‘What? She told you that Simon did it?’
Jules nodded. ‘Uh-huh. He bought the place from her, you must know that, at least, and then he paid for it to be converted. He wanted his own space but he also wanted to be close to her in case anything happened. It seemed the perfect solution. That’s why I said he was a mummy’s boy, but she did admit that she keeps forgetting he’s a grown up and not her baby. She said she’s been a little slow in giving him the space he needs. That’s why she’s decided to go on the cruise. She and Sam always planned to cruise when they retired, but of course he dropped down dead, so that put a spanner in the works.’
Ali couldn’t speak but Sasha did. ‘Bloody hell. He kept that quiet. Where did he get the money to buy her out and then convert the place? That house must be worth a few hundred-thousand. He couldn’t get that sort of mortgage on a teacher’s salary.’
‘Oh he didn’t.’ Jules now seemed to be the font of all Simon-related knowledge. ‘He’s got investments, apparently. His dad left him a share of some company or other, and there’s other money that’s been invested since the day of Simon’s birth. He’s worth a substantial amount of money, so Maggie said. Not as rich as your new boss, but certainly not the poor teacher I always thought he was. Are you OK, Ali? You’ve gone a funny colour. And it has nothing to do with my hair colourants before you say it has.’
‘I … I didn’t know any of this.’ Ali was struggling to take in everything Jules had revealed. ‘He did tell me that his dad had left him an inheritance, made up of some small investments or something, but he didn’t say it was worth anything. And he definitely didn’t tell me about the house and the conversion being his idea or that he had bought and paid for it all. I … I thought we told each other everything. All our secrets. All our plans. Well, what a fool I’ve been. It seems I was the only one spilling my guts whilst he was keeping his whole life a secret from me.’
‘I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ Sasha said. ‘But perhaps he had good reason. He knows your mum. We all do. If she’d known Simon had money, she’d have married the two of you off years ago – and then acted for you in the divorce and left him penniless.’
‘Yeah. And perhaps he wanted to be liked for who he is, not what he’s got. Are you wishing that his proposal had been genuine now?’ Jules asked. ‘Or kicking yourself for not taking it seriously, if it was?’
‘Neither. I’m bloody furious that he’s lied to me all these years. Does he think his money would’ve made any difference to me? He knows how I feel about the whole marriage thing because, unlike him, I’ve been open and honest throughout our entire friendship. Well, some bloody friend he is if all he does is keep secrets. He can damn well sod off. And take his money with him.’
They all fell silent and focussed their attention on their drinks until Jules let out a little cough after several seconds. ‘And on that note, I think it’s about time I washed the colour off your hair.’
Sasha went first because hers was first on and she was followed to the row of four sinks, by Ali, who sat, quietly contemplating what had just happened. Jules chattered away whilst washing Sasha’s hair, clearly attempting to lighten the now sombre mood and, after more Prosecco and a handful of chocolate digestives, Ali wasn’t feeling quite so hopeless about it all.
By the time it was her turn, she was in a far better mood. She would have it out with Simon and tell him how disappointed she was, and, provided he didn’t make excuses and simply told her the truth now, she would possibly forgive him. Men were different to women. They didn’t feel the need to tell their friends everything. It wasn’t lying, exactly. It was more like keeping their own counsel. She and Simon could still be friends. But it wouldn’t be the same. Things had definitely changed. A day really can make a difference. A huge difference.
Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. Simon always got a bit weird when she had a boyfriend and as she would soon, hopefully, be spending more time with Aidan, Simon would’ve given her a bit of the cold-shoulder treatment anyway. He was always there with a shoulder to cry on when things went south on the boyfriend front. But perhaps she wouldn’t need him this time. Perhaps Aidan was ‘the one’. Not that she would marry him or anything. But they could live together, possibly. That might not be so bad. Except she would always need Simon around. She couldn’t really imagine her life without him in it.
‘Sit here,’ Jules said, indicating the chair Sasha had just vacated, and Ali did so, with a smile. The relief on Jules’ face was evident. ‘For a minute there, I thought I’d caused the third World War or something. I thought you’d known about it all along and simply hadn’t told us. Sorry if I’ve ruined your day.’
