Dream on, he thought gloomily. That wasn’t going to happen. It was each man for himself.
Mandy lay on the beach that afternoon and thought she never wanted the day to end.
She was stretched out on her towel in her bikini – she’d undone the straps and tucked them out of sight in the hopes that the sun might eradicate the tell-tale white mark from the day before. She protected her tattoo with factor fifty sun cream, as the tattooist had told her. She was pleased with how good it looked – it had been much admired. It occurred to her Patrick still hadn’t seen it; she hadn’t had to explain. They hadn’t had sex for… days. Weeks. Which just went to show how little interest he had in her.
She banished Patrick from her mind, and tried to remember the last time she’d felt like this, if ever. Totally relaxed. Not a care in the world. She was so chilled she wasn’t even thinking about the fact that soon this dream would be over.
Rick came out of the sea, and she watched him wander back up the beach, his board tucked under his arm. He flopped down beside her, lying at right angles to her, then lay his head on her stomach as if it was a pillow.
The two of them lay there, eyes shut, half dozing in the sunshine as the sounds of life around them continued – shrieks of laughter as people made the most of the last of the weekend. Someone had brought a ghetto blaster and the strains of Crazytown’s ‘Butterfly’ danced across the beach. The jangling lead guitar sent shivers up and down Mandy’s spine; the suggestive lyrics made her squirm with longing. She was in torment, the warmth of Rick’s head on her stomach was melting her… More than anything, she wanted him to turn over, brush his lips against her bare skin. But she knew for some reason that wasn’t going to happen. She wondered what was holding him back. She was pretty sure he found her attractive; there were moments when their eyes had met, when his hand had lingered for longer than necessary on her, and there had been a definite frisson. But something was stopping him. She wondered if he had a girlfriend already that he hadn’t admitted to. Or if he’d been badly treated and had sworn to himself to keep away from women. Either way, she wasn’t going to humiliate herself by making the first move. All she could do was lie there and fantasize. She thought she might scream with frustration, boil over with desire, when suddenly he leaped to his feet.
‘It’s time we went. The forecast said rain. I don’t like driving the bike when it’s wet.’
Startled, Mandy looked up at the sky. It was relentlessly blue. Not a cloud to be seen.
What she didn’t know was that it had taken all Rick’s self-control not to roll over and kiss Mandy. But he knew that the moment his lips touched her skin, he would be lost. He had to let her go. He couldn’t look her in the eye as he gathered up their stuff and strode off, angry with himself for letting her get to him.
Thankfully, the restaurant was incredibly busy for Sunday lunch, which left neither Barney nor Suzanna much time to brood on their argument.
Suzanna didn’t allow her mood to spill over into her cooking; she had always had the ability to absorb herself totally in her work. There were only three of them in the kitchen: she and Jonty, and a little kitchen porter called Lee, who had been at catering college with Jonty. Between them they were perfectly choreographed, instinctively knowing which moves to make as they slaved, quite literally, over a hot stove for two solid hours. The menu was simple: Gloucester Old Spot pork or Welsh Marches lamb, with all the traditional accompaniments. Suzanna was elated to get the measure of the ovens at last, and achieved the crunchiest of roast potatoes. There was much idle banter between them as they worked, with the odd insult traded between the two blokes. They didn’t quite dare award Suzanna the same irreverence. They’d privately agreed she was a fit-looking bird, but needed treating with respect. And in return, she treated them with respect; always had time to ask nicely and said thank you, which was unusual in a kitchen. They hoped it wasn’t just a honeymoon period.
When the very last plate of rhubarb crumble and custard had gone out, Suzanna ran upstairs, tore off her whites and shoved them in the laundry basket, then pulled on her jeans without even stopping to shower. Without a word of explanation she ran past Barney, who was trying to look modest as a group of well-oiled diners congratulated him on the pub’s success. She jumped into the Jeep and started up the engine, not caring that she left a hideous tyre mark through the freshly-laid Cotswold chippings on the car park.
