Christmas at The Little Duck Pond Cafe: (Little Duck Pond Cafe, Book 3)

by Rosie Green

  I run into Jaz in the hall and ask her if she’s seen him.

  ‘Ethan?’ She frowns, pointing outside. ‘He went that way. In a big hurry.’

  ‘Right. Maybe he’s trying to get a signal. The bastard.’

  Jaz looks stunned, as if she mustn’t have heard me correctly.

  I run outside, almost twisting my ankle in my high heeled shoes, just in time to see him get into a taxi. The wheels crunch on the gravel and I watch in fury and dismay as Ethan is borne away from me, along the winding driveway to the road, heading for who knows where . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN

  I phone his mobile but it’s now switched off.

  So I stand just outside the entrance for a while, gazing up at the snow swirling around me.

  It should be a really gorgeous moment, this. One to remember. But all I can feel is a heavy sadness. Even stronger than my disgust at Ethan is a feeling of utter disbelief at myself that I could have been so utterly taken in by him. I feel sick and ashamed - and devastated that my lovely evening is in tatters.

  I can’t bear to go back into the party on my own. So after trying his phone again with no luck, I walk across the gravel to the edge of the lawn, folding my arms against the freezing night air and wondering what to do. I need some answers. I need to know if Ethan ever felt anything for me. Or if his interest in me was all just motivated by the chance of a quick shag at some opportune moment! Like Cressida in the village hall office.

  A noise attracts my attention. It sounds like someone crying and glancing across the lawn, I notice there’s someone sitting on the wrought iron garden bench there, huddled into a big coat.

  As I walk over, the person – a dark-haired woman who looks in her mid-twenties – sits up straight and wipes her eyes at my approach. She looks warily at me.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I produce a paper hanky from my bag and hand it to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, she takes it and gives her nose a noisy blow.

  Then she smiles wanly up at me – and I stare in surprise because I know who she is. I’ve seen her before, in the bar of the Swan Hotel.

  It’s Alicia, who Ethan says is stalking him.

  I see a flash of recognition in her eyes. ‘I saw you with him,’ she says. ‘He was kissing you in the bar.’

  ‘And you’re Alicia.’

  She nods and we stare at each other for a moment.

  ‘I needed to talk to him that night but I didn’t want to spoil your date, so I just left.’

  ‘Right.’ So she did see him, despite the fact Ethan tried to hide from her. ‘Did you manage to get hold of him after that?’

  She gives a bitter little laugh. ‘No. Ethan’s like the Scarlet Pimpernell - nowhere to be found, particularly when he’s feeling guilty.’

  ‘Why should he be feeling guilty?’

  Oh God, maybe this woman is delusional. As far as Ethan is concerned, she’s the one who should be feeling guilty for following him around like this.

  She shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘How did you know he’d be here?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘I went to the Swan Hotel bar, hoping he’d be there, and someone told me he was here, at a party.’ A sheepish look comes over her pretty face. ‘I would never normally do something like this – go to a stranger’s home looking for someone – but he’s driven me to it.’ She laughs mirthlessly. ‘It’s amazing what desperation will force you to do. But he won’t take my calls, so what can I do?’ She shrugs hopelessly.

  I sit down beside her. ‘Do you want to get back with Ethan? He told me you went out a while ago.’

  She laughs, a hard, abrupt sound, filled with disbelief. ‘He told you we went out?’

  ‘Yes.’ A feeling of dread creeps through me. ‘Are you saying you weren’t a couple?’

  ‘Oh, we were in a relationship all right. We went out for a year and then we got married.’

  I stare at her, feeling as if I’ve been punched in the stomach.

  Ethan was married to Alicia?

  I study her face, trying to gleam the truth from her expression. She might be making it all up. A fantasist.

  I swallow hard.

  The thing is, I actually believe her. Especially now the scales have well and truly fallen from my eyes as far as Ethan is concerned.

  ‘He never told me he’d been married.’ I say slowly.

  Alicia smiles sadly. ‘There’s probably a lot of things he hasn’t told you. Like we first me when he came to live next door to me in Nottingham and I introduced him to the local amateur dramatics club.’

