Chapter Nine
Whether by accident or design, Jack walked on ahead with Midge. I could see from the set of his shoulders, and her frequent frowning glances up at him, that their conversation was not a happy one. Part of me longed to know what they were saying, the other part relished the opportunity to interview Bill.
I started by asking him about his plans for the future, and whether they included a permanent move to the Lakes. From there, it was a simple step to a discussion about work and how he’d met Jack. Like most of my clients, he was eager to talk business with a sympathetic listener.
At first, I felt I was making little headway; we seemed to be mired down in reminiscences from the early years of their relationship. Then, almost as an aside, he said, ‘Not that I’d expect anything else, after what happened to his father.’
‘Ye-es,’ I said tentatively, wondering if this was something I would be expected to know.
‘He’ll have told you all about it, of course.’
‘Mmm.’
‘When I heard the Sphinx announcement, I thought he was stark staring mad.’
‘Did you?’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘I’m not sure—’
‘Watch your step here.’ He paused while we both negotiated a particularly steep incline. ‘I mean – dredging it all up again, trying to right old wrongs.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said, hoping that this was a suitable response. Once again, I sensed that whatever had happened to Jack’s father was significant, although what it had to do with Sphinx I couldn’t imagine.
‘He won’t admit it, but I know that’s what he’s doing.’
He stopped – and so did I, welcoming the chance to catch my breath as unobtrusively as I could. While he adjusted his rucksack, I stared ahead at Jack. He scaled the rocky path without any apparent effort: a study in strength and stamina, the fluid movements and easy balance of an athlete, pausing only to offer Midge a helping hand. Yet what I’d just learnt suggested even greater vulnerability than I’d detected from our dealings so far …
I sensed, rather than heard, that Bill had asked me a question. ‘Sorry?’
‘I said, don’t you see this all the time in your job? Isn't that why people employ a coach to rectify something in their past?’
‘I prefer to think of it as earning themselves a better future.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Here, we’d better get moving – those two are nearly at the top.’
I sighed and made a mental note of all he’d told me; writing it down would have to wait. When at last we joined the others, Jack herded me to one side with the excuse of naming more hills. It was also, of course, an opportunity for him to wind his arm around my waist, pull me close and murmur, ‘How was your little talk with Bill?’
‘Very enlightening,’ I said, coolly.
‘Oh?’ A less playful tone now.
‘We need to discuss it somewhere else, in case I’m tempted to push you off this mountain.’ I looked up at him with a deceptively loving smile. ‘And how was your little talk with Midge?’
A rueful laugh, as his eyes clashed with mine. ‘Very … belittling. One of her specials – if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you put her up to it. You both have the same knack of making me feel two feet tall.’
‘What was she belittling you about?’
He paused, then fixed his gaze on the hills opposite. ‘She’s worried that there’s some tension between us, that we’ve still not made up from our tiff yesterday – or, at least, not properly.’ A pause; then he added, ‘And she thinks I’d be a bloody fool to let you get away.’
It was spoken half to himself, as if I wasn’t meant to hear. Which, strangely, made it all the more heartfelt. Pink-cheeked, I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Sounds like we’ve managed to convince her that this is a real relationship.’
‘Not quite.’ A slow deep breath, his gaze still distant. ‘Which is why we need to put on a bit more of a show.’
Then he turned to me, tightened his grip on my waist and cupped my face with his other hand, his lips blotting out my yelp of protest. A kiss of affection rather than passion, thank God. So why did part of me yearn for something more?
Before my mouth could betray me, he gently brought the kiss to an end. And I … I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. An attitude of contentment, belying the turmoil inside.
Because it had taken only a split second, a micro moment, to undo the work of three years. Oh, I’d had a kiss or two since Troy – pathetic little triumphs of anger, hurt and revenge, futile attempts to salve my wounds. But this was different, totally different. And it wasn’t even a proper kiss … Is that why? Is it the very absence of passion in the kisser that creates a need for it in the kissed?
Oh God. How am I going to get through this weekend …
When I opened my eyes, the world was still as it had been: bright and big and beautiful. Only my view of it had changed.
At last, he broke the silence. ‘Shall we join the others?’
‘Yes.’ It was little more than a whisper.
His arm steered me over to a shelf of rock where Bill and Midge had spread a rug. And somehow I sat and talked and ate and drank like a functioning human being. When I’d made enough inroads into the pile of sandwiches to please Midge, it seemed natural to shift my position slightly, lean back against Jack and link his fingers through mine. Playing my part to perfection, as it were.
