The Greek Escape

by Karen Swan

  ‘Hi, Tom.’ She gave her best benign smile.

  ‘Please, take a seat,’ Helen said. ‘You haven’t missed anything. We were just about to get started. Can I get you anything – tea, coffee, water?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, taking the chair beside Chloe and sitting down in it with a contented sigh. ‘Everything I need is right here.’

  ‘. . . We’ll be in touch,’ Tom said, shaking Helen’s hand vigorously as the lift doors slid open and he followed Chloe in.

  Chloe watched as they closed again, silence filling the small space. There were two other people in there: a white-haired man in a pinstripe and a ponytailed young woman in a Banana Republic dress – Chloe knew that because her label was poking up at the neck and it was taking all of her self-control not to tuck it in for her.

  No one spoke, their eyes on the blue LED numbers that counted down at alarming speed. Seventy-one, seventy, sixty-nine . . .

  ‘Well that was certainly very interesting,’ Tom murmured. ‘They’ve done a great job with the spa. And I loved the colour palette. What did you think?’

  ‘I agree,’ she said back, equally quietly.

  ‘It’s an interesting fusion of styles. Sort of Asian luxe, but with a rustic vibe.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The man in the pinstripe coughed a little, shifting his weight.

  ‘And the nightclub looks good. Not seedy. It looks like they’ve really thought about the lighting.’

  ‘Crucial.’

  She felt his stare get heavier. ‘I suppose if I was looking for niggles, I’d say it’s a shame the height in the garages isn’t a little better – a Range Rover might be pushing it; we should get measurements to be sure. And the nearest helipad’s half an hour away, which is tedious. It might be worth seeing if that point is moot,’ he mused.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘There’s still time at this stage.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  The doors opened again and the man walked out. Level fifty-six.

  Fifty-five, fifty-four, fifty-three . . .

  ‘I liked the bar area though, didn’t you?’

  ‘Mm hmm.’

  The girl in front shuffled and turned slightly, clearly trying to glimpse the two people involved in this one-sided conversation. Tom smiled at her, that easy, happy-go-lucky grin that made everyone like him and want to be his friend. The girl smiled back – no doubt loving him even more on account of his accent – before tightening her ponytail as she reluctantly faced the doors again. Chloe stared at the Banana Republic label again.

  ‘And the lobby for the hotel was spectacular. My God, that chandelier, did you clock it?’

  ‘Hard not to.’

  ‘That’s really got the wow factor. Yes.’ He inhaled heavily. ‘There’s no doubt our clients will love it. Love it. I can already think of a few people who’d want a first gander.’

  ‘Great.’

  Her eyes stayed on the display. Twelve, eleven, ten . . . Come on, she willed it. Don’t let this elevator stop and that girl get out before they got to the ground floor. She couldn’t be alone in here with him. She just couldn’t.

  Five, four, three . . . Yes, yes.

  To her dismay, the doors opened and the girl – casting another rueful smile at Tom – walked out. Chloe felt her jaw tighten, her limbs loosen as she stared out into the corridor, debating whether to get out here too. The doors started to close and she could feel – actually feel – Tom’s anticipation that he’d got her where he wanted at last: trapped, cornered, forced to look, to listen. He had moved position already, turning to face her—

  A man leapt in, appearing suddenly in the diminishing rectangle of light between the sliding doors, one moment not there, the next, absolutely filling it. ‘Thank God,’ he panted, throwing them a wry look before straightening his jacket and pressing the button for the lobby.

  Thank God indeed.

  Giving a stiff nod, no trace of his smile now, Tom stepped back again and Chloe closed her eyes, never more grateful for the company of a stranger.

  They reached the ground level just seconds later and Chloe walked out first, taking long-legged strides, her eyes dead-ahead on the rushing, swarming street as she crossed the marble lobby. Tom was a half-stride behind, staring at her in what she knew would be disbelief that she could keep this up, be so very stubborn.

