‘I saw fireworks,’ she said dreamily.
Patrick grinned at her.
‘So did I.’
The two of them laughed, rolled into each other’s arms and kissed each other back into a frenzy. This time Patrick entered her gently, controlling his movements and showing her how to move with him until they were making slow, languorous love, aware of each other this time and not just themselves.
As he lost himself inside her, it was then that Patrick realized he’d never actually made love to anyone before. He’d screwed, fucked, bonked, got his leg over and his end away, but this was the first time he’d tipped over the edge and fallen into someone’s soul. It blew his mind.
*
As Lawrence drove the car back over the hill that led down to Honeycote, the sight of a thousand fireworks filled him with wonder. He pulled over to watch, then realized as a large ‘C’ entwined with a large ‘J’ exploded on to the horizon that it was James and Caroline’s nuptial celebrations. Kelly was fast asleep beside him, and he thought about waking her, but the fireworks made him feel rather melancholy, reminding him of his own failed marriage vows.
The day had confirmed that the decision he was about to make was right. He’d seen the amused, arched eyebrows of the other wives as they mentally subtracted Kelly’s age from his and gave each other knowing glances. He’d had envious digs in the ribs from his business associates, who made suggestive innuendos when none of the women were listening and made Lawrence feel like a dirty old man. Not only that, but he felt very protective of Kelly; the implications were that she was some sort of gold-digger, and he knew for a fact she was not.
He knew better than anyone that, despite appearances, Kelly was actually the sort of girl who’d like to spend her own money rather than anyone else’s. She had aspirations and a work ethic, she wanted to be a success, own her own salon, buy her own Porsche. One day. Lawrence admired her deeply for that and, although he knew she was fiercely independent, he thought he could persuade her that a gentle leg up was not a cop out – especially when there were no strings attached.
As the last barrage of fireworks exploded into the night sky, Kelly stirred and woke. Lawrence put a gentle hand on her arm.
‘Kelly?’
She looked at him wide-eyed with expectation.
‘Yes?’
‘We need to talk.’
28
Kelly was sad that her relationship with Lawrence was coming to an end. She was fond of him, but she was a realist. She knew he was too old for her and she wanted someone to fall in love with, not a sugar daddy.
His proposal, however, had filled her with excitement. He’d made it clear it would be a very businesslike arrangement. They would be partners in the business, he providing the premises, she the hard work and her expertise. The plan was to open the following autumn, which gave them time to find a suitable location and Kelly time to pass her exams; it would be no good her opening a beauty salon unqualified.
She’d decorate the salon in white, lilac and silver, soothing, calming colours, with wafting voile curtains and classical music in the background – that was classy. She could barely contain her excitement, though she knew it was going to be hard work. She’d have to do late-night openings, for women who worked. And Saturday would be her busiest day, of course. But Kelly had never been afraid of hard work. Her parents had taught her that. She’d helped out in the pub ever since she’d been able, though her parents had always stressed that she should follow her own career, not follow them into the trade. She’d make sure she never forgot a client’s name, or how they liked their coffee, or what their favourite nail varnish was. It was attention to detail that would keep people coming back. They liked to be pampered and they liked to be recognized. She wondered about a name. Perhaps her mum would help her choose. Eileen was so much happier, now that she and dad had decided to leave the Honeycote Arms. Things really were looking up.
Lawrence too was delighted with the project. It would give him something to think about besides the garden centre, although it was hardly a challenge on the scale of what he’d been planning to do at the brewery. But perhaps it was better to be motivated by altruism than revenge. He genuinely cared about Kelly and had an interest in her future. He could see that she was good at what she did, and didn’t see the point of her wasting time being exploited at someone else’s beauty salon when she could be reaping the profits for herself. He could keep an eye on things – though he suspected in a couple of years’ time she’d be as sharp as the next one when it came to business. Eventually she could buy him out. He’d give her a favourable price; he’d only have to pay tax on whatever she gave him, so she might as well reap the benefit rather than the Inland Revenue. Or perhaps they could open another; start a small chain. As ever, Lawrence started thinking big, then laughed at himself. Lawrence Oakley, beauty salon magnate? No, he’d set Kelly up, get her up and running, then cut loose. After all, he’d got other, more important plans.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to find Kay. She’d changed her mobile phone number; hadn’t notified him of a landline. Well, he’d made it pretty clear that things had ended. He thought of hiring a private detective, but it seemed so tacky and sordid.
