‘And at two thousand three hundred pounds, going once, going twice – oh, we have a late bidder! Is that two thousand four, sir?’
I look around the room to see who else is bidding against Simon at this late stage.
‘No, it’s three thousand.’ I hear a confident voice from close by.
Simon’s head turns also – towards Charlie. He regards him for a moment then simply nods.
‘Three two!’ Simon calls, not looking at Charlie this time.
‘Do I hear three five?’ the auctioneer asks Charlie.
Charlie nods.
‘Three five it is – back to you, sir?’ The auctioneer looks hopefully at Simon.
‘Four thousand pounds,’ Simon calls, and he looks across the table at Charlie. ‘I can play at this all night, if you’d like to, that is?’
Charlie doesn’t respond. He glances at me. ‘Too rich for my blood,’ he says. ‘It’s all yours, mate.’
Then he stands up and pushes his chair back from the table, and without saying another word he walks away.
‘At four thousand pounds then, going once, going twice – sold to the gentleman at table three.’
‘I should make a healthy profit from that purchase,’ Simon says, still looking at the painting being carried from the stage.
But I’m not looking the same way. Instead my eyes are following Charlie as he leaves the room.
I excuse myself from the table while Simon is still congratulating himself, and exit through the same door as Charlie had.
‘Did you seen a man – sandy hair, about six foot – coming through here just now?’ I ask one of the catering staff.
‘Ooh, I most certainly did!’ he cries in delight. ‘How could I miss him! He flashed straight by me and went out over the bridge on to the little veranda across the grass. Good-looking fella,’ he adds, raising his eyebrows mischievously. ‘Is he yours by any chance?’
‘No,’ I say, knowing full well that’s the answer he’s hoping for. ‘But he’s not going to be into you either, I’m afraid,’ I add when his eyes light up. ‘He’s as straight as that silver tray you’re carrying!’
‘Ah, these trays are easily bent,’ the guy says, winking, ‘as are so many pretty things in life! Your guy is straight… sadly, through those doors.’
‘Thanks for your help!’ I call as I leave my waiter friend, and head through the wooden doors. I hurry across the bridge and see Charlie leaning up against one of the stone pillars that supports the roof of a new arrival to Sandybridge Hall, an elegant creamy-coloured stone veranda. He appears to be in deep contemplation as he gazes out into the gardens.
‘Hey,’ I whisper as I approach him. ‘What ya looking at?’
‘Hey, yourself,’ Charlie says, turning to look at me. ‘What are you doing out here?’
‘Came to find you. You looked a bit upset after the auction.’
‘You mean after I lost the painting?’
‘There was no way Simon would have let that picture go – he has a buyer already lined up for it.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t because I was the one bidding against him?’ Charlie raises his eyebrows questioningly.
I shake my head. ‘Simon was really nervous about meeting you tonight. He probably just wanted to impress you.’
‘Gracie Harper, you don’t believe that any more than I do!’ Charlie turns his body fully to face me. ‘More like he wanted to impress you, and make me look bad!’
‘No, Simon isn’t like that – honestly. He takes his job very seriously though, and once he decided he was buying that painting, that was it, nothing was going to stop him.’
‘Shame,’ Charlie says, sighing. ‘I really liked that picture. The Irish wolfhound reminded me of your Wilson, and the chocolate Lab, my Winston.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ I tell him. ‘If it hadn’t been so expensive, I might have been the one bidding against you!’
‘That would never happen,’ Charlie says, without explaining himself. ‘I wouldn’t allow it. Why don’t you ask Simon for the painting, if you like it so much?’
‘Oh, I can’t do that. It’s his business. He’s probably already rung his client to tell her about the painting.’
Charlie is quiet for a moment. ‘If it was my painting I’d have given it to you,’ he says quietly. ‘Without hesitation. I wish I’d bid more for it now. I could have afforded it, you know. I only pulled out because I didn’t want to cause a scene with your fiancé.’
‘I know,’ I tell him, resting my head on his shoulder. ‘I realised that was what you were doing. Thank you, Charlie.’
‘Anything for you, Gracie,’ Charlie says, putting his arm around my shoulder as we stare out into the gardens together. ‘You know that. Anything.’
Twenty-Six
Charlie and I eventually head back into the house after we’ve taken a short moonlit walk around the grounds together.
He sighs contentedly as we walk arm in arm through the perfectly manicured gardens, and around the lake.
‘You sound very pleased with yourself,’ I remark, smiling.
‘Yeah, it’s odd, but I’ve always felt really comfortable here at Sandybridge Hall – especially when I’ve been here with you.’
‘What a lovely thing to say,’ I reply, surprised by his comment. ‘But they’ve not always been happy times when we’ve been here together, have they?’ I can’t help thinking of what happened to Charlie at Danny’s birthday party, and then what happened to Danny at the New Year’s Eve bash.
‘No, that’s true. But lots of good stuff came from those bad things.’
‘It often seems to be the way.’ I sigh, thinking about Remy again.
‘Who’s sighing now?’
‘OK, no more sighing!’ I look around at the gardens. In the moonlight they look even prettier than they had when we’d arrived earlier this evening. ‘Haven’t they done a good job here? They’ve made it so pretty, the people who own the house now.’
