Love on the Rocks
Page 39
Breakfast was going to be wild mushroom brioches with scrambled eggs, and at each place was a present that Lisa had chosen carefully: exquisite leather-bound travel journals for the men and heavenly scented candles for the women. Impersonal but tasteful gifts that would be appreciated and used, wrapped in matt gold paper with dark purple grosgrain ribbon. She smiled to herself – George would have been proud.
It had been an incredible few months. She adored running the hotel. Dealing with guests suited her nature perfectly. She had accrued a wonderful set of staff who were loyal and reliable and took as much pride as she did in The Rocks. So she’d barely had any time for self-pity. And Bruno was there to support her. He left her to run the place as she wanted, but was always on hand if she wanted advice or another opinion. Once a month they had taken to going out for dinner, to discuss the previous month’s performance and chew over ideas for the future.
Meanwhile, George kept in touch, dutifully, faithfully. He and Victoria were back in Bath – he’d managed to get his old job back, as they hadn’t found a satisfactory replacement for him, and Victoria was opening a ‘design emporium’, whatever that was. Mimi was at college, and Lisa had already promised her a job as a chambermaid the following summer. George phoned regularly to make sure Lisa was all right, both in herself and in her dealings with the hotel. She didn’t bear him a grudge. There was no point in histrionics. Besides, she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. She buried herself in her work and found it incredibly fulfilling. She didn’t need anyone else. She was best off on her own. She should have trusted her own instincts in the first place and never allowed herself to be seduced into a relationship.
Of course, she missed sex. Sometimes she craved the physical contact of another human being. But, she reassured herself, if she was desperate Mariscombe was usually crawling with thirty-something men enjoying some time-out at the weekends. It wouldn’t be hard to pick one of them up for some no-strings shenanigans. Most of them were probably spoken for elsewhere and would be happy for a one-night stand. Once or twice she’d already been chatted up by her own guests. The hotel did an exclusive stag package that was so expensive it didn’t attract the yob element – five hundred quid a head to include surfing or kayaking and a gourmet stag dinner with vintage wines. They turned up in their Audis and Porsches, wearing Weird Fish and O’Neill by day, Paul Smith and Armani by night. Lisa had been tempted once or twice, but was cautious. Self-preservation was her priority these days.
Lisa pulled her covers back up to her chin and went to turn over. As she did so she felt something rustling at the bottom of the bed. She moved a foot experimentally and realized there was something there; something that definitely hadn’t been there when she went to sleep. She sat up in consternation, pushed back the covers and cautiously reached out an arm to investigate. She pulled a soft, heavy object back up the bed, then snapped on her bedside lamp.
It was a stocking. A large white velvet stocking with swansdown around the top. She ran her hand up and down it, feeling the knobbly packages inside, hearing the rustle of wrapping paper, and she felt a bubble of nostalgic excitement. The magic of a stocking never went away: the curiosity, the intrigue, the anticipation. With a dry mouth, she pulled out the first package. It was wrapped in white tissue and tied with silver ribbon, to match the stocking. Inside was a striped scarf and matching gloves, perfect for walking on the beach. Lisa smiled to herself and wrapped the scarf around her neck before pulling out the next parcel.
There was a tube of body lotion. Rose-scented bombs for the bath. A hairslide trimmed with black feathers. A silk eye mask filled with sleep-inducing lavender, for impromptu afternoon rests. A pair of slipper socks, in pink cashmere with suede soles. Each gift was perfect for her – none of them things she would have dreamed of buying for herself, but all exactly what she would have chosen given the time and the inclination.
Lisa sat surrounded by scrumpled-up wrapping paper and discarded ribbon, the heap of goodies on her lap. She found her heart was beating rather faster than it should be. Common sense told her it was the staff who had clubbed together, knowing that she was going to wake up on her own without a present. She instilled that sort of loyalty and consideration. After all, she’d given each of them carefully chosen and personal gifts, to mark her appreciation of their commitment to her.
But try as she might, she couldn’t imagine any of them having access to the sort of shops that stocked this calibre of present. These weren’t the sort of trifles that could be picked up in Bamford, which boasted a clutch of chain stores and discount shops and a farmer’s market, but no individual boutiques or gift shops of this exclusivity. And even if they’d bunged in twenty quid each, which Lisa would have considered more than generous, the total wouldn’t cover this booty.
But in the shower she found she was smiling. And afterwards she slathered on the body lotion, revelling in its glorious scent, and every time she smelt it during the day she felt a shiver.
Bruno phoned her at eleven, to make sure everything was going smoothly with the guests.
‘Perfectly,’ Lisa assured him. ‘They all loved their presents. Most of them have gone off for a walk on the beach to work up an appetite for lunch.’
‘Good. Just ring if there are any snags.’
‘I will.’ She paused. ‘By the way, Father Christmas came,’ she said lightly.
‘Of course he did.’ Bruno’s tone was serious. ‘He always knows where you are. You can’t hide from Father Christmas.’
