Love Nest (30 page)

36

‘This is the M4,’ Karen said. ‘So we’re heading west. Not to Devon, I hope.’

She was joking but Max frowned as he switched lanes.

‘I thought it might be a good idea.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘I am.’ His eyes were fixed on the road. ‘Look, I know it sounds nuts but I want to look at Chadlicote with you. Help you make up your mind if you can bear it or not.’

‘But I…’

‘We’re staying in a gorgeous hotel. But if you don’t want to go, we won’t. I’ll head north on the M5 into Gloucestershire or the Cotswolds. Or straight on across the Severn Bridge into Wales. It’s up to you.’

‘But I hate the countryside, you know that.’ She said it jokingly. ‘Cows and mud.’

‘And you know I hate it too. But I want to see if we both still hate it when we’re together.’

It was crazy, it was totally unexpected. It meant all the things she’d wanted to forget over the weekend would now have to be faced up to. But Max was right. Things were coming to a head. She had to tackle them.

It was nearly three by the time they approached Chadlicote through the metal gates with the dilapidated lodge beside them.

‘Suppose someone sees us?’ Karen had told no one – not even Max – about her visit to Chadlicote a couple of weeks ago; that was her secret.

‘You’re buying the place, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but… I’m with you.’

‘Say I’m your brother.’

‘OK,’ Karen said meekly. Grace would never believe that. They drove on. Max looked from side to side in astonishment.

‘Bloody hell, Karen. This is unreal.’

‘I know.’

They crossed the bridge over the stream. A deer ran across their path. The house reared up in front of them. Even more majestic than Karen remembered.

‘I’m not going any closer. Pull in here.’ She nodded at a clearing under a clump of elm trees.

They stared through the windscreen.

‘It’s amazing,’ Max said. ‘Phil must be absolutely loaded to afford this.’

‘Not as loaded as he thinks he is.’

Max shook his head. ‘Karen, you know how I’m living? In a studio flat with a kitchenette. A tiny balcony that gets no sun.’

‘So?’

Max shook his head. ‘I can’t compete, Karen. Look at the kind of life Phil can give you.’

‘Do you really think I’m that shallow?’ she asked heatedly. ‘Do you really think I choose people on what they can give me?’

‘You said you chose Phil because he made you safe. I can’t offer you anything like this. It’s a bloody palace. Shit, Karen, I feel stupid now.’

‘Don’t feel stupid. Don’t ever think this is about you offering me anything!’ Karen felt desperate, as if she were arguing for her life. She felt as if all the mistakes she’d ever made were crowing in her ear, telling her it was payback time for the insecurity and greed which had – deep down she knew – been her motivation for marrying Phil. But how could Max really believe that she’d rather live in that cold, draughty house with a cold, draughty husband than be with him, in their love nest with double-decker buses rumbling past and the stuffed foxes and cats on the corner?

‘I love you, Max. I never loved Phil like this. Never loved anyone. And I’ll always love you, whatever… whatever happens.’

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then they were kissing.

‘Christ,’ Max said, when finally they stopped, both breathing heavily. ‘I’m feeling all emotional here.’ He put on a silly northern accent, trying to defuse the tension. It didn’t work.

‘Me too.’

They started kissing again.

‘I think we urgently need to get to the hotel,’ Max said hoarsely.

‘I think you’re right,’ Karen said.

Nick woke disoriented. They were in a four-poster bed surrounded by a mosquito net, in the main bedroom of the house. House being a bit of an understatement – this was more of a mansion, up a long, dirt track that even Dolly’s jeep bounced along alarmingly, and then up a steep, winding hill through high gates and on to a drive dominated by a huge white clapboard building. A veranda ran round three sides. Round the corner, in the middle of immaculate green lawns, was a floodlit swimming pool.

‘The tennis courts are over there,’ Lucinda had said with an airy wave. ‘Maybe tomorrow we’ll have a game.’

‘I don’t know how to play tennis.’

She’d looked a bit confused, like he’d told her he didn’t speak English. ‘Oh, that’s right. Well, I can teach you. Might be fun.’

‘Right.’

The table in the dining room was covered with dishes of what looked like some kind of stew, black peas, a sort of naan bread.

‘Mrs Marilia is so sweet,’ Lucinda exclaimed. ‘She’s made us her roti.’

‘Roti?’

‘It’s like curry,’ she said, just a trifle impatiently.