  ‘Chlo – I thought it was the right thing to do.’

  The sentence had no context, it should have made no sense, but she knew from his tone of voice what he was telling her. It was the only conversation between them, the wall they had to scale.

  She didn’t stop walking.

  ‘It was Burns Night and all the old crowd was there . . .’

  Her heart rate sped up at his justifications, excuses. She didn’t want to think about it, knowing the details wouldn’t make it better. If she could just get to a cab . . .

  ‘They’re all marrying off, having kids. People were beginning to ask questions, wonder why me and Lucy weren’t following suit—’

  She pushed the glass door with a violent, angry shove, not bothering to hold it open for him but he was right with her, the toes of his shoes flashing in her peripheral vision with long-legged strides as she kept her head down.

  ‘You know what it’s been like with her; you know I’ve tried telling her. But one minute she’s fine, the next she’s crying and telling me no one’s ever loved her, that she feels so afraid and anxious—’

  Chloe closed her eyes, trying to push him from her thoughts. Blah, blah, blah, the same old story. He’d been giving her this patter for the last four years and she knew only too well about Lucy’s problems – her own life had been put on hold and given over to that poor woman’s concerns as she tried somehow to do the right thing by her, to make sure she was okay before Chloe could truly be with the man she loved. She had put her own needs second for all that time, racked as she was by the guilt that Lucy had the first claim on him and that had to count for something. But no more. At some point, she needed to come into play too and although his engagement precluded her from his and Lucy’s equation once and for all, that was still the resolution she had finally made for herself when she’d decided to move here and start again.

  Her arms swung harder, her chin defiantly up in the air.

  ‘You know what she’s like—’

  This wasn’t helping; did he actually think it was?

  ‘—I just couldn’t think, Chlo, I couldn’t think of what to do to make things right – I wanted you but I couldn’t bear to hurt her either.’

  ‘Well, clearly proposing was the perfect solution to your dilemma,’ she said sarcastically, still not slowing down. ‘Excellent. Great plan. Well done, Tom.’

  ‘Chloe, wait.’

  It was the sudden quietness of his voice that stopped her. There was no great exclamation of anguish, no high passion or abundant flowers this time, just a man with his mistake. He had stopped walking and was looking after her with a look of such brokenness, such longing, she felt her spirit almost leap out of her body and into his arms.

  ‘I got it all wrong, I know that. But you have to believe me when I say that in the moment of asking her, I honestly thought it was the right thing to do. The weight of everything in my life was coming down on that side, we’d been together so long, everyone expected it: our families, our friends – I thought that had to be the path for me, even if I didn’t feel it.’ He shrugged. ‘I swear I was going to tell you myself; I tried, several times, but somehow every time I went to do it, the words were so diabolical . . .’ He frowned. ‘To tell you I was marrying someone else? It made no sense to me. I felt desperate, I couldn’t see any way out – protect her but keep you. And then, the whole thing became like a runaway train. I’d no sooner asked the question than it all took on a life of its own, like it was nothing to do with me any more and I was just a bit part in the whole charade.’

  ‘No, I was the bit part, Tom!’ she cried in disbelief, hardly able to beli
eve what she was hearing – he thought he was the victim in all of this? ‘Me! I’m a fucking footnote, nothing more. You kept telling me to keep the faith, that we would be together. For four years I waited for you to do the right thing – by all of us! But you didn’t, you were too much of a coward. And you know what? I don’t think you ever had any intention of leaving her for me. You were just using me.’

  ‘No, not using you! Never that!’ he said, desperation in his eyes. ‘Christ, I wish things had been different. I wish to God I had met you first, or at the very least, broken up with her back then, right when I first met you. But you walked into the office a fortnight after her father signed the cheque and I was already trapped. He wasn’t investing in Invicta because he believed in me, he was investing in the business that he believed was going to bankroll his daughter’s future life. He signed up knowing I was going to be his son-in-law. That was the unspoken deal. He knew it, I knew it – and you did too. I was straight with you!’