‘You haven’t ruined my day. Hmmmm. That feels good,’ Ali said, as Jules washed the colour off and massaged Ali’s scalp, adding shampoo and then conditioner.
‘I love having my scalp massaged,’ Jules said. ‘I’m trying to teach Bruce how to do it but the man’s hopeless at it. Which is odd because he’s pretty damn good with his hands in other ways. What he can do … oh holy shit!’
Jules’ chattering came to an abrupt halt and Ali glanced up from her position on the reclining chair to see an ashen look on her friend’s face, and eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into Jules’ hairline.
‘Oh my God, Jules. What’s happened? What’s wrong?’
‘Now I don’t want you to worry, Ali, because it’s not the end of the world. And we can probably fix it with a bit of peroxide and another semi-permanent tint. Only this one definitely wasn’t the semi-permanent one. And it wasn’t even the right colour. Bit of a cock-up it seems. But copper-mahogany definitely suits you and once you get used to it, you might even come to love it. Besides, it’s good to have a change. This could be a whole new start for you. Goodbye to the old Ali. Welcome to the new, improved Ali, who embraces life and change and still loves her friends, no matter what they do.’
Chapter Six
Simon was having a crappy Monday. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. At least his mum was happy, that was some consolation. Although her advice to ‘give Ali a little time and she’ll forget you proposed and made a bit of a hash of it,’ had back-fired, somewhat. And he clearly wouldn’t get the chance to ‘do it properly next time’. Not that he wanted there to be a next time. He was crazy to have proposed. He hadn’t really meant it. Not really. He was simply feeling strange about he and Ali being the only ones from their circle of friends who weren’t engaged or married, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. What concerned him was whether he should say anything to Ali to explain, or whether he should let the matter drop. The last thing on his mind was how to do it properly next time. And he had to face it. It was now abundantly clear there wasn’t going to be a next time anyway.
He always thought he and Ali told each other everything. He thought he was the first person she called when she had good news. He was definitely the first one she called when there was bad. But she’d got the promotion she’d wanted and had she called to tell him? No. She’d gone to the pub with Jules and Sasha instead and hadn’t even texted him to tell him to join them.
OK, so Jules had already told him they were going to the pub when he’d bumped into her as she was coming out of her flat above her salon, and he was buying a Sunday newspaper, but that wasn’t the point. If the paper hadn’t had a large travel section in it, and this week, an extra Travel Magazine, he wouldn’t have been there buying it, and then he wouldn’t have known they were going to the pub. He’d only bought the paper after he and his mum had had a heart to heart and she’d decided he was right. It was time she grabbed life by the horns and went on that cruise she and his dad had always dreamed of.
Perhaps Ali assumed he’d meet them at the pub? Perhaps Jules had said she’d seen him? Even so, Ali should have called. When he had finally spoken to her today, all she could talk about was how nice this Aidan guy was and how thoughtful and considerate. How he wasn’t the ogre she’d imagi
ned but more like a demi-god or something.
Sodding demi-god. He knew what Ali meant by that. It meant she had the hots for this guy and that meant trouble for Simon. It meant he’d spend his days and nights worrying if things were going well. Wondering if the guy was good in bed. Hoping that, as always, the relationship would end before too long – and yet at the same time, wanting her to be happy. Wanting her to finally fall in love. Wanting it to be with someone he thought understood her. Wanting it to be with someone who wouldn’t object to Ali and Simon being friends. Who wouldn’t try to block him out of Ali’s life. Who wouldn’t…
Oh shit.
Why didn’t he simply admit it? To himself, at least.
He wanted it to be him.
Chapter Seven
Aidan sat in a leather chair in his dad’s sumptuous study, nursing a large Scotch whilst his dad stared out the window towards the swimming pool and private 18-hole golf course surrounded by woods beyond.
‘It went well then?’ Greg Rourke asked.
Aidan smiled, even though his father wasn’t looking at him. ‘I think so. I had a proper look around the place and it’s perfect. Exactly what we’d expected.’
