Bea nodded. It wasn’t Mel’s fault her mother seemed so intent on pushing Mel forward in their father’s affections. Poor man, how he coped with such determination, Bea could never understand.
“Anyway, it’s been months since Annabel told you about Simon getting all hot and heavy with that slutty assistant of his, slimy git.”
Aunt Annabel, thought Bea. She’d have known what to say to cheer her up. “I think the hardest part is that Claire’s already pregnant with his baby.” She took a deep breath and held her arms out. “What do you think?” she asked, holding the top up over her chest. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.”
“Great, now try this lipstick. It’s a different shade to the cherry one you always wear. I think it’ll suit you.”
Bea pouted in front of the mirror, concentrating on turning her full lips from their natural pale pink to a searing shade of fuchsia. Someone banged forcefully on her front door. Bea jumped, inadvertently rouging half her cheek. “Shit.” She placed the lipstick down onto her dressing table and went downstairs.
“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Simon asked, looking her up and down as she opened the front door and stepped back as he made his way past her into the hall.
“Come in, Simon,” Mel invited sarcastically.
He ignored her and kept his attention focused on Bea. She grabbed an old Barbour jacket from behind the heavy door, dragging it on over her underwear. She really needed to stop answering the door wearing so little, she thought, annoyed for not thinking before answering the door.
“I don’t believe this.” He swung round, staring down at Bea’s chest encased in the new black satin push-up bra Mel had persuaded her to buy. “You two are going out, together. Aunt Annabel would have been delighted.”
Bea crossed her arms to hold the coat in place and swallowed. “You leave her out of this.”
“She never liked me, did she?” He peered down at Bea, his irritation at her barely hidden.
“Probably because you’re angelic looks and charm secretly hid the ugliness of a toad,” Mel said from the bottom of the stairs.
“What the hell is she on about?” He raised his eyebrows, ignoring Mel.
“You know perfectly well my godmother liked you, until she realised I wasn’t the only woman you were sleeping with,” Bea snapped. “She changed her mind then, of course.”
“We weren’t getting on. It wasn’t just my fault that our marriage broke down, you know. It takes two.”
Bea heard Mel’s sharp intake of breath behind her, knowing instinctively her sister was seconds from exploding with indignation. “Mel, why don’t you go through to the kitchen and pour us both a drink,” Bea suggested, turning back to face Simon. His beautiful face contorted with spite. “This won’t take long.”
Mel for once did as she was asked. She stomped down the hallway towards the kitchen.
Bea narrowed her eyes. “So you say, but I seemed to be the only who wasn’t aware of that. Anyway, I suppose you’re here about your letter?” Bea pulled out a crumpled tissue her hand had located in the jacket pocket, and spat on it before rubbing it against her cheek. “I can’t believe you want half of this house. You’ve always hated it here and you know Aunt Annabel left it to me.”
“Yes, she wanted to make sure you were looked after,” he said, repeating her aunt’s often said words. “It’s not my fault your father has a scheming wife, or that your mother died. The fact remains that your aunt died when we were still married.” He lowered his face closer to hers. She could almost taste his minty breath. “Technically, we still are. And as such, the house is considered a matrimonial asset, and I, as your husband, am legally entitled to half of its value.”
The heat of her fury towards him almost gave her heartburn. How could you be so heartless to push for her to sell Aunt Annabel’s house? “Legally maybe, not morally though.” She recalled his letter. “And what exactly did you mean by D-Day?”
Simon smiled, looking satisfied with himself. “I thought that was rather clever, didn’t you?” Bea glared at him. “Suit yourself. D-Day, Debt Day. Get it?”
Bea closed her eyes slowly willing him to disappear. “Right. Very funny.”
“I thought so. I don’t want you forgetting the date.”
“I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?” She’d had enough. “What did you want?”
