Unlike the people around her, she didn’t belong there, forever a guest. She didn’t run into old school mates in supermarkets, or get invited to university friends’ parties or weddings. She had no history with the place. There was no family she drove around to see on the weekends, like everyone in her office did. It was just her on her own.
Still, at least she wasn’t as fucked up as Alistair was. He wasn’t so much like peeling an onion as lifting stones and finding creepy crawlies underneath.
Her mum pottered around the kitchen outside, not terribly quietly. The phone rang and she answered. “Oh, Alistair, no of course I remember.”
Terese’s eyes shot open.
“No, absolutely. It’s been lovely to her around, but I hear the Bahamas are wonderful. We went back in the eighties. I’m sure it’s changed a bit since then.”
Springing out of bed, Terese jumped around trying to get her shorts on, which were tangling around her foot.
“No, she’s here, still in bed, sleepy head. You should come around for lunch.”
“Mother!” Terese yelled disbelievingly.
“That would be great. See you then,” her mum said, hanging up as Terese made it into the kitchen too late.
“Mother, what did you do?”
“Oh, you remember Alistair Cartright, Marcie’s son? He’s coming around for lunch.”
Terese let her head flop back. Urgh. It was a fait accompli now. Her mother would never call back and cancel. How could she explain that Alistair, son of her friend, was not someone she wanted to have lunch with?
“Would you like some tea?”
Her mum actually wanted her to dress up for lunch, but Terese refused and would only wear an olive sleeveless shirt and the white cut off shorts that frayed around her thighs. Her mother’s look of disapproval was assured.
Terese cringed, sitting in a chair outside as the doorbell rang.
“Hello, Mrs. Wentford. How are you?” she heard his voice inside. He sounded so nice when he was behaving. No doubt all the ladies here on the coast just loved him. As far as they were concerned, he was probably the ideal potential son-in-law.
“Excellent. Look at you. It’s nice to see you again. I understand you’ve moved back for a while. Terese is outside. Why don’t you go chat with her while I finish preparing lunch? I hope you like fish.”
“Love fish,” he said.
Terese rolled her eyes and stared out across the view, down the hill covered with other houses and over the shoreline. Her parents’ house was respectable, but not in the same league as the Cartrights’. But saying that, her parents were a little more egalitarian in their thinking. More wealth didn’t necessarily make one better, and she did appreciate that value in her parents. It was a very British value, something that was sometimes lost here.
“Terese,” he said and sat down. He wore pale shorts and a stonewashed blue cotton shirt with a V-neck, and he sat down on the sofa she was on.
“Alistair.”
“Would you like a drink, Alistair?” her mother called. “Terese can get it for you.”
“A beer would be lovely,” he said back, loud enough that she could hear.
With a grumble, Terese rose and went to collect one out of the drinks fridge. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to him. “Thanks for coming over,” she said sarcastically. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”
He crossed his ankle over his knee and took a swig of the beer. She couldn’t believe she had slept with him. It just seemed too abstract.
“Sorry about venting. I was very drunk.”
“Sorry your life sucks.”
He chuckled. “Nice place.”
“They like it.”
“And you don’t?”
Loaded question—one she didn’t know how to answer. The truth was that she didn’t know how she felt about Marbella. This was where she’d grown up, where she called home, but there were also parts of it she completely rejected. “So what’s with the Bahamas?”
“My mum has taken to spending time there. Bought a house and everything.”
“Oh.”
“Come sit,” Mum said. The patio table was covered with dishes, salads, beans, fish and some kind of salsa.
“I hope you like carb-less. My parents are into paleo,” Terese said.
“I’ll survive.”
“I can’t tell you what it’s done for our health,” Mum said. “When you’re our age, you have to pay attention to such things.”
Terese’s father walked out of the house, wearing a pastel polo shirt and shorts. Obviously heading off to golf after lunch.
“Hello, Alistair,” he said. “I didn’t know you were in town. How’s your father?”
“Good. Apparently all excited about Iran.”
“Yes, no doubt. Good man that, never one to let an opportunity go.”
Mum served the food and they quietened while they ate.
“That was delicious,” father said, checking his watch, “but I have to run. We’re teeing off in ten minutes.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and wandered inside.
“He always cuts it a bit fine,” mum said and started clearing away. “Why don’t you two chat for a while? I need to go hang up the laundry.”
“Mum’s been planning to invite you all around for dinner one night,” Alistair called as Constance was walking away.
“Oh, that would be lovely.”
“Do you get the feeling we’re being set up?” he said when she was out of earshot.
Terese cringed with embarrassment, having no idea how to respond, because yet, her mum was definitely getting out of the way so the ‘young people’ could spend some time together.
“When are you heading back to Berlin?”
“A couple of weeks.”
Now there was awkward silence as if neither of them knew what to say. “I heard Felix’s sister has gone into rehab.”
“News travels fast.”
“From what I hear, it’s Felix that could use a stint.”
“I think Dominic has probably given up on Felix.” Alistair’s leg bounced as if he was agitated. “So, look, I’m sorry for being an utter prick. I’m having a bit of a ‘what the fuck’ at the moment.”
