Chapter Seventeen
I wasn't bothered about going out with Christopher.
All right, so I wore my best dress, bought on sale from Rochester's over a year ago and only worn once, and I styled my hair to perfection, and I applied my makeup with extra care and attention, but that wasn't because I was fussed about going out with him. It was my way of showing him what he was missing, end of story. He'd thrown me away, after all, and I was damned if I’d pass up on the chance to prove that it had been his loss. It wasn't that I cared about going on a date with him, because, after all, it wasn't a date. Just business, I reminded myself, as I dabbed my most expensive perfume behind my ears and on my wrists. Nothing more to it than that. It was probably his way of grovelling to me after being such a dickhead at the school.
Given his appalling behaviour, I reckoned he owed me the best meal in the best restaurant. Maybe The Fox and Hounds in Helmston, if he could secure a table at short notice. Or maybe we'd go even further afield—there was a well-respected and very expensive restaurant in Thornley Beck, for example. Wherever we went, I was going to choose the most expensive dishes on the menu. Serve him right.
Peering out of the window onto the street below, I told myself that I wasn't nervous. My stomach was only churning because I was excited to be going out. Not with him. With anyone. Anywhere. It had been a while.
I folded my arms, trying to stay calm. I didn't want to look all flushed when he arrived. Elegant, sophisticated, completely unfazed. That was the look I was going for.
Crap! He's here! A wave of nausea hit me when his car pulled up outside the hairdressers. He stepped out into the road, and the nausea almost overwhelmed me. God, he looked fantastic. Leather jacket, black jeans, hair a tousled mass of raven curls ....
Hang on! He hadn't shaved. There was a definite designer stubble look going on there. And he wasn't exactly dressed up, was he? He could have made a bit of effort. He began to walk towards the front door of the flat, situated at the side of the building, and I panicked. He couldn't come up. I didn't want him to see the tiny flat I lived in—not when he lived in that massive house in Farthingdale.
It would be different, I thought bitterly, if I owned Fox Lodge. I would have definitely asked him in then. Fox Lodge was far more suitable. Okay, it wasn't Fell House, but even so, I'd have been proud to show it off. This poky little place was an embarrassment.
I almost flew down the stairs and threw open the door, to find him standing on the pavement, with his hand raised as if about to knock. "Hello." I knew I sounded breathless. He would wonder what I was in such a rush about. Just calm down, Marley. Focus. The subtle citrus smell of his cologne wafted towards me on the evening breeze, and I had a momentary desire to pull him closer and inhale him. Dinner was going to be interesting. I switched on my most dazzling smile and said, "You're on time."
He stared at me in a most peculiar way, then he swallowed, and said briskly, "I like to be punctual. You look nice."
Nice? Nice! I glanced down at the burgundy, lace mini-dress that had cost me two weeks' wages. "Oh, this? Had it ages."
He didn't reply. Instead, he stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the street. "Well, my car's just over there."
I didn't think you'd parked on the roof, I thought crossly. Nice! He'd better be taking me somewhere exceptional after that feeble attempt at a compliment.
"Don't you need a coat?" He frowned at me, as I pulled open the car door.
What, and spoil the look of this dress? No bloody chance. "I'm not cold," I said, through gritted teeth, glad the long lace sleeves covered the goose-pimples on my arms.
"Oh, well, the seats are heated, anyway," he said, showing off, no doubt.
My own little car didn't possess anything as sophisticated as heated seats. When I got my inheritance, I would buy a car that would put this one to shame, I decided. Then I wondered how Great Uncle Charles was. I hoped the cough medicine I'd taken to him was working. He'd sounded terribly rough yesterday. If he was no better tomorrow, I would definitely call the doctor.
We drove off, and I leaned back in the comfortable passenger seat, feeling the warmth spread through my body and trying to quell the nerves. Would he expect me to go Dutch with the meal? I hadn't thought of that. If I was paying half, I certainly wouldn't order the most expensive dishes. Trouble was, how would I know until the end of the meal, when I'd already ordered? Maybe I'd better stick to the cheaper dishes, just in case. But then, what if I did that and he insisted on paying for the whole thing? How annoying would that be?