“I’ve settled in to the apartment with Claire. Maybe, if we hadn’t moved in to live with your aunt our relationship might not have fallen apart so rapidly,” he mused, then shrugged. “Anyway, I thought I'd collect one or two things I forgot to take with me when you threw me out.” He straightened a picture on the wall before stopping to stare at it. “This is mine, I believe,” he added, lifting the depiction of a bloody hunting scene Bea had always hated off the hook.
She took a deep breath and mentally braced herself. “Take the painting, Simon and while you’re at it, take yourself out of my house, and don’t bang on the door demanding to be let in like that again.” Bea went to open the door.
“Well, the door was locked.” Simon put his hand out to stop her. “When the hell did you change the locks anyway?”
Was he insane? “As soon as you left. When do you think?” she asked, stunned by his ridiculous question.
“You’ve changed, Beatrice,” Simon said, lowering his voice. “You used to be kind and decent.”
Bea took a deep breath to steady her voice, stunned at his sheer nerve. “Really? I thought I still was.” She concentrated on remaining calm, unable to believe they were covering the same old ground yet again. “Don’t forget, it was you who moved on, not me, so I don’t know why you’re always so offended by everything I do.”
“Maybe if you were in a relationship too, you'd understand how I feel about Claire. Anyway, you know as well as I do that the only reason I left was because your interfering aunt made such a fuss and wound you up.” He considered his next words and glared at her down his aquiline nose, the same nose she had not so long ago found very attractive, but now wanted desperately to hit, hard. “I’d still be living here with you if she hadn’t interfered.”
“You mean if she hadn’t caught you with Claire. Don’t you think I might have discovered your girlfriend was pregnant at some point?” She heard the catch in her voice and could have bitten her tongue. She narrowed her eyes. “Aunt Annabel found you practically having sex in Claire’s car. I think she had every right to be upset with you.”
“Look I am sorry about the baby; I know how that must hurt you.” He went to put a hand on her shoulder, but Bea stepped back before he could reach her. Simon shrugged and looked over her shoulder at the rundown hallway. “Why can’t you stop trying to punish me for being happy? The trouble with you is you spent far too much time with that old woman. Annabel might have been your godmother, and I understand how she took over when your mum died, but she’s gone now. You need to stop hanging on to this heap of rubble. Then we can both move on.”
Bea didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her temper, or even worse, get upset. Her life had not worked out as she had planned and it hurt like hell, but she wasn't going to let him know how she felt. She clasped her hands together. “I've already moved on, Simon; regardless of what you choose to believe.”
“Whatever you say.” He laughed, glancing at his latest Cartier watch. “I couldn’t care less, but I do want to know when you intend paying me my share of this mausoleum?”
Bea wondered if he was simply trying to punish her for not forgiving him for his affair when he’d asked her to. She felt the familiar nervous tingle expanding in her stomach. “Simon, I don’t know why you insist I buy you out of this place. You’re a lawyer. You earn far more than I ever will and didn’t need any extra money to buy your new apartment. The house was left to me, not you. Why don’t we stop arguing and get this matter sorted, then we can have our decree absolute and neither of us have to bother with the other one again.”
Simon groaned. “Yes, well, ar
e you going to get a mortgage to pay me what I’m owed, or am I going to take you to court to get an Order for the damn money?”
Bea hesitated. She didn’t have the money to fight him through the courts and he knew it. “Simon, it’s almost impossible to get a mortgage now, you know that as well as anyone. I’m going to need a little more time.”
“Time to find a way out of paying me, you mean.”
“No. I need to come up with a solution and you bullying me won’t make it happen any sooner.”
“My lawyer explained everything in his letter to you. You have a year and a day from the date your aunt died, which will be when probate is concluded. That’s 10th May next year. I think that’s more than enough time to find a mortgage. You’re the one insisting on keeping this crumbling 1920s’ dump, but Claire’s given up work now she's pregnant and has decided she doesn't want to return when the baby's born. I need to get my finances sorted once and for all. We’re going to get married as soon as the divorce is finalised and that can’t happen until we’ve sorted the finances, so I’m not giving you any longer than I have to.”
“I’m not selling my house.” She clenched her fists.
