‘Mean little cow, aren’t you?’ The easy, good-natured banter was typical of their long friendship and they both laughed. Terry looked at her. ‘By the way, what did you mean when you said you were busy?’
‘Never you mind. Just do me a favour and get lost. The Mayor is looking over here. I’m sure he’s dying to be interviewed by the town’s most dynamic young reporter.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’ Terry glanced across at the Mayoral party. ‘Mmm, maybe you’re right. Cheers, Leah. I’ll bell you.’
As he walked off Tom quietly rejoined her. ‘Is young Grant a friend of yours?’
She glanced up at him. ‘Terry? I’ve known him a long time.’
‘Quite a go-ahead young reporter,’ Tom said, watching the loose-limbed young man in his jeans and leather jacket thoughtfully as he chatted up the preening Masons. ‘Good-looking too.’
‘Is he? I can't say I’ve noticed. Personally I prefer older men.’ Leah raised her eyes to his in the way she’d perfected, practising in her room in front of the mirror. It consisted of a suddenly bold, direct and utterly disarming look. The effect on Tom was instant. He was mesmerised. She watched as he ran a finger round the inside of his collar.
‘It’s warm, isn’t it? Shan’t be sorry to get back to the Town hall for a drink.’
The Council Chamber with its heavy oak furnishings, crimson velvet drapes and portraits of past Mayors could be stuffy, but today the windows had been thrown open and it was welcomingly cool. Leah took a glass of wine from one of the waitresses and looked around the room. Her parents were busy talking to the Mayor and Mayoress. Suddenly Tom was at her elbow again.
‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked. ‘These little sandwiches look nice.’
‘No thanks.’ She watched as he helped himself from the silver tray and munched hungrily, ‘I expect you’d like to get off home for your lunch,’ she observed.
He stopped, his mouth full of half-chewed sandwich. ‘Oh lord, is it that obvious? Between you and me I didn’t have any breakfast and I’m starving.’
‘Poor Tom.’ She smiled at him. ‘Never mind. I daresay your wife will have a lovely roast waiting for you at home.’
He swallowed. ‘Actually she’s away for the day at a gymkhana. I was going to drive out somewhere for a pub lunch later.’ He glanced surreptitiously round the room. ‘I — er — suppose you wouldn’t like to join me? Just for the — er — company, of course.’
She flashed him her most brilliant smile. ‘Oh, Tom, what a lovely idea. I’ll just go and tell my mother.’
He grasped her arm, his eyes anxious. ‘No. Wait. It might be better if you didn’t mention that you’re going with me. You know how tongues wag.’
She nodded conspiratorially. ‘Right. I’ll just say I’m going to have lunch with a friend. Look, I’ll leave now and wait for you in the little car park at the back of the cinema. No one will see you pick me up there.’
‘Right.’ Tom ran a finger round his collar again. ‘It’s not that there’s anything wrong about it, of course. Just that …’
‘I know — tongues wag.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Tom. I’ll be discretion itself.’
The car park at the back of the Astoria was deserted apart from a dusty tom cat raiding the dustbins. Leah hadn’t been waiting long before Tom’s dark blue Jaguar XL bumped across the rutted surface and stopped beside her. He leaned across and opened the passenger door for her. She got in without a word.
The cinema was on the opposite side of the river from the Town Hall which was why Leah had suggested it and, as she had guessed he would, Tom set off smartly, heading south away from the town centre towards the border with Northamptonshire. As they drove she glanced at him. He was quite well preserved for a man in his forties. Studying her parents’ contemporaries, she had noticed that women wore much better than men. Men tended to develop paunches and sagging jawlines somewhere around their late-thirties. For some chauvinistic reason they seemed to feel there was no need for them to make the same effort as women to keep their youthful appearance. But Tom was still quite presentable. He was tall and his body appeared quite firm still. He wore good clothes and still had plenty of hair. Even the touches of silver — something a woman of his age would take pains to disguise — were attractive. Leah liked his sharply trimmed beard too. It gave him a slightly rakish air which she found sexy. No, seducing Tom wouldn’t be too much of a bore, she decided with a sigh of satisfaction.