  ‘Yeah, you were – up until the part where you went to Asprey and bought her a ring.’

  ‘I was a fucking mess, Chlo!’ He gripped his hands in his hair, seemingly pained by the memory. ‘Every time I tried to break it off, she’d start crying, putting all this emotional pressure on me and, you’re right, I was a coward – I’d bottle it. We’d been together so long by then and she made me feel like I was abandoning her.’ He shook his head, wild-eyed. ‘She wouldn’t let go even though things were different between us and the relationship was clearly failing. I had completely retreated from her, emotionally, physically . . . I didn’t want to be with her, I was becoming . . . cruel. I hated what I saw as her weakness.’ He looked baffled and ashamed. ‘I thought at the very least she would tire of my indifference and dump me. I kept hoping and praying for it anyway, but she never did.’ His mouth stretched with bitterness. ‘She wanted that fucking wedding and she wasn’t going to throw in the towel on the small account of me not loving her.’

  Chloe blinked, feeling herself tremble at his words, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as though shielding herself from a polar wind.

  ‘I couldn’t see a way out.’ He took two steps towards her. ‘It was only when she was choosing the ring that I realized just how completely she knew this was going to go down – which ring, which shoes, which flowers, the names of our future kids . . . Our lives were totally mapped out. That was the moment when I finally realized I couldn’t let it go on any longer, even if it did destroy her.’ He ran his hands through his hair, his face crumpled with disbelief. ‘I didn’t care any more. I was going to finish it, I swear I was. I went round to your flat that weekend to come clean and tell you what had happened. I just wanted a fresh start and I knew I had to be honest with you about what I’d done and how close I’d come to fucking it all up. But when you didn’t answer and then I heard from Jack that you were here . . . ?’ He raked his hands through his hair, holding it tight as he relived the moment. ‘I swear to God it almost killed me on the spot. I was frantic. Desperate. I had no idea how to reach you or contact you. You were blocking my calls, my texts. I couldn’t bear that you’d found out and I couldn’t even try to explain.’

  She swallowed, remembering how efficiently she had cut the ties of communication between them, ghosting him.

  ‘And . . . as the weeks went on and it was clear you didn’t want to know, I tried telling myself perhaps you’d done the right thing; that it would be easier for us both to move on if you were here and so I tried going with that. Bloody hell I tried! I was determined to forget you, Chlo. And I thought I was doing okay. I had got to a point where I could hear your name and not have to cut the meeting short. You were gradually becoming just . . . a mirage, an idea of someone.’ He shook his head, his shoulder slumping an inch. ‘Or at least I thought you were, until I saw you in that meeting again the day after Poppy’s accident. You had your new haircut, you looked so . . . strong, so beautiful – and that was when I knew that I’d never get over you, that I had already fucked everything up and my life would never be right again without you in it.’

  He took another step closer again, within touching distance now.

  ‘I didn’t sleep for the two nights after that; then on the third day, I finally did it – I told Lucy that I couldn’t marry her, that I loved someone else and I got the first flight I could to here – where I’ve spent almost every waking moment just trying to get in the same sodding airspace as you.’ He gave a small groan.

  She cracked a half-smile, worried that the movement might make her crumble completely. She had no defences left. He had hurt her, yes; devastated her, in fact. But he had suffered too. Perhaps more so, in many ways.

  Kate wouldn’t get it, nor would Elle. Nor would his friends, or family. Jack. It was going to be complicated, she already knew that.

  He closed the gap between them, both oblivious to the seething traffic, honking horns and jumping lights, the short-tempered pedestrians muttering under their breath to swerve them as they raced to meetings and appointments in the blistering July heat. ‘Tell me there’s still some hope.’

  She blinked, barely able to hear the words over the rushing of blood in her ears. But then, she’d always liked watching that mouth. Kissing it . . .

  ‘Maybe a little,’ she murmured, refusing to make it too easy for him.

