by Jill Mansell
‘What are you talking about? Of course I haven’t changed my mind,’ said Red. ‘I’m coming down on Monday, catching the late-morning flight.’
‘I don’t understand. So what’s the news?’ Shay frowned. ‘And where are you going to be staying?’
‘I’m moving in with Rosa Gallagher.’
‘What?’ This was quick work, even by his father’s standards.
‘Don’t sound so shocked.’ He heard wheezy laughter. ‘This is a platonic arrangement, what with me being on my last legs, pretty much. Rosa has a spare room and she could do with the cash. It means I don’t have to spend most of my time on my own and you don’t have to feel guilty about it. You can stay on at the hotel and work on fixing up the house. Doesn’t it make sense?’
‘Have you asked her yet?’
‘Of course I have. It’s all arranged. Right, I’d better go. Need to break the news to Angela. Can you pick me up from the airport on Monday?’
‘I . . . guess so.’
‘Look at me, becoming quite the jet-setter in my old age. Bye!’
‘You look shocked,’ said Didi. ‘What’s happened, is he all right?’
‘Seems to be.’ Shay turned to Layla, who had stopped telling Didi about her date and was now waiting to hear about the phone call. ‘That was my dad calling to let me know that on Monday he’s going to be moving in with your mum.’
Layla’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s what he says.’
‘But . . . if that was true, she’d have told me.’ As Layla put down her wine glass, her phone made a chirping sound in her bag. She took it out. ‘It’s a text from Mum: “Hi, darling, how’s the date going? Guess what, Red Mason’s going to be my lodger until his house is ready! Money for me, company for him! Call me tomorrow”.’
‘Wow,’ said Didi.
Shay realised he was glad the old house still needed doing up.
The next moment he caught himself glancing at his left hand as he reached for his almost empty glass. Did he have nice wrists? What made them special? And for God’s sake, why was he even asking himself this question?
It almost came as a relief to see Aaron threading his way back from the bar with a tray of fresh drinks.
‘I’m going to have to speak to her.’ Layla had turned away from him, was murmuring the words in Didi’s ear, but Shay still heard them. ‘I mean, this is Red Mason we’re talking about.’
Here was something he’d had plenty of practice dealing with over the years. Hearing the faint edge in his own voice, Shay said, ‘You can trust him. He wouldn’t take anything belonging to your mum.’
‘Oh my God, I didn’t mean anything like that.’ Clearly mortified, Layla blurted out, ‘I meant his reputation with women, I swear! Nothing to do with the other stuff. It’s just that there hasn’t been anyone else for Mum since Dad died, that’s all . . .’
‘Sorry.’ And now Shay felt terrible too. He’d gone there, had addressed the elephant in the room, only it had turned out to be the wrong elephant. ‘Of course you didn’t mean it that way. And if it helps, Dad’s already told me this is going to be a platonic relationship.’ He rested his hand on Layla’s shoulder. ‘I really am sorry. I guess I’ve got used to apologising for him. But all those bad habits are behind him now, I promise.’
‘I feel as if I’m missing out here, coming in late and only hearing half the story!’ Aaron, who evidently hadn’t heard the other half from Didi, began handing out the drinks. When it came to Shay, he said, ‘And it’s my turn to apologise now. I just bumped into some American guy up at the bar and he happened to mention that you weren’t interested in cars.’
Ah, Myron from the Midsummer Suite had attempted to engage him in conversation last night, and that time he’d been honest from the word go.
‘As long as they get me from A to B, that’s all I care about,’ Shay admitted.
‘And there you’ve been, putting up with me boring you to tears for the last twenty minutes. You should have said!’
‘It’s no problem. Thanks for the drink.’
‘Hey, no worries. Let’s forget cars,’ said Aaron. ‘What do you want to talk about instead?’
Oh, I don’t know. Your fiancée, maybe?
Didi, her eyes bright, waggled her fingers playfully in the air just to the left of Shay’s shoulder. ‘Well, he likes spiders . . .’