Except … where does the role play end and the real play begin?
From up here we could see a vaster spread of hills and, while Bill and Midge went for a stroll, he told me their names. Once again, I was mesmerised by the quaint words. Or is it the lilt of his voice in my ear, the heat of his body behind me, the touch of his hand in mine? Whereas the enchantment of Latrigg had been its panoramic surroundings, here on Skiddaw I was under a different spell …
‘Next time,’ he said, ‘we’ll climb Blencathra—’
‘Next time?’
‘Don’t you want there to be a next time?’
‘But we both know there won’t be.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
He was right, of course; but I wasn’t going to give him an answer – and certainly not the one he wanted. I stared unseeingly across the valley.
‘Alicia.’
‘Yes.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Who?’
He made it sound so simple, when it was anything but. A pause, while I debated my reply; in the end I said slowly, ‘Nobody screwed me up.’
‘Oh, for fu—’
‘I did it to myself. He – the man – was just – just an accessory.’
‘So why can’t you undo it to yourself?’
I gave a brittle laugh and twisted round to face him. ‘Why can’t you undo what you’re doing to yourself?’
His jaw dropped. ‘What I’m doing—?’
‘Yes, changing your women more frequently than your underwear. Oh, and sleeping with your ex in between.’
‘Is that what you think of me?’
‘Why are you so surprised? I’ve read the local papers, seen you rush off with Karina as soon as her boyfriend’s back was turned—’
‘You’re making too many assumptions.’ His tone was clipped, his eyes cold. ‘And you know what they say about the word “assume”—’
‘One more thing,’ I went on, interrupting the challenge; after all, I’d have been astonished if he’d agreed with me. ‘Why did you really convince the Board to buy Sphinx Industries?’ I lowered my voice, aware of Bill and Midge heading in our direction. ‘Could it be anything to do with your father?’
He blinked, as if the taunt had struck home; but he didn’t say a word. It was I who broke off the eye contact – jumping to my feet, scooping up the empty water bottles and kneeling down to stuff them into the nearest rucksack; any excuse to put some distance between us.
‘Here, let me give you a hand.’ Midge knelt beside me, and I forced myself to match her methodical movements. When the remnants of our picnic were neatly stowed in the rucksacks, she said, ‘And how have you found your first Lakeland outing?’
Hardly a difficult question; but I took my time to formulate the right answer, leaning back on my heels, letting my gaze drift to Jack. He was now standing several yards away with Bill, dark head bent over the map. ‘You know, it’s had a totally unexpected effect on me. A sort of therapy … giving me a sense of perspective about the past, and the present.’
‘And the future?’
I looked at her, trying to fathom out her agenda. ‘That’s not entirely within my control.’
‘Not entirely, but a lot will depend on what you want and how much you want it.’
She’d shifted the conversation beyond my comfort zone; I made a last attempt to recover it. ‘Believe me, I’m well acquainted with the process of goal setting.’
‘Your head might be acquainted with it, Alicia, but what about your heart?’ she said, a sudden smile softening her words. Before I could reply, she stood up and called the men over to start the descent.
And then, to make matters worse, she kept Bill back – supposedly to help her remove a pebble from her shoe – which left me with Jack, and a strained silence.
When he strode on ahead, I thought he was just being rude. As I marched angrily in his wake, however, he turned and held out his hand. ‘Best if I go first down this bit,’ he said quietly, not even looking at me. I brushed his hand aside, lost my balance, skidded on the dry stony earth – and clutched at him to break my fall.
Was it the eagerness of his arms, or my half-hysterical giggle, or a potent combination of both? Whatever the catalyst, we clung to each other – and laughed. Body-shaking, glad-to-be-alive laughter that I didn’t want to end. Or maybe I didn’t want any of it to end.
A brisk ‘Excuse me’ brought us to our senses, and we stepped aside to let an elderly couple go past. But as soon as they’d gone his hand found mine, and held it tight.
‘I suppose I ought to thank you for saving my life,’ I said, still breathless.
He looked down at me, shaking his head in mock bewilderment. ‘Oh Alicia, what am I going to do with you? You’d rather throw yourself down Skidder than put your trust in me.’
