Читать онлайн книгу «Escape to the Riviera: The perfect summer romance!» автора Jules Wake
Escape to the Riviera: The perfect summer romance!
Jules Wake
**Lose yourself in the south of France this summer in this fabulously feel-good beach read!**Carrie Hayes has a job she enjoys and a perfectly nice boyfriend. She’s sorted. Isn’t she?But Carrie’s life wasn’t always like this. As a young,wild drama student, she married fellow actor, RichardMaddox, after a whirlwind romance. Life back then wasfull of possibilities, but when Hollywood beckonedRichard, Carrie was left behind.Now an A-list superstar, Richard’s life couldn’t be moredifferent to Carrie’s, so when their paths cross in glamorousSt Tropez, she can’t help but wonder what might have been.But with lovely, sensible Alan in tow, Carrie knowsshe needs to do the right thing. The only problem is,Carrie and Richard never quite got round to getting a divorce…Lose yourself this summer on the French Riviera,the perfect read for fans of Lucy Diamond and Jane Costello.
JULES WAKE
Escape to the Riviera
Copyright (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
AVON
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Jules Wake 2016
Cover photographs © Anger O. / Getty Images / Shutterstock (http://www.shutterstock.com)
Cover design © Alison Groom 2016
Jules Wake asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008185299
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008185305
Version: 2016-06-28
Dedication (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
For Super Agent Broo,
thank you for everything x
Table of Contents
Cover (#u050ebe70-ff8d-56f9-806d-3a193db795c6)
Title Page (#u51f10e17-ebc3-5e55-a1e7-3fe6b700ae44)
Copyright (#ud36270d7-a840-5862-8bfe-826228cd2ef9)
Dedication (#u4a22e77c-d1b4-5a3d-b0ca-9b51e0a4d9a3)
Chapter One (#ud769b6d7-42ce-586e-a13b-f900ed217f52)
Chapter Two (#u20a78957-e641-55d7-b967-552ef086425c)
Chapter Three (#u62196d80-248e-53a9-877f-b119549a9b2f)
Chapter Four (#u478e64f8-4f0c-5073-8f04-80fb6b1fbd15)
Chapter Five (#uf9d42fa5-e559-528e-8424-6ed22f2db261)
Chapter Six (#u93c38ce5-cff7-53b7-b3ae-0a2dd16b2c10)
Chapter Seven (#ud78341c1-b9dc-59d3-a58d-80f9b58564ef)
Chapter Eight (#uef3fe588-46de-5289-a712-479120880d7f)
Chapter Nine (#u88bc1dbe-1d17-5eec-81b2-40a0ef4d4089)
Chapter Ten (#ua5219b53-c50a-533d-b4c4-955a370bfc4c)
Chapter Eleven (#u8a1effe5-83d2-5ff2-87a7-9dd818c956ba)
Chapter Twelve (#u1aa1485c-c1ba-55b1-b0e6-1ca7191dd9fe)
Chapter Thirteen (#u4adbb150-87f3-5a8a-9d65-de7b0244e33a)
Chapter Fourteen (#u8b427f9a-3893-501b-881e-ac3f474dfe26)
Chapter Fifteen (#u260e8c52-216a-5337-b437-632d76be33af)
Chapter Sixteen (#uab42bca2-ef73-5adc-bbba-1d5b7d69a4ed)
Chapter Seventeen (#u3c2ea4bc-9f8c-5013-b710-17ba87c9f5a0)
Chapter Eighteen (#u6865179c-059d-5f2b-bcd8-e233607fce05)
Chapter Nineteen (#u5ecca4e0-3248-5c21-b667-7bc8dc14ff02)
Chapter Twenty (#u47aeaad4-d1d9-5ca7-90c0-1f58c5b5c68c)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u34a65de5-e7d7-5e7a-a556-3b9ff4741a9c)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u222c6a9a-403a-5388-b77c-de77ff3e20bf)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u4f44c557-5296-59ea-a371-6b972bf0f7f2)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#uca2cc5d8-75e2-5f98-9cb4-8fd318e522c2)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u70570091-6016-5613-b3d5-7f8c7188af30)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#udac41247-9448-5d3e-85e5-8d488102c799)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u02ac428e-cb06-58ea-b385-ed94e52b65b4)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#uafaf5910-613e-560b-bae5-d5e5a8c8acd1)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uc27a2a9f-f962-5bf9-ba12-d518aaa9e6af)
Chapter Thirty (#ucbbde42a-526a-5732-8e85-290495f0560a)
Chapter Thirty-One (#u38db1263-3c47-5594-8ba9-d611f222471f)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#ucd4bbc29-0da0-5403-a23f-fe20389cf0fa)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u8e047f2f-2e45-57d9-87ec-a86c5cf97682)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u7308de4e-a759-50b2-90fe-e977933efd2a)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u1c09c137-ae61-5ad7-ada2-550d48fef8bc)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#u09eea9ec-54a7-54e7-822a-ab25c9d8c164)
Epilogue (#ue1b9201e-2d6f-5cfb-916f-de4d1e5e5d66)
Acknowledgements (#u71ab424d-9d99-5b00-bc8d-2985aa3f6ef2)
Keep Reading … (#ua73c8316-05bb-5dc1-a5d2-baf140cd4182)
About the Author (#u4e36412a-fde9-560e-95eb-b22838d83186)
By the Same Author (#ue5f461e4-4e6c-5ffa-8725-cf96099baefe)
About the Publisher (#ub98ed0d0-0088-55b1-853e-b3fb9e3a995f)
CHAPTER ONE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
Surely, no judge in the land would send her down for giving in to temptation and throttling her niece? The phrase ‘justifiable homicide’ rattled around Carrie’s brain with pleasing harmony. Yes, she’d almost certainly get away it. Teenagers were tricky little sods, although her sister might have something to say about it. Angela managed her daughter’s strops with understated equanimity, but then she was very good at putting up with things. Carrie, on the other hand, found it difficult not to react. How come she could cope with a class full of other people’s kids but was ready to strangle her own niece for being a first-class, there was no other word for it, madam? It would be wrong to come right out and call her that, strangulation was therefore entirely reasonable. Her fingers twitched. So, so tempting.
‘Told you we wouldn’t get in,’ Jade pointed out for the third time, in her loud ‘I’m disgruntled voice’, attracting pernicious interest from the people in the queue behind them. No doubt a score of parents were heaving fervent sighs that she wasn’t theirs.
Did Jade have any idea how close she was to having the very living breath choked out of her?
‘You should have booked the tickets online, like I said to. It’s ridiculous,’ moaned Jade, contradicting any pleasure she might have gained in being right.
Carrie scowled at her niece. One, she flatly refused to pay a two-pound fee, per ticket, mind you, for the luxury of booking tickets in her own home and two, especially not for a film you could flipping well see for free on television. Breakfast at Tiffany’s had been around for fifty years.
‘Now, now, I’m sure there’s something else we can see,’ said Alan, stepping back to look up at the bank of screens advertising at least another eleven films being screened.
‘Yes,’ said the girl at the desk, with a touch of desperation, trying to hurry them along. ‘One of the films starts in two minutes.’ Whose side she was on? She’d soon be out of work if people paid the over-priced booking fees and didn’t buy tickets at the desk.
If that happened and you had to do it all online, there’d never be any chance to be spontaneous and decide to see a film. Take pot luck. Not that Carrie had done anything that random in ages. With sudden dismay it occurred to her that spontaneity was in short supply these days. Did that happen to everyone with age? Was it growing up? Maturing? Or just her getting duller?
‘Which one starts in two minutes?’ asked Carrie, straightening up and flashing the girl a brilliant smile. ‘Wait. Don’t tell me.’ She turned to the others. ‘Let’s go for it. It’ll be a surprise.’
They all stared at her as if she’d gone mad. As well they might, where had that crazy thought come from?
‘What! We can’t do that,’ said Angela. ‘We don’t even know what it is. We might hate it.’
‘That’s the most ridiculous thing. Why would you do that? That’s so lame.’ Jade shook her head. ‘Anyway there’ll only be tickets left for the crap films no one wants to see.’
‘And also rather risky, darling,’ added Alan.
‘Or it could be fun!’ Her voice lifted with enthusiasm, looking back at the united front of three deeply sceptical faces. ‘We might see a film we’d never normally choose and enjoy it. Broaden our horizons. A voyage of discovery! You might love it and you’d never have known. And what about that sense of anticipation?’
‘Like who does that?’ Jade punctuated every word with a different facial expression.
If displeased gurning ever became an Olympic sport, she’d surely clean up. ‘Sounds a pathetic, losery sort of thing to do.’ She continued.
