Authors: Jane Marciano
Chapter 14
Max slid into the seat opposite me, a grin plastered on his face. I paused, my fork halfway up to my mouth.
I said mildly, “So what was all the rumpus about that you had to go running off like that in the middle of our cosy meal?”
He folded his long legs under the table and tore his bread roll apart. “Oh, basically it was just a storm in a teacup. But whatever you do, don’t go into the kitchen for the next hour or so,” he said, reaching for the starched napkin he’d left behind on the table, and spreading it over his lap once more.
“Okay. I won’t. But why shouldn’t I, just in case I do get a sudden brief urge to visit that part of the hotel?”
Max reached for his glass of red wine and took an appreciative sip before he replied.
“Not just you, Bailey. Anyone and everyone. Chef’s having a fit of paranoia and he’s claiming the rest of the kitchen staff are hiding his utensils. Mother’s still in there with him now, trying to get the daft little man to calm down before he either has a heart attack or the rest of the staff all decide they’ve had enough of his accusations and quit.”
“That bad, eh?”
“No, not really. I just like adding those bits for dramatic effect. Actually, she really didn’t need me there at all, it’s all under control. She always copes superbly with the staff, even when they do go off half-cocked at times.”
“When she came over here to get you, she made it sound as if it was really important.”
“Huh. It was just her way of getting me away from you. She doesn’t like the way you ogle me every time I pass by, and the fact that we’re having dinner together has completely upset the silly woman’s sense of propriety.” He cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes at me. “And if I didn’t tell you before how incredibly ravishing you look tonight in that little black dress, then I’m doing so now. You look spectacular this evening, Bailey. You’re one hot chick.”
I could feel my own cheeks going hot under his lustful gaze, but I fanned the absurd compliments aside and said lightly, “It’s a bit much when a girl can’t even be trusted to have dinner in public with her own step brother.”
“She’s just being possessive. Can’t bear the idea that one day I won’t be around the place.”
I looked down doubtfully at my own grilled plaice.
I said, “Never mind your mother, I’m more concerned about your chef now. You said he’s acting strangely? Why? In what way? He’s not poisoned our food, has he?”
Max laughed as he quaffed more wine. “Nothing so exotic. He’s only mislaid his favourite butcher’s knife. And it’s not as if he doesn’t have a dozen other similar implements to do the same job.”
“So it’s safe to resume eating?”
“Now
that
I can’t say. But mine is delicious.” And picking up his serrated knife and fork, he resumed his previous ferocious attack on his medium rare sirloin steak.
“By the way,” he went on, mashing peas against the tines of his fork, “did I tell you I saw our mysterious lady again?”
“The woman in black?”
“Isn’t that a stage show?”
“Yes, and also apparently your mystery lady.”
“Well, she’s not so mysterious after all, although she does seem to have a penchant for the colour black – she’s even got raven hair to match her somewhat bizarre outfit. But notwithstanding colour blindness she is, as I suspected, a guest here. I told you I thought she might be, didn’t I?”
“Well deduced, Holmes.”
“And incidentally, she’s been given the room next to yours, well out of the way of our more valued guests on the floors below. She signed herself in earlier today as a Mrs Erica von
Randow, recently widowed, visiting our little island for reasons of business.”
“Well, scattering her husband’s ashes could hardly be deemed pleasurable, I suppose. Did you speak to her at all? Is she actually Dutch, or was she just married to one?”
“Oh, I really couldn’t say from which part of the world she hails, and I didn’t enquire either. It seemed to me the lady has enough on her plate and in her urn without my actually attempting to engage her in any unnecessary small talk.”
“No harm being charming to your paying guests, young man. That way they might even return for another visit.”
He gave me a look. “Bailey Cathcart. Ever the business woman.”
“What’s wrong with that? Your business
is
my business.”
“You think?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, sweet cheeks, don’t get your feathers ruffled. You’re too damn serious at times. Chill a bit. I was telling you about the Dutch dame, who, when last viewed, was still toting that damn urn around with her like it was a piece of precious luggage.” Max gave an exaggerated shiver. “So tell me, who in their right mind would wish to exchange pleasantries with such a sad person if they really didn’t have to?”