Without slowing down she pulled her mobile phone out of her bag and pressed Patrick’s number. She didn’t bother with pleasantries like hello.
‘I need to see you.’
Patrick was at Little Orwell Cottage, admiring his purchase. It wasn’t technically his yet, but he couldn’t wait for the formalities. The sign outside didn’t even have a sold sticker on it, but he’d gone to make a list of everything that needed doing. A list that was getting alarmingly longer.
‘I’m viewing a house,’ he told Suzanna. ‘For a friend. Come and have a look.’
He gave her directions.
‘I’ll be there in five minutes,’ she said.
Patrick hung up, mildly concerned that she seemed upset about something, but he was too caught up in his surroundings to dwell on it. He was sure he and Mandy would be happy here. OK, they’d had a rough few weeks while he’d been under stress, but now it looked as though the pub was on course and he could take his foot off the throttle. Summer was on its way. He imagined happy, sun-drenched evenings sanding floorboards and painting walls, stopping for a couple of little bottles of beer on a rug in the garden, perhaps making love while the birds chirped and the bees hummed and the scent of honeysuckle drifted on the breeze.
It was the perfect house for them. And maybe, one day, a baby. Babies hadn’t been part of Patrick’s big picture until now, but he’d seen what fatherhood had done to his uncle. With Henry’s arrival, James had taken on another dimension. He was almost a different person, bursting with pride and love and fulfilment. Patrick wanted to fast-track to that stage. He didn’t want another twenty years of bachelordom and meaningless if pleasurable leg-overs.
Because he did love Mandy. Even if he had been a bit of a grumpy shit over the past few weeks. She’d arrived just in time to save him from himself, to save him from a lifetime of cynical affairs and meaningless dalliances. She’d taught him that you could respect and cherish another human being and that it didn’t make you weak and vulnerable. Most importantly, she’d taught him to relax and be himself, not feel he had something to prove all the time.
Not that he’d relaxed much lately. Or her, for that matter. They had both been as tense as piano strings with each other. Never mind – perhaps a weekend apart had given their relationship the breathing space it needed to forge ahead. They had such a bright future together. She was going to be so amazed. Patrick imagined driving her out to the little cottage, putting his hands over her eyes until she was at the garden gate, then letting her see…
Suzanna appeared in the doorway like a ghost, interrupting his reverie. Her face was pale, her eyes enormous and glassy, dark shadows underneath.
‘You look knackered,’ said Patrick, concerned.
‘I am. I didn’t get to bed till two. I’ve just done Sunday lunch for thirty-five.’
She looked around but there was nowhere to sit. She slumped on the floor, leaning her back against the wall and putting her head in her hands in despair.
‘I can’t carry on like this.’
Alarmed, Patrick knelt down beside her, patting her shoulder in what he hoped was a supportive manner.
‘It’ll get easier. Once you’ve got into a routine – you can offload on to Jonty a bit more. We can recruit some more staff.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Suzanna.
‘Then what?’
Her fierce gaze seemed to burn a hole right through him with its intensity.
‘I think I’m falling in love with you,’ she said.
Fuck, thought Patrick. He hadn’t expected that.
‘What
?’
‘When I’m with you, I forget. I’m a new person. There seems to be – some point to it all. I’ve tried to pretend it’s not happening. But ever since the opening evening…’
She grabbed his arms. Their eyes locked and for a moment he couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers. She pulled him towards her and he didn’t resist. She shut her eyes and their lips met in the gentlest, most tentative kiss. Suzanna felt a swirl of emotions wrapping itself round her head and her heart. It felt so right. She felt like Sleeping Beauty, coming to life again after being asleep for so many years, as a delicious, life-giving warmth zinged through her veins.
As her response became more passionate, an alarm bell suddenly rang in Patrick’s head and he cursed himself for his weakness. He’d fallen into one of his own bloody traps again. Vain little sod that he was, he could never resist the lure of a pretty woman and an open invitation. But this wasn’t a silly, stolen little kiss that could be brushed to one side, like so many kisses he’d had in the past. He pushed her away roughly.