  I stare at her. ‘Wait, that was you? He said it was a woman called Elsie who he still sends a Christmas card to.’

  She laughs bitterly. ‘No, it was me, who he eventually married. And by the way, we still are. Married.’

  ‘Right.’ I stare at her. This just gets worse and worse . . .

  ‘Ethan said you have a flat in Guildford.’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. I still live in Nottingham. I’m staying with an old friend here just now.’

  ‘And are you getting a divorce?’ I ask, wondering how on earth I can sound so calm when the world I thought I knew is crumbling around me.

  Is anything Ethan told me the actual truth?

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She nods firmly. ‘I wish to God I’d never met Ethan Fox.’ She gives a big, shaky sigh. ‘Once the finances are settled, I hope I’ll never have to see him again.’

  ‘The finances?’

  She bows her head. ‘Ethan owes me money,’ she says quietly so I almost don’t hear her. ‘But he’s refusing to answer my calls, which is why I’ve been forced to try and track him down. I thought if I showed him the scan picture, he’d understand why I need that money.’

  My heart lurches. ‘The scan picture?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Didn’t he tell you?’ She looks up at me, her eyes haunted. ‘No, of course he didn’t. He’s claiming it’s not his. That I must have slept with someone else. But I haven’t.’

  As I stare at her in horror, she lays a protective hand on her belly.

  ‘It’s definitely his baby. Ethan’s going to be a dad.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Stunned, I plop down on the bench beside her. Either Alicia is a compulsive liar – or Ethan is.

  And right now, I’m tempted to believe Alicia. There’s a directness about her that’s telling me everything she’s told me is the truth.

  I stare over at the manor in a daze. The house looks so beautiful from here. Like a Christmas card.

  The snow-machine, thanks to Dad, is doing a fine job of transforming a cold winter’s night into a fairytale winter wonderland. Snow is falling gently down, catching the glow from the two Christmas trees, one on either side of the main door.

  The guests are loving it.

  But I’ll always remember it as the night I had a truly rude awakening. Because instead of Mr Darcy, the man I placed high up on a pedestal would appear to have far more in common with the book’s anti-hero, the slimy scoundrel George Whickham.

  ‘I got a taxi here,’ says Alicia. ‘I suppose I’d better order another one to get me back to my friend’s house in Sunnybrook.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ I decide on the spur of the moment. I need to find Ethan. Talk to him and make him tell me the truth. I’ve a feeling Alicia is an honest person, but I still need to hear Ethan’s side of the story.

  Alicia phones for a taxi while I dash inside for my coat and bag, and to find Mum to explain.

  ‘Ah, Fen. Excellent,’ she says when I run into the hall. ‘Can you help your dad move the snow machine to the little copse of fir trees over there?’ she asks, pointing to the side of the house. ‘Harry’s going to take some photos of us all and I thought that with the fir trees and the snow, they’d look so pretty and Christmassy.’

  I shake my head. ‘Sorry, Mum, I wish I could but I’ve got to go.’

  She frowns. ‘Go where?’

  ‘Sunnybrook. I’m getting a taxi b
ut I’ll be back later.’ I start edging for the door. I told Alicia to start walking to the main entrance and I want to catch up with her and ask her a few more questions.

  ‘But why?’ calls Mum, looking bewildered.

  ‘Erm . . . it’s complicated. Ethan’s had a bit of an emergency and I’ve got to go and find him.

  She calls something else but I’m already running out of the main entrance.

  Dad is outside, dismantling the snow-machine in his dinner suit, starched white shirt and bow tie. It occurs to me he must love Mum a whole lot to undertake such a job at this time of night, dressed in his party gear.

  ‘Sorry, Dad, I’ve got to dash.’ I feel bad leaving him.

  He straightens up. ‘Dash where?’

  ‘To the taxi. I’ve got to find Ethan. I’ll help you when I get back, though?’ I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and start walking briskly down the driveway, after Alicia.

  We’re silent on the drive to Sunnybrook.

