Never Too Late

by Alyssia Leon

  She turned the corner and the first she saw of the man was a dark-suited lump sprawled in front of the cottage. His face was tucked against his chest, but she immediately recognized the unkempt ginger-grey hair.

  “Martin!”

  She sprinted the rest of the way, dropped to her knees beside him, and panicking, raised his ruddy sweat-soaked face, desperately checking for a reaction. Thoughts of calling an ambulance flashed through her mind until she heard a soft snore rumble through him.

  Instant relief flooded her. He was asleep, not dying. Then the smell surrounding him slowly registered, an old fruity smell, like over-ripe cherries. Nate’s wine. Martin was drunk. That’s what he was. Just plain old sozzled.

  Shaking her head, she regarded his slumped form with a critical eye. She couldn’t leave him to sleep it off out here. She needed to get him inside. And lifting his face again, she tapped his clammy cheek. “Martin. Martin.”

  He stirred, muttered something and dropped back into deeper snores.

  She raised her voice. “Martin. Wake up.”

  “Huh? What?” Blinking bloodshot eyes, he looked around him before finally focusing on her. “Molly?”

  “You fell asleep. On my doorstep. You’ve got to come inside.”

  “I did?” he slurred, blinking owlishly at her.

  With a frustrated breath, she manoeuvred her slim shoulders under his heavy arm, trying to get him to stand up. “Inside, Martin,” she puffed. “Get inside the cottage.”

  With a grunt, he pushed himself up off the ground. She helped as best she could, supporting his considerable heft on her shoulders. After some scrabbling on his feet as he tried to find his balance, he was standing, leaning against the cottage wall, and she steadied him from the other side.

  “Where have you been all this time?” she asked, fiddling at the front door with her free hand. It was old and had a habit of sticking, and sometimes needed two hands to open it, but finally it swung open.

  “Headache,” Martin muttered, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face.

  She pulled at him, and like a brainless zombie he shuffled inside, occasionally leaning on the doorframe and then the wall, but more often leaning on her for support.

  With some effort, she managed to manoeuvre him into the little living room. They had only one couch there. It was covered in red and yellow floral chintz and was barely big enough for two people. The two armchairs opposite were plainer, with faded rose-pink upholstery, but they looked like they would each fit only half of him. She pushed him on to the couch and he collapsed down with his head on one armrest and most of the length his legs dangling over the other. He was practically falling off. Not that he noticed, because he promptly closed his eyes and started snoring again.

  She looked at the squashed weight of him and groaned. “This won’t do. I’m going to have to get you upstairs.”

  Her narrow bed was barely better than the couch once she somehow managed to manhandle him up the stairs to her room, but she had nowhere else to put him. Nan’s larger double bed was out of the question. Nan would shudder at the thought of a sweat-soaked Martin rolling around in her nice clean sheets.

  Gritting her teeth, she turned a blind eye and nose to the pungent reminders of wine and sweat and just tried to make him comfortable. She removed his shoes, belt, and jacket, but stopped short of the sweat-marked shirt and crumpled trousers, merely undoing his shirt’s top button. He tried to help in a sleepwalking kind of way, but his sleepy fumbling was more of a hinderance, and in the end, she swatted his clumsy hands aside and tucked him up under the covers all by herself.

  Exhausted, she straightened and stretched her back as he slept. His barrel-like six foot plus frame filled the entire length and width of her single bed like lumpy cake dough overflowing its pan.

  He stirred then, and one of his grey sock covered feet freed itself and poked out from beneath the top sheet. She moved to tuck him back in.

  But when she touched his foot, he opened his eyes and looked around him in a blinking daze. “Where am I?”

  “My room, Martin,” she snapped, standing over him with her hands on her hips. And for good measure added, “You’re drunk.”

  “Can’t stay. Got to…” He struggled to sit up.

  She pushed him back on to the pillow. “Lie down. You’re in no state to go anywhere right now.”

  Closing his eyes, he groaned and rubbed a shaky hand over his brow.