They lunched at a tiny thatched pub on the outskirts of a Northamptonshire village. Tom pored fussily over the wine list and eventually chose a light fruity Moselle, pronouncing its name and vintage with panache. He had learned about such things on the course he had taken before he opened the new food hall at Clayton’s.
He’s showing off, Leah told herself with a secret smile. He was trying to impress her. That was a good sign. As they ate he relaxed visibly and seemed to lose his sheepish air. Afterwards, as they strolled back to the car in the afternoon sunshine, he turned to her.
‘It seems a shame to go home. Would you like to go on somewhere else?’
‘Fine.’ She smiled up at him eagerly, lips slightly parted. ‘A walk in the country would be nice.’
Tom nodded eagerly and with not a little relief at her choice. No one would be likely to spot them in the heart of the country.
He drove to a quiet leafy lane and they got out of the car to explore. They found a stream and Tom took off his jacket, spreading it for Leah to sit down under the shade of a willow tree. She slipped her arms out of the cream jacket to reveal the lemon camisole top she wore beneath. It was made of a silky material that clung to her body in a way that made it obvious she wore very little, if anything, underneath. Tom’s eyes were drawn as though magnetised to the delicate outline of her breasts. He coloured and looked away hurriedly.
‘It’s very good of you to keep me company like this.’ He pulled at a blade of grass and shredded it thoughtfully. ‘I often spend my Sundays alone. Angela is invariably away at shows and gymkhanas.’
‘It’s not good of me at all,’ Leah said boldly, her eyes on his face. ‘I didn’t come out of kindness. I’m not that virtuous.’
He looked at her, aware of the challenge in the dark eyes. ‘Then why did you come?’
She threw back her head and laughed lightly. ‘I came because I like you, of course, Tom. You’re different.’
‘Different?’ He was clearly flattered. ‘How do you mean? In what way?’
She shrugged. ‘You’re not stuffy like the others. You’re witty — good company.’ She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘I don’t spend my Sunday afternoons with people who bore me,’ she added.
‘I’m sure you don’t.’ He looked pleased. ‘Though I must say I’ve never thought of myself as witty.’
‘You’re sophisticated too,’ she told him. ‘Not like the awful yobbish boys of my own age. You know how to order food and wines. And what clothes to wear.’
‘I’d have thought you’d prefer casual clothes,’ he said, thinking of Terry Grant in his skin-tight jeans and leather jacket.
‘Oh, Tom.’ Leah laughed again. Her neck arched elegantly as she threw back her head and he longed to unplait her hair. To free it from the smooth discipline and see its glossy length tumble luxuriantly down her back. He was struck by the poetic thought that the sound of her laughter was as sweet and silvery as birdsong. She was quite lovely, her lips pink and luscious and her teeth so white and even. He realised he was staring and looked away. Clearing his throat, he said: ‘I daresay you’ll be leaving Nenebridge soon, to find a job.’
Leah sighed. ‘If I can’t find one here, yes. There’s nothing to keep me here now. What I really want is to be a fashion buyer,’ she lied, glancing at him from under her lashes. ‘But I’ll have to train somewhere and I don’t suppose I’d ever get a job like that in Nenebridge.’
Tom’s heart began to beat faster. ‘There’s always Clayton’s,’ he said rashly. ‘We run a day-releas
e training scheme for buyers.’
Her eyes widened in mock incredulity. ‘Clayton’s? That would be marvellous. Oh, but I wouldn’t want to accept any favours just because you and my father are fellow councillors.’ She sighed and lay back on the grass, closing her eyes and linking her arms behind her head. ‘But don’t let’s talk about work now. It’s heavenly here. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.’ She opened her eyes and looked up at him. ‘Oh, Tom, do relax. You’re all tense.’ She patted the grass beside her and after a moment’s hesitation he lay down beside her.