“Okay, well, good luck with that.”
“Oh, claws and teeth.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Alistair shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve got to figure something out.”
“I thought you were an all-out city type.”
“I was, but it stopped working for me.”
“Go to Goa and become a hippy. I can see that working for you.”
An expression passed over his brows, but she couldn’t quite tell what it was. But no, she could not see Alistair becoming a hippy type. Never in a million years.
“Jasper’s having a bit of a party thing in a couple of days. Why don’t you come?”
Terese grimaced.
“Jillian is going to be there,” he continued, which was a little disconcerting as he apparently knew how much she’d enjoyed meeting Jillian. “And Parmi could come with you, of course.” Parmi would love being invited to that party. In fact, Terese wouldn’t hear the end of it if she said no.
“That’s called entrapment.”
He smiled as he rose, putting his aviator sunnies on. “I’ll text you the details.”
As he walked inside, she couldn’t help staring at his retreating back. What had just happened? Why had he invited her to this party? Was this an apology for being so utterly weird? Or was this all some new form of revenge in getting her mum all excited about a young man coming to lunch, obviously there to see her? Her mum would go on about Alistair for years, damn him.
Chapter 60
In a nicely shaded spot, Cheryl stood with a small tin of white paint and a brush. The large wooden picture frame, stripped of its picture stood against a tree, sitting on a piece of cardboard.
“Mum, there’s some man at the door,” Dylan yelled.
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br /> Who could that be? Although she only knew one person that had a tendency to drop in unannounced. Putting the paint tin down, she grabbed the piece of cloth she used to wipe paint with, but it did nothing to clear off the splotches on her hands. She wore an old pair of shorts and a jeans shirt over a tank top. Hardly dressed to receive company.
Dominic Dunbury appeared through the back French doors leading into the backyard, dressed in a suit, as always. He held an envelope in his hand. With a small groan, she walked to meet him. “Your copy of the contract, signed and notified.”
“Hello to you, too,” she said and he almost looked taken aback. “Customary greeting when entering someone’s house.”
His gaze travelled down her. “I see you are working.”
“Painting,” she said. He walked past her, looking around the space. He really wasn’t a typical man who waited to be invited. No, he just walked in.
“Are you going to gild it?”
“No. I am going to leave it white.”
“And what are you going to put in it?”
“Nothing.”
“It is a picture frame. Worthless as an antique, but the general consensus is that a picture goes inside it.”
“Well, I like the frame. So I will appreciate it for just the frame.”
“Singular,” he said.
Zoa brought out a pot of coffee. Cheryl hadn’t asked her to, but she had done it anyway. They’d had some last time, so Zoa had probably assumed the same would be required.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? And yes, it is cheap crap. Probably the dregs of what the coffee world has to offer and tastes absolutely awful, but you’re welcome to some.”
He turned to her. “You think I’m arrogant.”
“I’m not sure what I think is entirely relevant,” she said, taking a seat at the small, round table, pouring herself a cup of coffee, then him.
He sat down as if he was half committed. “I could perhaps be accused of having high expectations. And there are typically associations that go together. For example, an antique frame, even an ugly one, goes with an antique painting.”
“Not everyone believes in such rigid associations.”
“Rigid,” he said with a snort, looking away, across the orchard that sat along the house. “Structure is necessary for getting things done. The world wouldn’t work without it. Not something you entirely subscribe to, do you?”
“I subscribe to what pleases me.”
“Did you wake up one day and decide to move to Marbella?” he asked, taking the coffee cup by the ear, but stopping its ascent to his lips to notice the photo of Marilyn Monroe’s famous vent scene. Some like it hot, the writing on the cup said. “Tacky.”
Cheryl smiled tightly, wondering if she could just explode and throw him out of the house, just like she had last time. “Exactly how I like it. And yes, I did wake up one day and decide to move to Marbella. Is that how you decided to move your company here?”
He snorted. “No, it was a much more considered affair. Tax implications, transport links, political associations. All were considered.”
“Still, same result though, isn’t it?”
He raised his eyebrows.
The jarring sound of glass crashed into her ears and a cricket ball came flying out one of the upstairs windows. The remnants of the window pane crashed to the ground. Grace screamed at someone inside the house. “Your life is somewhat chaotic. Is that how you like it, too?”
“It is, actually. Did you come here to pass judgement on me? Exactly why are you here? This could have been mailed to my solicitor.”
“I was in the neighbourhood.”
Cheryl looked unimpressed. This was not the kind of neighbourhood people like Dominic hung in. In fact, only farmers hung out in these parts.
“I felt like doing for a drive,” he said, perhaps a tiny bit sheepishly.
“Sorry, Mum,” Tim yelled out the window. “It was Dylan’s fault.”
“Was not,” Dylan roared from behind his brother. “Tim’s a liar. Lair!”
Tim disappeared and by the noise, she could tell they were fighting. She felt embarrassed that they kept on living up to Dominic’s accusation.
“You really should discipline them,” he said.