Then he thought about phoning her parents. He knew she wasn’t close, but felt it unlikely that she’d sever all means of communication with them. She wouldn’t deliberately hurt them.
When, a week later, Lawrence finally plucked up the courage to call Sylvia Porter, she sounded relieved.
‘I don’t know what’s gone on between you, and I don’t want to know.’
Not much you don’t, thought Lawrence.
‘All I know is that she needs you.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘She was screaming the place down for you in the delivery suite. You should have been there for her, you know. No matter what’s gone on.’
There was a dumbfounded silence.
‘Delivery suite?’
‘I had to go in with her in the end. She insisted she could manage, but I know what it’s like. No woman should have to give birth on her own.’
Lawrence gulped.
‘She’s… had the baby, then?’
‘I’m only telling you because I don’t think it’s right, her bringing a baby up on her own. But for God’s sake don’t tell her I told you.’
‘I won’t. I promise.’
Sylvia gave him the address. Lawrence recognized the village. It wasn’t a million miles from the house she’d sold him all those years ago. He memorized it instantly, thanked Sylvia hurriedly, then went out to his car before he could change his mind. Sylvia put her hands together and allowed herself a quick prayer. Her daughter was doing well, she was inordinately proud of her coping the way she did, but whichever way you looked at it, a baby needed a father and that was that.
Lilac Cottage was at the end of a row of little terraced houses, none of which, thankfully, had been blighted by the introduction of PVC windows or stone cladding. Lawrence stopped at the little gate and stared up the path to the smart navy pram that stood outside the front door. It was a proper Mary Poppins job, and must have taken up most of the hallway in what he could now see was the tiniest of dwellings. Typical Kay. Quality not quantity. He supposed she could have bought a more substantial modern house with the money he’d given her. But she’d been quite right to choose this; a much better investment. Lawrence felt a fleeting bolt of pride. She’d learned at the feet of a master all right.
He flicked back the latch and made his way up the path, coming to a halt by the pram. From inside, Kay watched him. She liked to put the baby outside for some fresh air each morning, but she always watched the pram like a hawk. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment, before bending down and looking in. Inside was an enchanting, doll-like creature, peaches and cream. He watched in wonder as the blankets rose and fell ever so slightly in time with her breath.
He looked up to see Kay standing in the doorway. He ha
d to look twice, she’d changed so much. Motherhood had softened her once angular features. Her hair was longer, darker, and she’d twisted it up into a clip on top of her head. Loose strands fell onto her face, which was bare of make-up. Lawrence was surprised to see freckles. Even her clothes had changed. Gone was the aggressive power-dressing; the statement, the ‘here I am’ outfits. She wore a cream cableknit sweater, sloppy enough to disguise the few extra pounds she was still carrying, over a long chambray skirt and espadrilles.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Flora.’
Flora. The goddess of spring. Why had she chosen that name? His questioning eyes met hers and he was surprised to be met with a soft gaze, not a defiant stare. Kay smiled.
‘Go on. Pick her up. She won’t wake yet. She’s out for the count.’
An assenting nod confirmed her invitation. Tentatively, Lawrence reached down and scooped up the soft pink bundle. He wasn’t sure whether to pick up the preponderance of bedding that went with her, and hesitated.
‘It’s all right. She’s tougher than she looks.’