‘Do you think? I liked it much better when it was the old house, with all the original features.’
‘Oh yes, the inside was definitely better before – it needed a bit of modernising, but all that plasterboard they have in there now, covering the original features, it’s horrific! I meant the outside is pretty these days, with all the little lights guiding you around.’
‘Yes, I like that too. Funny, isn’t it, how we’ve always liked the same things, you and I.’
‘Always have done, always will,’ I tell him, giving his arm a squeeze.
Eventually we re-enter the house and find our way back to the ballroom.
‘Where have you been?’ Simon asks as I return to the table, while Charlie is waylaid by yet another colleague. ‘You missed the end of the auction.’
‘You didn’t buy anything else, did you?’
Simon shakes his head and waits for me to answer his question.
‘I was smoothing things over with Charlie. We took a walk around the grounds together.’
‘Sounds romantic.’
I look at Simon. ‘Don’t be silly. We’re just friends, always have been, always will…’ I falter, recalling that I’d said something similar to Charlie a moment ago.
But Simon notices. ‘What’s wrong?’
I shake my head. ‘Nothing, everything’s fine. Look, Simon, if we’re going to be together you’re going to have to get used to Charlie. I know it’s unusual for a woman to have a best friend who’s male, especially one who’s male and not gay. But that’s the way it is with me.’
‘I know,’ Simon says, leaning in towards me. ‘I know, and it’s fine, really. After all, it’s not like we’ll see Charlie all that much, is it? He’s based here and we’re in London. I’ll only have to deal with the unique relationship you two have on the rare occasions we run into him.’ He leans over a bit further and kisses me on the lips.
But as he does, all I can think about is how I don’t want the occasions I see Charlie to be rare. I want him to b
e a regular, even daily part of my life…
Later, the ball is beginning to wind down, and it seems Charlie and I aren’t the only ones who’ve seized the opportunity for a walk around the gardens of Sandybridge. As I stand by the window of the ballroom watching couples taking moonlit strolls, I think about how romantic this old house can be, and I wonder what secrets it would have to tell if it could speak.
‘Penny for them?’ Danny says, wheeling himself up next to me. ‘Or aren’t they worth that?!’
‘I was wondering what stories this old house would have to tell if it could talk.’
‘Plenty, I bet! It would tell of the many love affairs that have taken place here – both the declared ones, and the much more exciting clandestine ones. I bet there’s been many more of that sort than the dull ones.’
I turn to look at him. ‘Still the same old mischievous Danny! Like I said earlier, you don’t change.’
‘Neither do you. You’re exactly the same as the Gracie I knew at fifteen. You might be older and, if I may say so, even more beautiful than you were back then. But you’re still behaving in the same way as you did when you were a teenager.’
‘What on earth do you mean – I’m nothing like I was back then!’
‘I didn’t say you were the same. I said you were behaving the same.’ Danny nods his head out of the window. ‘You’re still denying there’s anything going on between you and him.’
I follow his gaze and see Charlie standing, wine glass in hand, chatting amiably with Rebecca.
‘What do you mean, “anything going on”? We’re just friends. You should know that better than anyone!’
‘And as one of your exes, I should be able to comment more accurately than anyone!’
‘I’m sorry, Danny, maybe it’s all the champagne I’ve had, but I’m really not understanding you at all.’
‘Do you know how hard it is, going out with someone who has such a close relationship with another man as you have with Charlie?’
I shake my head.
‘No, you don’t, but I do, and he does too.’ Danny looks over towards Simon on the other side of the hall; he’s admiring his newly acquired painting before it’s covered up for us to take away. ‘It’s probably worse for him. I was only your boyfriend, but he’s your fiancé – and your fiancé should be the closest person to you in your life, until he’s your husband.’ He looks out of the window again. ‘Rebecca is the closest person to me in my life – she’s my best friend and my wife all rolled into one – it’s the best!’
As if she knows we’re talking about her, Rebecca looks across to the window. She waves when she sees us looking through the glass. Charlie looks too, to see who she’s waving at.
He smiles when he sees me.
‘See that smile?’ Danny says, still looking through the window as if we’re simply having a casual chat. ‘That’s how I smile at Beccy. That smile is the smile of someone that loves you, Grace. No, doesn’t just love you, but is in love with you.’
‘What? Don’t be silly, Charlie isn’t in love with me!’
‘Still denying it, I see. That’s exactly how we got into this conversation: you’re behaving exactly the same as you were at fifteen, Grace. Completely in denial.’
‘Denial of what?’
‘That Charlie is in love with you – which to any casual observer is quite plain to see – and you, my darling, innocent Gracie, are totally in love with him too!’
Twenty-Seven
‘I am not!’ I explode in the ever-quietening ballroom. ‘I am not,’ I whisper, aware someone might hear me. I pull up a chair from one of the now-empty tables and sit down on it, so I’m closer to Danny’s level.
‘How can you even think that?’ I demand of him.
‘It matters not what I think, it’s what you think that counts.’
