The Long Weekend

by Veronica Henry

  ‘But I do want you,’ said Claire. ‘Luca and I . . . it’s all over. I came to tell you . . . just in case there was a chance . . .’

  They each took a step forward. They were only a foot apart.

  ‘I was coming back down,’ he told her. ‘I was going to get straight back in the car. Beg you to think again. But you beat me to it.’

  He grabbed her, pulled her to him.

  As they embraced, Gerald gave an awkward cough.

  ‘Excuse me. I’d better . . . go and put the mower away.’

  They didn’t notice him as he slipped through the French windows. They hugged each other tightly, not speaking, not even kissing, just holding on as if they were never going to let go again.

  Trevor was right. As predicted, Luca walked back into the Townhouse later that afternoon. He looked drawn, grim-faced. He walked straight past Angelica and into the office.

  Angelica brought him a brandy. He was sitting at Claire’s desk, staring into space. He knocked it back in a single gulp.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And I apologise. My behaviour was inexcusable.’

  His tone was stiff – Luca wasn’t the sort who apologised easily – but Angelica recognised an olive branch.

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘And I suppose you’d better consider yourself acting manageress.’

  He’d obviously come up with a game plan during his absence. And realised he couldn’t manage without her.

  ‘In that case,’ she replied, ‘you’re going to have to give me a rise.’

  He looked at her sharply. ‘You’ll be lucky.’

  She shrugged. ‘Fine. Find someone else then. Just don’t expect me to show them the ropes.’

  She looked down at him. Somehow, the spell had been broken. The hold he’d had over her was gone. He was no longer the stuff of her fantasies. She’d taken what she wanted from him; she’d fulfilled her dream. And now he just seemed ordinary. Less than ordinary: a weak, foolish, not very nice man, albeit wrapped up in a beguiling package that she had been stupid enough to fall for.

  Did she feel guilty? About betraying Claire? No, she thought. Claire had known all along that Luca wasn’t the man for her. She hadn’t needed proof, but Angelica had given it to her anyway.

  If it hadn’t been her, she reasoned, it would have been someone else.

  She’d done Claire a favour. Given her the courage to follow her heart.

  She took the glass off Luca.

  ‘Come on,’ she said briskly. ‘You need to get back in the kitchen. You can’t wallow round here feeling sorry for yourself.’

  She walked out of the office. She wasn’t going to let him use her. If she had a raise in salary, maybe she could afford to move out of home. Get a flat for her and Dill. Give him the life he deserved. It would be tough, but with the extra money she was earning, she’d be able to manage.

  They didn’t need anyone else, her and Dill.

  Clare and Nick were walking hand in hand through Mimsbury. It was, thought Claire, as if she had never been away. She could be eighteen again.

  Eventually they reached the church. Nick opened the gate and led her up the path through the perfect English graveyard. The oldest and most precarious stones had been carefully repositioned and laid flat. The grass was kept just the right length: not too manicured, but not so long that it looked unkempt, and just enough to let any wild flowers peep through. Birds sang in the nearby trees and the air was filled with the scent of blossom. It was the perfect place to be laid to rest because it looked just that: restful.

  Isobel’s stone was in plain white marble with hand-cut lettering, and simply bore her name and the dates of her birth and death, with no unnecessary adornment or sentiment.

  ‘She wouldn’t have wanted anything tacky or over the top,’ said Nick.

  ‘Of course not.’ Claire stood in front of the stone, her head bowed. She didn’t want to speak, or pray. She just wanted to remember, without any guilt, the vibrant and beautiful wife and mother that Isobel had been. At last, in the quiet of the graveyard, with no sound but the birds and the wind rustling the trees, she felt a calmness and tranquillity she hadn’t felt for years. And she hoped that wherever she was, Isobel felt the same, because although what she had done might not have been right, she deserved to rest in peace.

  ‘I still miss her.’ Nick broke the silence. ‘I still miss her every day. I’m never going to stop wishing she was still here . . .’

  ‘Hey.’ Claire turned and put her arms round him, pulling him in close, trying to absorb some of his pain. She knew how close Isobel had been to her boys, how strong the bond had been between them, and she hoped that one day, if it ever happened, she would share the same connection with her own children.

  ‘It would have meant a lot to her, you coming here today.’ Nick’s voice was muffled, still buried in her shoulder. ‘She adored you, you know.’

  ‘I just hope I can live up to her,’ replied Claire. ‘Be as good a mother as she was.’

  ‘You will be,’ said Nick. ‘I know you will . . .’

  Afterwards, they wandered back to the Mill House. They didn’t speak much – they didn’t want to break the spell with mere words. Instead, they went into the garden, and Claire sat down under the weeping willow next to the river. Nick went inside to make a cup of tea.

  While he was waiting for the kettle to boil on the Aga, he went up to his bedroom and opened his dressing table drawer. In there was a small box. Inside it was a ring. Isobel’s engagement ring. She had left it to him, again with a note.

