The Secrets Women Keep

by Fanny Blake

  ‘I was miles away,’ she admitted. ‘ Remembering when the girls were tiny.’

  ‘Hard to imagine.’ He frowned as he took a packet of wine gums from the pocket of his overcoat and offered her one. She shook her head. He took out a green and a yellow gum, removed a black one, popped it into his mouth and put the first two back in the wrapper. ‘Have they always got on so badly?’ His eyes were concerned.

  She tucked in her scarf and wrapped her arms round herself against the cold. ‘Not as bad as this. I don’t know what’s going on between them at the moment, but I guess it’s to do with the hotels and whether or not I decide to sell them. But it’s so soon.’

  Adam gazed down at his clasped hands, tapping his thumbs together.

  Rose didn’t ask him how much he knew. She had long ago learned the truth of ‘nature abhors a vacuum’. If she said nothing, he would almost certainly be drawn to fill the silence between them. And sure enough, after a minute or two . . .

  ‘Anna’s being completely unreasonable about the business,’ he said. ‘She’s not seeing this from anyone’s point of view but her own.’

  ‘Why? What’s been going on?’ She would expect him to take Jess’s side, although this was not a conversation the two of them should be having.

  ‘They both overstepped the mark.’ He stroked his beard, unable to look her in the eye. ‘Jess really regrets what she said.’

  ‘Which was what?’ At that moment, she could see Jess sitting at the top of the slide, arms around Dylan, who was trapped in the V of her legs. As they took off, he raised his arms in the air and shrieked with excitement.

  ‘Something about Anna being selfish, single and a terrible daughter. In a nutshell.’ He looked embarrassed at having said as much.

  ‘Oh God.’ Rose scuffed at the stones under her feet. Being charged with those qualities would really hurt Anna. She would recognise the grains of truth in there.

  She felt Adam’s hand on her arm.

  ‘I know this might not be the best moment . . .’ He hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ she said. Despite feeling that he’d already said more than enough, she knew that what he said often made sense.

  But before he had a chance to say any more, a small girl tripped over in front of them, her hands and knees taking the brunt of the fall. After a second’s silence, she let out a high-pitched shriek. Adam was on his feet immediately, picking her up, comforting, looking around for her mother. A woman was running from the other side of the sandpit, a baby under her arm, a wooden scooter in her free hand, calling her name. ‘Ellie! It’s all right. I’m coming.’

  ‘Look, here’s Mummy.’ Adam tried to calm the child, but she was too frightened by this large bearded stranger and by the blood oozing from the heels of both her hands.

  Reaching them, the mother dropped the scooter and squatted down, scooping her daughter into her free arm, thanking Adam, calming her child. As the tears subsided, he returned to the bench, brushing the dust from the worn knees of his corduroy trousers as he sat down.

  ‘Go on,’ Rose invited him. ‘Finish what you were going to say.’

  ‘Well, I know it’s not my business, but I can’t help thinking that if you and Terry were to settle this hotel business one way or the other, life would be easier for all of us. I know it’s hard,’ he pre-empted Rose, ‘but it’s tearing them apart.’

  ‘‘We shouldn’t discuss this without the girls being here,’ she warned him. ‘And Terry, of course. But I wasn’t even thinking of selling until Madison Gadding made their offer. I can’t pretend I’m not tempted, but it’s a huge step. I don’t want to throw away everything Dan worked so hard for without thought.’

  ‘Then don’t.’ He made it sound so simple. ‘Jess deserves to have the chance that Daniel promised her. Whatever he thought of me.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘She loves Trevarrick, we’re happy there. It makes no sense to sell it. None. I don’t know what we’d do without the place.’

  Rose sat motionless. Wasn’t this what Daniel had feared, what had infuriated him? She had always believed that Adam’s first concern was for Jess and Dylan’s well-being, not for the convenient roof over their head and the income that came with it. But Daniel had planted that seed of doubt long ago, and despite her resistance, it had lain there waiting to germinate. Could this gentle giant of a man really only be looking out for himself?