‘It’s no good, Suzanna. It won’t work.’
She looked at him in outrage that would have been comical in any other circumstance.
‘Shit, Patrick. You’re my chance. You’ve made me feel alive again. I’ve been like a zombie for the past eighteen months. I might as well be dead – ’
He looked at her sharply. He hoped she wasn’t going to make any serious threats. He thought desperately for a way out. He’d known there was a thread between them, but not that things would accelerate so fast and come to a head. The trouble was, there was no denying the attraction. If it hadn’t been for Suzanna’s fragile emotional state, he would certainly have risked a bonk, making sure she knew the deal first. But this was incredibly dangerous.
‘Suzanna – think about this rationally. Maybe it’s not surprising you feel like this. You’ve had a tough time lately, and we’ve spent a lot of time together. We get on, incredibly well. Maybe, given a different set of circumstances… I mean, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive, of course I do…’
For God’s sake, he thought to himself. Stop waffling and cut to the chase.
‘You belong with Barney.’
‘Do I?’ She looked incredibly sad for a moment. ‘I did. Once. But I don’t think I’m making him very happy any more.’
‘You still love him, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. But not… in the same way. Like a friend, I suppose. And I don’t want to hurt him. But do I have to spend the rest of my life with him, both of us miserable? If one of us has got the chance for happiness, shouldn’t we take it?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I mean, neither of us could be more unhappy than we already are, so what difference would it make?’
‘Hang on a minute. It’s not just you we’re talking about here.’ Patrick felt a surge of anger and allowed himself to be sharp with her. ‘Look at the big picture. There’s me and Mandy too…’
‘She’d get over it.’ Suzanna knew she sounded harsh, but she was desperate.
‘And there’s a pretty big knock-on. What would happen to the pub? You and Barney couldn’t go on running it. And we’ve ploughed a shedload of money into it. We can’t risk that going down the drain.’
Suzanna looked at him.
‘I see,’ she said quietly, but with an underlying menace that Patrick knew meant trouble. ‘At the end of the day, this is all about money, is it?’
Patrick took a deep breath. OK, she was going to think he was a mercenary bastard, but he was wise enough to know that it was the only weapon he had.
‘Yes. It’s my arse on the line with the Honeycote Arms. If I upset the apple-cart, not to mention Mandy, then Keith Sherwyn will pull out. I can’t take that risk. I can’t do that to my family.’
‘I shall walk out anyway.’
‘You can’t. You’ve got to make it work. We’ve all invested too much. You as much as anyone. You walk away and you’ll blow it for everyone.’
‘Just tell me what the point is?’ She glared at him belligerently. ‘If we were given sixty-eight Michelin stars, if we were fully booked till the next millennium, it wouldn’t make me any happier.’
Patrick sighed. She was being incredibly naive. How could he make her realize that all he would be was an emotional sticking plaster, a temporary dab of antiseptic on her wounds? Wounds that would continue to fester; that he could never hope to heal because he would never understand what she’d gone through. Sure, if he succumbed to her they’d have fun to begin with. They’d have great sex, because Patrick always made sure the sex was great. But it wouldn’t be long, he knew, before the novelty wore off, and her fears and worries came back to haunt her. And there wouldn’t be enough depth to their relationship to withstand that.
‘There can’t be anything between us, Suzanna. You’re clutching at straws. OK, so you think things are better when you’re with me – but that’s only because I’m a novelty. You don’t know me.’ He gave a self-deprecating smirk. ‘You’ve only had the good side.’
She was about to protest, tell him that anything was possible, but he cut her off and aimed straight for her heart. ‘I might as well tell you the truth. I bought this house yesterday. We’re going to live here together, Mandy and me. I’m going to ask her to marry me…’
She crumpled visibly before his very eyes. He couldn’t bear to look. She seemed so small, like a little girl. She looked around the room, imagining, he supposed, him and Mandy making their little home. She gave a wan smile.