  ‘Yeah?’ His face brightened, his muscles visibly softening. ‘Even though . . .’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Even though . . . ?’ she prompted.

  ‘Well, I overheard about your date at the weekend,’ he said quietly, holding her hands in his and looking down at her, his blue eyes more puppydog than she’d ever seen before. ‘I mean, I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything like that but I wondered if . . . if it was that same guy picking you up in the limo . . . I mean, I realize I don’t have any right to even ask—’

  She felt a wave of relief wash over her at the sight of his evident anguish, glad her role-play with Xan had been such effective torture. She smiled. ‘I may have come all the way to New York to escape you, Tom Elliott, but you cast a long shadow.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ he muttered, pulling her in towards him suddenly and kissing her as though they were standing on a sandbar in the Indian Ocean and not on the corner of East 40th and Park.

  ‘Never leave me again, Chloe,’ he whispered.

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Provence

  The water splashed noisily into the bath, amplified by the rose-quartz walls; the scent of lotus oil pungent even with the tall open windows. She looked down upon the gardens manicured to perfection, narrow cypresses planted at exact five-metre intervals all the way around the estate, lavender beds snaking in geometric shapes, orange and lemon trees dotted with colourful fruits. It took a team of eight full-time groundsmen to keep it looking that way; they were always there whenever she went to the windows, walking back and forth, pushing their wheelbarrows or carrying their spades or forks over their shoulders like civilian soldiers; sometimes, when it was bad, she felt like they were there to keep her in. Spying on her; reporting back.

  It was a ridiculous notion of course. They were just gardeners. But did they ever wonder about her, always standing at the windows, staring out at them, hiding away? She rarely received visitors any more. Did they comment among themselves about the gravel drive that scarcely ever required raking, so few cars travelled across it? Or had that gone unnoticed too? She was hidden in her palace, forgotten.

  The water sounded high in the bath and she turned back to close the taps, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. The sunny garden backlit her and she saw her slim silhouette outlined through her cotton nightgown, her long dark hair swept across one shoulder. For a moment, she was startled by her own loveliness. It wasn’t a vain thing to admit to; purely objectively, she could see for herself the pleasing symmetricality of her features, the lissom length of her
limbs, the Bambi-like appeal of her large brown eyes in her face. But she took no joy in it; it was the reason she was here, like this.

  Letting the gown slip off her shoulders and twisting her hair into a knot, she climbed into the bath, closing her eyes as the warm oily water closed around her. She sank down to her earlobes, feeling how the muscles relaxed; they were always as hard as stones these days, as though braced . . . Her masseuse – on the days she was allowed to come – couldn’t understand it.

  She took a deep breath, knowing it couldn’t be put off any longer. With superhuman effort, she turned her head to the side and forced herself to look at the tiny stick she had left on the side of the bath. In the two minutes that had elapsed, two dark lines had come to show in the window.

  She looked away again, feeling the cold swirl in her bowel that she always felt when she was afraid. Feeling dizzy, she bent one leg for balance, planting the foot on the bath floor, her knee poking through the water. Her fingers traced the bloody frill on her thigh, the bruise fading fast now; once it got to the yellowing stage, it was usually pretty quick. In fact, she could barely make out that it had been a footprint a week ago.

  She looked at the stick again – the two lines still there. That wasn’t something that would disappear so easily. It wasn’t something she would be able to hide.

  Much less protect.

  New York

  Xan looked up in surprise as she reached for her bag. ‘Out again?’

  ‘Is that a problem?’ she asked archly, checking her reflection in the small mirror and glancing at Tom too whilst she was at it. He was on the phone but there was a looseness in his bones that hadn’t been there this morning and she wondered whether there was in hers too, whether anyone else could see it? She felt physically different in her body since their kiss earlier. Awake. Alive again.

  She reached for the tinted lip gloss in the drawer. It was Poppy’s but the two of them had always shared it.