  I hope this ring brings as much happiness to the girl you love as it did to me.

  He looked at it, as the light from the window glanced off the white diamonds. He remembered it on Isobel’s hand. She never took it off.

  He hadn’t given it to Sophie. When he had proposed, he had taken her to a small jeweller in Sandleford and they had chosen a ring together. For some reason, it had never felt the right thing to do, to give her Isobel’s ring. It had stayed in the back of his dressing table drawer all this time.

  Isobel had meant it for Claire. He knew that. Today wasn’t the day to give it to her, though. They needed some time to get over the momentous decisions they had both made in walking away from Luca and Sophie. A proposal today would be inauspicious. Indecently hasty. The ring had been there for twelve years. It could wait a while longer. And he thought how happy Isobel would have been to know it was going to find its way to its rightful owner at last.

  He snapped the lid shut and put the box back in the drawer, then went back down to the kitchen, finding the teapot, making the tea, putting chocolate digestives on a plate.

  When he came back out, ten minutes later, he found Claire curled up on the blanket, fast asleep in the sunshine. He put the tray on the grass and sat down next to her. A few minutes later, he too was fast asleep.

  It had been a long weekend.

  I would swap a fortnight’s holiday for four long weekends away in a heartbeat. Just as I always prefer starters to the main course in a restaurant, I love the immediacy and intensity of a weekend away – the piquant taste of a new place, the need to discover everything you can about it in a short space of time. I love the urgency and the fact you are not in a place long enough to tire of it. It’s like meeting a fascinating stranger at a party. You are left wondering, wanting more.

  I have several tricks to enhance the perfect long weekend. The first, if you can, is to beg, borrow, steal – or, more prosaically, simply hire – an open-topped car. There is nothing like throwing the roof off, turning up the music and putting your foot down. Even if you are only going to Weston-super-Mare, it feels like an adventure. Tie on your Hermès, stick on your Ray-Bans and let the wind run through your hair!

  Make a holiday playlist for your journey. Give it a theme – music relevant to the destination, or to the occasion, or songs that start with the same letter as the place you are going. Anything as long as it puts a smile on your face – the soundtrack t
o the weekend.

  Beautiful luggage is an absolute prerequisite. Don’t just chuck everything in a tired hold-all. A small but perfectly formed overnight bag will make sure your packing is focused but spot on. Most of the department stores do a good range – I bought my raspberry red leather bag in Debenhams five years ago and it is still as good as new.

  Clothing will obviously have to be appropriate to the season and the destination. However, wherever you are going, luxury nightwear is paramount – most of us take time over and pride in our daily appearance, but how many of us let the standards drop come night-time and stick on scruffy old pyjamas or a tatty T-shirt? A weekend away is the perfect excuse to invest in a sumptuous silk nightdress, revelling in its softness as it slithers over your skin. Trust me, it will make you feel like the most glamorous film star.

  I also have a special going away perfume: one that makes me feel like someone else, not a harassed working mother. It’s like slipping into another guise, just for forty-eight hours. Whenever I splash on Dior’s Escale à Pondichéry, I know I am on my way to an adventure.

  On a practical level, I always research the best restaurants where I am going and book ahead. I don’t want to leave anything to chance and end up disappointed. For me, food and wine is usually the focus of a weekend away, and I don’t want to end up with second best.

  I have one other rule. No work. No laptop, no Internet, no phone calls, no Twitter, no Facebook. Either of you.

  Reading List

  All the books below could be read over a long weekend – they are all less than two hundred pages. It’s wonderful to have the chance to curl up and read in peace on a weekend away – but don’t become too introspective, unless you are both avid bookworms!

  The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie – Muriel Spark

  Animal Farm – George Orwell

  Breakfast At Tiffany’s – Truman Capote

  The Woman in Black – Susan Hill

  The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Bonjour Tristresse – Françoise Sagan

  The Lover – Margeurite Duras

  The Turn of The Screw – Henry James

  August Is a Wicked Month – Edna O’Brien

  Seaside Playlist for

  The Perfect Long Weekend

  To the Sea – Jack Johnson

  The Sea – The Doves

  The Sea – Morcheeba

  Fell in Love at the Seaside – The Kooks

  Amongst the Waves – Pearl Jam

  Rockaway Beach – The Ramones

  Martha’s Harbour – All About Eve

  At the River – Groove Armada

  Pure Shores – All Saints

  On the Beach – OceanLab

  Scallops And Black Pudding With Celeriac Purée

  4 chunky rounds of black pudding – try and get a really authentic and textured black pudding, like Clonakilty, rather than the plastic-coated smooth version

  8 fresh scallops – roe removed

  1 celeriac

  Chicken stock

  1 Bramley apple

  Butter

  Curry paste

  Peel and cut the celeriac into chunks and cook in the chicken stock until soft. Fry the apple in butter until soft. Drain the celeriac, retaining the stock, then liquidize the celeriac and apple with a teaspoon of curry paste, adding stock until you get a smooth consistency.