  My head is in a whirl of confusion. If I’m to believe all that Alicia has told me, I’d have to conclude that Ethan is one of the biggest snakes I’ve ever come across.

  But I’ve got to know him quite well over the past few weeks, and I really can’t believe that he’d behave quite so despicably towards his ex . . .

  When we reach our destination, we split the fare meticulously, including a tip.

  ‘I’m going back to my friend’s house,’ says Alicia when we stumble out of the taxi outside The Swan Hotel.

  ‘Aren’t you going to look for Ethan?’

  She shivers. ‘I don’t think I’ve got the strength to challenge him about the money tonight, even if I did track him down.’

  I nod, sitting down on a nearby bench, feeling a little overwhelmed myself. Only after Alicia has gone does it occur to me that I know the street where Ethan lives but not the actual number.

  Then I recall that before he agreed to come with me to the Snow Ball, he said he’d been invited to a birthday bash at The Swan.

  I glance up at the invitingly cosy windows of the hotel, the lights of the Christmas tree inside flashing red, green and gold. It’s worth a try, I suppose.

  I head inside and ask where the birthday party is being held, and I make my way to the function room. I can’t help thinking I’m on a fool’s errand here. There’s no way Ethan would desert me at the Snow Ball, escape from Alicia, then go straight on to another party!

  I push open the door. The lights have been turned down low for a smoochy number and couples are moving slowly around the dance floor, a glitter ball above them.

  The first person I see is Cressida.

  I almost turn straight around and head out. But something stops me.

  I switch my attention to the man she’s clinging to. Their bodies are moulded together as if they’re imitating a nude Greek statue.

  The man, who currently has his back to me, is wearing a formal dark suit, his dark hair curling over the white collar of his shirt. Cressida slides her hand up under his jacket and I get a good view of his bum.

  My stomach drops a dozen feet, like it’s fallen down a well.

  Oh. My. God.

  I suppose a part of me still wanted to believe, travelling here in the taxi, that there’d been some big misunderstanding. That Alicia was the one telling the lies. That Ethan wasn’t so bad after all.

  But there’s the evidence, right in front of my eyes.

  The stirring Dam Busters theme bursts into my head. There’s been no misunderstanding. Ethan is that snake.

  I’ve been a complete and utter bloody fool . . .

  *****

  I stumble away and blunder into the Ladies. And I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how I could have been so stupid.

  The pink brocade dress doesn’t even suit me. I can see that now. It just looks as if I’m trying too hard. And my make-up is wrecked and running down my cheeks. I scrub my face with a hand towel then walk through to reception and sink down onto a sofa in the corner, still feeling stunned, staring at the fairy lights on the Christmas tree until they join into one colourful blur before my unfocused eyes.

  When my phone rings, at first it fails to register.

  Then I pull it out of my bag with a trembling hand and look at the name on the screen.

  Rob?

  This brings me back to reality.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Fen. Where are you? Your mum said you’d disappeared off somewhere.’

  ‘I’m – erm – I’m in Sunnybrook at The Swan Hotel. Why?’

  ‘Fen . . . your dad’s been taken ill. Your mum’s gone with him in the ambulance.’

  ‘What?’ My heart leaps with fear. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  There’s a pause at the other end. ‘They think he’s had a heart attack.’

  A cold hand grips my insides. My head swims and I clutch at the arm of the sofa.

  Heart problems run in the family and my granddad died after having two attacks, one quickly following another, when he was only forty-eight years old.

  Dad is fifty-three . . .

  ‘Stay where you are,’ Rob orders. ‘I’m coming straight over to get you.’

  Then he rings off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  True to his word, Rob’s car pulls into the kerb outside the hotel in what seems like just minutes later. He must have got straight in the car after he spoke to me.

  I slide gratefully into the passenger seat.

  ‘You okay?’ he murmurs, and I shake my head, shivering violently despite the heat in the car. ‘No, of course you’re not okay,’ he admonishes himself. ‘Stupid question.’

  He shoves the car in gear and we race off into the night.

