surprised to find the light on.
On edge and anxious at what may unfold during the coming days, Oliver has slept fitfully. Depression has taken advantage and moved in to claim him at his most vulnerable. What have their lives come to? Is there any way forward for him and Deanna? They’ve brought four children into the world, so his work is done. Is there any point in him continuing? Would they not be far better off without him? It would be so easy to finish it all. The release from the constant battle with himself is too tempting; it would be so welcome. But what would that do to Jamie? His son is why he returned. Would he ever recover from losing his dad, or would he remember what he’d done and, in years to come, be tempted to do the same? He cannot do that to the boy. Oliver buries his head in his hands. The pain is unbearable. He knows it’s his old adversary making him think this way, but the voice feels so real.
As the door opens he looks up, and husband and wife hold each other’s gaze.
Without saying a word, Deanna unties the belt around her waist and allows the dressing gown to gape open. As she walks slowly towards the bed she offers a glimpse of well-honed leg before seductively sliding the gown from her shoulders. She lets it fall to the floor, confident in the body she so painstakingly maintains, and, without taking her eyes off her husband, climbs into bed beside him.
‘What are you doing, Deanna?’ Oliver asks.
‘Shhh, Ollie. Don’t talk.’ She leans in and kisses him.
Oliver closes his eyes. Exhausted through depression and lack of sleep, he feels like shit, and he has to be up early for the journey to Cornwall.
Deanna draws back and gazes at Oliver. He was always good-looking, but now – in his mid-forties – he has grown into those looks. She knows they make an impressive couple.
Oliver opens his eyes. Deanna smiles.
‘Dee, I have to get up soon.’
‘I know, Ollie. Just lie back and enjoy.’
Straddling him, she st
arts to move rhythmically.
Oliver’s hands close on her hips. ‘I’m so tired, I’m not sure I’ll be able to perform.’
‘Relax. This is my gift to you.’ Deanna kisses him again.
Trailing feather-light kisses down her husband’s neck and chest, she works her way teasingly down his body before disappearing beneath the duvet. She’s determined to give him something to remember her by while he’s in Cornwall.
As Oliver’s body responds to the tantalising flick of his wife’s tongue, he grabs hold of the bedstead. Stirred on by Deanna’s actions, his breathing turns ragged and his muscles grow taut, nerve endings tingling, as he succumbs to the sensations coursing through his body.
With her hot mouth around him, Deanna brings her husband ever closer to the brink.
Oliver raises the duvet. ‘Dee, I can’t hold back much longer,’ he says, his voice hoarse.
Still she doesn’t stop. As he finds his release, Oliver gently cups his hands either side of his wife’s head.
Deanna gazes up at her husband, pleased with herself. She still has control over him. Since his return from Cornwall, if she’s honest, even though he has remained at the family home, the spectre of Cara in their marriage torments her. She always knew Jamie was her husband’s Achilles heel and if she hadn’t used their youngest son as a bargaining tool that summer, her life could have been destroyed.
‘You choose your moments well,’ Oliver says softly.
Deanna emerges from beneath the duvet. Lying at his side, she props herself on one elbow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I came to bed shattered, and now I’m exhausted!’ Oliver arches one eyebrow.
Deanna smiles. Good. If she’s exhausted him, he will remember why. ‘What time do you plan to leave?’
He glances at the clock on the bedside table. ‘In about an hour.’
‘That’s early,’ she says, resting her head on his chest. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Monday, possibly Tuesday,’ he says, stroking her hair.
If there’s a property worth considering, I may stay longer for a second viewing.
As Deanna listens to the gradual slowing of her husband’s heart rate, her fingers trail idly through the hairs on his chest. The tension that has built between them seems to have disappeared. She can almost imagine they are in the first flush of marriage. Why can’t it be like that again? She closes her eyes.
Don’t weaken your resolve, her inner voice says. Never forget that appalling actress in L.A. – and you were pregnant with Samantha at the time, too! How could he? And what does he get up to when he’s away filming? Just how many women has he lain with post-sex, stroking their hair? Four children you’ve given him…
Insecurities settle upon Deanna like a thick blanket.
And never, ever forget his admission of love for Cara. She’s seen for herself how he was with her – carefree; without demons. It shook her to the core. He and the Cornish girl looked so right together, as if they were meant for each other. No, Pins’ advice is sound. She must live life for herself. She will not play second fiddle to some woman who must surely have taken on a goddess-like status in her husband’s mind. Abruptly, Deanna moves away from Oliver and climbs out of bed.
Oliver opens his eyes in surprise. He thought they were enjoying a peaceful moment together, increasingly rare these days. ‘Deanna?’
His wife pauses at the bedroom door. If only she could turn back the clock, but there’s no point in wishing. She has to get on with her life. ‘You’d better get some sleep if you’re leaving so early,’ she says, slipping from the room.
*
As Oliver steers the Harley out of the garage, the gravel crunches noisily beneath its wheels. He gazes up at the substantial house cloaked in darkness, its chimneys silhouetted against the cool light of an almost full moon. Beyond is the blue-black of the forest, and from its depths an eerie screech of an owl travels on the breeze. Being so close to London, the tranquil and still atmosphere encompassing Hunter’s Moon always surprises him. It feels like a secret; so much beauty close to urbanisation. They were lucky to find this secluded property so early on in their marriage, one that has provided them with a haven in which to raise the children. But, now, Deanna seems hell-bent on destroying the family set-up and moving to the city. Is she so desperate for change? Oliver clenches his jaw. As he walks the bike towards the opening electric gates he considers her visit to his room and wonders at her behaviour. It is so out of character.