‘Erm, if you could …’ the girl at the desk nodded her head, indicating the restive queue. ‘Or perhaps step aside while you’re deciding.’
‘No. Not happening. There’s no way I’m queuing all over again.’ Jade turned to the girl. ‘What tickets are left for anything that’s not totally shite?’
‘Well there are two screens showing An Unsuitable Man, which is pretty popular.’
‘Done.’ Jade gave Alan an unapologetic smile. ‘Sorry Al, it’s a chick flick.’
‘That’s fine, I think I’ll cope,’ replied Alan, amusement glinting in his eyes.
Carrie shot him a grateful smile and got her purse out. ‘Four tickets for that, then.’
‘Does anyone know what it’s about?’ asked Angela.
‘Not a clue, but it’s got Mr Delicious Arse in it, so if all else fails we’ve got man candy. Sorry, again Al.’
All was right again in Jade’s world.
‘Isn’t that a tad sexist?’ teased Carrie, on safer ground now.
‘Sue me.’ Jade grinned. ‘But I bet you agree. Sorry Al, again, but the man with the oh-so-yum butt is serious sex on legs.’
‘Jade!’ said Angela with a half-hearted exclamation of consternation, before adding, ‘But we still don’t know what it’s about.’
‘I’m guessing,’ said Carrie, paying for the tickets and tucking away her purse, ‘there’s a clue in the title, which probably contravenes the trade descriptions act. Cute unsuitable man reforms to become cute suitable man.’
‘And there speaks the scriptwriter,’ said Alan, wrapping his arm around her as they walked towards screen seven.
‘Then it sounds like a very good alternative,’ said Angela. ‘Although perhaps a bit unfair on the sole male in the party.’
‘Well Al would prefer that to a shoot ‘em, beat ‘em and kill ‘em, fast and furious thing, wouldn’t you? You’re used to all that Pride and Prejudice, Far From the Madding Crowd stuff.’ Jade shuddered. ‘I’m so glad, once this year is finished, I never ever ever, have to do English Literature again.’
‘So too, I suspect, is your teacher,’ said Al with a wink. ‘And no, I’m quite happy to watch something undemanding. I’m sure there’ll be some lady candy for me.’ His hand resting on Carrie’s shoulder squeezed her.
Thank goodness he was used to teenagers. Carrie lifted her hand and wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing him back. Being a teacher at the same school as where she taught drama part-time meant Jade’s behaviour, thankfully, didn’t faze him or put him off.
They shuffled into their seats and sat down in the semi-darkness. The ads had already started but the audience, blasé and indifferent to the stylish mini-films, paid no attention. Jade’s phone glowed as she scrolled through pages on the internet, reminding Carrie to switch hers off. Next to her, Alan did the same.
‘Richard Maddox,’ announced Jade, showing her phone to her mother.
Carrie heard Angela’s quick, sharp gasp.
Her stomach flipped. In the dark she saw the light from the phone reflected in Angela’s wide-eyed expression.
Angela grabbed her arm on the rest between them.
‘He’s Mr Delicious Arse,’ explained Jade, leaning over her mother to show Carrie a picture of Richard Maddox’s naked backside.
All the air whooshed out of Carrie’s lungs and someone had removed the bones in her legs. Thank goodness for Angela’s grip on her arm, otherwise she might have slipped out of her seat like a slick of jelly, sliding right out under the seat in front of her all the way to the bottom.
‘It’s a YouTube vid. Him buck-naked on a beach in California. All you can see is his butt.’
An image of a tiny heart-shaped mole wormed like a determined maggot into Carrie’s head, and no matter how hard she blinked, she couldn’t dispel it.
‘Not the meat and two veg, thank you. That would just be vile. Don’t look, Al.’ Jade waved the phone at him.
‘Thanks, Jade, I won’t.’
A sudden burst of music, ebbing from left to right of the cinema in a cacophonous wave, silenced the chatter and Jade snapped her phone off.
Angela’s hand crept into hers with a limp grip. Carrie clung on to it, her heart leaping about in her chest like a bucking bronco on acid. Her stupid brain insisted on replaying an image of a finger tracing that blinking mole, the tip of her index fingernail a perfect fit for each side of the heart, which nestled on the top left side of a right buttock. She squirmed slightly in her seat and stiffened when she realised what she was doing.
‘You okay?’ whispered Angela.
In the darkness Carrie shook her head, unable to speak. A sense of dread and anticipation rolled around in her stomach. She sat straighter. It seemed a miracle she could keep her body still when inside it felt like someone had switched on a blender.
It was bound to happen one day. A miracle that she’d managed this long. Richard Maddox starred in one block-buster after another.
Sickness and curiosity warred. It had been a long time. She’d been good. Not stalking him. Not Googling. Managing to avert her gaze from the front of Hello magazine at the checkout in Marks and Spencer, training herself not to flinch when someone in the staff room talked about his latest movie or when his name was linked with yet another blonde bombshell of dubious intelligence. Okay, that was her being a bitch. They might be very intelligent, but couldn’t they give everyone else a break and not be completely gorgeous as well?
Maybe she’d built it all up in her head and seeing him on screen wouldn’t affect her at all. She hadn’t seen him for years. Eight years, ten months, give or take a day or two. And she only knew that because it was July 1
and he’d left on the August bank holiday. No other reason.
Why the hell hadn’t she done this before? Put her demon to rest? Except he wasn’t a demon. Or even a bad person. Just someone from her past. She should have done this ages ago.
She squeezed Angela’s hand back to show she was fine. Absolutely fine.
Carrie approved of the sassy character of the female lead, a willowy blonde, who kept the hero on his toes. The well-written screenplay had lots going for it. Entertaining. Good snappy dialogue. Gorgeous location. New York without the traffic, the noise or the humidity. She liked the conflicts that kept him and the heroine apart, and the will-they-ever-get-together moment, where he cast a wistful backward look at her sitting alone on the Highline. Carrie was doing really, really well. Focusing on the film. The mechanics of it. Stoic and impassive. She was doing well, right up to the point when on the Staten Island Ferry, Richard Maddox’s character removed the suitcase from the heroine’s hand, turned her to him, cupped her face in his hands, pushing her long windswept curls out of the way, and leaned in. The camera homed in on the wistful, longing expression on his face, his lips centre-screen as he uttered the words, ‘I love you,’ before leaning in to bestow a kiss of heart-rending intensity.
He might as well have punched her right in the gut. She almost doubled over with the impact.
A flush of heat raced through her as memories loosened, tumbling down like an avalanche. The way he’d lazily snake one of her curls around his finger when they were lying in bed in the mornings. His eyes holding hers when he kissed her, the quick nibbles at the corner of her mouth, those spontaneous public pecks on the Tube as if he couldn’t hold them back and the long, slow langorous preludes to love-making. A myriad kisses danced in her head.
The pain sliced hard and sharp, like a crack suddenly tearing its way through her heart. She tensed, her diaphragm clenching as she fought to hold in a shuddering sob, which threatened to launch itself into orbit.
Mindful of Alan on her right and Angela on her left, she swallowed hard. She clamped her lips in a mutinous line, wrapped her arms around her chest and shut her eyes, praying that these precautions would succeed in repelling the emotion fighting to leak out. Tears streamed down her cheek, gathering speed and a single hiccoughing sob escaped.
Al slipped an arm along the back of her chair. ‘You big softie,’ he whispered.
Blinking back the tears, feeling all kinds of fool, she ducked her head to scrabble around in her bag at her feet to find a tissue. It gave her time to take her attention away from the screen and to get a grip.
‘Aw, Auntie Carrie’s been crying,’ teased Jade as they filed out of the cinema, blinking as they emerged into daylight. ‘You big wuss, you.’
‘She’s an old romantic, aren’t you love?’ Alan shrugged into his jacket as they stepped out into the early-evening drizzle.
‘It was a lovely film,’ said Angela, her eyes anxious as they scanned Carrie’s wan face. ‘Made me cry too.’
Carrie winced at the blatant lie. She did love her sister.
‘Mum, what are you like? Seriously? What was there to cry at? Honestly, you’re a pair of saps. I’ll give him hot, though. Up in the old Fahrenheit register. Hot, hot, hot,’ she paused with a cheeky raise of her eyebrows, ‘for an old guy.’
‘Old?’ chorused Angela and Carrie at the same time, exchanging secretive smiles.
‘Yeah, he must be at least thirty. Old.’ She grinned. ‘Obvs, not for you geriatric crustys, of course.’
Carrie and Angela each linked an arm through Jade’s.
‘What do you think?’ Carrie said to Angela. ‘Bread and water for the next ten years?’
‘Ladies, you can do better than that.’ Alan frowned as if giving it serious thought. ‘How about no phone upgrade for another year?’