‘Point taken.’ I tried a lungful of air, and grimaced. ‘Ouch! Even though I didn’t fall, you’ll be glad to know I’m aching all over.’
A suggestive grin. ‘Anything I can rub better?’
Several images came to mind, all of them compromising for an executive coach and her client. I fixed my gaze on the scuffed toes of my trainers. ‘It’s just – well, it’s been a long time since I laughed like that, and my ribs hurt. I must be out of practice.’
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘But it felt good, didn’t it? Maybe it was an outlet,’ he added in an undertone. ‘After all, we were asking each other some difficult questions earlier.’
I jerked my head up in alarm. ‘Jack, I’m meant to be doing the deep dive on you – not the other way round.’
‘I know, and you’ll get your answers. But there’s a time and a place – and it’s not here.’ He let go of me to nudge his rucksack into a more comfortable position, then took my hand again. ‘Come on, before Midge and Bill catch us up.’
So we walked, side by side whenever the path allowed; and we talked, sticking to safer ground – art, music and Italy. Only once did I make any reference to our role play, when I asked him if he thought we’d convinced Midge yet.
‘That we’re a couple, or that we’ve made up?’ he said, raising his eyebrows.
‘Both.’
‘Probably. For a start, she’s not bending my ear like she did on the way up.’
‘Oh?’ I prompted, as if I hadn’t noticed.
‘Let’s just say she’s on your side. She and Bill have really taken to you.’ He gave a loud sigh.
‘You sound surprised.’
A sidelong glance, his amusement obvious. ‘Not so much surprised as disappointed. No, make that scared stiff – just imagine all the grief I’ll get from her if we break up.’
It was more a case of ‘when’ than ‘if’, but I didn’t bother to correct him. Instead, I steered the conversation to safer ground again.
We reached the cottage well before Midge and Bill; but, since Jack had the spare key, we could at least use the shower. I suggested he went first, while I stayed in the motorhome. I wanted to write up the notes from my interview with Bill and outline the next phase of questioning. Since I felt more like curling up and going to sleep, this proved to be quite a challenge; so much for the stamina of a gym slave.
I’d just packed away my notebook when Jack returned. In an instant the motorhome seemed disturbingly cramped, and in a panic I scrambled off the bed. He waited, all clean and fresh in cream chinos and a dark green shirt, while I rummaged in my suitcase for a change of clothes. On impulse, I chose a pink flowery beach dress, thin-strapped and low-necked, a present from my mother for my rare visits to Spain. I’d brought it only because it took up hardly any room and never creased; but somehow it felt right for a summer’s evening in the Lakes with a man I barely knew.
Impossible to move in this place without our bodies almost touching. A long awkward moment as I edged past him, avoiding his gaze, using my sponge bag and dress as a shield – then, at last, I was stepping out into the sultry air.
Up in the bathroom, I had a quick shower and combed the tangles out of my hair. The dress fitted like a second skin, and I wondered if it was a wise choice. Too late – Midge was calling me to come to the kitchen when I was ready. Given the layout of the house, there was no chance of me reaching the motorhome undetected to change into something less revealing.
I found the three of them at the table, drinking wine and poring over a spread of takeaway menus. Judging by Jack’s raised eyebrows as he sized me up, the dress was not a wise choice – but now was not the time for one of my put-downs. Just one more day – then I’d be able to act normally.
As I settled myself on the only spare chair, I couldn’t resist giving him a kick under the table. Instantly, with that mischievous glint in his eye, he clamped my leg between his knees.
He handed me a glass of white, his fingers cool against mine. ‘That dress you’re almost wearing – it’s not your usual style. Is it new?’
‘No, darling.’ A sugary smile. ‘I wore it the first time we met – at the ballet. Don’t you remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ He released my leg, thank God, but only to shuffle his chair closer and show me one of the menus. ‘We’re thinking of eating Chinese. Anything you fancy?’
‘Or shall we just pick a few dishes and share them?’ Bill put in.
At least that would speed up the process and get Jack away from me. ‘Sounds good.’
Midge reached over to the kitchen dresser for a pen and notepad. ‘I’ll make a list, Bill, if you shout out the numbers.’
‘And then you and I are going to collect it,’ Jack added, running his fingertip along my arm.
My pulse started to race. ‘Don’t they deliver?’
‘I’d like to show you Keswick.’
I forced a loving look in his direction, and sipped my wine.