They ate some heated up in the microwave. Nick was anxious, but Lucinda was right. It
was
like curry, actually better than the takeaways Kylie ordered from the Bengal Lancer. The fridge was full of beers. Nick drank one and began to feel a bit more relaxed.

‘Can you hear the sea?’ Lucinda smiled. ‘In the morning you’ll be able to see it. We’re right on top of a cliff. Got our own private beach, though it’s a bit of a scrabble down the hill to get there. But worth it. I can’t wait for a swim. In fact, I might have one now.’

‘But it’s dark.’

‘So?’ She started pulling off her clothes. ‘Come on!’

He was ashamed to admit he couldn’t really swim. So he snapped, ‘I don’t have to do whatever you want.’

She stared at him for a second, standing there in a mocha-coloured lacy bra and matching pants. Then slowly she said, ‘No. Of course you don’t. It was just a suggestion.’

She pulled off the rest of her clothes, pushed open the French doors, ran on to the lawn and dived fluidly into the pool. Nick watched as her head surfaced. She was laughing. He felt a twisting sense of inadequacy. This woman was simply outside his league. She ploughed down the pool, doing a fast, neat crawl.

‘It’s so warm,’ she shouted, her hair slicked back from her face. ‘Try it!’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow.’ By then he’d have thought up some kind of excuse.

She swam a few more lengths and then came out, running naked and giggling to the house to find a towel. And of course she looked so gorgeous that they ended up having sex on the living room sofa. They went to sleep in the big white bed with a fan whirring gently overhead. And now dawn was creeping in through the huge shutters. Lucinda was fast asleep, looking happier than he’d ever seen her before.

Nick eased himself out of bed, padded across the wooden floor and went down the imposing main staircase to the living room. The French windows looked out over white cliffs, curving off towards the horizon. Below them, a flecked turquoise sea bubbled. There were trees everywhere – not just the palm trees he’d expected but great towering things with long, sweeping branches.

If this was Lucinda’s second home, what could the first be like? Then there was the ski chalet, and somewhere by the sea in France. Nick didn’t really do computers, but when he got back perhaps he should google Lucinda’s dad and try to discover a bit more about him.

On the veranda rail sat an extraordinary bird with coppery feathers, a golden, tufty quiff, a long, sickle-shaped beak and sapphire round the eyes. It turned and gave Nick a cold stare. Nick stared back. The bird stared some more.

Nick blinked first.

‘All right, you win,’ he snapped.

The sun had just risen, but already the heat was sticky on his skin. He turned and inspected the photographs on the mantelpiece that he hadn’t been able to look at the night before. This must be Lucinda’s dad – a big, bluff man in chinos and a polo shirt: thick head of black hair, a little rodenty dog sitting on his lap. Behind him stood what must be her mother, a brittle-looking woman who looked as if she’d been preserved in formaldehyde, her hair styled stiffly into a blonde pony-tail, her mouth in a straight lipstick slash.

Other pictures showed presumably Lucinda’s sister, a younger, slightly more relaxed version of the mother, in a stripy shirt with a turned-up collar, set off by a string of pearls. The brother wore chinos too and had an annoying smirk. A handsome, pampered bunch. Nick thought of his own family pictures – him with half his teeth missing in the scarlet school jumper, mounted on brown cardboard. A snapshot of Mum in an orange dress, laughing at Christmas dinner, her gold tooth on full display. They didn’t really compare.

‘You’re up already,’ said a voice behind him. Lucinda stood there in tiny shorts and a black vest top. ‘Isn’t it glorious?’

‘Beautiful,’ he admitted unwillingly.

She headed to the kitchen. He followed her, slightly reluctantly. ‘Mrs Marilia’s left us a fruit plate,’ she smiled. ‘All my favourites. Yum. Star fruit. Delicious.’

‘Is there any bread or anything?’

Again she shook her head with faint disapproval. ‘We can buy some today. Go to the supermarket in Crown Point. But you should try the fruit. It really is amazing.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ he lied.

His misery was compounded when he discovered there was no tea in the house, only coffee. He drank a glass of water, while Lucinda scoffed the fruit plate and then had a large glass of freshly squeezed guava juice. Good job he’d had a big dinner on the plane.

‘So today, I thought we could maybe go down to the beach,’ she said. ‘Do some snorkelling perhaps. Then maybe we could drive up to Englishman’s Bay and have lunch at the little shack there – amazing rotis. And in the evening I’ve said we’ll meet my friends Michelle and Angus for a drink at the Blue Haven Hotel. Gorgeous place. I mean, you can’t actually get a better view than here but the cocktails are incredible. There’s this rum punch…’

‘Meeting friends?’

