As the taxi turns in through the electric gates, Deanna notices the gardener’s car parked in front of the house. She frowns. What’s that doing here? Perhaps it’s broken down. She glances up at the dark silhouette of Hunter’s Moon, its chimneys reaching up to a star-studded sky. The porch light is on, but the rest of the house is in darkness. Charlie is staying over at a friend’s, and at this late hour the two youngest boys will be in bed. Her husband is probably watching a film in the cinema room at the rear of the house. A brittle jitteriness settles in the pit of her stomach. She knows she was overly harsh during their last conversation, demanding he was home when she returned from the theatre tonight, but it’s only fair he pulls his weight and shows some inclination to being there for her. After all, she’s been there for him since drama school.
As the car comes to a halt, the driver gets out and opens the door for her. Deanna steps out, turning to retrieve her holdall. She stands for a moment and watches as the taxi sweeps out of the drive, the electric gates closing soundlessly behind it. As she glances up at the house again, the jittery feeling in her stomach increases and she frowns. Entering the house, she hears the sounds of canned laughter coming from the TV room. Deanna hangs her jacket in the entrance hall and, depositing her bag at the foot of the stairs, views her image in the hall mirror. Hmm… there could be more colour to her cheeks; she pinches them. And she could appear less businesslike. Running her fingers through her hair, she teases it into a more natural look. She winks at her reflection before walking down the hall to the television room. When she enters, she’s surprised to find the gardener’s girlfriend sitting on the couch and forces a smile onto her face.
‘Hello, Mrs Foxley,’ the girl says, straightening up.
‘Hello, Amy,’ Deanna responds, looking around the room as if half expecting to find Oliver hiding behind one of the armchairs.
Amy mirrors Deanna’s scrutiny of the room. ‘Is everything OK?’ she asks.
‘What?’ Deanna says, distractedly. ‘Oh, yes. I just wasn’t expecting to find you here.’
‘Didn’t Mr Foxley tell you? He asked me to babysit as he had to go to London this evening. The boys have been no trouble.’
Deanna controls her temper. ‘Did he say what time he’d be home?’
‘Well, I did expect him home before now,’ the babysitter says. ‘I expect he’s got held up in traffic.’
‘Probably. The traffic was particularly bad this evening. I’ll get some money for you. It’s very late,’ Deanna says, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, ‘or should I say early.’
As she walks to her bag, Deanna silently rages. Where the hell is he? She gave him strict instructions. Unzipping the bag, she pulls out her purse.
‘Thank you for keeping an eye on the boys,’ Deanna says, turning to Amy, who has followed her into the hallway.
‘Any time, Mrs Foxley. To be honest, I could do with the money.’
Deanna accompanies the girl into the entrance hall. Through the glass panels in the front door they see the electric gates opening and headlights sweep in.
‘This must be him now,’ says Amy, pocketing the money. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Thank you, Amy. Drive safely,’ Deanna says, not taking her eyes off the approaching car. Steady, she says to herself.
As the babysitter climbs into her car and drives away, Terry’s limousine passes her by. Through the window, Oliver acknowledges Amy with a wave before turning his attention to Deanna standing at the porch door. Silently, he assesses his wife’s mood.
‘Don’t get out, Terry. I’ll let myself out,’ he says, as the car comes to a halt in front of the house
‘OK, Mr Foxley.’ Terry glances at his client in the rear-view mirror. ‘Perhaps you’d let Mrs Foxley know I’ll be here at eleven sharp on Monday.’
‘Will do.’ Oliver opens the car door and steps out onto the gravelled drive.
All is quiet and still. The soft scent of pine wafts on a cool breeze from the forest and Oliver draws it deeply into his lungs as he watches the Mercedes drive towards the entrance gates. Bracing himself for his wife’s reception, he turns, but Deanna no longer stands at the open door. Oliver enters the house and hangs up his coat. All is silent. Perhaps Deanna is in the kitchen. If there’s going to be a fight it should be now, with the children safely out of the way. He makes his way down the hallway, but the room is in darkness. Switching on the light, he crosses to the sink, fills a glass from the cold tap and gazes out at the large area of illuminated manicured lawn. He thinks of the old coastguard cottages perched on the wild cliffs overlooking Falmouth Bay. Everything about Hunter’s Moon is orderly – a direct reflection of Deanna’s hold on their lives – and yet the cottages, little more than derelict, speak of freedom. He smiles thinly at the paradox. He longs for his life to lighten up. Oliver considers his options, realising that by simplifying his life he may achieve this. He glances up at the night sky just as a waxing crescent moon peeps out from behind a shifting bank of clouds.
Does Cara also gaze up at the constellations and think of me?
What an overblown, arrogant ego! Why would she? He has brought her generous, untainted spirit nothing but turmoil and additional responsibility. He thinks of the son they have together; for him, merely a treasured photograph of a baby wrapped in a fleece. Toby will turn one in a couple of days, but he, Oliver, will not be with him to celebrate it. He smiles sadly, and then his mind turns to Heather. The woman is incorrigible! She’s made it blatantly obvious what she expects from him during her stay in London but, though he enjoys her company, he has no such intentions. He wants to simplify his life, not make it more entangled.
Downing the water in one, he places the empty glass in the sink and makes his way upstairs to the guest suite, briefly pausing outside the marital bedroom. No light seeps out from under the closed door. No doubt Deanna will have something to say about his late arrival home and he considers whether he wants to hear it now. Does he really want to face her wrath at this early hour? Oliver turns away.