“You’re all heart, Max.”
“I have my limitations, I’ll admit.”
I eyed him for a moment as he speared chips onto his fork and smeared mustard liberally over them. He looked immaculate in his dark suit and crisp white shirt. His blonde hair gleamed under the ornate lights, and he looked even more rugged and tanned after our day out in the sunshine. He put on such a good front, I thought it was a shame that he didn’t take his responsibilities more seriously.
I said, “I get the impression that, from your somewhat lax attitude with regard to the wellbeing of your guests, you honestly aren’t too deeply involved in the day to day running of the hotel. Am I right, Max? Or is there, underneath that frivolous and carefree exterior, a truly deep and caring individual?”
He didn’t answer straightaway, but finished chewing his food and even drank some more wine before deigning to reply. Then he leaned back in his chair and regarded me steadily.
Suddenly, gone was the playfulness. In its place was a studied shrewdness. Even his eyes looked coldly blue.
“The hotel’s being sold.”
I blinked. Thought I’d misheard him. “Excuse me?”
“We’ve got a buyer. It’s all arranged.”
“But…but this place has been in your family for generations. I always got the impression that you and Meg would carry on the tradition.”
He was dismissive. “I told you before I’ve got ideas about a different kind of future for me. I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted to open up my own gym and start a new business. I just needed backing before the project could get started. Well, that’s now all in the bag. That’s where I was this morning. Seeing people and getting everything straightened out.”
I had stopped eating. Watching my reaction, he nodded.
He said, “It’s true. A property developer wants to build a block of luxury flats on the land.”
“And…and this development has definitely got the go ahead?”
I could still hardly get my head around it. It had never occurred to me that it would ever be sold to outsiders.
Max said, “But you look shocked, Bailey.”
With an unsteady hand I reached for my glass of diet coke and rum, and I took a long drink. Suddenly I had a bad taste in my mouth.
“Actually, I am very surprised,” I heard myself say at last. “I had no idea.”
Max shrugged and cut into the last of his steak. There was a wealth of meaning in his casual indifference and lack of explanation.
I slammed down my cutlery. It clattered on the plate.
“Didn’t it occur to anyone to think that it might’ve been the decent thing to have apprised me of these plans?”
My harshness didn’t appear to faze Max at all. He merely pushed his plate aside and twirled the stem of his glass through his fingers as he eyed my agitated and flushed face.
“You’re in a real state about this sale, aren’t you?”
“What did you expect!”
“No, what did
you
expect?”
I expelled a deep breath. “I would’ve expected your mother to have had the decency to mention it to me when we had our little chat only last night!”
He looked down at his fingers as they played with his glass.
“But why? What’s ‘Pegasus’ got to do with you?”
I was dumbfounded. “You don’t think I have a right to know what’s going on if my own father’s involved in the sale of this place?”
He waved his hand in the air, a deprecating gesture. “But he’s sick, and he’s not involved. Oh, I know you had some quaint notion about coming here to live and work, but that, my dear Bailey, is simply not going to happen, and the sooner you realise it, the better for you.”
I stood up, pushing my chair back so abruptly that the chair legs screeched on the floor tiles, and raised my voice, causing the few remaining diners who were still seated around the room to glance over towards us curiously.
“What’s the matter with you, with everyone here?” I hissed at him angrily, not caring if I was being overheard.
He merely gazed at me enquiringly.
I said, “Why do you insist on treating me as if I were some alien who’s just landed and invaded your space? Ever since I arrived it’s like I’ve fallen into a scene from
The
Stepford
Wives
.”
He laughed, which only made me fume harder.
“Don’t laugh at me, Max, I’m serious.”
“You’re imagining things. You’re almost as paranoid as our nutty chef.”
“Well maybe someone really did hide his knife so he couldn’t find it.”
Max gave me a pitying look which only infuriated me more.
“It’s the way I feel I’m being treated,” I snapped. “I’m part of this family too, aren’t I? Or am I the only member of it who thinks so?”
He didn’t reply, and I gazed down at him, feeling snubbed and unhappy.