She smiled. ‘There, that’s better.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘Oh dear, I forgot. I’m spoiling your expensive jacket.’ She made to sit up but he reached out a hand to stop her. As he did so his fingers brushed against her and he felt the exciting firmness of one breast. She sank back again slowly, looking at him with eyes huge and limpid and full of promise.
‘Leah — oh, Leah. You’re so …’ Leaning over her, he kissed the soft, full lips, hesitantly at first, then, as excitement loosened his inhibitions, with mounting passion till she pushed her hands gently against his chest. At once he released her, shaking his head.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t — didn’t mean …’
But she laughed softly, ‘I was thinking about the creases in your jacket, silly.’ She slipped the garment out from beneath her and reached up to draw him down to her again. When his lips found hers again he found them opening for him eagerly and her little pointed tongue darting provocatively into his mouth. His hand found its way daringly under the loose camisole top and he caught his breath, heart racing, as it closed around one firm, naked breast. After a moment he allowed the hand to travel the length of her body, over the curve of her waist, pausing on one thigh then progressing to hitch up the hem of her skirt.
‘No, Tom. Not here — not now.’ Leah pushed him away and sat up, stroking her hand over her hair to smooth back the loosened strands.
He flushed hotly and stammered: ‘Leah — I’m sorry.’
She put her fingers against his mouth to stifle the apology. ‘Don’t keep saying it, Tom. There’s no need, really.’ She looked around, shaking her head. ‘It’s just that — here, like this …’
‘I know.’ He helped her to her feet and together they brushed the loose grass from their clothes. Leah slipped her hand into his as they walked in silence back to the car. Tom’s mind was in a whirl as he held the small, cool hand in his. Not here — not now, she had said. Did that mean that at some other time — in some other place …? God, but she was gorgeous. And so sexy. He wanted her so badly.
In the car he looked at her. ‘You’re sure you’re not angry?’
She gave him her smouldering smile and reached out to cup his face and draw it down to hers. Her sharp little teeth teased his lips tantalisingly and she whispered against the corner of his mouth: ‘You’ll have to let your beard grow a little longer. I’ll be getting a terrible tell-tale rash.’
His arms closed around her, drawing her close, and his breath was ragged in her ear. ‘When can I see you again? Soon, Leah. Please. It has to be soon.’
‘Well — I don’t know.’
‘About that job …’
‘I’ve been looking in the Situations Vacant column in the paper,’ she said innocently. ‘I’ll probably have to move away from Nenebridge to get one.’
‘I told you, I can arrange it.’
‘Really? I haven’t seen Clayton’s advertising for staff.’
‘Look in the paper next week,’ he said, nuzzling her neck hungrily. ‘We’ll be advertising then.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Will you really? Good, then I might apply.’
Chapter 3
1978
David Evans decided to take Marie’s advice. After poring for several days over the information she had given him he went to see his bank manager. To his surprise his request for a loan was granted. Mr Shelton, who had advised David and Megan Evans on financial matters ever since they’d first opened ‘Homeleigh’, agreed that the advent of cheap package Continental holidays had brought about a crisis in the hotel trade in small seaside towns. But he had faith in the traditional British seaside holiday and felt confident that, once the public’s appetite for holidays abroad had become jaded, they would gradually drift back to the ‘Homeleighs’ and the ‘Sea Views’. But they would drift back with higher standards. What they would be looking for would be an updated version of what they had enjoyed in earlier years.
‘You’re right not to be complacent about it,’ he told David. ‘It’s the town’s main industry and it’s worth a little investment. The local councils all round the coast have recognised the necessity. They are planning to build indoor leisure centres to make up for our unreliable weather. There’ll be swimming pools complete with mock waves for the children. Restaurants and coffee bars. Indoor bowling and tennis — everything.’ He chuckled. ‘No more trailing about in streaming macs with whining children in tow. What you’re contemplating fits in well with all that, Mr Evans, and I’m sure it will be worthwhile.’