Once through the gates and away from the house, Oliver straddles the bike. He smiles as he feels its solid weight beneath him. He’s looking forward to hitting the open road again. It’s been so long. Taking the Harley is the quickest way to get to the Lizard and at this time of the morning the roads should be traffic-free. He’s arranged to meet Zennor at her offices in Falmouth and hopes to be there by 9 a.m. They have a lot to pack in.
It’s the first time he’s headed west since his return from Cornwall the September before last and Oliver is acutely aware of intense excitement building deep in his belly. He grimaces. How cruel! It’s what heading west represents to him. This time, however, the excitement is misplaced. Cara will not be waiting for him with open arms. As he fires the ignition, the motorbike leaps into life with a throaty roar. Taking one last look at the sleeping household, Oliver flicks on the headlights and rides along the track towards the parish lane.
Twenty-one
Greg holds open the door for Cara to enter his sprawling apartment in Lower Manhattan. So far, everything has gone according to plan. Her flight arrived on time and he was waiting for her when she came through customs. On the drive back to West Village he outlined his full itinerary for the next five days. It seems a lot to pack in, and Cara’s head is spinning. It’s sweet that he wants to show her as much as possible in the short time she’s in the States.
Cara steps into an elegant hallway, painted cream and flooded with light through floor-to-ceiling casement windows. A handsome staircase leads up to a wrought-iron galleried landing.
‘Leave your hand luggage here,’ Greg says, placing her suitcase at the foot of the stairs. ‘I want to give you a tour of the apartment.’
Cara does as instructed.
‘Straight on is the Great Room,’ he says, cupping Cara’s elbow and steering her towards a door at the end of the hallway.
She tries not to gasp as she enters the large room with its hardwood floor, high ceilings and three walls of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson River. A door leads out to an expansive and lushly landscaped terrace.
‘Being south and west facing, the terrace is sun-drenched during the entire day,’ Greg says, ‘and there are mesmerising sunsets in the evening.’
‘The views are incredible,’ Cara says appreciatively.
‘They’re not bad, I suppose,’ says Greg.
Cara glances at him. Is he being funny? They’re spectacular!
‘Every room has floor-to-ceiling windows from which to appreciate the view,’ Greg says, as if trying to sell her the apartment.
Glancing around the room, Cara approaches a modern fireplace. On a shelf above is a single framed photograph of Marietta. Since his late wife’s funeral, Greg hasn’t mentioned her once. She assumes it’s because he finds it too painful to talk about her, but she always gives him the space to initiate the conversation if he wants to. This would be the perfect time, but still he makes no comment.
‘Come, let us complete the tour,’ he says.
Cara follows him through to the kitchen, custom-built and top of the range, and through an open archway she spies a dining room leading off. The final room on this level is a large library/media room. Again, the room is light and airy, with high ceilings and walls of windows with views over the garden.
‘It’s a fabulous apartment,’ Cara says as they walk back to the Great Room.
Greg smiles. ‘It serves me well when I need to be in New York. I doubt there’ll be time for you to use the facilities on th
is visit, but the condominium has an excellent Olympic-size swimming pool, hot tub and plunge pool. There’s also a gym, sauna and steam room.’
‘I’m exhausted just thinking about it,’ Cara says with a laugh.
‘Having travelled all the way from Cornwall, you must be,’ Greg says in a soft voice. ‘I thought we’d dine early tonight and then you’ll be fresh for the tour tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Greg. It’s really kind of you to invite me to New York.’
Greg smiles at her. ‘It’s not out of kindness that I’ve invited you, Cara. I hope you will see the city has a lot to offer.’ He’s imagined her in his apartment for so many months, and now she’s actually here. His plan is taking shape, but he mustn’t rush things. ‘Let me show you to your room.’
Cara follows Greg into the hallway. As she picks up her hand luggage she looks out across the Hudson River to the buildings on the opposite bank.
‘See the skyscraper with the antenna?’ says Greg. ‘That’s the Freedom Tower. The tallest building in New York. From the ground to the balustrade on top of the building is the same height as the Twin Towers. It stands next to where they once were.’
It’s a sobering thought. Cara observes the building of reflecting windows built in the shape of a spiral.
As Greg picks up her suitcase and ascends the stairs, Cara follows. This floor, too, has light flooding through floor-to-ceiling casement windows with views across the garden and river.
‘This is the third bedroom,’ says Greg, opening a door to a room with a balcony leading off. ‘And this one’s the master bedroom,’ he says, indicating to a door that he doesn’t open. ‘This is the guest room.’ He opens the door and stands back, allowing Cara to enter.
It’s a double bedroom with walls of windows wrapping around two sides. Cara gazes at the open views across the river to the far bank, unable to take her eyes off the Freedom Tower. Living in Cornwall, she feels cushioned and distanced from world news but here, in New York, there are strong reminders of the uncertain times.