He leant towards her, his eyes like steely flints. “Be realistic, it’s a mess.” He flung his arms wide, as if to encompass the cold hallway.
“That’s my problem,” she said, knowing Aunt Annabel’s legacy had been her magnificent garden with its endless species of plants she’d brought back over the decades from her travels.
Simon stepped back and made a point of looking her up and down for a final time. Shaking his head slowly, he sniggered before turning his back on her and marched outside towards his gleaming BMW.
Bea slammed the heavy oak door as hard as she could, realising too late, as a smattering of plaster cascaded like icing sugar on to the worn slate floor next to her, that it had not been a good idea.
She slumped down on to the Bishop’s seat. It wasn’t in keeping with the period of the property, but Bea had bought it at her first auction with her godmother when she was sixteen. The cool, familiar grain in the wood soothed her. “What do you think, Flea?” she whispered to her aging Miniature Schnauzer as he ambled over to join her, resting his tatty grey head on her trembling lap. Petting him calmed her down a little, but it didn’t solve the problem of her lack of money. It was all very well, this bravado, Bea mused, but how was she going to afford to sort out the house?
“Drink,” Mel insisted, handing her a double gin and tonic, and settling down next to her. “That man is such a moron. It’s bad enough he did the dirty on you, let alone he still feels he has control over every aspect of your life. He must earn so much more than you, too.”
Bea shrugged miserably. “Unfortunately, he does.” She took a mouthful of the refreshing liquid, and swallowed gratefully. “Can you imagine he thought he could still use his key to get in?”
They sat silently in the hallway as her temper gradually subsided. Glancing at her newly French-manicured nails as they cupped the glass, she noticed for the first time the groove on her finger where her wedding ring used to be was finally fading. Soon there would be no trace of it at all. No trace of the Beatrice Porter, of old. “Mel, I’m not sure I can face going out,” she admitted. “I look a mess and…”
“And nothing,” Mel interrupted standing up in front of her. “It’s my engagement party.” She held out her hands, displaying the brilliant diamond solitaire. “When was the last time you were invited to celebrate something at Elizabeth Castle? You’re not going to miss a second of it. It’s not often we get on and I want tonight to be special. You’re my sister, well half-sister, and you’re going to enjoy yourself, whether you like it or not.”
Bea couldn't help laughing. “Poor Grant, he doesn’t have a clue what he’s let himself in for does he?”
“No.” Mel nudged her sister and smiled conspiratorially. “He doesn’t, and you’re not going to tell him either.”
Bea stepped off the castle ferry that had taken her and other guests to the tiny island in the bay, wishing she’d thought to wear more sensible heels. She gazed up at the turrets from the small docking area, amused that Mel had chosen somewhere so romantic to hold her engagement party. Following the signpost inside to the party area, Bea spotted Shani and Paul by the bar. No surprise there then, Bea smiled, amused to see her two closest friends deep in conversation as usual. How they ever stopped talking long enough to fit in their jobs giving classes at the largest gym complex in town, she couldn’t imagine.
“Hi, you two,” she said hugging them both. She looked down at Paul’s blond head. “These weren’t the best idea,” she said lifting her leg to show off the shoes. “I don’t know why I thought they would be.”
“Only Mel could insist we all travel to somewhere that you have to get to by boat,” Shani said. “I was hoping it’d be a little cooler in a castle, but these rooms are still hot for some reason.”
Bea nodded. She’d thought the same thing. She fanned her face with her bag. “I love your hair though, Shan.”
“If she has it any shorter everyone will assume she’s had it shaved off completely.” Paul laughed. “If you didn’t have such a girly face you could be mistaken for a bloke. Tall, no boobs, no hair.”
Shani laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t start with me, we might be flatmates, but you know I’m tougher than you’ll ever be.”
“You two act like an old married couple sometimes,” Bea said wincing at Paul’s horrified expression.
“What a horrible thought.” He shuddered. “Anyway, even if I was interested in women I can’t imagine she’d be my type.”