‘Nooo!’ howled Jade, dramatically locking her hands in mock prayer, ‘anything but that.’
‘Or we could give her away?’ suggested Angela
‘Who’d have her?’ Carrie shrugged as Jade poked her tongue out.
‘There is that,’ agreed Angela with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Look’s like we’re stuck with the brat.’
‘You know you love me. Both of you.’ Jade tugged at their arms, pulling them closer to her.
Her mother placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘We do.’
Carrie followed suit. ‘Course we do.’
She pushed back at the sense of melancholy hovering over her, as if ready to snatch her away.
She had plenty of love in her life. What more could she ask for? She had a tight-knit family and a lovely man, who adored her.
CHAPTER TWO (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
‘You coming in for a coffee?’ asked Carrie, opening the car door.
Alan shook his head, as Angela and Jade stepped out of the passenger seats in the back. ‘No, it’s a school night and I’ve still got a stack of marking to do.’
So did she. Guilt pricked at the thought of 8G’s navy-blue exercise books heaped in a pile in the kitchen. They ought to be done tonight.
She came round to the driver’s seat and Alan climbed out of the car to face her. She was lucky to have him. Good looking in a forty-watt sort of way. Every feature created a harmonious symmetry that fell a touch short of dazzling. Nice brown eyes, with thick dark lashes that begged the question was he wearing make-up, good skin, hair mid-brown but slightly limp and a nice neat nose. He was the same height as her and quite possibly the kindest man she knew.
‘Okay. Thanks for coming with us. Sorry about the film choice. I’m sure it wasn’t your cup of tea.’
‘What? And Breakfast at Tiffany’s was?’ He tilted his head to one side.
With a gentle laugh she tugged at his jacket. ‘Yeah, but it’s iconic and you said you’d never seen it. And everyone should see it at least once.’
He put his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace.
‘Well, the other one wasn’t so bad. Though who knew you were such a closet romantic? Tears, Miss Hayes? I always thought for a drama teacher you were incredibly emotionally stable.’
‘Thanks, I think. That was supposed to be a compli-ment?’
He grinned at her. ‘Of course it was. Not that you need them.’
He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. For a minute she clung to him, her heart lifting in anticipation. She wanted him to kiss her. Properly. Chase the demons of fantasy away. This was real.
She deepened the kiss, needing that connection with him, but he pulled back.
‘I need to go. Those books won’t get marked by themselves. Sleep tight. See you at work in the morning. Only three more Mondays and we’re home free.’
She bit back disappointment. Alan was being sensible. In a few weeks’ time they’d have a whole summer off, although they’d yet to decide what to do. He’d got a cycling holiday in the Swiss Alps booked and, despite the invitation, it didn’t appeal. She could’ve gone along but Angela and Jade still hadn’t sorted out a holiday and it felt wrong to abandon them.
‘Thank the Lord.’ She hugged him. ‘This summer term is always a killer. There’s so much going on. Exams. The leavers getting too big for their boots. I can’t wait until we break up.’
Jade had already gone up to bed when Carrie sank down at the kitchen table opposite her sister. She let out a weary sigh and reached for the cup of tea Angela had made for her.
‘You okay?’
Carrie rubbed her hand over her face, trying to summon up the right words. She didn’t want to worry Angela but no she wasn’t okay. Nothing like okay.
‘I’m fine. That last bit got to me. But I’m fine.’
She should be fine. After all, she’d worked in the business. Written her own scenes designed to engineer an audience’s response. Should be impervious to a scene where the director had brought every cinematic trick in the book into play, expressly to create a total heart-stopping, heart-fluttering scene.
‘Are you sure?’ Angela’s soft voice penetrated her thoughts, her gentle grey eyes glistening with sympathy.
‘Am I fuck?’ Carrie laid her head on the table and bashed it a couple of times. It hurt.
‘Carrie!’
She lifted her head and said with a weary sigh, ‘I’m not fine at all. I feel pants.’
Seeing Richard had knocked her sideways, out through a glass window seventy-five stories up, and she was still hurtling through the air.
Her response was ten times worse than she could have imagined. Out of sight, out of mind had worked pretty well for her to date. Whoever talked about opening cans of worms had known their onions. She wished she’d walked out of the cinema as soon as she’d heard the name Richard Maddox.
‘Probably the shock of seeing him again, as it were.’ Angela lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug, her brave attempt at reassurance at odds with her bewildered expression.
She and Carrie were so different. Angela’s mild disposition and gentle approach meant that she sailed rather serenely through life on a gentle swell, never plunging into the lows or cresting the highs, despite the constant pain and difficulties she suffered with her rheumatoid arthritis.
Her affair with a married man that resulted in Jade was the most out-of-character thing that Angela had ever done and even now Carrie had difficulty in believing that her sister had been swept away enough to commit adultery. ‘Maybe it’s because you never had proper closure. When I got pregnant with Jade, I knew that it would be over with Clive. With you and Richard, it never ended properly. Just drifted to a halt.
‘I’m sure that’s what it is. How long ago was it since you last saw him? Seven, eight years? You can’t possibly be in love with him, not after all this time.’
Carrie swallowed a protest. What if she could? She’d never tested the theory before today. ‘Yes, you’re right. It’s the shock of seeing him in all his twelve-foot celluloid handsome glory.’ That’s what had made her heart beat a thousand times faster and deepened the hollow feeling in her stomach all the way to Australia.
‘No one’s that good looking. Do you think he was wearing loads of make-up?’ Angela said knowledgeably, as if she spent hours on a film set.
‘Probably,’ agreed Carrie, nodding as if her life depended on it.
‘And I bet he had a body double.’ Angela leaned back in her chair, waving her cup about in her usual feeble grip, sloshing tea over the sides. ‘His body can’t be that good.’
Carrie nodded again. If she wasn’t careful someone would stuff her in the back window of a car.
Angela had a point, though. It certainly hadn’t been when he was in his twenties but then he wasn’t leading a superstar lifestyle then. You don’t exactly fill out a scrawny frame when you’re existing on baked beans and fish-finger sandwiches, living in an unheated, mould-ridden flat off Cold Harbour Lane in Brixton, shivering off any muscle tone to keep warm.
‘Alternatively,’ Angela was her in stride now. ‘he could have a Rottweiler of a personal trainer who dogs his every step-making sure he lives on horrible Hollywood-healthy milkshake things, like wheatgrass and alfalfa sproutings or that keen squaw stuff.’
Carrie smiled as Angela pulled a bleurgh face.
‘And he must wear contacts. No one’s eyes are that blue.’
Richard’s were. To hide the ping of protest her heart made, Carrie let out a mirthless laugh, cupping the mug of tea to take a sip.
‘Sweet of Alan to come with us.’ Angela’s eyes were guileless and her smile kind.
‘Subtle.’
Angela shrugged. ‘He’s lovely. You’ve been seeing each other for a while.’
Carrie didn’t say anything.
‘Do you think something might happen there one day?’
‘One day. I guess.’ Carrie had been giving it more thought recently. He made her happy. So happy. They were good together. She loved him. Not in the crazy, helter-skelter being-at-a-fairground way she’d loved Richard but in a stronger, more enduring fashion.
‘What if one day is soon?’
Carrie was missing something. Angela’s eyes were bird- bright, beady with expectation.
‘What do you know?’
‘Oh.’ Worry crept across her face. ‘Shoot, I’ve given the game away.’
‘Well you hadn’t but you have now.’
‘If he did ask you, you know, to marry him, you’d say yes, wouldn’t you?’ The lines in her forehead deepened as she realised she’d dug herself into an even deeper hole.
‘Angela. What do you know?’
‘You mustn’t tell him I told you.’
‘Like I’m going to do that.’
‘He asked to borrow one of your rings, to get the size right.’ She sighed. ‘And he showed me lots of pictures, to check he’d get something you’d like.’ She brightened. ‘But he didn’t say when. Although, now I’ve spoilt the surprise. You’re going to have to act surprised when he asks you.’
‘You muppet. How could he not know you are the worst person at keeping secrets?’
‘I kept one.’
Carrie sighed. ‘You did.’
‘If he asks, what are you going to do, about, you know? You’ll have to do something.’
‘Yeah, I will and I should have done it years ago, instead …’ she paused. Instead of deliberately ducking the issue. ‘I need to do something about Richard Maddox.’ See, if she said his surname, it made it less personal, as if he wasn’t her Richard. As if she wasn’t entitled to call herself Carrie Maddox. ‘It’s time we got a divorce.’
CHAPTER THREE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
Carrie dragged herself up the stairs to the staff room, consigning whoever had timetabled double drama for Year 7’s last periods on a Friday to the very far reaches of hell. As usual the staff room looked as if a cyclone had torn through, followed by marauding Vikings, hotly pursued by random burglars. The cupboard was bare of a single clean coffee cup and the biscuit barrel offered nothing more than crumbs.