  “Headache?” she asked, and when he nodded, “I’ll get you some coffee. It’ll make you feel better.” It would make him talk too. And sure as hell she was going to get answers out of him this time.

  18

  When she returned with a mug of hot coffee, Martin was far more awake. She helped him sit up against the pillow before handing him the drink, and then perched on the edge of the bed beside his knees.

  He took a deep mouthful. “Ah… thank you, Molly. You always know the right thing to do.”

  “Martin, what have you been doing all this time?”

  He gazed into his mug, then took another quick sip. “I’ve been a bit lost, to be honest. I just got back from Paris…”

  “Paris? I’ve been so worried about you, and you were swanning around in Paris?”

  “I had to go,” he said, his eyes earnest. “But it was useless in the end. That’s why I came back, because I thought he’d know.”

  “He? You mean Jake?”

  “He can be a cruel bastard when he wants, but I thought I could convince him.”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “You shouldn’t have run in the first place. Whatever you’ve done with the Barrowdene accounts, you only had to be open about it. Even Jake would have been understanding.”

  He stared at her. “What’s wrong with the accounts?”

  “What…” She stared back at him, perplexed. “What have you been running around for then?”

  “Looking for Francine.” He sighed and shook his head. “She’s left me, and now I can’t find her. It’s like she’s dropped off the face of the earth. I’ve looked everywhere we’ve been. London. Paris. No one knows where she is. Hennessy was my last hope. He’s been helping her. He threatened to make everything public if I didn’t leave her alone.”

  She gasped. “That’s why Jake was in your office that day? I thought he was furious about the accounts.”

  “No,” Martin took a sip of his coffee. “The only reason Francine sold Barrowdene to him was to get back at me.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would she want to do that?”

  “Because I was a coward. I wouldn’t leave Belinda for her.”

  Molly stared at him.

  “I haven’t been a faithful husband, Molly,” he said with a grimace. “But I haven’t been a good enough lover either. I thought I could have everything, keep the respectable life I’ve built till now and still have the woman I loved. I didn’t really listen to Francine’s needs. She’s a good woman, and more loving than I deserve. I should have known she was too good to be just a mistress on the side, and to her credit she kept my secret for long enough. But it would never have lasted.”

  “How long has this been going on?” she asked, finding her voice again.

  “Since Francine first came to Barrowdene, and, well…” He shrugged. “She was alone, and I was… well, I wasn’t that happy with my situation. It’s why she didn’t sell Barrowdene straightaway. It gave her an excuse to stay on as my client, and because I was looking after the estate for her, nobody asked questions if we saw each other regularly.”

  “But Francine was hardly ever here in Appleby… London! Don’t tell me your weekend trips were to meet Francine?”

  Martin nodded, looking sheepish. “I had client meetings too… but it was the only place we could be free. Sometimes London. Sometimes Paris.” He looked wistful. “Those were good times.”

  “Oh, Martin.” She looked at him with compassion. She knew him well enough to guess his life with Belinda must have been hell, even though he n
ever talked about it. “Did Belinda never suspect?”

  He sighed and ran a hand over his face and straggly beard. “I never spoke of Francine in front of her. But recently she’d begun to question my work hours, my absence. Maybe… yes, maybe she suspected something.”

  Molly groaned. “She thinks you’re having an affair with me.”

  “Good heavens! Why would Belinda think such a thing? Has she approached you about it?”

  “A couple of times,” she said with a nod. “Though, until now, I thought it was her insecurity.”

  “Molly, I am so sorry.” He shook his head in remorse. “I never thought you’d be dragged into this mess. You must think I’m the worst of husbands, and I suppose I am in many ways, but in my defence, all I can say is that I found love after a long long time. Francine let me be a man again.” He laughed, a short self-depreciating bark. “I’d begun to forget what that felt like.”

  “I’m not judging you, Martin.” She gave him a sad smile. “We all ache for that sort of love, don’t we? Maybe even Belinda must have once loved like that.”