Ten minutes later we were on our way, and I decided to turn the unexpected one-on-one time to my advantage. I said evenly, watching for his reaction, ‘About your father – it was Bill who mentioned him to me. He assumed I knew the details, and it was quite a challenge to play along.’
His face shuttered. ‘How inconvenient for you.’
‘Since it’s obviously going to come up again, you may as well tell me.’
He was silent for several moments; then, abruptly, ‘You like reading the local papers, so you’ll find out anyway if you go back far enough.’
I said gently, ‘But I need to know now. Later tonight, or tomorrow morning, I’ll be discussing you with Bill. Is it really that bad?’
A tightening of his lips, and a haunted look in his eyes that I’d never seen before.
‘Jack?’ I prompted.
His only response was to turn off the dual carriageway at the next exit. Instead of following the signs for Keswick, however, he took a left towards open country. As we inched along a narrow road in a string of cars, I had more questions on the tip of my tongue. But I held back – vaguely aware that, in his unconventional way, he was about to provide me with some answers.
The silence hung heavy between us, and I turned my attention to the scenery. To our right, flashes of water – one of the lakes we’d seen from the hills – while to our left rose steep wooded crags. Eventually we turned off, and crawled up an even narrower road into another queue of cars. People milled around us – hiking groups, families, couples of all ages. A sudden right turn over a little stone bridge, then into a car park hollowed out of the woodland. Amazingly, someone was just leaving; Jack swung the car into the empty space and we crunched to a halt.
‘This is the famous Ashness Bridge. Let’s get out.’
‘But what about the takeaway?’
‘We’ll only be a few minutes.’
With a puzzled frown, I did as he suggested.
We threaded our way between the cars and the crowds, to the stream that gushed under the bridge. He stood on the bank, hands in pockets, head down, while I waited.
At last he spoke. ‘I said earlier, there’s a time and a place for telling you what happened to my father. This is definitely the place – Barrow Beck, where we scattered his ashes on a winter’s day twenty-one years ago.’ An intimate confidence that seemed incongruous in such a throng of people, his voice so hushed that I had to lean in to catch his words. But so far I’d heard nothing to explain Bill’s astonishment at the Sphinx acquisition. I curbed my impatience; although Jack had chosen the place, it was I who’d dictated the time – and he might need a little longer to prepare himself.
He went on, ‘To understand what I feel when I come here, you have to know how he died.’ A brusquer tone, as if to keep emotions at bay. ‘He worked at Sphinx for over twenty years, and in the end it killed him. Not directly – that happened to two other men, friends of his, an industrial accident that could have been avoided.’ His mouth pursed. ‘Bad decisions, cost cutting, the usual story of senior managers not doing their job well enough. And, of course, they looked for a scapegoat.’ A breath out, long and slow. ‘My father took the blame, and then he took his life.’
A stark epitaph; despite the warm evening, I shivered. Jack must have been no more than fifteen when this happened – a difficult age, even under normal circumstances. My thoughts swerved to my own father, a dependable yet remote presence in my mid-teens. Had Dad suffered from any bouts of depression? And would I have noticed if he had? Probably not. Of course, that’s what made the impact of suicide so catastrophic for those left behind: the shock and grief at an unexpected death, intensified by incomprehension and guilt.
For once, words failed me. The lonely, lost expression on Jack’s face tugged at feelings I usually kept well-hidden. But which role was I playing here? As an executive coach, I’d never had to deal with the fallout from a suicide – or at least not to my knowledge. Outside work, it was the same. In this place, at this moment, with this man, I was out of my comfort zone as a coach – and out of my depth as a girlfriend, real or fake.
And yet … it was the girlfriend who prevailed. Even though in this swarm of strangers there was no need for romantic pretence, I put my arms round him and rested my head against his shoulder – an unguarded, unprofessional gesture of compassion. We stood without speaking in this one-sided embrace on the banks of Barrow Beck, while the tourists clattered and chattered past us.
After a while, he disengaged himself and said, his voice cold and clipped, ‘So now you can have your next talk with Bill. But otherwise the subject’s completely off limits.’ Then he spun on his heel and pushed his way back to the parking area, forcing me to grab his arm to stay close.
In the car he wouldn’t look at me, concentrating all his attention – it seemed – on manoeuvring his way into the queue of traffic.
I bit my lip. ‘Jack, we need to discuss this in more detail. If it’s a hidden agenda for the Sphinx acquisition—’
‘Who says it is?’