  ‘I understand that, of course,’ she said eventually. ‘But I’ve got to think about what’s good for the rest of us. Anna too.’

  ‘But why doesn’t she just get a mortgage or a loan?’ he objected. ‘It’s crazy to sell the entire business to fund another one of her schemes. I understand she’s found the ideal property that she doesn’t want to miss out on, but there must be other ways.’

  For a second Rose was amused by the irony of hearing Adam parrot Daniel’s views, then her maternal instincts made her rush to defend her daughter. ‘But Adam, no one in their right mind would give her a mortgage or a small business loan – one. And two, she has no money to pay that kind of rent and the overheads it would involve. Think of all the stock she’ll have to buy. She only just gets by as it is.’ She fielded a stray football with her foot and sent it back to its young owner. ‘And she wants something that’s her own, just as she sees Jess having Trevarrick. She thinks of this as her chance. I can understand that. Can’t you?’

  She could see his embarrassment at having spoken out of turn. His eyes, blue as forget-me-nots, gave him away as they shifted towards his wife and son. Dylan had found a digger in the sandpit and was riding it like a horse, Jess standing with hands on hips, watching over him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s none of my business. I hate seeing Jess so upset, that’s all.’

  ‘I know.’ Guilty for having thought the worst of him, she patted his hand, just as he was pulling the tube of wine gums from his jacket pocket. The gums spilled everywhere, falling like dull jewels into the grass. The two of them bent forward simultaneously to pick them up and cracked their heads together.

  They both sat up, half laughing and apologising to one another. Rose rubbed the side of her cheekbone as tears automatically stung her eyes. She rummaged in her pocket for a tissue, pulled out a scrappy bit of loo roll and blew her nose.

  ‘What are you two doing?’ Jess arrived in time for Dylan to fall on to all fours and help his father, his chubby fingers scrabbling at the earth as he tried to pick up a sweet. As Adam took the grimy yellow gum from him, Dylan’s bottom lip began to quiver.

  ‘Come on, boy. How about an ice cream instead?’ Adam stood and swung the uncertain Dylan on to his hip in one movement.

  ‘An ice cream?’ Jess protested. ‘It’s the middle of winter!’

  ‘An ice cream’s an ice cream whatever the time of year, isn’t that right?’ Adam kissed his son’s cheek and tickled his tummy so that the child squirmed in pleasure, his tears forgotten. ‘We’ll be right back.’ He swung the boy on to his shoulders and trotted towards the exit, Dylan bouncing about on his steed and giggling.

  ‘We’re not freezing to death while you two disappear,’ Jess yelled after them. ‘Come and find us in the café.’

  Adam raised a hand in brief acknowledgement before grabbing Dylan’s leg again.

  Not much more than a large wooden shack with a few basic heaters and junk-shop pine tables and chairs, the café provided a welcome respite from the winter weather. Behind the rudimentary counter with its display of home-made cakes and biscuits, a couple of young women in coats, scarves and fingerless gloves served hot drinks.

  Jess chose a table close to a heater and left Rose to thaw out there while she bought two hot chocolates with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.

  ‘You look tired,’ she said as she returned with them to the table. ‘Why don’t you come down to Trevarrick, Mum? We’d love to have you and the change would be so good for you. All that sea air.’ She took off her woollen hat and unwound the deep blue and green home-knitted scarf from around her neck and strung i
t on the back of her chair.

  Rose removed her gloves and began to spoon part of the topping into her mouth. How could she explain to Jess that Trevarrick was the last place she wanted to visit at the moment? Adjusting to life with her memories of Daniel at home was difficult enough. Going to Cornwall would only stir up so many more. She wasn’t ready for them yet. Just thinking of the place brought back those days when the two of them and Terry were doing everything they could to turn the hotel into a viable enterprise. Daniel had been exploding with ideas, leaving the two of them in his wake as he worked with the builders, hammering, plastering, painting. Nothing was too difficult, no problem too big to overcome. His passion to turn the place into somewhere special was tireless. He attended to every detail, from the positioning of the sinks in the kitchen to the hot-water bottles in every room. ‘Every guest should be more comfortable here than they are in their own home,’ he’d say. ‘We mustn’t forget anything.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, tasting the rich sweetness of the chocolate.