Chapter 11
‘Look, sorry about this, I feel like one of those awful people the week after Christmas, dumping a puppy at the dogs’ home and making a quick getaway.’ As he carried his father’s cases upstairs, Shay said, ‘But the guys with the van are going to be waiting for me outside the house, so I really need to . . .’
‘Make a quick getaway.’ Rosa followed him. ‘I know, it’s not a problem, you go ahead.’
‘Woof woof,’ said Red. ‘Dump and run, don’t mind me.’
Shay placed the cases on the bed and swung round. ‘The rest of his things are going into storage until the house is ready. This looks great.’ He admired the bedroom Rosa had hastily decluttered, taking in the view over the garden from the diamond-leaded windows, the blue and white curtains and matching bed linen, the paintings on the sky-blue walls, and the bijou en suite bathroom. ‘Dad, you’ve done well. Try not to get yourself kicked out.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ In the doorway, Red was recovering his breath.
‘I have to go. See you later.’ Shay grinned at Rosa. ‘Let’s hope he behaves himself. Any problems at all, let me know.’
They watched from the window as he jumped into his car and sped off. Rosa said, ‘I’ll put the kettle on, leave you to get yourself settled in.’
‘Hang on.’ Red unzipped the smaller of the two cases and took out two bottles of Prosecco. ‘Stick these in the fridge, would you? We’ll have a proper drink in a bit.’
‘OK, but I mustn’t have more than one glass. I’ve got a doll to make this evening and it wouldn’t do to amputate the wrong leg.’
By five o’clock, the second bottle was almost empty and it had been mutually agreed that there should be no doll-making tonight.
Oh, but the last couple of hours had flown by. Red was wonderful company and a natural raconteur. Up until today, most of what she’d known about him had been acquired via hearsay and gossip. But hearing his stories in his own words was proving completely fascinating. Here they were, sitting outside in the shaded part of the garden, and it was light years more fun than chopping potatoes and onions whilst half watching Come Dine With Me.
‘. . . It was the adrenalin rush that got me hooked.’ Having checked the time on the watch that hung loosely around his wrist, Red took a couple of packets of pills from his shirt pocket and washed the tablets down with water followed by a glug of Prosecco. Which probably wasn’t advisable, but he was almost sixty years old and it was his body, his decision.
‘I don’t like adrenalin rushes,’ said Rosa. ‘They make me feel sick.’
‘Oh come on, not always.’ His eyes glinted with mischief. ‘How about when you buy a two-hour parking ticket and don’t get back to your car for three hours?’
‘That would never happen, I’m telling you now.’ The very idea made her skin prickle with panic. ‘If I thought I was going to be there for three hours, I’d buy a ticket for six hours just to be on the safe side. Would have done,’ she amended, ‘back when I had a car.’
‘You see, that’s the difference between us. I’d never even buy a ticket in the first place, and the thrill would be in wondering if I was going to get caught. Best of all, heading back to the car and reaching it just before the traffic warden gets there. That’s the kind of adrenalin buzz I’m talking about.’
‘I don’t know how you can do it.’
‘Ah, I reckon it’s in the genes. When I was a kid, my parents were that way inclined too. What was your favourite TV show when you were at school?’
Rosa blinked. ‘Um, Blue Peter, I guess.’
‘You see? Mine was Ro
bin Hood. And the Cary Grant movie, To Catch a Thief. There was also an American TV series called Alias Smith and Jones. Then when I was about eleven, my dad smuggled me into the cinema and we saw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Everything I loved was about law-breakers, people who got a thrill out of beating the system. To me, it was glamorous and exciting and the best fun in the world. Some people get that kind of rush from . . . I don’t know, scoring a goal at Wembley or singing on stage in front of a massive audience, or riding a motorbike at a hundred miles an hour.’ He sat back and spread his palms. ‘I always got mine from getting away with something I shouldn’t have been getting away with.’
‘I can see that,’ Rosa protested. ‘But the thing is, half the time you didn’t get away with it, did you? You kept getting caught and sent back to prison, over and over again.’
He shrugged. ‘It was the risk that made it exciting. The thrill of the gamble.’
