CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stunned, I plop down on the bench beside her. Either Alicia is a compulsive liar – or Ethan is.
And right now, I’m tempted to believe Alicia. There’s a directness about her that’s telling me everything she’s told me is the truth.
I stare over at the manor in a daze. The house looks so beautiful from here. Like a Christmas card.
The snow-machine, thanks to Dad, is doing a fine job of transforming a cold winter’s night into a fairytale winter wonderland. Snow is falling gently down, catching the glow from the two Christmas trees, one on either side of the main door.
The guests are loving it.
But I’ll always remember it as the night I had a truly rude awakening. Because instead of Mr Darcy, the man I placed high up on a pedestal would appear to have far more in common with the book’s anti-hero, the slimy scoundrel George Whickham.
‘I got a taxi here,’ says Alicia. ‘I suppose I’d better order another one to get me back to my friend’s house in Sunnybrook.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I decide on the spur of the moment. I need to find Ethan. Talk to him and make him tell me the truth. I’ve a feeling Alicia is an honest person, but I still need to hear Ethan’s side of the story.
Alicia phones for a taxi while I dash inside for my coat and bag, and to find Mum to explain.
‘Ah, Fen. Excellent,’ she says when I run into the hall. ‘Can you help your dad move the snow machine to the little copse of fir trees over there?’ she asks, pointing to the side of the house. ‘Harry’s going to take some photos of us all and I thought that with the fir trees and the snow, they’d look so pretty and Christmassy.’
I shake my head. ‘Sorry, Mum, I wish I could but I’ve got to go.’
She frowns. ‘Go where?’
‘Sunnybrook. I’m getting a taxi but I’ll be back later.’ I start edging for the door. I told Alicia to start walking to the main entrance and I want to catch up with her and ask her a few more questions.
‘But why?’ calls Mum, looking bewildered.
‘Erm . . . it’s complicated. Ethan’s had a bit of an emergency and I’ve got to go and find him.
She calls something else but I’m already running out of the main entrance.
Dad is outside, dismantling the snow-machine in his dinner suit, starched white shirt and bow tie. It occurs to me he must love Mum a whole lot to undertake such a job at this time of night, dressed in his party gear.
‘Sorry, Dad, I’ve got to dash.’ I feel bad leaving him.
He straightens up. ‘Dash where?’
‘To the taxi. I’ve got to find Ethan. I’ll help you when I get back, though?’ I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and start walking briskly down the driveway, after Alicia.
We’re silent on the drive to Sunnybrook.
My head is in a whirl of confusion. If I’m to believe all that Alicia has told me, I’d have to conclude that Ethan is one of the biggest snakes I’ve ever come across.
But I’ve got to know him quite well over the past few weeks, and I really can’t believe that he’d behave quite so despicably towards his ex . . .
When we reach our destination, we split the fare meticulously, including a tip.
‘I’m going back to my friend’s house,’ says Alicia when we stumble out of the taxi outside The Swan Hotel.
‘Aren’t you going to look for Ethan?’
She shivers. ‘I don’t think I’ve got the strength to challenge him about the money tonight, even if I did track him down.’
I nod, sitting down on a nearby bench, feeling a little overwhelmed myself. Only after Alicia has gone does it occur to me that I know the street where Ethan lives but not the actual number.
Then I recall that before he agreed to come with me to the Snow Ball, he said he’d been invited to a birthday bash at The Swan.
I glance up at the invitingly cosy windows of the hotel, the lights of the Christmas tree inside flashing red, green and gold. It’s worth a try, I suppose.
I head inside and ask where the birthday party is being held, and I make my way to the function room. I can’t help thinking I’m on a fool’s errand here. There’s no way Ethan would desert me at the Snow Ball, escape from Alicia, then go straight on to another party!
I push open the door. The lights have been turned down low for a smoochy number and couples are moving slowly around the dance floor, a glitter ball above them.
The first person I see is Cressida.
I almost turn straight around and head out. But something stops me.
I switch my attention to the man she’s clinging to. Their bodies are moulded together as if they’re imitating a nude Greek statue.
The man, who currently has his back to me, is wearing a formal dark suit, his dark hair curling over the white collar of his shirt. Cressida slides her hand up under his jacket and I get a good view of his bum.
My stomach drops a dozen feet, like it’s fallen down a well.
Oh. My. God.
I suppose a part of me still wanted to believe, travelling here in the taxi, that there’d been some big misunderstanding. That Alicia was the one telling the lies. That Ethan wasn’t so bad after all.
But there’s the evidence, right in front of my eyes.
The stirring Dam Busters theme bursts into my head. There’s been no misunderstanding. Ethan is that snake.
I’ve been a complete and utter bloody fool . . .
*****
I stumble away and blunder into the Ladies. And I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how I could have been so stupid.
The pink brocade dress doesn’t even suit me. I can see that now. It just looks as if I’m trying too hard. And my make-up is wrecked and running down my cheeks. I scrub my face with a hand towel then walk through to reception and sink down onto a sofa in the corner, still feeling stunned, staring at the fairy lights on the Christmas tree until they join into one colourful blur before my unfocused eyes.
When my phone rings, at first it fails to register.
Then I pull it out of my bag with a trembling hand and look at the name on the screen.
Rob?
This brings me back to reality.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Fen. Where are you? Your mum said you’d disappeared off somewhere.’
‘I’m – erm – I’m in Sunnybrook at The Swan Hotel. Why?’
‘Fen . . . your dad’s been taken ill. Your mum’s gone with him in the ambulance.’
‘What?’ My heart leaps with fear. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
There’s a pause at the other end. ‘They think he’s had a heart attack.’
A cold hand grips my insides. My head swims and I clutch at the arm of the sofa.
Heart problems run in the family and my granddad died after having two attacks, one quickly following another, when he was only forty-eight years old.
Dad is fifty-three . . .
‘Stay where you are,’ Rob orders. ‘I’m coming straight over to get you.’
Then he rings off.