“Should I, really? How are your kids?” she said sharply. “Kids seem to run riot no matter what you do. They either get it over now, or they do it later. I think I prefer they get it out of their system now.”
Dominic’s face was impassive, his lack of approval almost oppressive. Was that how he got people to do what he wanted? “I am not trying to criticise.”
“Actually, I think that was exactly what you were trying to do. There is nothing about me you haven’t criticised—my clothes, my business, my ambition, my art, my children. Is there anything we have missed?”
“Well, you appear to be floundering, Miss Waters. Should I just ignore that fact?”
“I’m not floundering. I’m perfectly happy with my life. It obviously doesn’t meet your approval, but I will just have to pull myself together and live with that crushing blow.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
Cheryl checked herself, feeling the anger pumping in her blood. This was the man in charge of a bulldozer lined up to tear down her business. Yes, she had a contract, but that didn’t mean much to someone like him. To him, it was just a fine at the end of the day, so she probably shouldn’t antagonise him. But he was so damn rude. How could she just grin and bear it?
“Thank you for delivering the contract,” she said, trying to calm her voice. “Now, unfortunately, I have to try to find a glazier.” She felt embarrassed and wished he’d just go. His constant disapproval hung around like a cloud.
“I could send over one of my contractors to take a look,” he offered. “They are working today, so it wouldn’t be a huge imposition.”
It would be so easy to say yes and have it fixed in the snap of fingers, but it would be too mortifying to ask his help. “I think I’ll manage.”
“Do you think you’ll find a glazier to come on a Sunday? In Spain?”
“I’m sure it can wait until Monday.”
“You could just accept my help,” he said, leaning back and crossing his legs. “I think accepting my help makes you feel really uncomfortable.”
“I don’t like being beholden to people.”
“Hence, perhaps the floundering.”
“Not floundering. I just have a very different perspective on how to live life than you.”
Chapter 61
Things sat uneasily with Paul. Even he had heard the gossip about Cheyenne that seemed to spread like wildfire. He’d heard it at an afternoon tea he’d been invited to with some of the school’s patrons. ‘That dreadful creature’, they’d called her. Well, yes, he had to agree, but he had reason to. She actually had injured him.
Perhaps she had injured others as well; he couldn’t doubt it. But the rejection of Cheyenne had, for all intents and purposes, gone viral, and over such a simple thing. Dominic Dunbury had passed on her and then it was all-out war on her. Something about it sat uncomfortably, but maybe it shouldn’t.
Cheyenne had to reap what she’d sown. The action seemed collective though, and it seemed as if a switch had been tripped and Cheyenne was now pushed out. Even mice, in sufficient numbers, could take down a lion.
Like everyone else, he should turn his back and mutter it was just desserts—swift justice delivered by the collective society.
With a sigh, Paul turned his car around and headed back in a direction he didn’t really want to go, but he knew no one else would.
He drove up the hills and pulled over outside Cheyenne’s house. The housekeeper opened the door. “Outside,” she said and walked away.
Walking through the house, he saw her on the sun lounger, wearing something he’d never seen her in before, yoga pants and a light hoodie. With her legs crossed, she was smoking a cigarette.
“I didn’t know you smoked
,” he said, looking out over the still pool. It was a lovely place, much grander than his own little house down in one of the valleys. It seemed awfully big for one person, but size did not equate to need around here—at least not in the way he measured it.
“I don’t. It’s awful for the skin. What do you want?” she said as if he was being tiresome, stubbing the cigarette out. “Actually, I don’t care, just go away.”
She wasn’t wearing makeup and she looked so much younger without it. “Just thought I’d see how you’re doing.”
“How do you think I’m doing?” Leaning forward, she started crying. “Those horrible bitches are always so cruel. They tear down everything I’ve built and they do it with glee.”
Paul sat down and sighed, suspecting that even if he highlighted that maybe she’d brought it about with her behaviour, she wouldn’t accept that. She was like a child, feeling the retaliation of other people, but refusing to accept her part in it. Still, she was suffering.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“What are you sorry for? You probably wanted this more than anyone.”
“Believe it or not, I actually don’t. Well, that’s probably not entirely true. Like a lot of people, no doubt, I wished you’d get what was coming to you.”
“I don’t deserve this. They sit there in their houses, thinking they’re better than everyone. They think they’re entitled, but not me. That’s what they’ve always thought.” She lay down and tucked her knees up. “You just can’t win with them. They stack everything in their favour, even when they lose. It’s completely unfair.”
He couldn’t quite agree. Society maybe should expel the predators in their midst, but then, maybe this was more a case of predators fighting for territory, and Cheyenne had lost. Sometimes the wily predators beat the stronger one. “It’s a tough game,” he said.
“When I find out who’s behind this, I’m going to destroy them,” she mumbled.
“Isn’t it best to focus on success,” Paul said hopefully. “Isn’t success the best form of revenge?”
She grumbled. “Not nearly as satisfying. What am I going to do? Every single person in Marbella treats me like I’m a leper. I won’t even get invited to the opening of a gate.”
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