Gambling. Well, she knew all about that. Maybe this was why Red and Joe had always got on together so well; Joe might never have done anything illegal, but he’d been the ultimate entrepreneur and risk-taker. In order to build up his businesses, he’d juggled money with great success, right up until that success had – without her knowledge – disintegrated and turned to disaster.
‘Sorry.’ He raised a thin hand by way of apology, and Rosa realised she’d been staring off into space. ‘Is that the reason you had to move out of Compton House? I haven’t asked anyone what happened . . .’
She nodded. ‘It’s OK, it’s no secret. There was a problem with one of the businesses getting into trouble, and Joe did what he’d always done, borrowing from the others in order to shore it up. But this time the situation didn’t sort itself out and he found himself getting deeper and deeper into debt. He didn’t want to worry me, so he kept it to himself and worked on finding new ways to make it better . . . loans, a second mortgage . . . a few evenings in the casino. Except that didn’t go according to plan either, and the more money he lost, the more he had to gamble to try and make it back, because sooner or later it had to come good, didn’t it? He didn’t tell me any of this,’ Rosa went on. ‘A couple of his friends did, months later. And the thing is, he only did it because he loved me and wanted to protect our family. We meant the world to him.’
‘Of course you did.’
‘He was trying to get himself out of a financial hole, but the hole kept growing deeper. And I still had no idea about any of it. Then he had the heart attack, and it must have been the stress of it all that caused it to happen.’ Rosa’s throat ached at the memory but she forced herself to carry on. ‘He was about to be taken into theatre to be operated on and I think he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He kept telling me he was sorry, over and over again, but I didn’t know why. And then he died.’
‘Terrible for you.’ Red nodded in sympathy.
‘It really was. I was in a complete daze for the next couple of weeks, but it was still really bothering me, not knowing why he hadn’t been able to stop saying sorry. I mean, I always knew he loved me and it had never even occurred to me that there could have been anyone else. But I actually began to wonder if he’d been having an affair.’
‘Joe? Never.’
‘I know. I wondered if some glamorous mistress might turn up at the funeral. Anyway, that didn’t happen, and we had the service, and I was still waiting for the mistress to turn up. Then a couple of weeks later I was called in for a meeting with Joe’s accountant and his solicitor, and that was when the truth came out. That was when I discovered the mistress was actually the bank.’
‘Shit.’
‘Nearly all the money was gone. And the bank wanted our house, because it no longer belonged to us, it was their house now.’
‘I can’t imagine how awful that must have been.’ Red was reaching across, topping up her glass. ‘After everything else you’d been through.’
‘It was awful, because it had been our beautiful home. When they told me, I burst into tears.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘But what they didn’t realise,’ said Rosa, ‘was that they were tears of joy, because all of a sudden I knew why Joe had been saying he was sorry. There hadn’t been any secret affair. Our marriage had been as happy as I’d always thought it was. Compared with what I’d been terrified of, losing the house was nothing.’
Red nodded. ‘There you go. Money isn’t everything.’ He paused, then winked. ‘Still nice, though.’
He’d lost his wife nineteen years ago, and now his body was riddled with cancer, but he was utterly lacking in self-pity, still able to make her smile. Rosa said, ‘Shall we talk about something more cheerful? You must be so proud of Shay.’
‘Oh I am, I am. My brilliant boy, who somehow managed not to inherit the criminal gene. You know, after he sold that company of his, a financial adviser told him he could move his money into an offshore account . . . all perfectly legal but it would save him a fortune in tax. And he wasn’t even interested!’ Red shook his head in disbelief. ‘No idea where he gets it from. Must be his mother’s side of the family. God knows it wasn’t mine.’ Laughter turned to coughing and Rosa heard the effort it took to regain control of his breathing once he’d stopped. Then his phone began to ring and he said, ‘Let me guess, Angela again,’ because she’d called twice already, in floods of tears. Answering, he sighed, ‘Ange, you have to stop this. I’m in bed, about to go to sleep. No, it’s the truth. I’m switching the phone off now. It’s been a long day. Yes, I promise you, I’m fine. But you mustn’t keep calling, OK? It’s time to let go. You need to get on with your own life.’