Glad it was the end of the day, Carrie retrieved her bag and phone from her locker and a yellow post-it note fell out. With a smile she scooped it up from the floor. Alan had a habit of slipping them through the crack in the door.
Dinner tomorrow night? Prezzo or Pizza Express. Both have offers on. Lots of love Ax
He was out at a quiz night this evening with his cycling buddies and she’d promised herself a curry, a glass of wine and an hour with her laptop. Since she’d won a playwriting competition a few months ago, she’d been tasked with making a few changes so that it could be considered for a West End run. She had until September to get it sorted. So far, good ideas had been elusive. Thank goodness for the long summer holidays.
She tucked the note in her bag and checked her phone to find a text message from her sister, assuming it would be the usual can you pop to Tesco and pick up … she scanned it quickly.
Exciting news. Grab a bottle of something French!!!!!
‘Why French?’ she asked walking through the front door and into the living room holding out the bottle of Macon Villages, currently being feted on the supermarket shelf as reduced from £9.99 to £5.99. A bargain, no less, although she was sceptical that this bottle had ever been sold at £9.99.
‘We need to start getting in the mood,’ said Angela, bouncing out of the chair beside the fireplace.
‘The mood for what?’ Carrie flopped gratefully into the small two-seater sofa piled high with mismatched cushions. Friday night was batten-down-the-hatches night. Once her shoes were kicked off, she wasn’t going anywhere, although in her head she fondly imagined she still went out dancing. With a sigh she nestled into the comforting embrace of the cushions. This was her favourite room in the house. The only one not co-ordinated to within an inch of a paint chart.
‘A holiday. I’ve found us a free cottage, villa, house thing in France.’ Angela sat back down, clasping her gnarled hands, the joints ravaged by arthritis, on her lap.
Carrie’s ears pricked up at the magical word. ‘How free?’
‘Proper, real free,’ Angela giggled. ‘Oh, Lord, I sound like Jade. Marguerite, at Winthorpe Hall, offered me the use of her house in France for the whole summer.’
Angela worked at a rather swanky residence for distressed gentlefolk of advancing years. Basically it was an extremely posh old people’s home with an army of carers, an à la carte menu for dinner each evening with wine and its very own private cinema with screenings every night.
Her duties, as far as Carrie could work out, involved making up a fourth at bridge, completing shopping runs to the Clinique counter at the local Boots for age-defying potions, managing library visits and accompanying the residents on cultural excursions to the Royal Opera House or the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was a tough job but someone had to do it. Although, to be fair, Angela’s work opportunities were fairly limited.
‘And does Marguerite have all her mental faculties? Actually own the house? Or did she sell it years ago and she’s forgotten that minor fact?’
‘Marguerite most definitely has every last marble intact.’ Angela nodded her head to emphasise the point. ‘She’s so sharp she could slice slivers from a block of ice for her six o’clock G and T. With all her airs and graces, she’s like one of those old Hollywood stars. You should see her slippers, I swear they’re trimmed with marabou, or whatever that fluffy stuff is called. She has a different pair every day, to match her outfit.’
‘She sounds quite a character.’ Carrie could imagine her quite well tripping down the corridors of the very grand Winthorpe Hall. It was more like a luxury hotel than a home for the elderly.
‘She is.’
‘This place she has in France, I’m sorry, but why would she have a place out there and not live there? Or not sell it?’
‘She keeps it for her family. And she does go out there, when they visit, but she likes company. That’s why she moved into Winthorpe. Anyway the whole family are going to America this summer. The house will be empty and she said we can have it. What do you reckon?’
Carrie reckoned that it sounded far too good to be true, but in the absence of anything better coming along in the next few weeks before the end of term it was definitely worth considering. Blimey, once upon a time, she’d have happily leapt on the back of a scooter with a tent and a sleeping bag on her back and gone. Being cautious had crept up on her. Maybe it was all those risk assessments they were so fond of at school. You couldn’t take a trip anywhere without seven levels of form filling-in. OV8s, SF9s and a triplicate V13a.
‘Whereabouts is it?’
‘South of France. Provence sort of way,’ Angela paused, wrinkling her nose in thought, ‘Or around there. It’s in a village.’
‘And what sort of accommodation?’
‘I think, from what she said, it’s all on one level, a bungalow. She said it’s got fabulous views.’
Estate-agent speak for ‘it hasn’t got much else going for it’.
‘And the market in the village is wonderful and there are plenty of lovely places nearby to eat.’
‘The kitchen is dire you have to eat out.’ Carrie could see it now. No wonder Marguerite’s family weren’t keen on going.
‘What do you think? Do you want to come with us?’
‘In principle, yes’ Carrie said slowly, not wanting to let practical considerations dim Angela’s enthusiasm, ‘it sounds wonderful. Can I let you know? Perhaps you need to find out more.’
Angela’s face fell and her mouth crumpled into a mutinous line that was horribly reminiscent of Jade when she didn’t get her way. Except, unlike Jade, Angela wouldn’t voice her emotion, she’d button it up in disappointed, accepting silence. Angela didn’t complain about much and she had plenty to complain about.
‘Nearest airport. Train station. Things like that, so that you can work out the best way to get there and how much it will cost.’
‘Marguerite says you can fly EasyJet,’ Angela beamed. ‘And then it’s not far from there.’ With Angela’s smile restored, Carrie felt slightly less of a killjoy. Her sister and niece depended on her. They needed her and it was important to remind herself of that occasionally. Especially when thoughts of Richard intruded. Swanning off to Hollywood had never been a realistic option for her and she didn’t begrudge staying for her family. They’d needed her far more than he did, as all the pictures of him with his leading ladies had soon proved.
‘I can’t wait to tell Jade,’ said Angela. ‘She worked hard for her exams. She deserves a proper break.
‘Now, what time shall I order the curry. What do you fancy? Your usual.’
Carrie stretched, luxuriating in the fact she didn’t have to leave the house again today. She might even go and put her pyjamas on.
‘Chicken Biryani? Sag Aloo? Basmati rice?’ Angela had already picked up the phone. God, they were predictable. She sat up quickly, or as quickly as she could. It wasn’t that easy to gain purchase on a mountain of cushions.
‘No, let’s have something different for a change. Where’s the menu for the Tandoori Cottage?’
‘But we always ring the Banani on the High Street.’
‘I fancy a change.’ Carrie cringed inside. A different curry house constituted a radical change? She really needed to get out more.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
‘Blimey, you’re up bright and early.’ Carrie rubbed her eyes, as if trying to clear the mirage that was Jade in the kitchen before nine o’clock on a Saturday morning.
‘I’m on a mission.’ Jade flicked her head up from her laptop. ‘Sort out flights to this place in France before Mum gets all uber-twitchy and comes up with a gazillion reasons why we can’t go. She’s finally got the deets of the village where this place is. And I’ve got an early shift at the café today. Babysitting tonight. And working at the hotel tomorrow. I’ll be rolling in the Benjamins when I get paid. Primani here I come.’
‘Not paying for your flight?’ asked Carrie and immediately regretted it when she saw her niece’s crestfallen face. She shouldn’t tease her; she was a good kid who most of the time pulled her weight. Her positive work ethic couldn’t be denied. If you asked her to do a job, and she wanted to do it, or acknowledged she had time to do it, you could rely on her. The trick was finding the right job and mentioning it at precisely the right moment.
‘I should, shouldn’t I?’ She turned to Carrie with a worried frown.
‘No, honey.’ Carrie laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I was teasing you. I’m sure flights to France won’t be that expensive and you can be completely flexible about dates. Means we can get the cheapest flights.’ She winked at her niece. ‘And still be able to afford a pair of new jeans.’
Jade pushed her hand off, laughing up at her. ‘You’re mean.’
‘What’s this about a new pair of jeans?’ Angela wandered in carrying a mountain of washing. ‘You’ve got enough clothes to sink a fleet of cruise ships.’
‘Actually,’ Jade tilted her nose in the air and said with a smug tone, ‘I told Auntie Carrie that I’d pay for my flight to France instead of buying a new pair of jeans.’
‘Really, darling, that’s sweet of you but you don’t have to.’ Angela put an arm around her daughter. ‘You’re saving up for your own car. That’s more important.’
If she wanted to drive, Jade would need her own car, as Angela’s automatic, with its specially adapted steering wheel, wouldn’t be suitable.
‘What time do you need to be at work?’ Carrie took a quick peek at the clock. ‘I can drop you off at the café when I go to Alan’s if you’d like.’
