Solo

by Jill Mansell

  But whereas his marriage to Antonia had never been restful, meeting Mattie had been like coming home. Her quintessential goodness warmed him like fine old cognac. Only with Mattie was he able to truly relax and be himself.

  Now, hearing her astounding news, he knew beyond all shadow of a doubt that he had been right. Gathering the woman he loved into his arms, he said simply, “Stop crying. I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

  Chapter 48

  Having failed spectacularly in her attempt to impose some form of schedule on Theo Panayiotou—meetings, people, and planes waited for him, it transpired—Tessa soon realized that the promised sittings simply weren’t going to materialize. Constantly on the move, Theo could seldom spare her longer than ten minutes at a time. She was also beginning to wonder whether his mobile phone hadn’t been surgically grafted to his ear.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her, shrugging and giving her his most charming smile, “but this is the way I work. Business is business, Tessa. And I have to be back in Athens by the end of the week. If you really need this much time with me, I’m afraid you’re going to have to travel around and catch me between meetings.”

  It wasn’t ideal by any means, but Tessa knew that he was right. He wasn’t being deliberately difficult, he was just hopelessly pushed for time. “What about Olivia?” she asked. “I can’t leave her behind.”

  “Bring her,” replied Theo with an expansive gesture. “No problem; we have plenty of room. Besides,” he added with a wink, “maybe she will want to follow her father into the hotel business. It will be good training for her, don’t you think?”

  Which was why, the following morning, Tessa found herself leaning against the balustrade of Drumlachan Castle while Theo, holding her small daughter with all the ease of a man who has fourteen nephews and nieces, courteously inquired, “So would you care to tell me, Olivia, whether in your opinion this might be a suitable venture in which to invest? What are your views on this?”

  Predictably, Olivia screwed up her face and bawled. Tessa was amused to note the rapidity with which her screaming daughter was returned to her. Theo, she decided, only really enjoyed the company of females who openly adored him in return.

  At that moment Ross reappeared at the foot of the sweeping stone staircase. “The river’s bulging with salmon,” he told them cheerfully. “And there are red deer grazing on the other side. These grounds are a tourist’s dream.”

  “But not the plumbing,” remarked Theo with a grimace. “Ross, this place is going to need a huge amount done to it. More importantly, the job needs to be supervised. We shall have to have someone in situ. Did you have anyone in mind for this?”

  “I did, I do,” replied Ross, lighting a cigarette and narrowing his eyes against the spiraling smoke. “Me.”

  “What?” said Tessa, so taken aback that she spoke without thinking. Having spent the last hour and a half touring Drumlachan Castle with Theo and Ross, she knew only too well how much work would be entailed in bringing the place up to scratch. The surrounding scenery might be spectacular, but the castle itself, having until recently been family-owned, had fallen into a state of incredible disrepair. “But it’s going to take months!”

  Ross nodded. “Eight or nine I would imagine. Maybe even a year if the weather holds us up.” Then he shrugged. “But we need someone who knows what he’s doing, and Max can manage The Grange in my absence. As I see it, I’m the best man for the job.”

  Tessa, saying nothing more, turned away. Ross’s pronouncement had struck her like a hammer blow, and she was shaken to realize quite how badly she didn’t want it to happen. Having grown used to the fact that he was always around, she had never really considered the possibility that he might—of his own accord—remove himself from her life.

  My God, thought Ross, glimpsing the expression on her face as she turned away and recognizing the proud straightening of her shoulders. She really minds. I’m actually getting to her. Miracles do happen…

  “It’s not as if I’d be emigrating,” he went on, with a barely discernible wink in Theo’s direction. “I could fly back to Bath every few weeks or so for a couple of days. After all, I wouldn’t want Olivia to forget who I am.”

  “Right,” murmured Tessa, no longer trusting herself to speak. She felt as if a part of her had been suddenly and savagely chopped off. It was the most awful sensation, yet in its own warped way it was teaching her a great deal. She was obviously far more deeply involved with Ross than she had been able to admit, even to herself.

  • • •

  “I’m sorry,” said Richard, pale but utterly determined. “But I want a divorce.”

  Ridiculously, Antonia’s first thought was that only Richard would be polite enough, pedantic enough to apologize before he stuck the knife in. It was absolutely typical of him.

  Her second thought was that he had to be joking.

  “Darling,” she said with a tolerant smile, “are you drunk?”

  But Richard simply shook his head. “Of course I’m not drunk. Look, we have to face facts, Antonia. This marriage hasn’t worked out. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that I didn’t have the nerve to admit it, or to do anything about it. I want a divorce.”

  They were sitting at the dining table. Richard’s lunch of poached salmon and broccoli remained untouched; while summoning up the courage to make his announcement, Antonia observed, he hadn’t been able to eat any of it. She herself had almost finished hers. It was all terribly reminiscent of one of those exceedingly English stage plays, she decided. Noel Coward would have approved no end.

  “But, darling,” she said politely, helping herself to another potato from the tureen and taking care not to drop melted butter onto the pristine tablecloth, “I really don’t understand why. I thought we had a perfectly satisfactory marriage. If you’ve been feeling like this, why on earth haven’t you said anything about it before?”