‘It’s lovely. I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.’
‘I’m sorry.’
And he was. He thought a lot of Suzanna. No doubt they could have had something together. But they couldn’t possibly build a relationship on the crumbled ruins of other people’s lives. She needed love, and Patrick firmly believed that the only one capable of giving her that was Barney. He had faith in Barney. It was just a shame that Suzanna, who was so embroiled in a morass of mixed and powerful emotions, didn’t.
‘I’d better go,’ she said matter-of-factly.
Patrick didn’t really know what else he could say to help. He gave her a hug, as brotherly a hug as he could manage, because he didn’t want to come across as cold.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Try and make it work with Barney. I’m not just saying that because of the pub. I’m saying that because… I think the world of you, and I think that’s who you belong with. I really do.’
‘You don’t know’, she whispered, ‘what it’s like.’
They were very close, heads together, a warm current flowing backwards and forwards between them. Patrick cradled her head in his hands, massaging her temples lightly with his thumbs.
‘It’s in here,’ he said gently. ‘You’ve got the power in here. You can do it. I know you can.’
Rick and Mandy were walking back along the coastal path. They stood for a moment on the cliff’s edge before turning into the little gate that led to the campsite. The sun was beginning a gradual descent, seemingly as reluctant to leave as they were.
Mandy felt very small and powerless. The waves down below were pounding and crashing. Only the birds were free from the lure of the rocks below: they circled overhead, mewling their taunts, unaffected by that overwhelming desire to jump that seems to come upon humans when faced with a vertiginous drop.
Mandy turned to Rick to find him looking down at her with a strange expression in his eyes.
‘What?’ she faltered. ‘What is it?’
He answered only with a kiss. It seemed to go on for ever, but still it wasn’t enough, she’d waited so long. She licked the salt from his lips, ran her hands through his curls, pressed her body against his. Their tongues entwined, dancing, probing, exploring; a languorous pastiche of love-making that left Mandy quite faint. If merely kissing him made her feel like this…
Suddenly Rick broke away and started to walk back along the path. Mandy ran after him.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It
’s time we went. I don’t like riding the bike in the dark.’
‘It was the rain a minute ago.’
‘Whatever.’
Mandy pulled on his arm, desperate for him to stop and explain.
‘Rick, please. I don’t understand…’
He answered roughly.
‘I never touch anything that isn’t mine. You don’t belong to me. You belong to Patrick.’ He smiled a bitter, twisted smile. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t like the taste of forbidden fruit.’
They got back to the campsite just before four and packed up the tent, only speaking when necessary. As they were strapping their things on to the bike, fat raindrops started to fall. Rick had been right after all. He gave Mandy a waterproof to put on over her clothes.
The drive home was horrible, totally different from the ride down, which had been exhilarating and full of a sense of expectation. Mandy felt exhausted from the emotional and physical turmoil. The urge to go to sleep was overwhelming, but you couldn’t fall asleep on the back of a bike. So she fought to stay awake, with only her thoughts for distraction. Every mile they covered was a mile nearer decisions she didn’t want to have to make, and she was confused.
Just past Bristol, Rick pulled into a service station.
‘I need caffeine. I’m knackered.’
The service station was a harsh slice of reality. The lights were hideously bright and a pall of fag smoke hung in the air of the foyer. Gaming machines thudded and squawked and bleeped. They queued up in silence to pay for their food, then scoured the room for a table without dirty plates and used ashtrays.
The coffee was weak; so diluted it was unlikely to do anything to raise Rick’s energy levels. Mandy had two bites of a chicken salad sandwich and pushed it away – it was over-refrigerated and the lettuce had gone brown at the edges.
Rick seemed to have drifted away somewhere and become rather distant. He wasn’t unpleasant – he asked if he could finish her sandwich, then offered her a finger of his KitKat – but a barrier had come down. He seemed almost a stranger. The magic had gone and somehow she couldn’t find the way to ask him…
Making Hay Page 35
