“Well, how else are we going to work on your trust issues?” he responds as he leads her through the apartment into his bedroom, where they work on their trust issues until it’s time for them to board their plane.
Chapter One
She stood facing the door, her hand frozen on the letterbox. It was real now, the point of no return. She was admitting defeat and walking away. She would love to be able to say it with her head held high but that would be a lie.
Childhood sweethearts, the perfect marriage—or so she had thought—and the home renovated ready for starting a family, all ripped apart by that one forwarded email.
She didn’t blame Sally, of course. When she had seen Richard with another woman she would confront him, but Sally had been clever. She had snapped a photo on her phone and emailed him with it to challenge him about his infidelity. Richard had confessed all—Sally was his sister after all. It had never crossed his mind that she might not take his side and protect his dirty secret. She had forwarded the whole email conversation, and Elizabeth Bennett’s whole life had fallen to pieces.
Her initial reaction had been to confront him, to demand answers, but the fact was she had seen the true answers right there on the screen in black and white with her own eyes. There was no point in listening to him lie to her, which she was certain he would, he hated being the bad guy. So, instead, she made plans.
She had seen a divorce lawyer, a lovely understanding lady, who would be serving the papers to Richard at his desk in about half an hour. She knew the actual process would be long and drawn out, but she had liked the idea of the dramatic act of the papers being served in front of his secretary, who was also named as the other woman in the adultery.
She had spent the last month removing herself from her own life. The mortgage and council tax came out of his account and she paid the bills. She had hoped to swap them straight to his name, but that had not been possible. However, it turned out that—as she explained her reason for needing to have them settled and out of her name—cheating was something the faceless voices on the other end of the phone had also experienced. Yesterday, she had rung with final meter readings and arranged final payments. She had been far more generous than he deserved when she left the list of references and numbers for him to call. The fact he did not earn enough to cover all the payments was not her problem, or wouldn’t be in about sixty seconds.
When the payment from her last job had gone into her account last week, she had booked the train tickets and a room in a B & B. She had smuggled the stuff that had meaning to her out of the house over the last couple of weeks and stashed them in her parents’ spare room. She had debated hiring a storage unit, but for now, what little there was would be safe, and, most likely, it would be where she would be returning to in a few weeks. She was not bothered about the big stuff—the furniture they had picked out together. Likewise, anything received as a wedding present he was welcome to. They would all be taken into account during the financial settlement her lawyer had assured her, but the items themselves now were tainted by his betrayal. He had always been more hung up on the material things in life than she had. The irony was that his lower management, corporate job brought in less than her photography did.
She released the envelope containing her wedding ring and the keys and heard it drop onto the tiled floor on the other side of the door.
It was done.
She looked at her watch and with perfect timing, the taxi she had booked pulled up to take her to the station.
Two taxis, a train, three flights of stairs and a bruised shin later, she sat on the double bed and cried. By the door, where she had dropped them as soon as she entered the room, were one suitcase of clothes, her camera bag, her laptop bag and rucksack. Her life rammed into the mismatched luggage. She had no idea how long she had sat letting the hurt and pain pour out, but eventually she ran dry. She walked into the small en-suite bathroom and splashed her face with cold water before daring to look in the mirror: mascara streaked cheeks, lipstick smeared across her mouth. She went back into the room, threw the suitcase on the bed, grabbed her toiletry bag and headed back for a shower. Twenty minutes later she looked at the clock. It was six pm. She knew she should eat but had no appetite. She opened the window to let the sea air in and climbed into bed, a quick guilty glance towards her handbag. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the rest of her life; tonight she just wanted to sleep.
A little after 6am she awoke, the first few waking moments filled by confusion at the strange bed and surroundings before reality filtered through her brain. She swung her legs out of bed, wincing as she noticed the angry bruise caused by lugging her case and bags during the journey on public transport yesterday and then up the stairs. The room was booked for two weeks. If she was going to stay here any longer, she would book somewhere with a lift, she decided. A peek out of the window revealed a misty morning, the type that would clear to reveal a sunny day, she hoped. She threw on her workout clothes and trainers, glancing at her phone with its black screen. She could run without music this morning.
The fresh Scarborough sea air filled her lungs as she pounded the tarmac of the pavement running alongside the beach. Without her phone tracking the run, she’d guessed it would be about three miles from the guest house to the harbour and back. Her feet keeping a steady rhythm and her eyes began darting about, taking note of places to revisit later with her camera. The harbour was busy as boats were loaded ready to set out before the tide turned, the cries of the gulls competing with the crew’s shouts. The only people about seemed to be those with business to attend to—all except one. She barely glanced at him as she ran past but she could feel his eyes on her. She had no idea why, but she could not resist a glance over her shoulder, and as she did so, he turned and walked away in the opposite direction.