Unfortunately, when we'd dated before, we'd been just kids. No fancy restaurants for us then. During the two years we were together, we weren't even legally allowed to drink in a pub until the last five months of our relationship. How could I tell if Kit was the sort of person to pay for the whole thing? Then again, judging by his tight-fisted attitude at work, I wouldn't be surprised if he expected me to pay for both of us. After all, wasn't that the whole point of my little project? He was Ebenezer Scrooge, and when it came to money, he was meanness personified. He probably had a padlock on his wallet.
I realised we'd missed the turn-off for Helmston. Not The Fox and Hounds, then. I supposed it wasn't surprising. He'd left it far too late to book.
I felt a thrill of anticipation. Where was he taking me?
When he finally stopped the car, I looked at him, puzzled. "Did you forget something?"
He turned off the engine and frowned. "Forget something?"
Realisation dawned on me. "We're eating at your house?"
Christopher glanced out of the window at Fell House and shrugged. "Yeah. That's okay, isn't it? Dinner's in the oven, so you won't have long to wait. You must be starving. I know I am."
He was cooking for us? So, he wasn't even generous enough to go Dutch over a restaurant meal? Tight git was so mean, he was actually making the food himself. Bloody hell. And I'd put on my best dress for that. I might as well have worn my jeans.
Even so, I couldn't deny a sense of anticipation as he unlocked the front door. I'd always wanted to see inside Fell House. He'd never taken me there when we’d been dating, which had been a sore subject. I'd been young and naive and had initially believed his endless parade of excuses. As our relationship deepened, though, the niggling suspicion persisted that he didn't think I was good enough to meet his precious family.
Well, it was finally safe to invite me back, I thought bitterly, since none of his family were there any longer. If nothing else, maybe I could get some ideas for decorating Fox Lodge. It was a rare opportunity to glimpse how the other half lived.
The interior of the house belied the cold, stone exterior. It had clearly been decorated by a woman—Jack's wife, probably. The cushions were a dead giveaway. Men hate cushions, don't they? The sofas in his place were stuffed full of them, and they were a gorgeous collection of different shapes and patterns and textures. No man would think of that—well, no man like a Carroll man, anyway. The furniture was solid, but modern. Lots of walnut and chrome and grey wood, and soft furnishings in white and duck egg blue.
I rather liked it. I also rather liked the delicious smell that was emitting from the kitchen. Whatever was cooking, my stomach was clearly anticipating it with relish, as it growled most appreciatively, much to my embarrassment.
If Christopher heard, he didn't comment. "I'll just see how the chilli's doing. Sit down. Make yourself at home."
I sat, thinking at home was the last thing I felt. Instead, I felt tense, let down, and a bit confused. Why had I been invited there? If, somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd thought it could just possibly be a date, I'd clearly been wrong. He'd made no effort to dress up, and if he was just cooking me a bit of chilli in his own home, there was definitely nothing romantic in his gesture. Which was a good thing, obviously. The last thing I needed was to fend him off all night, and I'd already rehearsed my thanks, but no thanks, speech a million times.
Even so, it left one burning question. Why invite me to dinner, at all? What was he up to?
He came back through, smiling rather awkwardly, as if he was wondering why he'd invited me, too. "Would you like the television on?"
Was he serious? Great. I could have made myself a chilli and sat in front of the telly all night in my own flat. And I'd have had the added bonus of being able to do so in the comfort of my pyjamas, not sitting there feeling all trussed up and fake in this bloody dress. Knowing my luck, I was bound to drop chilli down the front of it, too. "No, thanks."
"Glass of wine?"
I kept the smile on my face, somehow. "That would be lovely."
"Er, red, or white? I suppose red would be better with the chilli, but—"
"White's fine. Not too dry."
"I do have beer, if you prefer that."
Charming. Did I look like a beer drinker? "No, thanks. The wine will be lovely." It had better be, at any rate. Knowing him, it would be cheap supermarket plonk, best used for washing out paint brushes.
When he handed me a glass a few moments later, I took a tentative sip, surprised to find it tasted delicious. Probably Jack's wife's, I thought.
"I'll just dish up. If you want to come through in a couple of minutes, I thought we could eat at the kitchen table? It's warm and cosy in there. The dining room's a bit formal."