‘That would be ace, thanks. I need to be there for ten- thirty. Crikey Moses, I’d better do this and get ready.’
Carrie bit her tongue. She knew better than to query how long it took to get ready. Jade’s make-up, admittedly a work of art, took a minimum of an hour to achieve. Perhaps that was where Carrie had gone wrong in her younger days. She hadn’t cared enough about that sort of thing. Looks, appearance. There was never enough time to think about them. She was too busy living life. Teenagers these days had lots more opportunities and yet the boundaries of their lives were limited by their addiction to social media and what everyone else thought of them.
‘Right Mum. Sleezyjet. Luton to Nice. Piece of … cake. If we fly out on a Thursday evening its thirty-two quid. Come back on a Saturday night. Only twenty-four pounds.’
‘That sounds very cheap.’ Angela frowned.
‘Cos, no other bugger wants to fly then. Market forces. Supply and demand.’
‘Wow that Economics GSCE level is really paying off,’ said Carrie in mock admiration as she sauntered out of the kitchen. ‘Leave at ten-twenty.’
‘Sure.’ Jade was already busy tapping away at her laptop, Angela craning over her shoulder as Carrie went upstairs to take her shower.
With a quick review of her wardrobe, Carrie yanked out a pair of jeans and her favourite pair of Converse High Tops, covered in gold sequins. She’d bought them on a whim and she adored them, despite the comments both Angela and Alan had made. She didn’t care, they were utterly gorgeous. The fact that they were comfortable was a happy coincidence. If she and Alan were going into St Albans for the day to take a look around the Cathedral and the Roman Museum, comfort was the order of the day.
After her shower, Carrie gathered up her hair and with a ruthless tug secured it in a ponytail before wrapping it round several times into a messy bun that she skewered with a couple of decorative wooden chopsticks. She sometimes wondered if perhaps she should have it all cut off, it wasn’t as if she ever wore it down and it nearly reached her waist. She spent half of her life tidying it back into its bun. It was a constant battle, like trying to tame a small animal into submission and failing.
Grabbing her jacket, she called for Jade. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Nearly,’ came the expected response from Jade’s bedroom next door.
‘See you downstairs. I’m leaving in two minutes.’
‘Okay! I said I’d be ready!’
With a roll of her eyes, Carrie pounded down the stairs and went to retrieve her handbag from the kitchen.
Angela pored over the laptop with an unhappy frown.
‘What’s the matter? Are the flights too expensive? Did Jade get it wrong?’
‘No. They’re fine. We can get flights for around sixty-five pounds return, which is fantastic, if we fly at funny times but that’s okay. No, the problem is getting from the airport to the village. There’s no public transport – or none that connects. And a taxi from the airport would be rather expensive. I’ll have to ask Marguerite what she does.
‘Are you back tonight?’
‘No but I’ll be back early tomorrow. Marking and planning.’ She caught sight of the clock. Easy-going and laid-back in most things, Alan did have a bit of a thing about punctuality. Being late showed, he thought, a lack of respect for the other person.
‘Jade! I’m going.’
‘Alright, keep your hair on. I’m coming.’ Jade shouted back.
Angela and Carrie exchanged eye rolls. ‘Bye Angela, see you in the morning.
‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is here,’ said Alan as they strolled arm in arm around the nave of the ancient stone building. ‘No chance of bumping into any kids from school, either.’
‘Always a bonus,’ agreed Carrie with a sigh, drinking in the calm, quiet atmosphere. It seemed difficult to believe the cathedral was a step away from the busy high street.
Above them, the sun shone through the rose-stained glass window glistening with brilliant colour.
‘Now, do you fancy the guided tour? There’s a highlights tour in a few minutes.’
Carrie checked the time on her phone. They’d already been wandering around for an hour. How much more was there to see?
‘Why don’t you do the highlights tour and I’ll sit in one of the pews?’ She’d be quite content to gaze up at the window. ‘I can wait for you but I don’t think I’m up for a tour. My brain’s turned to mush.’
‘Why didn’t you say? Come on let’s go to the refectory. Tea and cake.’
‘No, Al. You stay. I don’t mind.’
‘No,’ he took her arm in a gentle but insistent grip. This was forceful Alan. Not exactly a force to be reckoned with, he did everything with calm understatement. ‘We can come back here any time. Besides cake solves everything.’
The Cathedral café, Abbots Kitchen, offered a very fine selection of cake.
‘Excellent. Coffee and walnut. Perfect. What do you fancy? I’m starving.’
She burst out laughing as the woman behind the counter served him a huge slab.
‘You’re always starving. It’s all the cycling.’ She gave him a quick, teasing glance. ‘You’ve been out this morning already, haven’t you? What are you like?’ He put her to shame, not that he ever bothered about her single-minded aversion to exercise.
He responded with an impish grin. ‘I’m making sure I’ll be in peak shape for the holiday.’
‘Rather you than me.’ Carrie shuddered. She couldn’t think of anything worse than a week toiling up and down the mountain roads of the Alps.
‘I’ve been thinking. You know we were talking about perhaps going to Cornwall or Wales later on in the holidays.’
‘Yes, I think I’d prefer Cornwall, bit more chance of sunshine.’ With the whole summer break in front of them, the holidays had seemed ages away and they hadn’t booked anywhere yet and now she had Angela’s offer to think about.
‘Well …’ Alan looked a little sheepish. ‘I was thinking … that maybe we should wait and save our money … go somewhere in the half term in October …’ A flush ran up his cheeks and the coffee cup in his hand shook, ‘… for maybe a honeymoon.’ He put the cup down in its saucer with a clatter and started fumbling in his pocket, tugging as the lining came out, ejecting a red velvet box onto the floor. It tumbled under the table, coming to rest beside her foot.
Biting back a smile, she bent to retrieve it.
Alan sighed and grinned. ‘I messed that one up, good and proper.’
Carrie laughed and handed it back to him. ‘Possibly not your finest hour. Do you want to start again?’
‘I’m not sure you’re going to have me, after that fine example of my total ineptitude in the romance department.’ He shook his head and pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I had it all worked out. Planned. I was going to go down on one knee on the lawn outside, but there were too many people. I got nervous. So I decided I’d do it later … and then it came out. All wrong.’
He twisted the box in his hands as he spoke and then, with a start, glanced down, as if suddenly remembering what it was. Placing it on the table, he took her hand, serious now.
‘Carrie Hayes. Will you marry me?’
No fuss. No drama. Just Alan. Quiet, steadfast and true. She’d had drama and fuss and look how that had worked out. With Alan, she knew exactly where she was, while it might not be thrills and spills, his gentle love was like a warm hug. He would always be there for her.
‘Alan Lambert. Yes, I will.’
They stared at each other, smiling for a minute.
‘Oh, you need this.’ He opened the box and started to take out the ring and then half way through changed his mind. ‘Here, you’d better do it. I might drop it and then the damn thing will go flying across the room and get lost before you’ve ever seen it.’
Carrie took the open box and went to take the ring out.
‘Don’t worry if you don’t like it. I can take it back. If it’s not right. And say so, won’t you. If you don’t. Like it, that is.’
She leaned over the table and kissed him to shut him up. ‘Shh. It’s beautiful.’ And it was. A single solitaire diamond in an elegant raised setting. She handed it to him. ‘Go on.’
As he slipped it on to her finger with a shaking hand, a warm rush of love filled her heart. He was a good man. He’d look after her. Be a good partner. She’d never have to worry about him leaving her. ‘We’re engaged,’ she said with a giggle, suddenly giddy and light-hearted. It seemed rather staid and sober to be sitting there when they should be bouncing around with excitement.
‘We’ll need to talk about some of the practicalities,’ said Alan, taking her hand and tracing around the ring on her finger. ‘Like where we’re going to live. My flat’s a bit small …’
‘And bachelory,’ added Carrie with a smile.
His face fell. ‘It’s not that bad. I was going to say, I know it’s small but I think we should live there. Think how much money we could save, with you paying half the mortgage and the bills. I mean, we could carry on, but I think getting married makes a lot of financial sense. You know, pooling our resources. Later maybe, we could think about getting a bigger place. I’m loathe to throw my hat into the ring for the Head of Department job and have to suck up to Johnson.’
Alan was a brilliant teacher, but he had no ambition when it came to his career.
‘Actually, I’ve got some money set aside.’ Carrie wasn’t sure that she wanted to start married life in Alan’s flat. ‘When my parents died they left their house to me and Angela. She bought the house with her half of the money and my rent money covers the mortgage, but I still have my half of the proceeds.’
Alan sat up. ‘I’m marrying an heiress. Well that’s even better. I had no idea.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Hmm, well that will put us in a better position financially.’
The moment was in danger of going flat with this boring talk of jobs, mortgages and money.