‘And this girl? The one you’ve promoted to manager. What’s she like? Apart from being, “a blonde bombshell” as you said.’ Greg turned to his son and grinned. ‘I’ve no objection to you mixing business with pleasure, son, you know that. But will she give us any trouble?’
Aidan tipped his head to one side. ‘No. I don’t think she will. She’s got a good body – I could tell that even covered by the old tracksuit she was wearing – but she’s no genius. She hardly said a word the entire time I was there. If the previous owner hadn’t told us she was so good at her job, I’d have thought she was a bit dim and a complete waste of space. Well, on the work front anyway. On a personal level, I think she’ll be a lot of fun.’
‘So we’ll go ahead as planned?’
Aidan nodded and took a swig of his Scotch. ‘We still need to sort out the purchase of that other piece of land. I can’t believe those bloody lawyers screwed that up. Then we’ll file the pre-planning application to see for certain how things lie on that front. If all goes well, we’ll knock the place down and build as many luxury homes as quickly and as cheaply as possible.’
‘And for now?’
‘I think I might spend a little time, shall we say, doing some groundwork.’
Greg gave a hoot of laughter. ‘You’re a chip off the old block, my boy. There’s no denying that. I hope she doesn’t disappoint.’
‘She’s blonde, a few years younger than me, clearly hopeless with men, if the way she reacted to me was anything to go by, single, and not very bright. What’s not to like? She won’t retain my interest for long, I’m absolutely certain of that, but a few days of sun, sailing and sex is no bad thing.’
‘If she’s got a sister, I might be tempted to join you. You’ll find the older you get, my boy, the younger you want your women to be. Although eighteen’s the limit. Younger than that, and you’re in trouble. Don’t even go there.’
‘I don’t intend to.’
‘When do you plan to go back?’
‘I thought I’d give them a few days to settle. Perhaps Friday. I could go down for the weekend. Take the yacht. Unless you’re using it.’
‘No. It’s Monte Carlo for me. There’s a wealthy old woman staying there, whose daughter I’ve taken quite a fancy to and whose English stately home is virtually falling down. I’m hoping to get my hands on both the estate and the daughter this weekend. There’s also a table in the casino, with my name on it.’ He grinned and held his empty glass in the air. ‘Another?’
Aidan smiled in admiration, got up from his chair and walked towards the 1930s cocktail cabinet, inlaid with pearls and trimmed with gold, purchased, together with the large English estate of a former Hollywood star, during another of his dad’s weekends away.
Chapter Eight
‘Your hair looks lovely, Ali-ba-ba. That colour really suits you.’ Gertie, Ali’s maternal grandmother hovered in the doorway of the dining room when Ali opened the front door of the Warner family home. ‘You look as pretty as a picture. But why the long face, my angel?’
Gertie’s cheery, throaty voice always made Ali smile, no matter what her mood. ‘Thanks, Gertie. It’s so lovely to see you. I was going to pop round tomorrow for a natter and some of your scrumptious cake.’
‘Tabby-cat’s been telling me you got the promotion you wanted. Congratulations!’
Tabitha gave Gertie an icy glare. ‘How many times must I ask you, mother? Please don’t call me Tabby-cat? I’m a fifty-nine-year-old, successful lawyer, not a five-year-old urchin.’
Gertie chuckled as Ali hugged her. ‘You’ll always be my little urchin. You were a lovely child. Shame you grew up to be so angry at the world. Don’t you even have a kind word and a kiss for your own daughter who looks like she needs all the hugs she can get, despite her beautiful hair and super-duper new job.’
‘I’m not angry at the world. I’m angry at that good-for-nothing husband of mine. Soon to be ex-husband, thankfully. And at you for persisting in berating me, instead of showing me some support.’
‘I’m here, aren’t I? Though I don’t know why. You’ve hardly said a word to me since I arrived. I even had to pour my own G&T and I suppose I’ll have to pour myself another.’
Tabitha snatched at Gertie’s empty, crystal glass before smiling wanly at Ali. ‘Hello darling. How was your day?’ She pulled Ali to her and gave her a perfunctory hug. ‘I need a drink. Would you like one?’