The question hung between us as we edged forward. I stared out of the window, across the bustling bridge to the calm expanse of water beyond. Hours earlier, I’d looked down at the same lake, unaware of this personal tragedy, ignorant of a formative influence on his life. Now the scene was subtly altered: a surface serenity, with deeper undercurrents.
Yet, for whatever reason, he had chosen to bring me here to share the story; I felt strangely privileged.
Sensing his need for space, I made small talk all the way to Keswick; luckily, the traffic had thinned and it took only ten minutes. He drew up outside a cheerful-looking restaurant, its window jumbled with red and gold Chinese lanterns, and turned to me. I saw with relief that his colour was better, his gaze direct once again. ‘It’ll be busy – do you mind keeping a place in the queue while I park the car?’
Once again I did as he suggested, resisting the temptation to observe that it had already taken us this long – why the sudden hurry? In fact, there was only one other couple waiting; if I’d brought anything to pay with, I could have collected the takeaway while Jack simply drove around the block. Too late now. I explained the situation to the man at the counter, took a seat and thumbed through an ancient copy of The Keswick Reminder.
It was a good ten minutes before Jack arrived. ‘Took a while to find somewhere to park,’ he said, apologetically.
‘Really?’ I looked pointedly at the pink-and-white-striped bag scrunched up in his hand.
An enigmatic smile. ‘Sorry. I had a bit of shopping to do.’
When we were back in the car, he carefully stowed the bag behind his seat, so that I didn’t have a chance to speculate on its contents. But whatever he’d bought must have lifted his mood; on the way to Threlkeld he chatted and joked as if the last half hour had never been.
We ate outside again, with the sun setting on the tawny flanks of Blencathra, and Jack’s good humour slid predictably into flirtatious banter. At first I played the game reluctantly, my responses dark-edged as I watched the chance of any sort of private conversation with Bill evaporate in the soft evening air. But, as the wine flowed, I came to the realisation that I didn’t actually care …
And then it was easy to gaze into Jack’s eyes from time to time, smile as if I meant it, let his fingers feather my bare shoulder. Like last night, he walked me through the garden; unlike last night, I didn’t trip. But, at the carport, on the higher of the two steps up to the motorhome, when he reached past me to open the door, I spun round – and found my face inches from his.
Deep breath. ‘Jack … I’ve had such a lovely day, and I … I want to say … thank you.’
‘I’ve had a lovely day too.’ His face was in shadow, eyes unreadable, offering little – if any –
encouragement. Even so, flushed with wine – or something less definable – I curled my arms around his neck, and returned the kiss he’d imposed on me, in broad daylight at the top of Skiddaw, as a final proof to Midge that ours was a real relationship.
Except … we’re in the dark … there isn’t anyone to convince … and it’s not a kiss of affection. And you know what? I don’t give a damn.
He pulled away, but only after several long seconds; and his hands stayed warm and firm on my waist. Through the flimsy protection of my dress, his touch aroused something instinctive and long-buried. I tilted my head back, but kept my arms where they were, almost in defiance.
‘What was that about?’ His voice was distant.
I clutched at the nearest straw. ‘You kissed me earlier—’
‘Not like that … Nothing like that.’
‘Look, it was just a – a natural extension of this evening’s role play.’
‘Pity you didn’t have an audience, then. Even Midge can’t see through solid wood, however much she’d like to.’ A pause, as he shifted one hand to the nape of my neck, drawing my head closer. ‘All the same, maybe we’d better finish what you started.’
My stomach fluttered and my hands fumbled onto his chest, a half-hearted attempt to push him away. ‘I think we should—’
Then his mouth covered mine, and I didn’t think at all. How could I? All I wanted was to lose myself in the moment, go wherever his kiss would take me, and face the consequences later. Much, much later …
When he broke free, when he muttered a good night and walked rapidly away, it was almost a relief. Yet I stood like a statue, until his footsteps faded and I knew he wasn’t coming back. Only then did I remember how to move. Slowly, painfully, I switched on the light, gathered up my pyjamas, and stumbled up through the house to the bathroom. Somehow I found my way back to Hermann, built my little wall of cushions and lay down behind it, next to the window.
Why did I kiss him like that? Why did he kiss me back? What the hell have we done?
For what seemed like hours, I watched the moonlight dappling the curtains and willed the tears not to fall.