‘Come on,’ she grabbed his hand.
‘But I haven’t finished my …’
She dragged him out of the café, pulling him along by his hand, bumping into chairs as they went. She wanted to run, jump up and down and get rid of some of the energy crackling through her before it burst out through her skin. Her arms prickled with it.
As soon as they emerged outside, Alan tugged back, slowing her to a halt.
‘Carrie!’ he said, smiling down into her face with a slightly reproachful shake of his head. ‘You’re crazy.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it.
‘Yes. Crazy. Alive. Happy.’ She grinned up at his familiar face, her cheeks stretched a tad wider than comfortable, ignoring a little voice telling her rather peevishly that she wasn’t as happy as last time.
Happiness last time had propelled her down Primrose Hill, running too fast and giggling so hard she could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter because there wasn’t room in her chest to take a breath with all the fireworks exploding and whooshing and crashing inside her. She’d thought she might explode from sheer joy, which only became giddier when they fell together, arms wrapped around each other, rolling down the hill. And when their pell-mell flight was halted by a hawthorn bush, with a bump that forced the air out of them, they stared at each other with the kind of hungry intensity that made you want to crawl inside the other person because you couldn’t get close enough.
Carrie ducked her head to look at the ring on her finger, fighting the sick thud in her stomach. She didn’t want to remember that. It was in the past. A different time. A different person. This was now. This was what she wanted.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
How the hell did you divorce someone when you had no idea how the hell to get hold of them in the first place?
Carrie pulled her laptop closer. Sitting in the kitchen felt a little precarious, Jade could get bored with her Netflix binge at any moment and appear behind her, but apart from the lounge, it was the only place you got a decent wi-fi signal.
According to the government website, you could have a DIY divorce for very little money, which sounded great until she started doing more digging. Initially she’d hoped she might get away without having to get a solicitor involved. It wasn’t as if she and Richard had anything to fight about. No shared belongings. No children. Not even a marital home. A solicitor wouldn’t be interested. Or maybe they would be if they thought major pound signs might be involved. She’d soon disabuse them of that thought.
Richard wasn’t likely to contest it, surely not after all this time. He was established, a big-time superstar.
Years ago she’d suggested a divorce. Richard said he didn’t want to. Neither did she, but with gritted teeth, she’d pointed out it was the practical, obvious thing to do because they hadn’t seen each other for eighteen months. The rush of relief, when he said he didn’t want to call time either, had only been eclipsed by her heart breaking into tiny pieces when he explained that it might hurt his chances of landing the next role.
Stupid idiot, she’d held that last-chance-saloon prayer that they’d work things out, but even though he’d smashed up all her hopes, having not worked in the theatre for eight months, she knew how precious every opportunity was. Who was she to deny him his big break?
She twisted a curl in her hand as she stared at the laptop screen. A divorce certainly wouldn’t hurt his career now. Getting a divorce was surprisingly straightforward providing you had an address.
She didn’t have a clue where Richard lived. It wasn’t exactly something you could look up on the internet. Google was amazing, but she didn’t think it was quite that amazing. Deciding to give it a go, she typed in Where does Richard Maddox live? What she loved about the great god of search engines, was that it never admitted it didn’t know anything. Wouldn’t it be great if occasionally a message would pop up, Google does not have a clue?
Article after article about Richard Maddox popped up, but not one of them handily said he lived at 3025 Pacific Beach Highway West, Malibu or 95a Beverley Hills Avenue, Hollywood, Ca.
The third from top mentioned that he was about to start filming a new film, Turn on the Stars, a romantic comedy, scheduled to go into production in the summer and to be filmed on the Cote D’Azur in France. Carrie winced. Where else but the Cote D’Azur? Although quite where it was in France, she was a bit hazy. Geography had never been her strong point.
‘Hey Carrie.’ Carrie jumped as Jade sauntered into the kitchen, working hard to resist the urge to slam the laptop closed. ‘You okay? Is there anything to eat? I reckon Mum’s hidden the rest of the chocolate biscuits.’ She crossed to the cupboard, peering into the empty biscuit box with an air of utter disbelief.
‘No, I’m pretty sure you ate them all.’
‘That’s ridiculous, I’ve only had a couple.’ Jade pulled a disconsolate face. ‘You don’t get many in a packet, do you?’
Possibly not when you munched two or three every time you passed the biscuit barrel. Carrie decided it was best not to voice that thought out loud.
‘Your film finished?’
‘No, got bored. It was lame. What you doing? Don’t tell me you’re still working?’ Jade squinted at the screen.
‘No, just surfing.’
‘Did Mum tell you about the holiday?’ Jade threw herself into the chair opposite.
‘No. We haven’t spoken about it.’ On the one hand free accommodation sounded wonderful for a whole summer holiday, but if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was.
‘Looks like it’s a no-go.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘We can’t get there, not without a flaming helicopter. It’s too complicated. No public transport, which means it must be some crappy, middle-of-nowhere place.’
‘How does Marguerite, the woman that owns the place, get there?’ asked Carrie, used to Jade’s dramatics.
‘Chauffeur-driven from the airport.’ Jade wrinkled her nose. ‘Alright for some, eh?’
‘Ah. And there’s no other way?’ Carrie was a great believer in where there was a will there was a way.
‘Feel free to try. I’ve been on the web for hours trying to work it out. Basically we’re stuffed. No cheap holiday on the Côte D’Azure.’ Jade’s downturned mouth almost formed a perfect semi-circle. ‘Mum’s found a,’ she did speech marks actions, “cottage”– polite speak for caravan without wheels, in the Forest of Dean.’
‘Côte D’Azur?’ Carrie straightened.
‘No, Forest of Dean.’ Jade glared at her in that full-frontal, pay-attention manner teenagers were so good at adopting.
‘No before that. Marguerite’s place. I thought it was somewhere on the French Riviera.’
‘Yeah, that too. Same place, two names. Why? Just ridiculous. Although makes no difference cos I’m never going to find out what it’s like.’ Jade slid lower down in her chair. ‘Would you bloody Adam and Eve it? First time in a gazillion, trillion years that there’s a chance of me actually going abroad. i.e. needing my passport. And it’s snatched away from me in the nick of bloody time.’
As Jade had been talking, Carrie had done another quick search.
‘Apparently, Riviera is the Anglicised version of Côte D’Azur.’
‘For all I care, it could be the Welsh, Scottish or Irish version. It’s no good to me.’
‘How many does this villa of the famous Marguerite sleep?’ asked Carrie, narrowing her eyes, a prick of excitement stirring.
‘Doesn’t matter as the Hayes family will NOT be going.’ Jade slid down her chair, arms folded, glaring across the table. ‘My life officially sucks. Charlotte is going to the Hamptons. Becky is going to Paris. Eliza is going to Canada. I, on the other, rubbish, hand am going to a pathetic caravan park, without Wi-Fi, in the middle of nowheresville.’
‘Could be worse.’
‘How so?’ Jade slouched even further down, her chin now level with the table.
‘It might rain every day.’ Carrie smiled, getting up and walking behind Jade to flip on the kettle behind her.
‘That’s mean. Thanks a bunch for that cheery thought.’ Jade, now loose-limbed and droopy, looked in danger of melting across the table.
‘Always good to share.’ Carrie pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, holding one up to Jade in offer of a hot drink. ‘But, if you could get to Marguerite’s, how many bedrooms does it have?’
‘Oh God, you’re not going to bring Al are you? He’ll spend the whole time encouraging me to read.’ With a sudden start, Jade straightened, realising that perhaps there was renewed hope. ‘Not that he isn’t a great bloke and all that but not … to go on holiday with. Bit too much of a teacher.’
‘And what does that make me?’ asked Carrie with a lift of one eyebrow.
‘Ah,’ she said, with an air of being terribly knowledgeable about such things, ‘being an aunt is much, much worse.’
Carrie stuck her tongue out at her niece, and looped an arm around her neck in a wrestler’s headlock. ‘Is that so?’
Jade promptly dissolved into giggles.
‘Mum’s still not sure of the details but she thinks it’s six.’
‘That’d be two bedrooms and a sofa bed in the lounge,’ guessed Carrie out loud. This could be her best chance at tracking Richard down. Sleeping in the lounge was a smallish price to pay.
Jade shrugged. ‘I guess.’
‘What if I drove? Hired a car at the airport. Nice, did you say? Cinders and her mother could go on holiday somewhere hot and sunny.’
‘Seriously!’ Jade jumped up and threw her arms around Carrie. ‘Auntie Caz you rock. That would be awesome. Even with Al. Not that Al is not nice. He’s lovely. But … well you know.’ Occasionally Jade knew when to stop. This moment was clearly one of them. Al was a teacher. Fifteen years older than her. One day she would understand.