I said sadly, “Why don’t you deny it, Max? Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m mistaken, that you’re not all trying to exclude me from what’s going on?”
Standing up, Max wiped his lips, threw down his napkin and said, almost lazily, “You’ve been here all of one day, Bailey. Not long enough to react the way you’re doing.”
I drew myself up haughtily. “Long enough to assess the situation and come to my own conclusions.”
He only looked amused. “Seems to me you need to get a few facts straight before you make certain assumptions.”
I looked him straight in the eye. “Right there with you buddy. If only somebody would oblige me.”
He surprised me then by leaning forward and, with his knuckle, gently caressing my right cheek.
“Guess someone needs to put this little kitten out of her misery,” he said softly. “You should speak to Colin.”
I jerked away from his touch, irritated. “Well I damn well would speak to my father, but since it appears he’s gone into hiding, and no one is telling me how I can contact him, it seems I’m stuck with just me and my paranoia. It’s like he’s disappeared into the ether.”
The smile widened. “But did no one tell you?” Max chuffed. “He’s outside on the terrace. Probably partying even as we speak.”
I stared at him, incredulous. Max only gave me a smug little smile and headed off towards the double doors leading outside to the terrace.
I went right after him, hot on his heels.
Chapter 15
There were dozens of people milling around on the terrace, holding glasses, eating, drinking. I recognised many of them as hotel guests who’d arrived earlier in the day, presumably by special invitation to join in the festivities going on. There was laughter, and conversation, and soft music coming from speakers. Couples were dancing together. Fairy lights had been strung up around the walls. It looked pretty.
Standing side by side in the doorway, I spoke to Max under my breath.
“Bloody hell! I was under the impression it was just going to be a small family gathering tonight, a sort of get together, just an off-the-cuff, impromptu little party.” I waved a hand before me. “Not this.”
Max grinned, and reached inside his jacket pocket for something. “Why worry? It’s not like you’re not dressed for the occasion, is it?”
Looking about me, I sighed. “Yet another example of feeling like I’m either in a dream or wading through sludge.”
“You call this sludge?” he asked, drawing out from his pocket a pack of cigarettes and a gold lighter. I didn’t even know he smoked. He flicked the top of the lighter and lit up, blowing smoke into the air.
“Murky waters, then. Either way, I get the feeling I’m way in over my head.”
He grinned. “You said it.” Then he patted my shoulder, looking around.
“I see someone I know. Catch you later maybe.”
As he disappeared into the throng, I stood still for a moment in the doorway, looking around, trying to see if I could see my father. I saw Gwen with Meg. They were chatting to friends. Neither of them appeared to see me. I wondered where all these people had come from? Were they guests at the hotel?
Then the crowd parted for a moment, and I saw my father, and my heart did a double somersault in my chest. I could feel a wide smile spreading across my face.
Dressed in a suit and tie, my dad was seated in a fancy-looking wheelchair, his leg raised straight out and bound in plaster.
He looked smaller than I remembered, as if he’d shrunk, and his hair was thinner and finer so that I could see the curve of his scalp showing through. The transparency of his skin made his bones look as if they were protruding from his flesh, making his features more prominent, though at the same time his eyes looked almost sunken. But for all that, his smile was wide and infectious, and his laugh was loud and strong.
He was talking to an attractive and well-dressed couple, I guessed to be probably in their mid-fifties, and he was laughing at something the man was saying.
But something made him glance away and look towards the French doors. Towards where I was standing.
And as our eyes met, his expression changed. It was as if a shutter had come drawn over his eyes.
Taking my courage in both hands, I was, however, still nervous as I threaded my way through the crowd over towards him. I stood to one side of the chair and though I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to bend down and kiss him. His expression was too far from welcoming for me to try it.
“Hello, dad,” I said quietly.
For a moment he glanced up at the tall and affluent-looking man he’d been in conversation with, who had smiled politely on my approach, although the smile was now vanishing slightly as he presumably sensed that somehow all was not quite as it should be between me and the person in the wheelchair. He had darted a swift look towards the elegant woman at his side. She also looked slightly mystified, but was managing nevertheless to hold her expression intact and her smile in place.