  The other woman, of course, was the reason behind this sudden rebellion. Not having ever had an affair before, Richard was getting carried away. He was testing her.

  Beginning to relax, Antonia refilled her water glass and smiled at him. Now that she had overcome the initial surprise and recognized the situation for what it was, she knew she could handle it. Which was more than poor Richard seemed capable of, she thought with an emotion akin almost to pity; he was perspiring heavily and still as white as a sheet.

  “I’m saying it now,” he said. “And there’s no need to look at me like that, Antonia, because I’m absolutely serious.”

  She shook her blond head, not bothering to hide her amusement and reveling in the fact that she was one up on him. “No, Richard. You’re just absolutely besotted with some other female, and for once in your ordered life you have allowed yourself to be carried away. You see, I know all about your little affair,” she added, her tone gentle, “and I understand. These things happen. The one mistake you mustn’t allow yourself to make is to take it all too seriously. Have some fun by all means, darling, enjoy it while it lasts. But divorce is such a drastic—and expensive—pastime that I really wouldn’t recommend it. It would only end in tears, I can assure you. And I do so hate,” she concluded with a flash of malice, “to see a grown man cry.”

  Richard, rising jerkily to his feet, realized that he couldn’t stay in this house for another minute. Unable to compete with Antonia’s sharp mind and cruel tongue—and caught even further off guard by the astonishing fact that she knew about Mattie—he had to leave.

  “I’m going,” he said. “I shall instruct my lawyer to commence divorce proceedings immediately. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of dragging Ross into it; the divorce will be on the grounds of my adultery.”

  At that moment, the grinding reality of the situation hit home, and Antonia’s stomach lurched. Richard was no Paul Newman, but she relied heavily on him for all the security she so des
perately needed in her life. He was her uncomplaining, indulgent father figure, forgiving of any wayward behavior and providing her with the safety net she needed in order to enjoy life as it should be enjoyed. Without him she would be horribly, scarily alone.

  “Richard, I’m sorry.” Following him upstairs, bitterly regretting her earlier flippancy, she tried to catch hold of his arm. When he flinched away, her alarm grew. He was serious. He really did mean to go through with it.

  “Darling, I shouldn’t have said those things,” she began, “and I know I’ve been a bitch, but I do love you. You can’t just—”

  “All true,” he replied shortly, opening wardrobe doors and flinging shirts, suits, and sweaters onto the bed with quite uncharacteristic lack of concern for their well-being. “And I can just leave. I am leaving. I want to leave.”

  Within no time at all the clothes had been bundled into two suitcases, and he was lugging them toward the stairs. Antonia, staring at the emptied wardrobe—for he hadn’t even closed its doors behind him—realized that she didn’t know what to do next. Mild amusement hadn’t worked. Niceness had been a downright failure. Richard was leaving her—really leaving her—and she couldn’t think of a single way of stopping him.

  She was still sitting there on the edge of the bed when she heard the front door slam. The sound, detonating her anger, catapulted her to her feet. Crossing to the open bedroom window, she stood there and felt her anger spiral to exploding point.

  Richard, hauling the heavy cases into the trunk of the car, didn’t look up.

  “You bastard, you fucking stupid bastard,” screamed Antonia, clutching the window ledge for support. “You’ll regret this for the rest of your pathetic life! I’ll make you sorry you were ever born!”

  Continuing to ignore her, Richard slammed shut the trunk of the car and adjusted his spectacles. He was perspiring so heavily that they had slipped down from the bridge of his nose. Taking slow, measured steps, he made his way around to the driver’s door.

  “I’ll get you,” shrieked his wife, from high above him. “I’ll burn this fucking house down… I’ll take you for every penny you’ve got… You won’t know what’s hit you by the time I’ve finished!” But still he didn’t look up. Grabbing the nearest heavy object—a Caithness glass paperweight—Antonia hurled it with all her furious might, praying that it would smash the car’s windshield and that Richard would storm back into the house. He mustn’t leave… He had to stay and fight…for her…

  But the paperweight, glittering in the sunlight, merely landed on top of the car and bounced off, leaving a slight dent in the roof and a smattering of glass splinters on the hood. Richard, behaving as if it hadn’t even happened, switched on the ignition and put the car into gear. Then, without even so much as a glance up in Antonia’s direction, he set off down the drive.

  He did not, however, get very far. The tension had affected him badly; his hands were clammy, and the venom of Antonia’s words still clung to him, haunting his conscience and at the same time causing him to shudder with relief. He felt hot and cold all at once, and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.

  When the pressure in his chest grew more severe, stiffening the muscles in his shoulders, he realized that he was experiencing some kind of delayed shock reaction. His breathing was more labored; he needed to pull off the road and rest for a couple of minutes, to calm down and compose himself before he saw Mattie. Although he also couldn’t wait to tell her that he had actually done it—that he had walked out on Antonia for good.