Lisa found unexpected tears in her eyes, but hastily brushed them away. It was nothing to cry about, for heaven’s sake.
‘Why don’t you come over here for tea?’ Bruno went on. ‘They won’t need you at The Rocks. Lunch will be over and everyone will be snoring or shagging in their bedrooms. You don’t need to be back till cocktail time.’
Lisa hesitated. He was probably right. She wouldn’t be missed for a couple of hours. There would be staff on hand to cover for her. And she had to admit it would be nice to get out, to be off duty.
‘OK,’ she agreed.
‘I’ll come and pick you up at four. I can have you back for half six.’
Lisa put the phone down with a slightly trembling hand. She didn’t want to think about the significance of the stocking. About Bruno wandering from shop to shop, thinking about what she might like. He’d probably got one of his staff to do it. From a catalogue. Putting it to the back of her mind, she went off to make sure that Frank was happy in the kitchen. He had taken over at The Rocks a month ago and was looking forward to a chance to really show off over Christmas lunch with an Italian-influenced menu – delicious smells were already beginning to waft into the hallway.
Later that afternoon, the atmosphere at Bruno’s house was seductively relaxing. Lisa sank on to the sofa and allowed herself to be waited on. She’d been on her feet nearly all day, making sure that her guests wanted for nothing. Bruno brought her a huge mug of steaming Earl Grey tea.
Bruno’s mother Joanie was sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine. She wore a knitted skirt and cardigan in olive green, which suited her honey-blonde hair. She was watching her husband on the floor, assembling the most elaborate train set that Lisa had ever seen.
‘Who’s it for?’ she asked teasingly, watching Graham carefully show Alfie how to use the controls.
Molly was sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching her son proudly. When Lisa had first met her, she had been painfully thin and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes, the weight of the world on her shoulders. Now she had filled out and had some colour; her hair was thick and shiny, her eyes had some sparkle. She was wearing jeans and a thick red polo-neck sweater sprinkled with snowflakes.
Molly had paid a duty visit to her mother that morning. Despite her changed circumstances, she hadn’t had it in her heart to cut her mother off. But now she wasn’t dependent on her in any way, she could handle her. Teresa had made a spiteful remark about her going off to the big house.
<
br /> ‘It’s all right for those who can afford it,’ she griped.
She was going to the pub for her Christmas dinner, to get slaughtered with her cronies. But Molly didn’t feel guilty. She wasn’t going to the Thornes for the extravagant gifts and the sumptuous food, although she knew that would be there. She was going for the love, the incredible love that they lavished on Alfie that was worth more than any money. Joanie and Graham spent hours patiently answering his questions and showing him things and playing endless games of snap and dominoes, colouring in. They wouldn’t leave him in his pushchair in the corner of a pub with a beaker full of pop and a dummy.
She had finally agreed that they should buy her a house. Bruno had persuaded her that it was only right; that Joe would have provided her with a roof over her head. There was money in his trust fund that would have gone towards a house for him eventually, if he had lived. So by rights that money was Alfie’s. Reluctantly, Molly was persuaded that it was right and proper. They had put in an offer on a tiny terraced house in Mariscombe. Molly felt ill with excitement whenever she thought about it.
She was determined to keep her independence. She had carried on working at the hotel and Bruno had finally persuaded her to take on the position of housekeeper. But the best of it was that Joanie looked after Alfie during the day, and she knew he would be loved and cared for and fed. It had taken her a while to surrender him. After all, Molly had protected herself with a wall of wariness for over two years, had lived a life shrouded in secrecy and become adept at keeping people at arm’s length. But the Thornes were incredibly kind and considerate. They seemed to understand that Alfie was hers first and foremost, and didn’t put her under undue pressure to share him. They took her guidance on what he was allowed and not allowed, and they tried very hard not to spoil him, preferring to give him their time. But actually Molly didn’t mind if he was spoiled; the first couple of years of his life had been a time of such deprivation, of making do and going without.
They spoiled her, too. Today she had been given a pair of ceramic hair straighteners – Molly was touched because she knew Bruno must have done some serious research to work out that was what she wanted. It would have been Hannah who’d given him the clue.
Hannah had blossomed beyond belief since going ahead with her nose job, despite Frank’s protestations that had lasted right up until the minute she had gone into the hospital. Still solid and reliable, she now had a patina of confidence that had grown not so much from her surgery as from her relationship with Frank. Her dress sense, her hair, her posture had all become more confident. She had lost weight and become more toned, thanks to Frank forcing her into the sea. She was almost a beach babe. Bruno was grooming her as his right-hand girl at the hotel. When Caragh had left with her tail between her legs, Bruno had taken over as manager, but was looking for someone to delegate to. Hannah had told Molly, in gleeful tones, that she and Frank were moving into a little flat together. They wanted some privacy, away from the communal staff accommodation they were growing out of.