  ‘I know you’re afraid of coming back, but I so want to show you those plans I’ve got for the place. Simon’s been down and he’s got some great ideas.’ Jess lifted her mug to her mouth. The electricity from removing her hat had sent wisps of hair flying around her face. Her cheeks glowed from being out in the cold.

  It was hard for Rose to imagine the hotel changed. But the renovations Dan, Terry and she had overseen were old-fashioned now, and, she chided herself, so was her attitude. What would Dan have wanted? She knew the answer immediately. He’d have embraced the changes, modifying or elaborating them as he saw fit. Nothing pleased him more than a project he could get his teeth into.

  ‘Perhaps in a month or so,’ she said, prevaricating, conscious that Jess’s keenness for her to see everything was only so that she’d be persuaded not to sell.

  ‘There’s so much potential.’ Jess could barely contain her excitement. ‘I tell you what. I’ll ask Simon to show you the plans he’s prepared for me. Working with him has really helped me get through the last few months. He’s so sympathetic and knows instinctively what’s needed. His father died recently too, so we had that in common. When you see them, you won’t want to sell up.’

  Rose could hear the plea in her voice. Their daughter’s enthusiasm reminded her so much of Daniel’s all those years ago. Hers was almost as impossible to resist as his had been.

  ‘You see, we could extend the dining room and add an outside deck. And beside it we could build out into a snug, though it won’t be as small as that makes it sound; the whole thing will be much lighter and brighter than what we have now. Much more twenty-first century. He’s even done a plan for a small swimming pool. You’ll see. I know you’ll love it all.’

  ‘Stop,’ said Rose, laughing. ‘You don’t need a swimming pool when you’re right on the beach.’

  ‘Oh, but we do. Some people prefer a pool. It’s not so cold, for a start.’ Jess grasped Rose’s hand. ‘Let him come and show you. Please.’ The ‘please’ was as drawn out as if she was ten again, wheedling a favour from her parents.

  The door opened and a cold blast of air circulated round the shed, nipping at fingers and noses. Adam led in a grinning Dylan, whose face and cornet-carrying hand were plastered with vanilla ice cream. He ran over to Jess, who, laughing, grabbed a tissue and began to repair the damage while Adam got himself a drink. She looked over her son’s brown curls at her mother. ‘Will you?’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Rose. ‘I give in.’ Perhaps seeing the plans would help clear her mind so she could come to a decision.

  17

  The train into London was held up at signals. Beside Eve, a girl about Millie’s age was listening to music so loud that it leaked from her earphones into Eve’s head, where the bass thumped and the vocals shrilled interminably. She tried sitting with a hand over her ear, but it made little difference. Opposite her, an earnest young man with a rash of spots around the top of his collar was leafing through a red-top. His hair was gelled into sharp points, his complexion uneven. He was scratching his nose then let his little finger excavate one nostril. As he was examining whatever he’d speared on the end of his nail, Eve cleared her throat. He looked up, their eyes met and he coloured a satisfying shade of beetroot and stuffed his hand in his pocket. Beside him, a ruddy-faced City type was lying back, eyes shut. Everything about him was redolent of a hard night’s playing away, including the miasma of alcohol that oozed from his pores and could be smelled as far away as Eve was sitting. She wanted to lean her head against the window in despair, but was put off by a slick of grease from the head of a previous occupant of the seat.

  These weren’t the ideal conditions for work, but that wasn’t an excuse. Eve opened her briefcase and retrieved her client list. She had two: the old list, for her eyes only, marked with angry crosses through clients who had moved to Amy and remarks to indicate her various action plans for those remaining; and the new list, for the eyes of others, that was shorter and mark free. It was the older one she turned to now. Sixty-one clients in all, five of whom had been picked off by Amy, another fifteen of whom she had worked with closely and would be obvious targets. Rationalisation. That was key. Eve had decided that if her business was to survive the onslaught of Amy’s attention, she needed to refocus it, to bring on some new writers, attend to the backlist of others and cull the one or two authors she was carrying who took up her time but weren’t paying their way. But what she needed most of all was to pull off a couple of big deals that would put her firmly on the map again and show the world that losing her clients, most particularly Rufus, to Amy had not affected her.