‘Good job Al is cycling in the Alps, then.’ Carrie’s stern look communicated that she’d gone far enough.
‘Is that in Russia?’ asked Jade, looking away.
‘Did they teach you anything at that school of yours?’ Carrie shook her head, but Jade gave her a cheeky irrepressible grin.
‘Yup, Poker, Spin-the-bottle and how to top up your lunch card with someone else’s account.’
Turning her back on her niece, Carrie poured boiling water over her teabag and waited for it to brew, tuning out Jade’s excited chatter. How hard could it be to find out where a film crew was working? Surely she could discover where Richard was staying and hand-deliver a letter. She wouldn’t even have to see him. This was the best possible solution. This way she’d be sure he’d receive the letter. She could spend weeks waiting for letters to go back and forth to the States, even if she had his proper address.
‘Come on then, Princess Jade. Show me where we need to get to and what the flight times and prices are.’
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Jules Wake
**Lose yourself in the south of France this summer in this fabulously feel-good beach read!**Carrie Hayes has a job she enjoys and a perfectly nice boyfriend. She’s sorted. Isn’t she?But Carrie’s life wasn’t always like this. As a young,wild drama student, she married fellow actor, RichardMaddox, after a whirlwind romance. Life back then wasfull of possibilities, but when Hollywood beckonedRichard, Carrie was left behind.Now an A-list superstar, Richard’s life couldn’t be moredifferent to Carrie’s, so when their paths cross in glamorousSt Tropez, she can’t help but wonder what might have been.But with lovely, sensible Alan in tow, Carrie knowsshe needs to do the right thing. The only problem is,Carrie and Richard never quite got round to getting a divorce…Lose yourself this summer on the French Riviera,the perfect read for fans of Lucy Diamond and Jane Costello.
JULES WAKE
Escape to the Riviera
Copyright (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
AVON
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Jules Wake 2016
Cover photographs © Anger O. / Getty Images / Shutterstock (http://www.shutterstock.com)
Cover design © Alison Groom 2016
Jules Wake asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008185299
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008185305
Version: 2016-06-28
Dedication (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
For Super Agent Broo,
thank you for everything x
Table of Contents
Cover (#u050ebe70-ff8d-56f9-806d-3a193db795c6)
Title Page (#u51f10e17-ebc3-5e55-a1e7-3fe6b700ae44)
Copyright (#ud36270d7-a840-5862-8bfe-826228cd2ef9)
Dedication (#u4a22e77c-d1b4-5a3d-b0ca-9b51e0a4d9a3)
Chapter One (#ud769b6d7-42ce-586e-a13b-f900ed217f52)
Chapter Two (#u20a78957-e641-55d7-b967-552ef086425c)
Chapter Three (#u62196d80-248e-53a9-877f-b119549a9b2f)
Chapter Four (#u478e64f8-4f0c-5073-8f04-80fb6b1fbd15)
Chapter Five (#uf9d42fa5-e559-528e-8424-6ed22f2db261)
Chapter Six (#u93c38ce5-cff7-53b7-b3ae-0a2dd16b2c10)
Chapter Seven (#ud78341c1-b9dc-59d3-a58d-80f9b58564ef)
Chapter Eight (#uef3fe588-46de-5289-a712-479120880d7f)
Chapter Nine (#u88bc1dbe-1d17-5eec-81b2-40a0ef4d4089)
Chapter Ten (#ua5219b53-c50a-533d-b4c4-955a370bfc4c)
Chapter Eleven (#u8a1effe5-83d2-5ff2-87a7-9dd818c956ba)
Chapter Twelve (#u1aa1485c-c1ba-55b1-b0e6-1ca7191dd9fe)
Chapter Thirteen (#u4adbb150-87f3-5a8a-9d65-de7b0244e33a)
Chapter Fourteen (#u8b427f9a-3893-501b-881e-ac3f474dfe26)
Chapter Fifteen (#u260e8c52-216a-5337-b437-632d76be33af)
Chapter Sixteen (#uab42bca2-ef73-5adc-bbba-1d5b7d69a4ed)
Chapter Seventeen (#u3c2ea4bc-9f8c-5013-b710-17ba87c9f5a0)
Chapter Eighteen (#u6865179c-059d-5f2b-bcd8-e233607fce05)
Chapter Nineteen (#u5ecca4e0-3248-5c21-b667-7bc8dc14ff02)
Chapter Twenty (#u47aeaad4-d1d9-5ca7-90c0-1f58c5b5c68c)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u34a65de5-e7d7-5e7a-a556-3b9ff4741a9c)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u222c6a9a-403a-5388-b77c-de77ff3e20bf)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u4f44c557-5296-59ea-a371-6b972bf0f7f2)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#uca2cc5d8-75e2-5f98-9cb4-8fd318e522c2)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u70570091-6016-5613-b3d5-7f8c7188af30)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#udac41247-9448-5d3e-85e5-8d488102c799)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u02ac428e-cb06-58ea-b385-ed94e52b65b4)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#uafaf5910-613e-560b-bae5-d5e5a8c8acd1)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uc27a2a9f-f962-5bf9-ba12-d518aaa9e6af)
Chapter Thirty (#ucbbde42a-526a-5732-8e85-290495f0560a)
Chapter Thirty-One (#u38db1263-3c47-5594-8ba9-d611f222471f)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#ucd4bbc29-0da0-5403-a23f-fe20389cf0fa)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u8e047f2f-2e45-57d9-87ec-a86c5cf97682)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u7308de4e-a759-50b2-90fe-e977933efd2a)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u1c09c137-ae61-5ad7-ada2-550d48fef8bc)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#u09eea9ec-54a7-54e7-822a-ab25c9d8c164)
Epilogue (#ue1b9201e-2d6f-5cfb-916f-de4d1e5e5d66)
Acknowledgements (#u71ab424d-9d99-5b00-bc8d-2985aa3f6ef2)
Keep Reading … (#ua73c8316-05bb-5dc1-a5d2-baf140cd4182)
About the Author (#u4e36412a-fde9-560e-95eb-b22838d83186)
By the Same Author (#ue5f461e4-4e6c-5ffa-8725-cf96099baefe)
About the Publisher (#ub98ed0d0-0088-55b1-853e-b3fb9e3a995f)
CHAPTER ONE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
Surely, no judge in the land would send her down for giving in to temptation and throttling her niece? The phrase ‘justifiable homicide’ rattled around Carrie’s brain with pleasing harmony. Yes, she’d almost certainly get away it. Teenagers were tricky little sods, although her sister might have something to say about it. Angela managed her daughter’s strops with understated equanimity, but then she was very good at putting up with things. Carrie, on the other hand, found it difficult not to react. How come she could cope with a class full of other people’s kids but was ready to strangle her own niece for being a first-class, there was no other word for it, madam? It would be wrong to come right out and call her that, strangulation was therefore entirely reasonable. Her fingers twitched. So, so tempting.
‘Told you we wouldn’t get in,’ Jade pointed out for the third time, in her loud ‘I’m disgruntled voice’, attracting pernicious interest from the people in the queue behind them. No doubt a score of parents were heaving fervent sighs that she wasn’t theirs.
Did Jade have any idea how close she was to having the very living breath choked out of her?
‘You should have booked the tickets online, like I said to. It’s ridiculous,’ moaned Jade, contradicting any pleasure she might have gained in being right.
Carrie scowled at her niece. One, she flatly refused to pay a two-pound fee, per ticket, mind you, for the luxury of booking tickets in her own home and two, especially not for a film you could flipping well see for free on television. Breakfast at Tiffany’s had been around for fifty years.
‘Now, now, I’m sure there’s something else we can see,’ said Alan, stepping back to look up at the bank of screens advertising at least another eleven films being screened.
‘Yes,’ said the girl at the desk, with a touch of desperation, trying to hurry them along. ‘One of the films starts in two minutes.’ Whose side she was on? She’d soon be out of work if people paid the over-priced booking fees and didn’t buy tickets at the desk.
If that happened and you had to do it all online, there’d never be any chance to be spontaneous and decide to see a film. Take pot luck. Not that Carrie had done anything that random in ages. With sudden dismay it occurred to her that spontaneity was in short supply these days. Did that happen to everyone with age? Was it growing up? Maturing? Or just her getting duller?
‘Which one starts in two minutes?’ asked Carrie, straightening up and flashing the girl a brilliant smile. ‘Wait. Don’t tell me.’ She turned to the others. ‘Let’s go for it. It’ll be a surprise.’
They all stared at her as if she’d gone mad. As well they might, where had that crazy thought come from?
‘What! We can’t do that,’ said Angela. ‘We don’t even know what it is. We might hate it.’
