“This one on the left, just park outside,” Arabella said as the clock hit one minute.
Rebecca looked up at the large white wall and open gates. As she had suspected, it was a mansion. Cars lined the drive inside the gates as well as the outside street. The lights gleamed through the windows, through which she could clearly see people drinking from champagne flutes.
“Looks like you made it to your party,” Rebecca commented dryly.
“Yes, though I’ll have to slip in the back way so I can get ready. Can’t have anyone seeing me like this.”
Rebecca blinked. “Why not? You look great.”
Arabella looked at her for a moment, her expression clearly showing that she was torn between accepting the compliment and making a snide remark about the end of the silent treatment.
Before she could make her decision, Rebecca saw a man appear by the side of the car and tap on the window. Arabella jumped and turned around to see what the noise was.
She opened the car door.
“Alastair, thank goodness,” she said.
“Come on, before anyone sees you.” He looked in the car at Rebecca. “Thanks for driving her.”
“You’re welcome,” Rebecca mumbled.
Yes, as she suspected, she hated him. He was a little older than Arabella. She supposed he’d be considered classically handsome. He wore a tuxedo well enough. But Rebecca hated him on sight.
She quickly turned off the engine and got out of the car. She opened the back door and threw her rucksack over her shoulder. She closed both of the doors and held out the car key for Arabella.
“There you go, enjoy your party.” She turned to leave.
“Wait!” Arabella called.
Rebecca paused and slowly turned around.
Arabella whispered something to Alastair. He nodded and left. Arabella walked towards Rebecca, eyeing her up and down as she did.
“Well, that was an interesting trip. Thank you for driving me, I wouldn’t have made it back here without you.”
“I know. Is that it?” She folded her arms.
Arabella sighed. “No, it’s not. I ordered you a taxi, it will be here in a moment.”
“You… what? Why?”
“You’ll never be able to get a taxi at this time of night on Christmas Eve and I’m sure public transport will be horrible. It’s all paid for, you don’t need to worry about that.”
Rebecca licked her lips. “Oh… I…”
She didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t expect any kindness from Arabella considering how she had treated her on the final leg of their journey. Even if she had deserved it, Arabella hadn’t known why she deserved it. Arabella didn’t know why Rebecca was rushing home.
“Thank you,” Rebecca finally said. She stood awkwardly, not wanting to make eye contact.
Arabella looked at her phone. “He’s just around the corner, he’ll be here in a moment.”
“Okay.” Rebecca looked up, eager to see headlights and her escape route.
“So, I’ll say goodnight. Again, thank you.” Arabella seemed rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave just yet.
Probably waiting for a thank-you in return.
Rebecca looked up at her. “You’re welcome. Thanks for paying for the car. And everything. I really appreciate it.”
It was true, she did appreciate it. Even if she had wanted to kill Arabella on the ferry.
Arabella smiled. “Merry Christmas.”
A car pulled up beside them. “Rebecca Edwards?” the driver called out of the open window.
Rebecca held her hand up to indicate she was coming. “Merry Christmas, enjoy your party.”
Arabella chuckled. “Oh, these parties aren’t for enjoyment. But I’ll do my best. Goodbye, Rebecca.”
“Bye, Arabella.”
Rebecca watched as Arabella turned and walked through the gate. It felt weird to say goodbye. She’d never see Arabella again.
Unless she suddenly won the lottery and wanted to buy a property in Portugal. But Arabella would probably have quit work by then if Alastair had his way.
She turned and walked towards the taxi. She got into the back seat, relieved not to be driving any more.
The driver wore a Santa hat.
“Merry Christmas,” he greeted.
“Merry Christmas,” she replied.
“Croydon, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Rosemont Avenue?”
Rebecca frowned as she wondered how Arabella knew her home address. She shook her head, it was irrelevant now.
“Actually no, change of plan. It’s near there, though…”
Chapter Fourteen
Arabella sat at her makeup table, styling her hair. Luckily no one had seen her enter the back door of the house and make her way to the guest bedroom. Now she just needed to make herself as presentable as possible, get changed, and make an appearance downstairs.
The door flew open, and Alastair entered the bedroom.
She regarded him in the mirror. He met her eyes, and she could tell he was furious.
“How long do you think you’ll be? I’ve been making excuses all night.”
“Why did you make excuses? Surely the air traffic failure was in the news?”
Alastair snorted a laugh and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Like I’m going to tell people that you were stranded in Portugal so close to Christmas.”
She spun around and looked at him. “Why ever not?”
He rolled his eyes. “Because that just screams poor time management. And people will ask why you were there and why we didn’t send a junior, you know, like I suggested in the first place.”
“I wanted to go,” Arabella ground out.
“I know, and look how that ended up.” He got to his feet and gestured for her to face the mirror again, eager for her to hurry in her preparations.
She sighed and turned around. She sought him out in the mirror and watched as he paced behind her.