In the kitchen, Bruno pulled a tray of mince pies that his mother had brought out of the Rayburn and tipped them on to a plate. It had been a wonderful Christmas, he reflected. At last, Joe’s ghost had been laid to rest. The burden of guilt they all felt equally between them had rolled away and they could look to the future. More than anything, Bruno couldn’t believe the change in his mother. Between the day he had introduced her to Alfie and now, she had altered immeasurably. She had recovered her zest for life, rediscovered her old friends and hobbies. She’d gone to the hairdresser’s and had a radical cut and change of colour which had rolled back the years. And her renaissance had given his father back his joie de vivre. Graham seemed to be discovering his second childhood, forever messing about with train sets and kites and doing silly card tricks – Bruno had forgotten what an endlessly patient father he had been.
Of course, they would never forget Joe. With his parents’ permission, Bruno had made a small speech before they began lunch, and they had all raised a glass in a toast to Joe, the wild one, the enfant terrible. The one who had brought them all together.
Lisa woke with a start. She’d nodded off on the sofa and it was nearly six o’clock. Two hours had seemed like two minutes, and she realized with regret that she was going to have to leave this haven and get back on duty. She scrambled to her feet.
Bruno looked troubled.
‘Shit – I’d drive you but I’m way over the limit now. Too much of Dad’s claret and far too much Paddy’s.’
‘I’m happy to walk.’ The fresh air would do her good.
‘I’ll walk you. Hector needs a good run.’
‘OK.’
The night was cool and crisp and even, as all good Christmas nights should be. Hector bounced along the beach, as full of energy as ever, retrieving sticks good-naturedly. The stars in the sky looked as if they had been positioned there by an Oxford Street window-dresser, sprinkled evenly across the velvet black and winking in sequence. The moon hovered, milky white and luminous. Lisa shivered slightly and tucked her scarf in more tightly.
‘Cold?’
She nodded and the next moment found Bruno had put his arm around her.
She stopped in her tracks. He pulled his arm away hastily.
‘Sorry.’
‘No.’ She smiled up at him. ‘It was… nice.’
She stepped forward to be closer to him. This time he put both arms around her. She melted into his chest. She could hear the gentle pounding of the waves, feel the cold of the night air around her. And his warmth. Tentatively, she slid her arms around his waist. They stood, locked together, for what seemed like an eternity.
‘Lisa…’ Bruno stroked her cheek gently with the back of his forefinger. She tilted her head back, looking straight into his eyes as he kissed her. She could feel him, taste him, smell him, the Bruno-ness of him: there was Earl Grey tea and Irish whiskey and the scent she had smelt that first day she’d met him that now made her weak with longing.
She marvelled at how right it felt, despite her reservations, despite her caution, despite her rules. She’d never experienced this combination of emotions: wanton desire; hot, desperate urgency; a compulsion to devour and be devoured – all underpinned by a glow of warmth and security that was like coming home.
Trembling, they parted and gazed at each other. Her curls were blowing wildly about her face. He smoothed them down with his hand and she closed her eyes at the very bliss of his touch, wanting to nudge at him for more caresses like a demanding cat.
‘New Year’s Eve,’ he said gently. ‘Come for supper. I know you’ve got a mad week ahead of you. You deserve to be pampered.’
‘But –’ She was about to protest. The hotel was full for New Year’s Eve. But he put a finger to her lips.
‘Shush now,’ he commanded, smiling. ‘I’ve already sorted it. Frank is in total control. The staff are perfectly capable of overseeing his gourmet dinner. Hannah will be on duty at the Mariscombe and she can be at The Rocks in two minutes if there’s an emergency. For heaven’s sake, Lisa. When did you last have a day off? Or a night out?’
She couldn’t actually remember.
‘I don’t mind. I love my job.’
‘That’s not the point.’
They kissed again. It was fervent, passionate. For one wild moment Lisa felt like throwing off her clothes and pulling him down on to the wet sand. But duty called – at six thirty her guests would be in the drawing room ready for yet more champagne. She tore her lips away.
‘I must get back.’
‘I know,’ said Bruno regretfully. ‘Come on.’
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the last stretch of beach. She followed after him, breathless, laughing, Hector springing along behind them wondering what on earth was going on but happy to join in.
All evening, as she poured champagne and passed around canapés and made polite conversation with her guests, Lisa couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
There was one more thing she had to do before bedtime.
She picked up the phone and dialled. Although she’d never used the number, she’d learned it by heart, for fear of losing it. She glanced at the clock – what was the time difference? Ahead or behind? She couldn’t be sure, but nor did she care. If she didn’t do it now, she never would.
Someone picked up the phone at the other end.
‘Hello?’
The voice was so familiar, even after all this time, even from so many miles away.
‘Dad…?’ That was the only word she could manage as a huge lump in her throat choked her.
‘Oh, Lisa, love.’ The words came out almost as a sigh. And in that sigh was a myriad of emotions: grief, relief, shock, love. And anxiety. ‘Are you all right?’