  Martin snorted. “Love? That’s not what I had with Belinda. Lust, maybe, once.” He looked at her with a wry smile. “I’m not surprised she suspected you. She was my secretary too, many years ago. That’s how we came together. She made herself indispensable to me, and fool that I was, I fell for the charm.”

  Her eyes widened. That actually made a lot of sense.

  “But I’m ready to pay the price of freedom now,” he said, looking resolute like a soldier about to heroically step into enemy fire. “Belinda can take whatever she wants. It’ll be worth it. But…” His eyes dimmed in sadness. “It would have been more bearable if Francine was here.” He shook his head. “I should have left Belinda a long time ago, when Francine first asked me to be honest about our relationship, but I was too much of a coward, too scared to take the next step. What’s a person’s life worth if he clings to the old and broken despite the loss and suffering it causes him? I would beg her forgiveness, for not acknowledging my love, and for not recognizing how much she truly means to me. That’s all I want to tell her.”

  Molly placed a hand on his. “She’ll come back to you, Martin. It sounds like you two really love each other.”

  “Yes, that’s my only hope now, that she’ll seek me out. I had hoped Hennessy might have some information about her. She even went so far as to pretend she was having an affair with him to make me jealous. I fell for it for a while. The man is the type to have all sorts of women throwing themselves at him, but after she disappeared, I knew it had all been a lie.”

  A thought struck her and she brightened. “Martin, Jake did mention something. He said Francine went to the Lake District.”

  Martin’s eyes rounded. “Of course! What a fool! I’ve been an idiot.” He swung the covers off and shifted his weight to stand, causing her to jump off the bed. “I have to find her.” He heaved himself to his feet, where he wobbled precariously until he grabbed the headboard to steady himself.

  She glared at him. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. You’ve had way too much of Nate’s wine, and you’ll end up killing yourself and someone else if you try to drive even five metres now, let alone hundreds of miles to the north of England.” She guided him back on to the bed. “Promise me you’ll sleep this off first.”

  With a groan and a nod he acquiesced, and she gently helped him lie back down again. His eyes were already closing as she tucked the covers around him, and silently, she went to the door and switched off the light before closing the door behind her. He would forgive her heavy handedness when he woke feeling better in the morning.

  * * *

  She woke later than usual on Saturday morning, and when she checked her bedroom, Martin was gone. Her bed had been made and a short note left on her dressing table, ‘Will be in touch after I find Francine.’

  Folding the note, she placed it in the table’s small side drawer. She’d fallen asleep soon after leaving Martin last night and hadn’t woken for anything. Hopefully he hadn’t left in the middle of the night, but the steady bold handwriting on his note was some consolation. At least he’d been sober at the time he wrote it.

  A relentless thumping on the front door cut off her worries.

  With a groan, she tightened the belt of her fluffy pink dressing gown and rushed downstairs.

  It was already seven forty-five. The decorators would arrive at eight sharp ready to begin in Barrowdene’s upstairs bedrooms, but this was still a little early for someone to be knocking at the cottage.

  She yanked open the door to find Nate stamping around impatiently in the cool morning light.

  He shook his head, tutting at the sight of her robe and fluffy bunny slippers. “I need you outside, gal. There’s a van full of people landed from the city saying yer to tell them what to do.”

  Molly blinked. “What people? You don’t mean the decorators, do you?”

  “Not them. I knows them. These ones say they’re here for the party.”

  “The caterers?” she asked, stunned. “What on earth are they doing here so early?”

  Nate scowled. “You ask them that. I bloody don’t want them here at all. They’ve got these big tent things and they’re wanting to dig holes to set them up. Well, not on my neat lawn they don’t.”

  “Okay. Okay. Don’t frighten them off. Let me get changed and I’ll be with you. Just ask them… politely, not to do anything until I’m there.”

  With a grunt, he stomped off. And closing the door, she rushed upstairs to the bathroom. She’d have to shower and dress in record time. Nate’s patience was shorter than a dot and she didn’t want Jake to return and find out he had no caterers for his open evening.