“That’s very distracting,” she informed him.
He paused and met her eyes again. He folded his arms. “I hope you got it out of your system?”
“Got what out of my system?”
“Ignoring me, ignoring my advice. This need to always go it alone and do things yourself. If we’re going to get married, I need to know that you’ll listen to what I say. I don’t mean that in a nasty way, I don’t mean I’m the boss. I just mean that sometimes you should listen to me. Sometimes I know what’s best.”
“Best for who, Alastair?”
“Best for us. Best for the business.”
She broke eye contact, picked up her lip gloss, and leaned closer to the mirror.
“I suppose I’m just struggling to understand why my stepping aside from the business is what’s best for the business.”
“I don’t mean that,” he argued. “Don’t twist my words. We agreed that it would be better for you to be at home and me at the office. A division of labour. You know I can’t sit in ladies’ coffee mornings and persuade those women to persuade their husbands to put their rental business with us. And it’s not just coffee mornings, it’s charity events, balls, auctions… they need to be organised and it’s just not a man’s job. You know that.”
A knock on the door stopped Arabella from delivering the argument that was on the tip of her tongue.
She turned to face the door. “Yes?”
Her father entered the room and smiled at her. “You’re back.”
“I am.” She returned the smile. “Sorry I’m late, Daddy.”
“You’re here now, that’s the main thing. Will you be down soon?”
She nodded. “In a few moments.”
“Wonderful.” He turned his attention to Alastair. “Come on, Alastair, there’s some people I need to introduce you to.”
Arabella let out a sigh of relief when they both left the room. She stretched out her back and turned her head from side to side to release the pressur
e. Sitting in a car seat for so long hadn’t done her back any favours. Her eyes flicked to the small clock on the dressing table. She wondered if Rebecca was nearly home.
She returned her attention to applying her lip gloss. She really didn’t know why she was wasting another moment thinking about the girl. She needed to forget about her and focus on the party.
Chapter Fifteen
Arabella walked into the kitchen and politely smiled at the waitress who was pouring champagne into glasses. She hurried through and into the utility room, closing the door firmly behind her.
She placed her crutch by the wall and leaned against the door, hoping to have a moment to herself. She had no idea what was wrong with her. Usually, she enjoyed the Christmas party.
But this one was torturous.
Probably because people kept talking about the wedding and her stepping down from the firm.
She heard a light knock on the door and froze in fear.
“Arabella?”
She sighed with relief and took a step back to open the door. She gestured for her best friend to hurry in.
Miranda walked in. “Why are we hiding in the utility room?”
Arabella closed the door and leaned on it again. “I can’t take it.”
Miranda rested against the washing machine and sipped from her champagne glass. A perfectly manicured eyebrow rose questioningly.
“Can’t take what, exactly?”
“All the talk about the wedding. People asking who will be looking after my work accounts. Asking about babies and telling me how lucky I am to have a man like Alastair. I can’t take it.”
She sucked in a deep breath.
Miranda frowned. She put her glass on the worktop and took Arabella by the upper arms.
“Take some deep breaths. I’m sure you’re just exhausted, driving home… even if you weren’t actually the one doing the driving… must have been exhausting.”
“That’s not it.” Arabella shook her head. “It’s all this, all these people telling me how excited I must be about quitting work. But I’m not. I love working—”
“And you’ll love being a wife. It’s a different kind of work,” Miranda reassured.
She shrugged out of Miranda’s grip. It was her turn to take her friend by the shoulders.
“Miranda, listen to what I’m saying. I don’t want to quit work. I’m not looking forward to my own wedding.”
She stared at Miranda meaningfully.
She watched as Miranda’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Okay,” her friend said solemnly. “Okay, but I don’t think you should make any rash decisions now. You’re tired, stressed, it’s Christmas. You don’t want to say or do something you might regret.”
Arabella allowed her arms to drop to her sides. She leaned back against the door. Miranda was right. Making a hasty decision now could have potentially disastrous repercussions. While she felt certain at the moment, who was to say her feelings wouldn’t change in a few hours?
She was exhausted. Sleep had been in short supply over the last few days and her stress levels had been ridiculously high.
“I’m just saying, take some time to think about it,” Miranda continued. “Go through the motions. Give yourself some time to really think about what you’re doing. If you pull the plug on you and Alastair now, there might not be any going back.”
Arabella chuckled bitterly. “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me what a great catch he is?”
Miranda took a step back and picked up her champagne glass.
“Let’s be honest, neither of us were ever the kind of people who believed in love. We both knew that marriage would be about finding someone pleasant on the eyes and someone you could stand to spend the next ten or so years with.”
Arabella swallowed. Even the idea of spending ten years with Alastair wasn’t appealing to her at the moment.
“For us, marriage is more of a business transaction than anything else. Alastair obviously brings a lot of money and investment capital to Henley Estates. Which makes the business happy and your father happy. It makes Alastair and his family happy. Does it make you happy?”