  Her lunch with him two days earlier had been hasty and difficult. She would rather have stayed in her office to talk, but Rufus insisted on going through with their original arrangement. He must have thought that in public he’d be protected from her reaction. So wrong. In the local Thai, over a couple of Tiger beers, an indifferent green curry and a smartingly hot green papaya and squid salad, he had imparted his most shocking piece of news.

  ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’ He concentrated on his finger as he traced a shape on the tablecloth.

  Staring at him, waiting for whatever bombshell he was about to drop, trying not to show that a piece of chilli had just taken out the back of her throat, she couldn’t help noticing that his hair was beginning to recede at last. She grabbed her glass of water and drank. So age and its attendant insecurities touched even him. That must be hard for a man who had passed as much younger for so long.

  ‘Just spit it out, for God’s sake, Rufus. You know I’m unshockable.’ That was far from the truth, but she would put on a good show. She took another drink, swallowing her urgent desire to cough.

  He shrugged his shoulders, screwed his eyes tight, then said very fast, ‘I’ve asked Amy to marry me and she’s said yes.’ He opened them and looked nervously to see her reaction.

  Even now, Eve remembered how her stomach had dropped away. If her chin hadn’t been resting on her hand, her mouth would have fallen open in astonishment. Except she should have suspected. Put a superannuated but successful Peter Pan with a ruthless young go-getter anxious to make her mark and turn your back – what do you expect?

  As she struggled to get to grips with this momentous piece of news, she couldn’t find a way to react. Distress? Scorn? Neither of those adequately represented what she was feeling. Then, from somewhere deep inside her, rolling through her body, came laughter: not a nervous, disbelieving little titter but a full-throated, long-lasting belly laugh. She watched Rufus’s expression change from anxious to surprised, to hurt, to alarmed, and with each one her laughter grew louder. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to control herself. Amy must think she’d had the last laugh, walking away with the star prize. Eve tried hiding her face behind one blue paper napkin after another, but if anything that made it worse. One by one she screwed them up and discarded them on the table. As the paper mountain grew, Rufus tried
to speak to her, hushing her. ‘Eve, please. I didn’t know how you’d take it. Shhhh.’ She’d attempt to adopt a serious face and to have the conversation he wanted, but each time she’d collapse again. The other two tables of diners looked on, one or two of them beginning to laugh along with her.

  Eventually they’d left the restaurant. By this point her hysteria had waned and all Eve felt like doing was crying, but she was damned if she’d give Rufus (or Amy) the satisfaction. She could picture the two of them together, curled up on the vast studded chesterfield in his medieval timbered home, bought with the profits that she had made for him. Don’t be petty, she warned herself, then immediately succumbed to temptation.

  Amy would be sleek in her favourite pink bandage dress, earrings dangling by the edge of her angular jawbone, curled cat-like against Rufus, avid to know Eve’s reaction. ‘What did she say? How did she take it?’

  When she heard about Eve’s laughter, she’d be perplexed, angry even that she hadn’t scored the perfect goal.

  However, the loss of Rufus was a massive blow to the agency. Not just because of the income Eve would lose from future books, but because of the message that it sent out to the world. Publishers and clients would wonder whether losing her authors to Amy, especially her most prestigious one, meant she was on the skids. She could imagine them gossiping about her, speculating on the phone, over lunch. But she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  The day ahead of her consisted of back-to-back meetings and an early-evening drinks appointment. As soon as Rufus had left, taking his profuse apologies with him, Eve had fixed three such days during which she would start to rebuild the confidence in her agency. Her other priority was to find a new client or two who would help lift its profile and hers. But where to start?

  At King’s Cross, she was swept along on a wave of commuters, pressing to get through the ticket barriers and on to the tube. What a horrendous way to begin a day.