I forced myself to smile at him, thinking, bloody hell, the kitchen table! Why didn't he just park outside the chippy, and we could have eaten haddock and chips out of the paper, sitting in the car?
Five minutes later, I sat at the table, watching him over the rim of my wine glass, as he carried over plates of steaming hot chilli. A big dish of rice sat in the centre of the table, alongside a bowl of salad, and a plate of garlic bread slices. Evidently, he wasn't planning on doing any kissing. Good job we were of the same mind, I thought savagely, helping myself to a large spoonful of rice.
We ate without speaking much. What little conversation there was seemed stilted. Christopher was clearly uneasy, and I wondered again why he'd invited me. I felt awkward, and wished I'd said no.
Watching him eat was pretty unnerving, though. It was quite a sensual experience, which was weird. I'd never known eating could be sexy, but watching him spoon chilli into his mouth set feelings in motion that I hadn't had for so long, I'd almost forgotten I could feel like that.
I remembered the sensation of those lips pressing against mine, the way my insides had bubbled and fizzed with excitement at his touch. Of course, I'd been a teenager at the time. Nowadays, I was far more sophisticated. I sincerely doubted that he would have the same effect on me, should he try anything as foolish as kissing me tonight.
I felt a stab of dismay when he helped himself to garlic bread. Clearly, he had no intention of trying any such thing.
Furious with myself for being so disappointed, I reached over and took a slice myself. Sod him.
"I remember the last time we ate together like this," he said suddenly.
I coughed. Why did he wait until I was swallowing my food before landing that statement on me? Anyone would think he was trying to make me choke to death again. Maybe he wanted to give me the kiss of life?
I felt myself start to blush and gulped down some wine, partly to help the garlic bread go down, and partly to ease my nerves. "Do you?" I said at last.
"Don't you?"
I hesitated. Of course I remembered. I remembered every moment. But did he, really? "Possibly," I dodged.
He was holding a slice of garlic bread between his fingers, not seeming at all interested in eating it. Instead, he turned it around and around, clearly distracted, as if trying to decide whether to continue that thread of conversation. "The Smuggler's Cave Café, Kearton Bay."
I took another sip of wine. Okay, he remembered.
"Do you remember?" he asked.
May the twenty-eighth, just under eleven years and five months ago. "I think so," I said, pretending to think about it.
"You had cheeseburger, and I had beans on toast." His eyes twinkled.
"You had beans on toast three times," I reminded him, then cursed myself. Damn, now he'd know that I'd remembered perfectly well.
"They were small portions," he protested, kindly not pouncing on my mistake.
"Hmm. Think the waitress got sick of us in the end," I recalled. I couldn't help myself. I smiled, and he smiled back. "And all that hot chocolate we ordered. In May!"
"I loved watching you get all that whipped cream on your nose," he admitted. "You made such a mess of it, every single time."
I pulled a face. "Yeah, well, sorry if I was a bit common back then."
"You were adorable."
I wasn't sure which of us looked more appalled at that statement. I was pretty horrified that we were travelling down such a dangerous route, but Christopher looked as if he wished he could bite his tongue off.
"I'm done here," he said, dropping the garlic bread on his plate and wiping his hands on a serviette.
"Me, too. Couldn't eat another thing," I agreed, and then there was no more chance of conversation, as the sound of plates clattering together and glasses being gathered up filled the air, and we busied ourselves with clearing the table.
"Do you need a hand with the dishes?" I queried.
"God, no. I'll just load the dishwasher, and then I'll make us a drink. You go through to the lounge. Make yourself at home."
I'd been half expecting to be dismissed, so I was a bit thrown, but I nodded and headed into the lounge, sinking down on the sofa and tugging violently at the hem of my dress, wishing I'd worn something a bit longer. The time ticked on, and my stomach felt most peculiar, and I didn't think it was down to the chilli.
When Christopher finally appeared, I couldn't help myself from bursting out, "You're kidding me!"
He grinned. "I couldn't resist. I've brought napkins, just in case."
He handed me a mug of hot chocolate, complete with a huge swirl of cream and a chocolate flake stuck in the top. How would I ever drink that without making a mess? Was he deliberately trying to make me look a fool?