‘She’s still crying,’ said Rosa when the call had ended. Sitting there while he told his sobbing ex that he was in bed had made her feel weirdly guilty.
‘To be honest, for the last couple of weeks she’s hardly stopped. It’s too much. It’s exhausting.’ Red shook his head. ‘And quite boring too.’
‘She’s upset. She loves you.’
‘She wants to marry me.’
‘Oh no, poor thing.’
‘Don’t feel too sorry for her. Angela’s all about the drama. And she only latched onto the idea of a wedding after finding out just how much my son was worth.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosa. That put a different slant on things.
‘Quite. I think she likes the idea of being Shay’s tragically widowed stepmother. Anyway, that’s not going to happen. And I’m looking forward to a drama-free existence down here.’ He reached across and clinked his glass against hers. ‘Do you think we can manage that?’
‘I’m sure we will. I’m not the dramatic type.’
‘Perfect. Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ They clinked again.
‘Nice bracelet.’
‘Thank you.’ Rosa shook her wrist, giving the charms a cheery jangle. ‘It was my birthday last week. This was my present from Layla.’
‘Well, happy birthday for last week. And lucky you, having a daughter who buys you such nice things.’
‘I know I’m lucky. Although actually she didn’t buy me this one.’ Afternoon Prosecco had gone to Rosa’s head and loosened her tongue, but if anyone was good at keeping secrets it was Red. ‘She chose the charms specially because they all meant something to us and gave me the bracelet on the night of my birthday. By the next morning it was gone.’
‘You mean someone took it?’ Red looked outraged.
‘No, not at all! It just fell off my wrist at some stage and I couldn’t find it anywhere. Last year Layla gave me a turquoise pendant and I accidentally dropped it down the waste disposal, so there was no way I could tell her I’d managed to lose the bracelet too. Which meant I had to travel over to Cheltenham, find the shop and get another one made up with all the same charms. When I arrived back, that was when I missed my step getting off the bus and landed on the pavement. And you and Shay rescued me.’
‘I don’t mean this to sound bad,’ said Red, ‘but I’m glad you fell off that bus.’
Rosa smiled. ‘Now that it doesn’t hurt so much, I’m glad too. Apart from having to shell out for another bracelet.’
‘Maybe it’ll turn up, then you can take this one back.’
For a split second she almost told him about her midnight visit to the garden of her old home. But no, he’d think she was deranged. ‘Fingers crossed.’
He paused. ‘Can’t be easy, though, going from living a comfortable life to having to downsize and start all over again.’
‘It’s had its moments. I’m getting used to it. When Joe was alive, he used to whisk me off to Milan for the weekend to buy beautiful designer outfits. Now I get most of my clothes in charity shops. But that’s fun, it’s exciting when you pick up a bargain.’ She plucked at the material of her lilac dress. ‘Like this one, three pounds fifty from the local hospice shop.’
‘You look great.’ Red nodded with approval. ‘No one would ever know.’
‘Except last December when I wore it to the Christmas fair in the town hall and Ingrid came up to me and said, “Oh my goodness, look at you, I gave an identical dress to the charity shop!” So I had to confess that it was hers, and she said, “Well isn’t that incredible? I’d never have thought something of mine would fit you!”’
‘Charming. Who’s Ingrid?’
‘You saw her the other day, getting cross because her partner came over to try and help me to my feet while she was waiting to be let into their house. Which used to be our house.’
‘Ah, got it. Tall, skinny, long blonde hair. Just your average nightmare.’
‘Ingrid isn’t really a nightmare, just . . . blunt. She runs an international interior design company and is quite high-powered, says what’s on her mind.’ Rosa paused, remembering the sternly worded letter she’d received from Benny Colette’s solicitor in response to her own hand-written one: I’m afraid my clients feel extremely strongly that your request is inappropriate and unworkable, and they are unable to grant any form of visitation rights to their property or its grounds.
‘What are you thinking now?’ Red didn’t miss a trick.