As Lawrence drew the baby to his chest, a feeling of warmth enveloped him. And as Flora instinctively snuggled into his clasp, he wondered that it felt so right, so natural. He looked at Kay for reassurance and the warmth in her eyes, the pride, suddenly humbled him. It was this little bundle that was important and not whether she was his, or theirs, or Kay’s. Pride, principle, ego – what did they matter?
He bent down to nuzzle the white blonde fuzz on her head. He tried to speak, but only a croak came out.
‘She’s beautiful.’
Just then the baby stirred, perhaps disturbed by the unfamiliar sounds and smells. But she didn’t protest, just opened her eyes and gazed curiously upwards, one pink paw reaching out. And as he looked down at her, Lawrence’s heart did a huge somersault, for what he saw confirmed the wisdom of what he was about to do. The eyes he found himself staring at were a perfect match – not for his own, nor for Mickey’s, but for Kay’s. Twin green orbs, dark ringed, with their curiously russet centres. It was as if she was a clone of her mother, as if the reproductive process had been undergone without the help of another.
He cleared his throat of the huge lump that persisted.
‘If you put this house on the market now, you’d get a good price. It’s the right time of year to sell. Just bung up a few hanging baskets.’
‘Oh, and where would I get those from?’
Her tone was teasing. Lawrence gave a self-deprecating grin.
‘I’d give you a discount.’
The banter was light, disguising the deadly weight of the meaning underlying it. Flora waved her hand in the air, like a miniature referee, during what seemed to Lawrence like an interminable pause. Ignoring every sales trick he’d ever utilized, he made the next move, making himself vulnerable, probably for the first time in his life.
‘Come back.’
It was more of a plea than a command, and Kay looked at him sharply. There was so much left unsaid, and they both knew it. They were equally guilty, equally innocent. Fear collected momentarily in the pit of her stomach and travelled up to her heart, until she felt it would burst. Could they really start again? They were both cynics, not romantics, but perhaps that would work in their favour.
Of course it could work. They had a focus now. Whereas before they’d been floundering in self-indulgence, unable to communicate because there was nothing to bond them except their empty success, which didn’t seem to afford them any happiness.
Lawrence showed his cards, yet again, in a desperate attempt to close the deal.
‘We’d better put her down for Cheltenham Ladies’ College. We might already be too late.’
Kay heard the desperation underneath his flippancy. She pouted.
‘Rubbish. Eldenbury High. I’m not letting her out of my sight now I’ve got her.’
Kay reached out and took Flora from his arms. Lawrence stood helpless, not sure how to take what she’d said. Was that the end of it? Was he being dismissed? Was she asserting her independence and throwing the offer back in his face?
Kay marched down the path and called back over her shoulder.
‘Come on in. She needs a feed in a minute. She’ll start squawking and then you’ll know about it.’ She grinned. ‘You might change your mind.’
Minutes later, Lawrence held a furious red bundle that emitted ear-splitting shrieks as Kay desperately tried to cool down her bottle, and found himself laughing. The two of them, arch manipulators, putty in the hands of a tiny creature. Kay shook tiny droplets of milk on to her wrist and, satisfied that it wasn’t going to cause further shrieking, handed the bottle to Lawrence.
‘Come on. You’re a new man, aren’t you? You can do the nappy afterwards.’
Lawrence was amazed at Flora’s tenacity as the six inches of milk fell to five, then four. Kay sat back and he looked at her.
‘Well?’
‘Who shall we put it on the market with?’
29
As she slid a huge pan of potatoes for roasting into the Aga oven, Lucy realized that she felt lighter-hearted than she had done for months. After all, she was preparing for what she loved best – friends and family round the table, mountains of food, gallons of wine… James and Caroline were due back from their honeymoon that afternoon. Mickey still wasn’t up to driving long distances, so Patrick had offered to go and pick them up from the airport. They were coming back to Honeycote House for Sunday lunch to give everyone all the gory details about their fortnight in Tuscany. Everything was always a bit of an anticlimax after a wedding, so Lucy thought it was time for a get-together. Keith and Mandy were coming too; they’d become like extended family. And Ned. Though he’d always been around anyway, so he made no difference.