I eyed him suspiciously, but there was genuine warmth in his eyes, and I thought suddenly that he really wasn't doing it out of malice. But, that being the case, what on earth was he trying to do? I put the mug on the coffee table, reached over to pull out the flake, and put it to my lips.
His pupils definitely dilated, and I felt a fleeting satisfaction. I remembered that look. He sank onto the sofa beside me and stared at me for a moment, as I nibbled the chocolate delicately, then he put his own drink beside mine and turned to face me. "I really am sorry."
I almost dropped the chocolate flake. God, was this it? Was this where we stopped dancing around each other at last and confronted the elephant in the room? Was he finally apologising for the way he'd behaved all those years ago? "Yes, well ..." I began, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. It was a big deal. If he hadn't left me, would we have made it work? Still be together? Maybe ...
"I should never have walked out like that."
"No," I said slowly. "You shouldn't. Then again, I suppose ..."
He held up his hand. "Don't make excuses for me. It was pathetic. I have apologised to David, by the way. He was cool about it, eventually."
David? Oh, my God! He was talking about the Santa fiasco again. I shoved the rest of the flake in my mouth and chewed violently. Swine.
"Did it really go okay? How did your nephews do?"
I swallowed the chocolate and shrugged. "Fine."
"It was weird, being back at the old place again, wasn't it?"
I narrowed my eyes. He hadn't got me there to talk about our old schooldays, surely? What on earth was going on? "Yeah, it was," I said.
"I can't believe you had a crush on me," he continued, shaking his head. "All that time, and I never knew."
"Yes, well, I was just a kid," I pointed out. "If you'd had the nerve to ask me out, who knows what would have happened? Shame we had to wait another five years to meet up." Although, in a way, it was more of a shame that we'd met again, at all. How much simpler life would have been if I'd never set eyes on Christopher Carroll.
"Three years, actually," he said suddenly.
"Three?" I frowned. "We were sixteen when we met again, actually."
"I saw you when you were fourteen."
He had? "Why didn't you ever mention it?"
He folded his arms, looking defensive. "Because you'd have laughed at me."
"What? Why would I have laughed at you?"
He paused, as if trying to decide how much to confide. "Because I got beaten up in front of you, that's why."
I gaped at him. "You got—?"
"It was the Christmas holidays, and me and a couple of other lads who went to Aidensthorpe Court had met up in Helmston to do some present shopping. We encountered this—this bunch of weirdos on the road. They were hanging round the bus shelter on the Farthingdale road. Words were exchanged. One of them recognised my friend, and realised we were all boarding school boys, which clearly meant that we were stuck up gits who deserved to be taught a lesson. We tried to calm things down, but they weren't having it. Before we knew it, we were being kicked and punched to the ground. Yeah, I got quite a black eye that day."
"Gosh, I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "But, hey, what's that got to do with me?"
"You were there. Part of the crowd."
I was? I couldn't remember any of that. I definitely hadn't beaten anyone up. "Are you sure it was me? I would never have—"
"You didn't actually attack us, no," he admitted. "You were too busy swigging cider and snogging some goth in the bus shelter. You thought it was hilarious, though. When they stopped kicking us, you jeered at us and lurched off with your boyfriend."
"I did?" Oh, the shame of it.
"Frankly, you looked like something out of The Munsters."
"My goth phase." I closed my eyes, as bitter memories flashed across my mind, of one of the worst times in my life, when Dad had abandoned us, and Mum spent every day crying, and Olivia was all pale and scared. I'd hated everyone, and hidden behind a mask of gothic black eyeliner and a curtain of dyed black hair. I'd been furious when Mum wouldn't let me change my name to Bellatrix, I recalled. Thank God she'd held firm.
"God, I'm sorry. No wonder you never mentioned it. You must have felt like such an idiot."
"I did at the time," he said coldly. "Years later, I realised that the real idiots were the bunch of yobs who attacked us for no reason other than that we went to a different school."
"Sorry. Again." I sighed. "I was probably pissed. I was pissed quite a lot around then."
"At fourteen?" he said incredulously.
"It was a bad time. My dad ..."
He hesitated. "You never really mentioned him much. Is that when he left home?"
I nodded. "It was a bad time. I went a little bit off the rails."