‘Er, no thanks. I had a few glasses of Prosecco at Jules’.’ She watched her mum walk into the dining room. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything about my hair, Mum?’
Tabitha turned back to look at her. ‘What’s happened to it? Oh good heavens! Have you dyed it? Are those highlights? Copper mahogany and gold? Was that wise? Don’t tell me Jules did that.’
‘She did. It was supposed to be Strawberry Blonde – and semi-permanent – but it went a bit wrong.’
‘I think it looks lovely,’ Gertie said, giving Ali another brief hug.
‘You would,’ Tabitha responded.
‘It suits her.’
Tabitha stared at Ali before turning away and pouring three large G&Ts. She added ice and sliced a lemon from the bowl of lemons and limes on the cocktail cabinet, dropping one slice in each glass. Carrying them deftly between her fingers, she handed each of them a glass.
‘I said I didn’t want one.’ Ali took it anyway.
‘You may need it. I’ve got something to tell you. That’s why I got Gertie here.’
That sounded ominous.
‘And I thought it was to spend some time with a mother you loved. Silly me.’
Tabitha ignored Gertie’s remark and continued: ‘Let’s go into the sitting room. As much as I’m loathe to admit it, Gertie’s right about your hair. It does suit you, darling, although I’m still unsure about the colour. I can categorically agree it’s not Strawberry Blonde.’ She nodded and, to Ali’s complete surprise, kissed her on the cheek. ‘Yes. It definitely brings out the colour of your eyes. I’ve always loved your eyes. They’re just like your … oh, but we won’t go there. His eyes are what got me into this mess in the first place.’ She marched into the room and plonked herself on one of the large, plush, white sofas.
‘Your attitude is what got you into this mess,’ Gertie said, easing herself down into a matching armchair. ‘Tom’s eyes made you fall in love. Your constant need to be better than everyone else is what made you unhappy. Look at this house. Eight bedrooms? For the three of you? Insanity, that’s what that is.’
‘We bought this house for the views. And the space. And my attitude is what got me to be made a partner of one of the most prestigious law firms in the City.’
‘As nutty as a fruitcake, that’s what you are, Tabby-cat. Partner of a law firm indeed. All that’s got you is long hours, a long commute, an
d a long face, smothered in premature wrinkles. Look at me. My face is still as bright as a button and I’m almost eighty-five. I don’t need any of those eye-bogglingly expensive creams and potions that cover every inch of your fancy dressing table. No wonder Tom hasn’t held you in his arms for ages. You probably kept slipping right out, you’re so covered in grease and goo. You’re as slippery as an eel.’
‘And you’re a mad old woman. That simile doesn’t mean slippery in that sense, it means untrustworthy, a shady character.’
Gertie laughed. ‘And?’
‘I don’t know why I bother.’
‘You don’t bother. That’s your problem.’
Ali stood in the doorway and watched them. She loved her gran, even if Gertie did insist on being called Gertie, not Gran. She loved her mum, too. But listening to them both made her want to cry. Gertie was so kind and loving towards Ali, yet she was sometimes unkind to her own daughter. Ali couldn’t remember it always being like this though. They all used to be happy. They all hugged and kissed and really cared for one another.
Things had been going downhill in her parents’ relationship for some time, but Ali had tried to ignore it in the hope that it was just a phase. A phase they would get through. She hated the fact that her once-loving parents were almost constantly at each other’s throats. Now it seemed, without her even noticing, the relationship between her mum and her gran had gone the same way. It really broke her heart, and without the slightest warning, she burst into a flood of tears.
To her surprise, both her mum and her gran were at her side in an instant, wrapping their arms around her and leading her to one of the sofas.
‘Sit down, darling and tell me what’s wrong,’ Tabitha said.
‘What is it, my angel? What’s happened to make you so sad?’ Gertie coaxed.
‘What’s brought on these tears?’ Tabitha asked, stroking Ali’s face with an exceptionally soft-skinned hand.
It Takes Two Page 6