My father introduced us. Very formal, no warmth in his expression at all.
“Emile, Anouska, may I introduce Bailey Cathcart, visiting us from London.”
Dad looked at me, I thought somewhat challengingly, as I automatically offered my hand towards the man called Emile, who shook it warmly enough. I tried to keep my facial muscles immobile, and hoped that my feelings at being introduced in such a manner weren’t reflected in my expression.
As the lady called Anouska then took my hand, my father said, “Monsieur and Madame Gagnier are the owners of a vineyard in Normandy where they live, and are the parents of Anne Gagnier, who I believe you have already met.”
He beamed up at the couple, even though he was effectively talking to me.
He went on, “Anne is not only our most valued and trusted employee, but she and Max have just announced their engagement. I’m honoured to have her as our future daughter-in-law, and welcome the Gagniers into the family.”
I could feel my hand freeze in her palm, and Madame
Gagnier’s eyes widened in puzzlement at my obvious look of dismay. There was a brief, awkward moment as our palms seemed stuck together, before I pulled my hand away and forced my arms down to my sides. I didn’t know what to say, except, “Congratulations, Monsieur, Madame. Anne is a lovely girl. I sincerely hope she and Max will be very happy together. They make a beautiful couple.”
They smiled and nodded and seemed ill at ease as an awkward silence fell over the four of us. We all seemed somehow to be stuck in a frozen tableau. Only my father seemed to have the presence of mind to be able to break it.
He smiled up at the Gagnier’s and said, “Would you kindly excuse us for a while? Bailey and I need to talk. I will see you both shortly, no doubt.”
His wheelchair was motorised. With a flick of his finger on a switch it wheeled ninety degrees and I slowly followed my father to a dark, even secluded corner of the terrace. There was a table and chairs set out, but nobody was sitting nearby. More people were dancing now, younger people had arrived, presumably more friends of the happy couple, come to celebrate the announcement of their engagement and impending nuptials. I could see Max in the centre of everything, arm circled around Anne’s slender waist. Their feet were moving in time to the music, but you couldn’t really call it dancing. It was too sensual and intimate an act for that. They looked as if there were completely alone in the world. He was smiling down at her and moving against her suggestively, and she was looking up at him as if he was the most important person in the world. Which apparently to her he was.
Having seen quite enough, I looked away.
A candle in a glass lantern quivered on the table, spilling out just enough light for me to see our surroundings, and my father’s stern expression. My heart dropped, as I dropped into a chair. He positioned his wheelchair exactly opposite me across the table and gazed out beyond my shoulder, apparently looking over the walls towards the horizon.
For a while neither of us spoke.Then, unable to standing the silence any longer and bolstering up my courage I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible, “I’m so sorry about your leg, dad. I hope it’s not too painful.”
Turning his head to look at me he said, “Of course it’s bloody painful. It’s broken.”
I could feel the tears welling up inside. Not for him, for me. For us. For what should’ve been a special moment between father and daughter, and he’d just gone and ruined it.
I tried to think of something else, although my eyes were drawn towards Max and Anne as they held court in the centre of a group of people. I tried not to think about how Max had duped me and played me like a second fiddle. So he’d not told me the truth of his relationship with Anne. OK. So what? Let’s face it, we hardly knew one another. I hadn’t really known him long enough to feel bitter about having been made a fool of. He’d kissed me and had wanted to make love to me on the beach that very day. Obviously to him it would just have been a bit of fun. And maybe because it suited his vanity to see if he could add yet another conquest to his doubtless already long list of female admirers.
But I’d thought we were buddies. I was sure I’d felt a reciprocal bond going on between us. So what upset me even more than his not telling me he was getting engaged, was his not telling me about the hotel being sold. He could’ve mentioned it a hundred times during the day. He’d known how I felt. He’d lead me on, in so many ways.
Jeeze
. Was I so insignificant a person that my feelings didn’t matter at all?
My father spoke again, breaking into my thoughts. His tone was cold and formal.
“What brings you here, Bailey?”
I gazed across at him, hoping to see some sign of softness, some tinge of remorse for the way he’d treated me over the years, but I saw nothing but aloof enquiry.