"I didn't know. I mean, I didn't realise it had affected you that badly. You never made a big deal of it."
"There wasn't much to say. He got bored and left. Broke Mum's heart. She absolutely fell to bits, and she just couldn't stop crying, and then Olivia got scared and didn't know what to do, and I had to try to keep them going. It's a lot to deal with when you're fourteen, and cider seemed like quite a good painkiller at the time."
"God, Marley, I had no idea."
"You must have thought I was such a bitch. I'm amazed you went out with me, at all, after that."
"Not half as surprised as I was," he admitted. "Guess there was just something about you." His voice sounded different—sort of soft and gooey.
Desperate to change the subject, I grabbed my hot chocolate and took a gulp. As his laughter filled the air, I realised ruefully that I'd done it again.
"Here," he said, handing me a serviette, or napkin as he called it, being posh. "Although I think you look quite cute with the cream on your nose."
His eyes crinkled in the corners, and those soft lips were curving upwards again. Without thinking about it, I scooped up a dollop of cream and dabbed it on his own nose.
His eyes widened. "Do you really want to start a food fight with me? I'm very good at this sort of thing. Boarding school training, remember."
I thought about my expensive Rochester's dress and shook my head. "Best not," I said, half-regretfully. "You should have brought me a spoon to eat this cream," I pointed out.
"But it's much more fun watching you trying to drink the chocolate without making a mess," he said, his voice full of laughter.
I leaned back against the sofa, grinning at him, and he leaned back, too, suddenly looking relaxed.
"I expect you're wondering why I invited you here tonight," he said.
He wasn't wrong there. "It did occur to me, yes," I managed eventually.
"I need your help, Marley."
My mouth fell open. "My help? Seriously?" Well, there was a turn up for the books.
He grinned at me. "Don't look so shocked. I do value your opinion, you know."
"Really? Since when?"
He winced. "Okay. I asked for that."
"Yes, you did a bit, Christopher."
He sighed. "Please, please, don't call me Christopher. I hate it. I'm Kit now."
"It's that important to you?"
"It is. Christopher—" He paused. "Christopher was the name my father gave me. Kit's who I am."
I felt a stirring of compassion for him. Clearly, he had major issues with his father, and I could well relate to that. "Okay. Kit it is."
He smiled. "Thanks. I like the way you say that."
I felt an ominous tingling and cleared my throat. "So, my opinion on what, Kit?"
The softness left his eyes, and he made an obvious effort to look business-like. "Thing is, Marley, I have some news for the staff, and I don't think they're going to be happy. I want your advice about how best to put it to them."
My heart sank. "Oh, God. What now?"
"Don't say it like that!"
"Well, what do you expect? They're already fuming about the staff Christmas meal, and then there's the LuvRocks contract."
"What are they saying about that?" His voice was sharp.
I shrugged. "What do you think they're saying? That you're a complete moron to throw it away like that. Okay, most of us wanted to get back to making our original products, anyway, but talk about throwing the baby out with the bathwater."
"It was the right decision," he said, sounding grumpy.
"So you say, but come on! Some of them are worried that you're going to make us bankrupt at this rate. It's all right for you, sitting here in your posh house. Some of us have rent to pay, or mortgages. Some of us have bills and families—children ..."
"I know that. I don't want them to worry. I really don't." He took a sip of hot chocolate and sighed. I wondered how he managed to drink it without getting cream all over his face. Typical. "Thing is, Marley, I don't want to do things the way Jack did. Don't get me wrong," he said quickly, as I began to protest, "I'm very grateful to him for the way he took over the company, and for how hard he's worked. The LuvRocks contract was absolutely the right thing at the time. Thing is, it's not the right thing for Carroll's anymore. The staff can hate me, if they like, but that's my decision, and I'm not about to change my mind."
"So," I said, rather huffily, "what's the latest bombshell you're about to drop?"
"The Christmas bonus." He took a deep breath. "There won't be one this year."
I simply couldn't believe what I was hearing. My fingers tightened around the mug. "You are joking?"