  But he had to stop the car before he caused an accident. Spotting a good place to pull over up ahead on the brow of the hill, he forced his aching arms to perform the necessary maneuvers: signaling, changing gear, and hauling the steering wheel to the left. God, it was hard work…but at least the car was now safely parked. All he had to do now was regain control over his breathing and ease the cramping sensation in his chest. If he could manage to adjust the position of the seat, if he could stretch out flat, he knew he would feel better.

  And then the cramping sensation intensified, became knifelike, and he realized that this wasn’t stress at all. Something was seriously wrong. A bolt of pain shot down his left arm, his entire body was cold, yet drenched with sweat, and the Rachmaninov piano concerto playing on the car radio was distorting, ebbing and flowing beneath the buzzing in his own ears. Screwing up his face against the mounting onslaught of pain, Richard knew that he had to get out of the car, attract attention, call for help…but he no longer had the necessary strength. Antonia’s vicious words mingled in his panicking brain with Rachmaninov, and although his eyes were closed he was clearly able to see Mattie, dear sweet Mattie in her pink dress, smiling at him and telling him that it didn’t matter, it was only a cigarette burn, nothing to worry about at all…

  • • •

  Antonia, examining her face in the bathroom mirror, observed with pride and relief that the tears she had shed earlier had left no telltale marks. She hated to cry anyway, so it hadn’t lasted more than a couple of minutes—just long enough to exorcise the frustration and anger. Richard didn’t deserve more than that.

  And now that she was feeling better, and since her eyes weren’t in the least bit reddened or puffy, she was able to smile at her reflection and plan some suitable course of revenge. If she really wanted to hit Richard where it most hurt and cheer herself up at the same time, she decided with detached amusement, what better way of achieving it than by going berserk with the gold cards? How many ludicrously expensive dresses could she buy before hitting the limit on good old AmEx?

  Chapter 49

  Armed with the certain knowledge that Tessa, while still wary, was weakening, Ross redoubled his efforts to finally win her over. And now that he had also discovered the means with which to do it, he felt closer than ever to succeeding. For as far as Tessa was concerned, it seemed that a little jealousy—as long as no other women were involved—went a long, long way.

  “So tell me, what do you think of Drumlachan Castle,” he said persuasively over dinner that evening in a secluded corner of the hotel dining room. “Isn’t it going to be incredible when it’s finished?”

  In the topaz candlelight, his dark eyes seemed more mesmerizing than ever. It was dreadfully unfair, thought Tessa, that just when she most needed to be strong, to maintain that acceptable distance between them, Ross should be looking his absolute best, exuding health, charm, enthusiasm…and a great deal more than his fair share of sex appeal.

  She was torn. Accustomed to speaking her mind, she knew that this was exactly what she mustn’t do now. For those private thoughts were so wildly inappropriate that just thinking them stirred up a helpless, fluttering desire in the pit of her stomach. And Ross, most definitely, must not even suspect that such traitorous emotions existed.

  Which was why she forced herself to smile and say instead, “I don’t know how you even begin to set about turning a moldering old castle into a luxury hotel, but I’m sure it will be incredible by the time you’ve finished.”

  She only half listened to his detailed explanations. Having done it before with The Grange, he was clearly buoyed up by the challenge ahead of him. Ideas flowed, practical answers were supplied to seemingly insurmountable problems, and as his enthusiasm gained momentum, Ross grew ever more expansive. All the time, even as he was roughing out plans on the back of their menu—the maître d’ was going to be thrilled about that—Tessa felt him slipping further and further away from her. And now that he was, she was no longer quite so sure that she wanted him to.

  “…as I said before, it’s going to take a while. If we get planning permission for the golf course as well, I’m going to have to allow for a year away from The Grange. But it’ll be worth it.” Leaning back in his chair, he grinned at her. “Don’t you agree?”

  “It doesn’t seem altogether fair,” ventured Tessa cautiously, “that you should need to abandon y
our own hotel in order to get this one set up, while Theo just leaves you to it.”

  “Ah, well. That’s one of the perks of being a billionaire. He’s providing financial backing; I’m making the whole thing viable. You paint pictures, and I turn old buildings into desirable places to stay. This is what I do best, Tessa. It’s bloody hard work, but it’s fun.”

  She’d never seen him like this before, so engrossed in an idea that he’d even stopped flirting with her. More bluntly than she had planned, she said, “It won’t be fun in February, when there’s six feet of snow on the ground and the electricity’s been cut off for a fortnight.”

  “Which is why,” he replied, unperturbed, “we’ll need our own generator. You see, that’s what makes it so much fun. It’s all about tactics, beating the odds, winning. Shall we order coffee now, or would you prefer some to be sent up to your room?”

  He hadn’t even noticed that she’d taken special care to look nice tonight, she thought with a touch of uncharacteristic pique. She wasn’t exactly proud of herself for having made such an effort, and the fact that he hadn’t even noticed was doubly infuriating.

  Slowly, slowly, thought Ross, employing every ounce of self-control he possessed and smiling at her in what he hoped was a brotherly fashion. She was wearing the black dress in which he had first seen her, just over a year ago now, and its elegant simplicity seemed to suit her more than ever, enhancing the startling emerald-greenness of her troubled eyes and the glossy golden-blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders with such riotous abandon that he could scarcely bear not to reach out and touch it.