Arabella threw her hands up in the air for a moment. “I don’t know. It did. I thought it did. But now… I’m not so sure. Aren’t we supposed to be a partnership, working together? It feels like I’m being pushed to one side to support him as his career grows. It’s like I’m losing my identity. But then, I have to wonder if my happiness is worth more than everyone else’s?”
“Yes,” Miranda said firmly. “Darling, if we were having this conversation in the 1950s then I’d be telling you to pull yourself together and get on with it. But this is the twenty-first century. We’re not subservient to men anymore. We’re our own people. And your happiness is just as important as everyone else’s.”
Arabella let out another sigh. She looked down at the floor and shook her head. “What do I do?”
“You need a bit of breathing space. But I don’t think hiding out in the utility room is going to work for long,” Miranda said.
Right again. Arabella felt a tightness in her chest. Each time she heard someone moving in the kitchen she felt sure her refuge was about to be discovered.
Suddenly an idea struck her.
She snapped her head up and looked at Miranda. “Can you cover for me?”
“Sure, what’s the plan?”
“I’m going to head outside for a bit. Catch my breath.”
Miranda smiled warmly. “Good, take some time. Don’t make any big decisions now. Get the holiday season out of the way and see how you feel then.”
Arabella nodded. “I will, thank you.”
They exchanged a quick hug, and Miranda left the utility room to return to the party.
After a few moments, Arabella took a fortifying breath and left the room, too. She headed towards her father’s study where she’d dropped off her handbag. She grabbed the bag and waited for a quiet moment before slipping out of the back door of the house.
She crept around the side of the property, cursing the gravelled driveway beneath her crutch. She hoped no one would notice her painfully slow escape.
She walked out of the gate and towards the hire car, still sitting where Rebecca had parked it.
She unlocked the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. She closed the door again. After a few moments, the interior light started to dim, and she sat in the darkness.
Hiding from her own party.
She tossed her handbag onto the passenger seat. What she thought of as her seat. She looked around the inside of the car. Flashes of memories from their journey came back to her. When she had ordered Rebecca to get her luggage, when they had listened to Spanish dance music, when they had stopped at the most beautiful vista Arabella had ever seen.
Getting stuck in Portugal hadn’t been a part of her plan, but it had happened. And it had changed her. Shaking her from her daily routine long enough to stop and think about her life, where it was heading.
Since leaving university, life had been a conveyor belt. Her work, her future, all mapped out along the belt. She’d never realised before that it was possible to step off the conveyor. Everything had always been planned. She used to feel like she was the one planning it, but now she was beginning to wonder.
She shifted to try to find a more comfortable position. As she did, she felt something beneath her foot. She looked into the dark footwell and frowned. She leant forward and felt around the carpeted area. Her hand gripped something, something plastic and hard.
She lifted it up and held it towards the streetlight to see what she’d found. She turned the piece of plastic over and saw that it was a lens cap from a camera.
Rebecca must have dropped it, she thought.
She gripped the lens cap in her hand. She bit her lip and looked towards the house.
She’ll need this, her lens is probably very expensive. It might get damaged, she thought.
Escape seemed very appealing.
She knew it was an excuse. She wanted just an hour or two away from the party to gather her thoughts, and this was the perfect excuse. She unlocked her phone and accessed the photo she had taken of Rebecca’s driving licence. She started the engine and input the address into the GPS.
Chapter Sixteen
Arabella pulled up outside the house, only now realising that her knowing the address would take some explaining.
She looked out of the car window. Rebecca, it seemed, lived in a standard 1930s semi-detached, similar to thousands of other government-built homes on the outskirts of London. Outskirts that were now considered a part of the city itself. The houses weren’t much to look at, but they were highly sought after and often high in value as London became more congested and popular.
Arabella frowned. The house looked empty. The lights were off, the curtains open, revealing no sign of life. Maybe this was Rebecca’s house, but the girl was with her mother somewhere else?
Although, she wondered if a jobbing photographer could afford the high Croydon property prices, even to rent.
If the property were occupied, maybe it was just the front lights that were off. Maybe the family were gathered in a room in the back.
The lens cap wouldn’t deliver itself. Arabella decided it was time to be brave and get out of the car and ring the bell.
She opened the door and shouldered her bag. She awkwardly adjusted her crutch and started to walk up the garden path. Her work instincts kicked in and she started to examine the garden, noting that it was unkempt. Clearly Rebecca’s mother wasn’t very green-fingered. She approached the front door, noting the slight peeling paintwork on the wooden frame as she rang the bell.
“Are you looking for Allison?”
Arabella turned around to see the neighbour leaning on the short garden fence. He wore a ridiculous Christmas sweater emblazoned with a snowman.
“Actually, I’m looking for Rebecca?”
The Road Ahead Page 9