Bea shook her head used to their banter and constant bickering. “If people didn’t know you two were so fond of each other they might be concerned by the way you talk to each other.” She pulled a face at Shani, so tall in her heels that she towered over them both.
“You’re looking gorgeous,” Shani said. “I can’t believe you’re actually out tonight.”
Bea nodded towards where Mel was chatting to a group of her friends. “Didn’t have much choice, did I? I wasn’t sure I would be much fun tonight after Simon’s appearance at the house when I was getting ready.”
Paul narrowed his dark blue eyes. “Bea, sweetheart, tonight is a Simon-free zone.” He put an arm around her protectively. “It’s Mel’s night and however annoying she may be, we’re not going to let that spiteful prat ruin your fun. Bloody hell, it’s a little warm in here, isn’t it?”
“Agreed,” Bea smiled, feeling better already. “We’re going to have a great evening.” She glanced around the grand room full of her sister's guests. “Have Dad and Joyce arrived yet?”
“Can’t have done, we haven’t heard a drumroll to announce her entrance.” Paul grimaced. “I don’t know how your dad copes with the two of them in that house. Poor man must be a saint.”
“Look, there they are. Oh my God, Joyce’s hair looks like a mutation of Margaret Thatcher’s hairdo and a dollop of candyfloss.” Shani giggled and shook her head.
“She does the mother-of-the-bride bit to perfection, doesn’t she?” Paul said. Bea and Shani laughed. “Behave yourself girls. Now, on to lighter matters; have we all seen the ring?” He clapped his hands together. “Assuming we have, what do we all think? Shani, you first.”
Shani mulled the question over for a second or two. “It’s pretty spectacular, that’s all I know. It must have cost him a fortune.”
At the other side of the room Grant held up a glass and tapped it with a pen calling for everyone’s attention. “Melanie and I,” Grant said, stepping nervously from one foot to the other, “would like to thank you all for coming and sharing our celebrations with us on this steamy July evening.” Mel giggled and Bea ignored Paul’s dig to her ribs. “We’ve chosen our dream date and so that there are no excuses, we’re going to let you all know exactly when our big day will be, tonight.” He winked at Mel. “So, I want you all to keep Liberation Day free!”
>
“What did he say?” Shani hissed, her arched black eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Bea could hardly form the words. “They’re setting her wedding date for ninth of May?”
Bea’s heart pounded so much at the prospect, that she thought the others would hear it. “It seems so,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“But that’ll be the first anniversary of your Aunt Annabel’s death.” Shani folded her tanned arms across her chest. “Little bitch.”
Bea took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She caught her stepmother’s triumphant expression across the room as she dabbed her tear-filled eyes with a perfectly ironed, lace handkerchief and determined not to let Joyce see how upset this news had made her.
“Joyce is such a cow,” Paul said, a little too loudly for Bea’s liking. “I bet she’s done it on purpose.”
Shani put her arm around Bea’s shoulders and she didn’t hear what else, if anything, Grant was saying. It was enough that she would have to face that dreadful day at all without having to look happy at her half-sister’s wedding.
“Right, come on, I’m getting too irritated to carry on just standing here.” Paul cupped his ear. “Do you hear that?” he asked, grabbing Shani's hand as the speech finished and the first strains of “You’re the One That I Want” began filling the room. “Come along girls, let’s give it loads.”
Bea let them go to the dance floor and shook her head when they waved for her to join them. The room was far too hot. Bea needed some air and, relieved to have a quiet moment, picked up her bag and gingerly crossed the room out through the open sliding doors trying her best not to wobble. She wondered if it was the sheer height of her shoes that was unbalancing her, or the overly polished parquet flooring that was the problem. She touched the cool granite castle wall before walking up to the metal railings and leaning against them, gazing across the bay where yachts moved gently in the calm sea. Bea sighed.
“You’re not thinking of jumping are you?” a baritone voice asked from the other side of the Canary Palm next to her. “Bit of a drastic way to make your escape, don’t you think?”
The Jersey Scene series box set Page 2