After that things began to move fast. David found a builder who agreed to convert the rooms on the first floor in time for the coming season. Marie wrote letters to all the ‘Homeleigh’ regulars, announcing the new refurbishment and enclosing one of the new brochures they had printed.
But once the wheels had been set in motion David began to worry. He was afraid that when they saw the increased prices his regulars might turn elsewhere. But to his surprise and delight they didn’t. Bookings began to roll in and very soon ‘Homeleigh’ was booked solid for the summer season. The new halfboard arrangements went well too. Marie even persuaded David to go up to London for a weekend course in Continental cooking so that he could expand his menus.
The summer season that year was a hotelier’s dream — week after week of sunny warm weather. The visitors kept coming right through to the end of September and by the time the doors of ‘Homeleigh’ finally closed for the winter David had paid back his bank loan and put enough money by to refurbish the second floor.
‘I owe it all to you,’ he told Marie on the day they closed. ‘And I want you to take a holiday yourself now. You’ve deserved it.’
But she would have none of it. ‘We’ve work to do,’ she told him. ‘There are still the top floor single rooms to convert into bathrooms. It won’t be as costly as the first floor and we can do the decorating ourselves.’
David laughed. ‘Hang on. I need a holiday first even if you don’t. I’m not as young as I was, remember? And I can actually afford one this year.’
‘Then you go and let me get on with things here.’
David had protested but Marie was adamant, insisting that she preferred to be working. She didn’t tell him that a holiday would give her too much time to think. All that summer the sight of couples happily holidaying with their children had torn at her heart. Wherever she walked, on the beach or the promenade, she seemed to see children playing: paddling, digging holes in the sand, sailing boats. Each time her heart contracted. They haunted her, those children. Superimposed on all their faces, she saw those of her two little girls, one dark and one fair — her own children. The aching longing for them, that she had been promised would fade, grew stronger and more painful as the time passed. She wondered constantly where they were and what kind of people had adopted them. They would be going to school now? Would they be clever — pretty — gifted in some way perhaps? It never occurred to her that they might still be without families. So many people were childless — wanting to adopt. Surely her little ones would have found caring, loving homes where they would be well provided for. She wished she could see them — just once to satisfy herself that they were happy and that she’d done the right thing in letting them go. And the knowledge that this was impossible only served to deepen the ache in her heart. But Marie never confided any of this to her employer. She owed him a lot and she would repay him in the very best way she could.
*
Two years later David acquired an acre of land at the rear of the house and built an extension and small swimming pool. Once again it had been Marie’s idea. A licence was applied for and granted and a small bar was included in the new extension. It had an intimate, restful atmosphere with soft lighting and comfortable furniture.
‘Not everyone wants to go to the pubs where they can’t hear themselves think for the juke boxes and the game machines,’ Marie pointed out. ‘And the older folk and parents with young children would be pleased not to have to go into town for a drink of an evening.’
Once again, David had to admit that she was right.
Marie had been working for David Evans for just six years when ‘The Marina’ came on the market. It was a rundown hotel at the wrong end of the seafront; a four-storey, wedding cake of a place with a roof of gleaming blue glazed tiles and a wonderful view of the sea from all its balconied front bedrooms. Marie went to look at it on her day off. She stood looking up at the crumbling stucco and rusting wrought iron. The sea air had taken its toll. The name ‘Marina’, once proudly emblazoned in gilded letters across the seafacing facade, hung crookedly from corroded nails, and the letter ‘M’ had fallen off, leaving its outline behind it like a green ghost. But Marie saw past the sad neglect to the rich potential beneath. From the agent’s handout she saw that ‘The Marina’ had forty bedrooms, an impressive entrance hall and a terrace overlooking the sea. Certainly it was badly run down. To Marie’s own knowledge it had stood empty for two years. She wondered why.
The Long Way Home: A moving saga of lost family Page 4