‘Yes. Michelle and Angus. They live in a massive estate out near Argyle. Got loads of horses. We could go riding…’

‘Why do we have to meet them?’ Nick asked petulantly.

‘Because they’re really nice people,’ Lucinda said impatiently. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Darling, I know how you’d like it just to be the two of us always. It’s incredibly sweet. But life doesn’t work like that, does it? You can’t exist in a bubble.’

‘Why not?’

She laughed. ‘I love it that you’re so possessive. But it’ll just be one little drink. And then we’ll have dinner alone. There’s a great Italian restaurant in Buccoo. I could book it.’

He felt weak, like a kitten. He wished he’d never come.

‘All right,’ he said miserably. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘Nick!’ Lucinda shook him. ‘Nick, wake up. We’ve got to go.’

Nick surfaced slowly and smiled at her. He’d had a long nap, at least three hours. Lucinda thought they’d had a pretty perfect Tobago day so far. They’d clambered down a steep hillside to the private beach, where she’d swum in the crystal water while he lay on a towel. She didn’t know why he wouldn’t come in with her, and she wished he’d put on some sunscreen but he’d refused. Now she could see his shoulderblades and nose were deep scarlet.

She couldn’t be bothered to drive to the beach hut for lunch, so instead they’d climbed back up to the house, where magical Mrs Marilia had been and cleaned up and cooked a huge lunch of more roti and delicious dumplings and callaloo, which Nick refused to taste for some reason. Then they’d had sex, which had been technically very satisfying – she’d come about three times – but, she hated to admit, lacked a certain sense of passion. Still, afterwards she’d lain with her head on his chest, which was the kind of thing lovers did, and fallen asleep to the sound of his heart pounding in his skinny ribcage.

But now they needed to get going. ‘We’ve got to get showered and changed. We have to be at the Blue Haven for six.’

‘Why?’ he grumbled.

‘I told you why. Because we’re meeting Michelle and Angus.’

‘Call them. Tell them we’ll meet them tomorrow.’

‘No, I shan’t. That would be very bad manners. Do you want to shower first or shall I? I’d wear a smartish pair of trousers if I were you. And a long-sleeved shirt to cover the tattoo. I mean, Tobago’s not a ritzy place, hardly Geneva, but when it comes to dressing up it’s quite traditional.’

‘But I haven’t brought a smart pair of trousers. And what’s wrong with the tattoo?’

Heavens, did he really have to ask? ‘Well, it’s just not very… My parents’ friends might be a little shocked.’

‘Tattooing isn’t a chav thing, you know,’ Nick responded. ‘In the nineteenth century the British upper classes used to meet in drawing rooms and partially undress to show theirs off. I told you – George V had one. So did two of his sons. So did Winston Churchill. So did his mother, apparently. And a piercing.’

‘Really? His
mother
? How do you know that?’

‘Just… reading.’

‘Fascinating. I’d never have known that.’ But it was time to get back to the point. ‘Maybe you could borrow some of Daddy’s clothes. He keeps some here.’

‘I’m not borrowing your father’s clothes!’ he exclaimed.

‘They wouldn’t fit you anyway. But honestly, Nick. Didn’t you think?’

‘No, I fucking didn’t. Why should I think about packing clothes to wear to meet stupid people I couldn’t give a fuck about?’

Her face froze. ‘You’re very rude,’ she said levelly. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’

Under the lukewarm water she had a rethink. Perhaps she was being a bit bossy. She’d given him very short notice of the trip. She hadn’t told him what to pack. He wasn’t a mindreader.

She pulled a towel round her and returned to the bedroom. He was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She bent over him.

‘I’m sorry. I should have warned you there’d be a little bit of socializing. I didn’t mean to make all these plans, but Dolly told Michelle’s maid I was coming over and she emailed me and asked if we could get together and… I know you’re not a smart suit kind of guy. That’s what I love about you.’

She wasn’t sure how the ‘love’ had slipped out. The pause as she waited to see how he’d respond seemed to go on for ever.

‘Let’s go tomorrow,’ he said firmly. ‘I want to go back to bed now.’ As he saw her hesitate, he decided to compromise a little. ‘We can buy me a smart pair of trousers in the morning.’