He shook his head. "I'm not, I assure you. You see, what you have to understand—"
"No! What you have to understand is that it's Christmas! We always get our bonus, and we always expect it. We count on it. I mean, some of the staff count on it. It helps with the Christmas presents for their kids, or the food bill, or visiting relatives, or the extra heating for the winter. They're used to it. You can't just withdraw it without warning."
"I am warning them. That's what I want you to help me with."
"You call two and a half weeks warning? They'll be expecting it in their next pay packet! Jack always gives it to them before Christmas. You can't do this."
He frowned at me. "Are you reliant on this bonus, Marley?"
I shuffled, annoyed at his question. "Of course not. I mean, it helps, obviously, but I'm not as reliant on it as some of the others. They have responsibilities, after all. Husbands, wives, elderly parents ..."
"Children."
I bit my lip. "Yeah. And children."
He looked down, swirling the drink in his mug for a moment. "I'm sorry. I understand that it's come as a shock, but if you could help me, so I can break it to them gently—"
"You must be kidding me." I slammed my mug down and stood up, my anger bubbling over. "You got me over here just to get me to do your dirty work for you? Forget it. I wouldn't help you if you were the last person on earth."
"Marley!"
"We're not at work now, and I can say what I bloody well like. You're a disgrace. These people work hard for you, all year round, and their graft has enabled you to go off and travel the world, living like a king, while they scrimp and save. The least—the very least—you could have done for them was to take them out for a thank-you meal, but, oh no. Even that was too much trouble for you. Now you're dropping this on them, as if they haven't got enough to worry about. Well, you can do this on your own. I'm having no part of it, and when you do tell them, I shall make it bloody clear that I totally disagree with you. Thanks for the chilli."
"Where the hell are you going?" His voice reached me as I headed for the door.
I looked back at him, my lip curled into a sneer. "Where do you think? Home."
He stood up. "I'll take you. You haven't brought a coat."
"You will not take me," I said. "I'd rather freeze to death."
"Now you're being stupid," he said.
"On the contrary, I've just wised up. I was stupid, because for a brief moment, I actually thought that maybe you were the man I fell in love with, all those years ago. But that man never really existed, did he? He broke my heart, trampled all over my feelings, and left. That's who you really are. A man who just doesn't care. I'll get a taxi, thanks very much."
"Broke your heart?" Kit was staring at me, his face pale. "What do you mean, broke your heart? We—"
"Forget it," I snapped. "It's ancient history. You know what, I really wish I had forgotten you. How much easier my life would be if I had. In fact, I wish to God I'd never met you."
His hand was on my arm, but I wrenched away from him.
"Marley, please wait. Let's talk about this."
I made sure I slammed the front door very hard on the way out.
God, it was freezing. I was a fool. I could have been sitting in his nice, warm car, instead of tramping the streets of Farthingdale looking for a taxi. My temper had got the better of me. He knew just which buttons to press, but then, he always had. I couldn't believe that he'd denied breaking my heart. No one was that stupid. He must have known.
My shoulders sagged suddenly. Except, he didn't know, did he? Not all of it, anyway. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself as I walked. The taxi office wasn't far away, thank God. At that time of year, it shouldn't be too much of a wait for a car.
My eyes blurred with tears, and I rubbed them away fiercely. It was the cold air that was causing them. It certainly wasn't emotion. So, he'd acted all innocent and bewildered. Big deal. What sort of man was he, anyway? Cutting the Christmas bonus and expecting me to tell the staff about it? He must’ve thought I was stupid.
I was stupid. He was right about that, at least, because I'd actually thought I could change him. Make a difference. Remind him of the man he used to be when we'd first met. Well, I was on a hiding to nothing there. He hadn't been a man then. He'd been a boy. A little boy. And inside, he was still a little boy—a childish, selfish, cruel little boy.
If only Jack would come home, I thought. Jack would make everything right. He wouldn't let this happen. Jack!
Jack would never allow Kit to scrap the bonuses. If he knew, he would be furious. I'd bet he had no idea about it, and probably didn't even know about the LuvRocks contract, either. I'd ring Jack and tell him what was going on.
I felt suddenly much better. Okay, Kit may have been in charge, but it was Jack who'd won the contract, Jack who'd been running the factory for years. He wouldn't just let his brother destroy everything he'd worked for without a fight.
Kit was about to get a very nasty shock, indeed.