  Pan fry the black pudding until crisp, then remove and keep warm. Pan fry the scallops for a minute each side.

  Dollop a spoonful of the puree onto a plate, then place a piece of black pudding flanked by two scallops either side.

  You can also serve this with a cauliflower puree, liquidized with a little double cream and some cumin

  Crab Linguine

  400g linguine

  400g crabmeat

  1 red chilli, very finely shredded

  2 large cloves of garlic, crushed

  Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon

  2tbsp extra virgin olive oil

  Finely chopped flat-leaf parsley

  Cook the pasta according to the instructions.

  Meanwhile, combine the crabmeat, chilli, crushed garlic and lemon zest in a bowl with the olive oil.

  Drain the cooked pasta and return it to the saucepan. Add the crab mixture and stir thoroughly. Add extra olive oil, sea salt and lemon juice to taste, then sprinkle generously with flat-leaf parsley.

  Fish Stew

  If you have friends over for lunch, this is wonderful served with lots of crusty bread. Just don’t wear white linen while you’re cooking or eating it! The key to this is just to make a rich tomato-y sauce as a base, then add whatever is good at the fishmongers. There are no strict quantities – add as much or as little of everything to taste – but the bigger the pot the better. This is a very sociable and hands-on dish, and a Townhouse favourite.

  Onions

  Garlic

  Fennel

  Leeks

  Chopped tomatoes – either chopped fresh-skinned or cans will do

  Chicken stock

  Saffron strands

  Splash of Pernod if you have it

  Orange zest

  Salt and pepper

  Then add a selection of responsibly sourced fish and seafood. Monkfish, cod, sea bass, red mullet, tiger prawns and mussels are all good.

  Corned Beef Hash With Fried Eggs

  The brunches at The Townhouse by the Sea are legendary, and this is one of their most popular dishes on a lazy Sunday.

  500g corned beef – from a butcher rather than a tin

  4 large eggs

  2tbsp Worcestershire sauce

  1 large onion, roughly diced

  400g potatoes

  3tbsp lard or oil

  fresh thyme

  4 fresh free-range eggs

  Cut the potatoes into cubes, then par-boil them – make sure they are still firm. Drain and cover with a cloth till slightly cooled.

  Heat some oil or some lard (this recipe is not for a calorie-counter!) in a heavy-based frying pan, then add potatoes, stirring them until they start to crisp nicely. Remove potatoes, then lower the heat and add the corned beef and onion. Let the onion soften and the beef brown slightly, then add salt, black pepper, a slug of Worcestershire sauce and some chopped fresh thyme. Tip the potatoes back into the mix and heat it all through gently.

  In a separate pan, heat some olive oil and fry four eggs.

  Divide the hash between four plates and top with an egg each. Serve with as much tomato or brown sauce as you like!

  Sea Urchin Cocktail

  Mitch, the barman at the Townhouse, has this glorious cocktail as his special on hot weekends. But don’t guzzle too many!

  For this cocktail you will need a jar of wild hibiscus flowers in syrup.

  1oz vodka

  ½oz Campari

  ½oz Blue Curaçao

  ½oz lime juice

  Wild hibiscus syrup

  Wild hibiscus flower

  Place a hibiscus flower in the bottom of a martini glass to resemble a sea urchin. Shake the vodka, Campari, Curaçao and lime juice in a shaker with ice, then strain into the glass. Add a drizzle of hibiscus syrup, then top up with soda water.

  Cornish Clotted Cream Fudge

  No trip to Cornwall is complete without a chunk or two of crumbly, creamy fudge – buy a bag or two to take home to friends, or make your own.

  It’s best to use a sugar thermometer when making this recipe for accuracy.

  225g Cornish clotted cream

  275g golden caster sugar

  100g golden syrup

  1 tsp best vanilla essence

  Grease and line a 20cm tin.

  Melt all of the ingredients over a low heat in a heavy-bottomed saucepan and stir with a wooden spoon until amalgamated. Then boil the mixture until you reach the ‘soft ball’ temperature, which is 116°C. Remove from heat and plunge the pan into a bowl of iced water to cool it down. Continue stirring until the mixture has that lovely thick grainy fudge texture. P
our it into the greased and lined tin and leave to set. Cut into rough cubes and enjoy.

  By Veronica Henry

  Honeycote

  Making Hay

  Wild Oats

  An Eligible Bachelor

  Love on the Rocks

  Just a Family Affair

  Marriage and Other Games

  The Beach Hut

  The Birthday Party

  The Long Weekend

  Copyright

  AN ORION EBOOK

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Orion Books.

  This ebook first published in 2012 by Orion Books.

  Copyright © Veronica Henry 2012

  The right of Veronica Henry to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ‘Sea Fever’ by John Masefield reproduced by permission of The Society of Authors as the Literary Representative of the Estate of John Masefield.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978 1 4091 3093 2

  Orion Books

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