  It feels unreal, as if I’m watching the drama happening to someone else. Signs for the hospital keep flashing by but it’s as if I’m numb inside. I want to just stay in this car, being driven along by Rob, and never get to the hospital. Then I won’t have to deal with what I might find there.

  It’s only after Rob’s parked the car and we’re approaching the main entrance, and I see Mum standing just inside waiting for us, that the full force of what’s happened hits me.

  I run through the revolving doors, fear catching in my throat at the sight of Mum’s pale, stricken face. We hug but break apart quickly so we can talk.

  ‘How is he? Was it really a heart attack?’ I ask. ‘Can I see him?’

  She nods. ‘Of course you can, love.’ She gives a wan little smile. ‘Your dad’s not going anywhere. Not at the moment.’

  I swallow hard and glance back at Rob, trying and failing to keep the tears from falling.

  Rob comes over and for a second, I feel his warm hands gripping my arms. ‘I’ll head off now, Fen. But if you need anything, you or your mum’ – he glances across at her – ‘I can be back here in a flash, okay?’

  I nod, the lump in my throat growing bigger.

  Then I start walking with Mum down endless corridors that smell of disinfectant. She’s walking really fast and I find myself having to half-run to keep up with her.

  ‘Where’s Rich?’ I ask. ‘Is he here?’

  She nods. ‘I got in the ambulance but Rich nabbed a waiting taxi and said he’d find you and follow the ambulance. But of course you were nowhere to be found. Then Rob called to say he was on his way to fetch you and Rich got the taxi along here himself.’

  I feel a stab of guilt. Leaving the party and chasing after Ethan as I did had made things difficult for Mum and Rich. I feel terrible.

  Then something else occurs to me. Something much worse.

  Mum told me to help Dad move the snow machine.

  What if I’d stayed behind and done what she asked, instead of getting into that taxi with Alicia? Would it have made a difference? Would it have saved Dad the strain of moving it himself?

  But I don’t have time to think about this because now we’re arriving on the ward. And there’s Rich, standing stiffly by a curtained cubicle, his dinner jacket a
nd loosened tie looking oddly out of place. The green curtain has been pulled back on this side.

  I see a figure lying in the bed.

  The sight of Dad is a shock. His eyes are closed and his pallor is grey, and he looks so frighteningly vulnerable just lying there, wired up to the machines that are keeping his heart beating.

  A nurse comes in and checks the readings on the various machines, and I want to ask her if he’s going to survive this, but my tongue seems stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  ‘Dr Neville will be along shortly,’ says the nurse with a sympathetic smile. ‘He’ll be able to answer all your questions.’

  ‘Are you okay, Rich?’ I ask when the nurse leaves.

  He shakes his head. ‘Yeah. I can’t believe it.’ He stares mournfully at Dad.

  My brother is rarely at a loss for words. Seeing Rich so stunned brings it home to me like a punch to the stomach that we could lose Dad. At any moment, his fragile heart could give up under the strain.

  ‘He’s going to pull through,’ says Mum firmly.

  I glance at her, swallowing on the big lump in my throat. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Your dad’s a fighter and he’s basically a strong, healthy man.’

  I nod and glance at Rich, but he seems unreachable; lost in his own private hell.

  ‘Dad’s never smoked and he hardly drinks,’ I point out.

  Mum nods eagerly. ‘Plus he walks a lot and eats a healthy diet.’

  ‘Apart from his obsession with Yorkie bars,’ I remind her, trying to lighten the mood. ‘But yes, Dad’s a really healthy man. That’s bound to make a difference to his – erm - recovery.’

  She looks at me with a scared but hopeful smile. And I suddenly realise that Mum, who’s usually the strong one, is looking to us for reassurance.

  I’ve never seen Mum cry. Not even in front of her closest family. She doesn’t like to show weakness. Even now, her eyes are dry, although I can see the fear in her clenched fists and the way she keeps clearing her throat slightly every time she speaks.

  ‘I’m going to get a coffee,’ says Rich suddenly. ‘Anyone?’

  We both shake our heads and Rich walks quickly from the room as if he’s desperate to be anywhere but here.