Back in the room, freshly showered, it was time to face the music. She plugged in the laptop and, while that booted up, she turned on the phone. The second it sprung to life it began to ping. Hastily, she turned down the volume, and watched as the number of missed calls and notifications clocked up. She decided to deal with them in the order they would cause her the least anxiety. Her parents had texted, and then called every ten minutes, for what looked like hours when she’d failed to check in with them and let them know that she had arrived safely. She replied by text, apologising profusely, before assuring them she was okay and promising she would ring in a day or two, once she had taken time to think things through. She deleted their messages. Next, there were several friends that had messaged, all asking what was going on and was she okay. She guessed Richard had called them, looking for her. She sent a message to each of them, again stating she was okay and would be in touch over the next few days. The same went to Sally, though she did not delete those texts. She would read through them later to discover the backlash her sister-in-law had taken for taking her side. That left only the calls and messages from one person.
The texts were a mixture of apology, denials and recriminations. She hit delete all, and braced herself for the voicemails. They played in order: first, shock and denial, then as each new message bleeped into existence, the tone became angrier, defensive and confrontational, but she noticed not once did he say he loved her or wanted her to come home. It was all about how it affected him.
The laptop now awaited her password, and she wondered how many emails would be waiting.
There were plenty.
She began deleting them without reading them, when she spotted the one from the divorce lawyer, the word URGENT in the subject line. It instructed her not to delete any messages or texts from her husband at this point. She bit her lip. Oh dear, well too late now. The voicemails were still there, and she was sure there would be more texts and emails before long. She created a new folder labelled ‘Bastard’ and moved the rest of his emails there unopened.
It was almost half past eight, and she realised she was actually hungry. The run, the sea air and the weight lifted from her chest f
inally after weeks of bottling things up, had given her an appetite. She bounded down the stairs and ordered a full English and coffee. Today, she would be a tourist, wander along the front with her camera and see what she could find. She had chosen Scarborough as she had sold several images lately of castles and ruins to people wanting to use them for book covers.
This was an area she has not explored but it made a welcome change from wedding photography and studio sessions. While they may pay the bills, they limited her creativity. She had been excited to branch out and see what opportunities this new avenue might bring her. She had spoken to a few authors online, ideas thrown back and forth, the discussion of money an awkward one when she realised how little they could afford to spend on images, but she was sure she could make this work as a side line.
She recalled sharing the excitement with Richard, and his dour look, as he asked if that meant she would be dropping the work that brought in the money. Even after assuring him that it would make no difference, other than, maybe the odd day out, she would work it in around her appointments. He had grunted his approval. Any extra money always welcome as far as he was concerned. She’d noticed the magazine in front of him featured glossy photographs of the newest cars. He had a company car and she had been driving his old Range Rover at the time. She had thought the row about trading it in for something sporty was about to start again and had made a swift exit. She would have to buy something before her next booking; she might even look round while she was here. She would happily rip up the return portion of her ticket if she could find something suitable and avoid more bruises.
Breakfast devoured, she grabbed her rucksack and her older Canon DSLR with a basic 35mm lens and headed to the beach. Today, it felt like an old friend in her hand and she needed the comfort of being able to shoot without too much thought. It was still early, the tide drifting out taking the mist with it, and the air was warm, promising a glorious day. At this end of the beach, rockpools stretched out before her. She slipped off her trainers and socks and put them in her bag before losing herself in the microscopic worlds at her feet.
She was fully engrossed with the pools until the familiar blast of her favourite pop song brought her back to reality. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and looked at it, and turning the volume down she watched until it stopped ringing and the voicemail icon popped up. She had no intention of allowing him to encroach into this day any more than he already had.
She looked around. The beach was now starting to fill, families enjoying the rare event that a sunny summer day had become. She had no real interest in shots of packed beaches but as she walked along the sand she spotted a group of donkeys standing idly, awaiting the chance to bounce children along the beach.
She had mixed feelings about this. While she had fond memories of her own rides along the beach as a kid, she had seen too many adverts calling for money to save the traditionally over worked and undernourished creatures, though as she got closer she could see these guys certainly appeared well fed. She lifted her camera and took frame after frame as she got closer, first group shots then focusing on individuals. Close-up shots revealed names: Clara, Rory, Amy, Nyssa. She laughed, realising the theme of their given identities.
She crouched down, focusing on the leather harness of one of the donkeys, but just as she brought the buckles into focus, they disappeared, and instead a hairy muzzle filled her viewfinder. Before she knew what was happening, she was lying flat on her back, the donkey’s warm breath in her face as it brayed loudly.
“Are you alright?”
As the donkey’s head was pushed out of the way it was replaced by another, this one human, though with the positioning of the sun she could not make out the features.
“Here, let me help you up.”
A hand reached down, and she grasped it with her own and allowed him to haul her to her feet. Automatically, she looked down, checking her camera was okay. When she looked up she found herself staring into the face of the stranger who had watched her running this morning. She dusted herself down. There was nothing in her rucksack that would have broken as she landed on it, but as she brushed sand from her shorts, her hand connected her phone. With a feeling of dread, she pulled it out of her pocket but miraculously the screen remained in one piece. She looked back at him, noting his chiselled jaw and the mop of dirty blond hair that framed his face in loose curls.