‘But I’m not in love with Charlie.’ I glance out of the window again, but Charlie and Rebecca have now been joined by a few others, mainly people gasping for a cigarette.
Charlie won’t like that! I think, and I physically jump.
‘What?’ Danny asks, quick as a flash. ‘What were you thinking just then?’
‘That Charlie wouldn’t like being out there amongst all those smokers. He hates cigarette smoke. Even when it’s outside.’
Danny nods knowingly as we watch Charlie make his excuses and move away from the group.
‘That doesn’t mean I’m in love with him though. It simply means I know him well.’
‘Favourite colour?’
‘What?’
‘What is Charlie’s favourite colour? Quick, before he comes back in to find you – which I’m absolutely positive he’s going to do. It’s like a test.’
‘Blue,’ I reply, wondering where Danny’s going with this.
‘Good. Favourite food?’
‘Bread with cheese – preferably Stilton,’ I say without missing a beat.
‘Details, even better! Favourite movie?’
‘E.T. – he cries every time.’
Danny pulls a face. ‘Really?’
I nod.
‘Right, Simon’s favourite movie?’
‘Er…’ We don’t watch many movies together. When had I stopped doing that? I used to love going to the cinema.
‘OK, his favourite food then?’
‘He quite likes Chinese… whether that’s his favourite though…’
Danny looks knowingly at me. ‘Let’s try his favourite colour.’
‘That’s easy, it’s green. No, maybe it’s blue, like Charlie. Simon has a lot of blue shirts…’
‘Case closed!’ Danny says while I’m still thinking.
‘What? But you haven’t proved anything!’
‘Case closed!’ he insists, spinning around in his wheelchair. ‘Ah, here he is, everyone’s hero! How goes it, Charlie, my man?’ He slaps Charlie’s palm. ‘And here comes Simon too. Ah, the gang’s all here again, eh, Grace?’
I can only nod.
‘What were you two discussing in such great depth?’ Simon asks. ‘I could see you across the hall, heads bent together like you were plotting something important.’
‘Grace and I were discussing colours, actually,’ Danny says. ‘What’s your favourite colour, Simon, as a matter of interest?’
‘Red,’ Simon replies emphatically, without having to think about it. ‘Why do you ask?’
That night, once I know Simon is asleep, I creep across the landing to my bedroom to consult Remy again.
There’s a letter already waiting for me:
Dear Grace,
Marry him. You won’t regret it.
Love, Me x
Summer 2016
Finally I arrive at Lighthouse Cottage. I hurriedly park the Range Rover and make my way inside.
No one is home, so I quickly check my appearance in the hall mirror, then pull open the door of the cupboard under the stairs and remove the crate on wheels I’d hidden in there earlier. It’s quite heavy, so I have to wiggle it about a bit to free it from the confines of the tiny cupboard.
‘Right,’ I say to no one in particular, ‘it’s time.’
I lock up the cottage and, leaving the Range Rover behind, begin pulling the crate along the path that runs parallel with the top of the beach. Usually I’d walk across the sand – I always enjoy a stroll on the beach – but there’s no chance of that today. The crate, while easy enough to pull on the concrete path, would be hopeless on the soft sand.
As I walk, the laughs and squeals of holidaymakers enjoying their time on the beach are drowned out by the rhythmic whirring of the crate’s wheels spinning around, the cries of gulls soaring above me, and the ever-constant waves rolling on to the sand. The sounds soothe me, and my anxiety at being late for this very important meeting begins to melt away.
It had been funny to bump into Joe earlier. His playful flirting had made me think about the men I’d had in my life, what they’d meant to me, and how their existence had changed the course of my life.<
br />
I’m so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost don’t see a bright red tricycle hurtling towards me. It’s being ridden by a small girl, and chasing after her is a stressed and anxious-looking young woman, who I assume must be her mother.
‘Amy, stop!’ the mother calls. But the small girl riding the trike has a look of determination on her face that I’ve seen many times before.
I stop walking and park my crate across the narrow path.
The little girl sees it, and as I note the panic in her eyes, I also notice her legs begin to pedal that bit slower, so as she arrives in front of me she’s almost freewheeling.
I catch hold of the handlebars of her trike, and pull her to a stop.
Her breathless mother catches up with us.
‘Oh, thank you so much,’ she says, panting. ‘She’s a terror once she gets going on this thing.’
‘No worries,’ I tell her, pulling my crate to the side of the path again. ‘I know exactly what that’s like.’
The mother looks briefly at my crate, then back at me, and smiles.
‘Well, thanks again,’ she says. ‘Come along, Amy, we need to go and find Daddy. Make sure you stick by my side this time, please.’
I watch them for a moment as they continue along the path. Then I take hold of the handle of my crate and begin walking purposefully again in the opposite direction.
Yes, I know exactly how it feels to have a toddler running away from you. The only difference is, in my case we were rarely running towards Daddy…
Part Four
August 2012
Twenty-Eight
I look out of the window as the bus trundles its way along the often narrow and always winding road towards Sandybridge. I hate buses – they’re bumpy and slow, and right now all I want is to get back to my old home as soon as possible.
Letters from Lighthouse Cottage Page 19