I said numbly, “Well, Gwen must’ve told you about my circumstances. But mainly I came to see you, of course. And maybe to try and put things right between us. If I can. So we can start anew.”
He turned his face aside. I leaned forward, but didn’t try to touch
him.My voice dropped. I knew I must have sounded like I was beseeching him. Well, I was.
I said, softly, “Dad, in what way have I offended you? Please, tell me, because I’d really, really like to know what I’ve done wrong.”
He looked back at me, his expression considering, and his lip curled. “You look like your mother, even with that ridiculous hair.”
Despite the disparaging words, I felt encouraged, even emboldened.
I said eagerly, “Can’t we try and bridge the gulf together? I’ll do anything. I only ask to be acknowledged, to be recognised as your daughter, not to be treated as if I were some passing stranger.”
He didn’t say anything but remained tight-lipped. I went on, my voice rising, the words almost tripping over themselves.
“Please, give me a chance to prove myself, here, with you, with Gwen and the rest of the family.” I paused. “As you must know, Jonti’s married and he and his wife are expecting their first child soon. Mum’s re-married, and even though she and her new husband have offered me a home with them any time I want it, I’d still need to find work because I left my job. And I left my job because a girl I once liked now thinks of me as her enemy, and was making my life difficult for me back in the office. So just about everything’s gone wrong for me back in London. My boyfriend dumped me, and I lost my home. Coming here just seemed such a practical solution to all my problems.”
My father spoke suddenly. He said, “This place already runs on a skeleton crew, and most of them are temps, and they’ll be gone from tomorrow. They’re not idiots; they know this place is being sold, so they’re all getting out while they can.”
His voice was curt, almost as if he was insulted that the staff were leaving in droves. Yet at least he was talking, which was an encouraging sign, I thought.
I said, “And
Max’ll marry Anne Gagnier and he’ll start his new business, possibly with help from his obviously wealthy future in-laws. And Megan – well, truly I have no idea about Meg as I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking to her yet, even though I’m pretty sure she’s noticed that I’m here. Maybe she’ll deign to chat later, unless she’s also trying to avoid me, of course. That’s always a possibility. Anyway, the point is, I’m sure all of you have thought about what you’ll be doing once the sale goes through. I’m just sorry that no one thought well enough of me to have discussed it with me, too.”
The look my father gave me was chilling and full of contempt. He said, “Don’t you realise just how pathetic you sound, Bailey? Like a small child, instead of a grown woman.”
I had to bite my lip hard to stop myself from shouting at him. He was being so unjust. I simply didn’t understand it.
I clenched my fists. “Oh, Dad. What happened to you? To us? I remember you as being a warm and loving father when I was a little girl. I know you loved me once, me and
Jonti. I couldn’t have dreamed all that up, and I still hold dear all those memories and photographs of us together. I’ll always cherish them you know, no matter what you say. A child’s love for a parent doesn’t wither and die just because that parent goes away!” I hesitated, unsure if my next word would make him angrier than he seemed already. But I felt I needed to say them.
I said, “I know you left us because my mother found out you’d been unfaithful to her. She made you leave, but I didn’t blame you, I’m sure my mother was very difficult to live with at times. But you know I never stopped loving you. Not even after you divorced mum and you
married Gwen did I stop loving you. And I know you still loved and cared about us afterwards. Isn’t that true?”
His jaw tightened. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“No, I haven’t. I can’t have. We were always special to you, even if you didn’t love mum anymore and can’t admit it.”
Dad’s head was bowed, but I knew he was listening.
Unsure what more I could say to him in order to get through, I simply stopped talking and waited for him to speak.
And finally he did. And his voice was deep and full of anguish.
“You’re wrong. About everything.”
He looked at me then, and I’d never seen such pain on someone’s face before. It almost broke my heart.
He said, “I never stopped loving your mother. She was the most beautiful, most exquisite woman I’d ever met. I love her still. I always will, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to leave, or get divorced. I never wanted to lose my family. But she broke me.”
I held my breath.
He said quietly, “Not even when I found out she was unfaithful to me could I stop loving her.”