“I’m good thanks—guess someone wanted a close up.”
“Sounds about right. Jack can be rather loud and pushy, but he is a softie once you get to know him.”
She looked across at her assailant, who was now doing his best to push the other donkeys away from the bucket of water that had just appeared.
“These are your donkeys?”
“Yup. I would offer you a ride, but I think you’re a bit big.”
She almost reacted before she realised that he was not having a dig at her. Weight had always been her Achilles heel. Richard had known how to put her in her place with a simple question about how often she had been to the gym that week—only in the last weeks had she realised the problem was not her weight.
He must have sensed that his comment had hit a nerve because he quickly changed the subject. “Nice camera. Think I saw you this morning out running. You here on holiday?”
She feigned a smile. “Something like that. Thanks for helping me up. I better get going. Nice meeting you, bye.”
She didn’t wait to hear his reply as she set off at a brisk pace up the beach towards the pavement. He unnerved her, and though she did not wish to acknowledge it, her hand still tingled from the sparks she had felt at his touch.
She spent the next couple of hours wandering round the harbour, stopping to eat fish and chips for lunch. Her earlier weight worries forgotten, she had switched her phone onto vibrate and the only call she had answered had been from her business partner.
She had been friends with Jasmine since school. They’d been to art college together and then university. They only thing that they had ever disagreed over had been Richard. Looking back, she had come to realise she should have listened to her friend at the beginning, but it was too late now.
Normally, she went out and did the shoots, and Jasmine worked her magic in the editing process. They had built up a successful business, and Jasmine had been thrilled at the idea of expanding their creative scope. However, for the next couple of weeks, Jasmine was going to be working flat out to do both the shoots and the editing, to allow Elizabeth the time she needed.
Her phone vibrated; it was Jasmine again.
“Hey you.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You rang an hour ago. I promised not to throw myself off the harbour already. We sorted out the appointments before I left, and I have promised to bring you back a stick of rock and a Kiss Me Quick hat, so again, what’s up?”
“He just came around.”
“And?”
“Well, I told him where to go! He says he wants to see the books, so I told him to get his solicitor to contact yours. He was his usual arsehole self. I may have told him exactly what I thought of him, for the first time in the fifteen years you wasted on him. And I mean exactly what I thought of him.”
“Bet that went down well.”
“Oh yes. Your parents also rang to see if I had heard from you. I told them only by text in case you haven’t called them yet. Maybe you should consider a holiday fling while you are there—find a hot guy and get sand in unpleasant places.”
“Stop it. I have no wish to meet anyone else. Plus I already have sand in places I would rather not have it. Got flattened by a donkey?
“What he was hung like a donkey?”
“No. Get your mind out of the gutter. I was taking photos of the donkeys when one got curious and knocked me over. The owner merely helped me up, athough…”
“Alhough what? C’mon no holding out on me now.”
“He was nice. He looks like he could be a mod
el, more cowboy that donkey man, and when he held my hand, well, it’s silly, I just felt a spark.”
“Go kiss him!”
“What? No! Don’t be stupid. I’m married, and I am not gonna go kiss some bloke on a beach I just met.”
“You won’t be married for much longer, and to be honest, when was the last time you were actually happy?”
“Enough. I am not looking to jump into a relationship with anyone else, or, before you say it, their bed. Right now, I need to focus on me. Now, go get some work done.”
She heard her friend laugh as she ended the call. Jasmine had hit a nerve.
When was the last time she had actually been happy?
She leaned against the wall, looking out to sea. There had been plenty of times when she’d thought she had been happy, but looking back, it was hard to tell if she had been or if it was that her memories were now tainted by recent knowledge. She realised that last time she associated real happiness with Richard had been their wedding day. Since then, all her happy memories involved friends and family, and he had been absent.
She started to walk around the harbour, planning to take a few more photos, but she was restless—her mind was wandering. Knowing that her focus for today was gone, she walked back along the front to her hotel, careful to avert her gaze away from the beach.
Back in her hotel room she uploaded the photos, and one caught her eye. It must have been taken accidentally as she fell. Half the screen was filled by a donkey’s face, but there, in the background, she could clearly make him out as he had run to her aid. Her finger hovered over delete, but for some reason she just couldn’t hit the button.
The next morning she ran in the opposite direction, she told herself it was simply a practical decision so she could check out locations, but she knew she was avoiding seeing him.
Showered and changed, she loaded up her rucksack ready for a day’s shoot at the castle. She knew from a visit a few years ago, the hike up to the castle was hard enough without carrying equipment, so she was careful in her selections, taking the bare minimum to get the shots she envision.
Key to My Heart: An Anthology of Sweet Romance Page 17