She looked around the kitchen, mentally working out her Sunday lunch timetable. Sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, lifting the yellow walls to a golden glow. The air was filled with the rich smell of roasting pork, the juices melting into a bed of onions. Homemade apple sauce was cooking down in a pan. Carrots and spring greens were chopped, ready and waiting.
Lucy felt happy that everything was perfect and allowed herself to sit down for a moment to enjoy the peace. It felt like the old days again, warm, hospitable, welcoming. It was, thought Lucy, as if some sort of ghost had been laid. Which in a way perhaps it had.
She and Mickey had gone for a ride that morning, only at a walk, and a gentle one at that. Lucy had wanted to show Mickey the wonders she had worked on Phoenix, how the hours of patience she’d put in had turned the unpredictable animal into a perfect gentleman. As they had reached the brow of the hill that looked back down over Honeycote, allowing them a view of the house, the village and the brewery, they had gazed down in companionable silence.
As they both surveyed everything they could have lost, they each knew without speaking that life had gone beyond recrimination, beyond revenge. It was time to look forward. To enjoy everything they’d got. It had definitely been a turning point, as they each rode home with a lighter heart.
To anyone watching the Liddiards at lunch, they would have seemed like a normal, ordinary family sharing their experiences. No one could have guessed the turbulence they’d all been through to get to this point. But everyone understood their role, their boundaries, what could be said and what couldn’t, what eye contact could be made and what should be avoided.
Mickey was just emerging from the cellar with a couple of well-chosen bottles of claret when Caroline came out of the loo that led off the scullery. He had to admit that she looked like a different woman. Sure, she had looked beautiful on her wedding day, but that had been with the help of various beauticians and hairdressers. Two weeks in the Tuscan spring sunshine had brought out a natural beauty: her skin was dusted with golden freckles, the whites of her eyes had lost the red veins of overwork and over-indulgence, and the copper flecks in her irises sparked.
Mickey went forward to greet
her.
‘Welcome back, Mrs Liddiard,’ he teased.
‘Thank you.’
She stood in front of him, smiling salaciously. Mickey could feel the warmth of the Siena sun radiating off her skin. He wanted to touch her, feel the warmth for himself through his fingertips. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. They were full, luscious – honeymoon lips swollen with kissing. He imagined them devouring ripe figs on her wedding night. She took a step closer and he could feel her breasts against his chest. He held the kiss, savouring it, inhaling her scent of burnt honey and orange blossom; something delicious bought in Florence.
Suddenly, he felt a familiar surge of excitement. Relief flooded through him. He was getting an erection! Thank God! He’d been convinced he was never going to get another one in his life; that his real punishment was that he’d never be capable of sex again. The ultimate irony.
But no. Here it was. The hard evidence, so to speak. Mickey grinned in delight. He wanted to do a dance of triumph. He realized that Caroline was staring at him, bewildered but amused. He wanted to show off his achievement. But he supposed it wasn’t really appropriate behaviour, and it might take some explaining if anyone walked in.
Their eyes met. Mickey stepped back reluctantly, willing his erection to dwindle. She looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, questioning his next move. He coughed, feeling he had to say something.
‘I just wanted to say thank you.’
‘What for?’
He could hardly say ‘for giving me a raging hard on’. Even though he suspected she’d understand. She was a babe. James was a lucky chap.
‘Saving me from myself.’
Caroline met his gaze, a small smile playing round her lips.
‘It’s a pleasure.’
Mickey turned and walked away, his slight limp still evident, despite the physio. He went back into the dining room. It was still alive with chatter; there was no hiatus as he took his place. No one had found his simultaneous absence with Caroline remotely suspicious. Lucy smiled and offered him another slice of banoffee pie. Mickey grinned and pushed his plate forward.
Honeycote Page 39