  By the time Molly sprinted to the front of Barrowdene house ten minutes later, a full scale war was raging.

  A black-clad dumpy lady, with a severe dark bob and heavy-rimmed glasses was shouting at a furious Nate and waggling a slim touch tablet in his face. They were making enough noise that most of the stable girls, including Kitty, had wandered over to see what the fuss was. The decorators, who looked like they’d just arrived, were moving slower than thick treacle in an effort to look busy unloading their equipment from the back of the van while not missing the squabble at the same time. And ten or so uniformed caterers were lined up outside their blue and white van gawking as their angry little leader squared up to a frazzled-looking Nate.

  Pushing past the stable girls, Molly sped to a breathless halt beside Nate.

  The tablet stopped waggling and the dumpy lady looked her up and down with a frown. “Ms King?”

  Molly nodded, gulping in air to steady her breath. She’d thrown on simple jeans and an orange t-shirt, hardly adventurous enough to warrant the type of assessing look the woman was giving her.

  The woman adjusted her glasses. “I’m sorry. I was told the housekeeper was an older woman.”

  “My Nan.” She stood straighter now that she’d caught her breath. “But I can help you with things here. My name’s Molly.”

  She held out her hand and the other woman grasped it in a warm handshake. “Norma. I work for Major & Carter. You’ve no doubt heard of us.”

  Heat spread up Molly’s cheeks. Was she supposed to know of these sort of companies? But if they weren’t famous in Appleby, then no, she hadn’t heard of them. It was just another reminder of how gauche she really was.

  Nate snorted. “Don’t care if yer the Queen’s pot stirrers. You can’t be lording it over people here.”

  Norma glared at him. “For your information, we actually have catered for royal events, so we’re well aware how things are done. Our company has more than four hundred staff in several countries. We’re just one team.” She waved a hand towards her companions lounging by their van. “But we’re more than capable for any job.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are more than capable for the job,” Molly said hastily, trying to soothe the simmering tension. “That’s why Jake contracted
you, isn’t it?”

  Norma straightened with pride and clutched the tablet to her ample bosom. “Yes, we’re the best in the business.” She leaned confidingly towards Molly. “It was rather last minute, since we only got the call yesterday, but luckily we’re able to handle these situations, and Mr Hennessy’s not the sort of person you turn down.”

  Molly nodded. Jake had become a part of Appleby and her life, but here before her stood another reminder he came from a world she knew nothing about. “Well, I’m grateful you could make it at such short notice, and we’ll help you with anything you need to set up. Though… it does seem a bit early.”

  Frowning, Norma poked her tablet screen. “Your function is scheduled to start before noon, isn’t it?”

  Nate guffawed and slapped his thigh. “That’s what you get for using a piece of glass for a brain. You could have had some extra kip this morning instead of hightailing it over here to make a nuisance of yerselves.”

  “It’s for eight this evening,” Molly said apologetically.

  Norma’s face fell. “We got you mixed up with another booking.” She glanced over at her waiting colleagues, who were anxiously muttering among themselves now. “Give me a second while I… is that Mr Hennessy?”

  Molly followed her gaze to the pristine white Range Rover speeding up Barrowdene’s driveway, and recognizing it, automatically crossed her arms across her chest in a protective gesture. “No, that’s not him.”

  The vehicle sped to a halt before them in a shower of gravel and the driver’s door was flung open.

  “Oh, bugger,” Nate muttered, backing off behind Molly.

  “Where is he?” Belinda snarled, jumping out of the Range Rover and marching up to Molly, looking like a fiery headmistress in a mud-brown tweed skirt and chilli-red jacket.

  Molly clenched her jaw. All ears had perked up around her, and the last thing she wanted was for this to descend into a typical Belinda-style slanging match. She had to get rid of the woman fast, but how to do that without giving away Martin and Francine? “He’s not here, Belinda, and I don’t know where he’s gone.” Not exactly true, but close enough.