‘That’s the most ridiculous thing. Why would you do that? That’s so lame.’ Jade shook her head. ‘Anyway there’ll only be tickets left for the crap films no one wants to see.’
‘And also rather risky, darling,’ added Alan.
‘Or it could be fun!’ Her voice lifted with enthusiasm, looking back at the united front of three deeply sceptical faces. ‘We might see a film we’d never normally choose and enjoy it. Broaden our horizons. A voyage of discovery! You might love it and you’d never have known. And what about that sense of anticipation?’
‘Like who does that?’ Jade punctuated every word with a different facial expression.
If displeased gurning ever became an Olympic sport, she’d surely clean up. ‘Sounds a pathetic, losery sort of thing to do.’ She continued.
‘Erm, if you could …’ the girl at the desk nodded her head, indicating the restive queue. ‘Or perhaps step aside while you’re deciding.’
‘No. Not happening. There’s no way I’m queuing all over again.’ Jade turned to the girl. ‘What tickets are left for anything that’s not totally shite?’
‘Well there are two screens showing An Unsuitable Man, which is pretty popular.’
‘Done.’ Jade gave Alan an unapologetic smile. ‘Sorry Al, it’s a chick flick.’
‘That’s fine, I think I’ll cope,’ replied Alan, amusement glinting in his eyes.
Carrie shot him a grateful smile and got her purse out. ‘Four tickets for that, then.’
‘Does anyone know what it’s about?’ asked Angela.
‘Not a clue, but it’s got Mr Delicious Arse in it, so if all else fails we’ve got man candy. Sorry, again Al.’
All was right again in Jade’s world.
‘Isn’t that a tad sexist?’ teased Carrie, on safer ground now.
‘Sue me.’ Jade grinned. ‘But I bet you agree. Sorry Al, again, but the man with the oh-so-yum butt is serious sex on legs.’
‘Jade!’ said Angela with a half-hearted exclamation of consternation, before adding, ‘But we still don’t know what it’s about.’
‘I’m guessing,’ said Carrie, paying for the tickets and tucking away her purse, ‘there’s a clue in the title, which probably contravenes the trade descriptions act. Cute unsuitable man reforms to become cute suitable man.’
‘And there speaks the scriptwriter,’ said Alan, wrapping his arm around her as they walked towards screen seven.
‘Then it sounds like a very good alternative,’ said Angela. ‘Although perhaps a bit unfair on the sole male in the party.’
‘Well Al would prefer that to a shoot ‘em, beat ‘em and kill ‘em, fast and furious thing, wouldn’t you? You’re used to all that Pride and Prejudice, Far From the Madding Crowd stuff.’ Jade shuddered. ‘I’m so glad, once this year is finished, I never ever ever, have to do English Literature again.’
‘So too, I suspect, is your teacher,’ said Al with a wink. ‘And no, I’m quite happy to watch something undemanding. I’m sure there’ll be some lady candy for me.’ His hand resting on Carrie’s shoulder squeezed her.
Thank goodness he was used to teenagers. Carrie lifted her hand and wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing him back. Being a teacher at the same school as where she taught drama part-time meant Jade’s behaviour, thankfully, didn’t faze him or put him off.
They shuffled into their seats and sat down in the semi-darkness. The ads had already started but the audience, blasé and indifferent to the stylish mini-films, paid no attention. Jade’s phone glowed as she scrolled through pages on the internet, reminding Carrie to switch hers off. Next to her, Alan did the same.
‘Richard Maddox,’ announced Jade, showing her phone to her mother.
Carrie heard Angela’s quick, sharp gasp.
Her stomach flipped. In the dark she saw the light from the phone reflected in Angela’s wide-eyed expression.
Angela grabbed her arm on the rest between them.
‘He’s Mr Delicious Arse,’ explained Jade, leaning over her mother to show Carrie a picture of Richard Maddox’s naked backside.
All the air whooshed out of Carrie’s lungs and someone had removed the bones in her legs. Thank goodness for Angela’s grip on her arm, otherwise she might have slipped out of her seat like a slick of jelly, sliding right out under the seat in front of her all the way to the bottom.
‘It’s a YouTube vid. Him buck-naked on a beach in California. All you can see is his butt.’
An image of a tiny heart-shaped mole wormed like a determined maggot into Carrie’s head, and no matter how hard she blinked, she couldn’t dispel it.
‘Not the meat and two veg, thank you. That would just be vile. Don’t look, Al.’ Jade waved the phone at him.
‘Thanks, Jade, I won’t.’
A sudden burst of music, ebbing from left to right of the cinema in a cacophonous wave, silenced the chatter and Jade snapped her phone off.
Angela’s hand crept into hers with a limp grip. Carrie clung on to it, her heart leaping about in her chest like a bucking bronco on acid. Her stupid brain insisted on replaying an image of a finger tracing that blinking mole, the tip of her index fingernail a perfect fit for each side of the heart, which nestled on the top left side of a right buttock. She squirmed slightly in her seat and stiffened when she realised what she was doing.
‘You okay?’ whispered Angela.
In the darkness Carrie shook her head, unable to speak. A sense of dread and anticipation rolled around in her stomach. She sat straighter. It seemed a miracle she could keep her body still when inside it felt like someone had switched on a blender.
It was bound to happen one day. A miracle that she’d managed this long. Richard Maddox starred in one block-buster after another.
Sickness and curiosity warred. It had been a long time. She’d been good. Not stalking him. Not Googling. Managing to avert her gaze from the front of Hello magazine at the checkout in Marks and Spencer, training herself not to flinch when someone in the staff room talked about his latest movie or when his name was linked with yet another blonde bombshell of dubious intelligence. Okay, that was her being a bitch. They might be very intelligent, but couldn’t they give everyone else a break and not be completely gorgeous as well?
Maybe she’d built it all up in her head and seeing him on screen wouldn’t affect her at all. She hadn’t seen him for years. Eight years, ten months, give or take a day or two. And she only knew that because it was July 1
and he’d left on the August bank holiday. No other reason.
Why the hell hadn’t she done this before? Put her demon to rest? Except he wasn’t a demon. Or even a bad person. Just someone from her past. She should have done this ages ago.
She squeezed Angela’s hand back to show she was fine. Absolutely fine.
Carrie approved of the sassy character of the female lead, a willowy blonde, who kept the hero on his toes. The well-written screenplay had lots going for it. Entertaining. Good snappy dialogue. Gorgeous location. New York without the traffic, the noise or the humidity. She liked the conflicts that kept him and the heroine apart, and the will-they-ever-get-together moment, where he cast a wistful backward look at her sitting alone on the Highline. Carrie was doing really, really well. Focusing on the film. The mechanics of it. Stoic and impassive. She was doing well, right up to the point when on the Staten Island Ferry, Richard Maddox’s character removed the suitcase from the heroine’s hand, turned her to him, cupped her face in his hands, pushing her long windswept curls out of the way, and leaned in. The camera homed in on the wistful, longing expression on his face, his lips centre-screen as he uttered the words, ‘I love you,’ before leaning in to bestow a kiss of heart-rending intensity.
He might as well have punched her right in the gut. She almost doubled over with the impact.
A flush of heat raced through her as memories loosened, tumbling down like an avalanche. The way he’d lazily snake one of her curls around his finger when they were lying in bed in the mornings. His eyes holding hers when he kissed her, the quick nibbles at the corner of her mouth, those spontaneous public pecks on the Tube as if he couldn’t hold them back and the long, slow langorous preludes to love-making. A myriad kisses danced in her head.
The pain sliced hard and sharp, like a crack suddenly tearing its way through her heart. She tensed, her diaphragm clenching as she fought to hold in a shuddering sob, which threatened to launch itself into orbit.
Mindful of Alan on her right and Angela on her left, she swallowed hard. She clamped her lips in a mutinous line, wrapped her arms around her chest and shut her eyes, praying that these precautions would succeed in repelling the emotion fighting to leak out. Tears streamed down her cheek, gathering speed and a single hiccoughing sob escaped.
Al slipped an arm along the back of her chair. ‘You big softie,’ he whispered.
Blinking back the tears, feeling all kinds of fool, she ducked her head to scrabble around in her bag at her feet to find a tissue. It gave her time to take her attention away from the screen and to get a grip.
‘Aw, Auntie Carrie’s been crying,’ teased Jade as they filed out of the cinema, blinking as they emerged into daylight. ‘You big wuss, you.’
‘She’s an old romantic, aren’t you love?’ Alan shrugged into his jacket as they stepped out into the early-evening drizzle.
‘It was a lovely film,’ said Angela, her eyes anxious as they scanned Carrie’s wan face. ‘Made me cry too.’
Carrie winced at the blatant lie. She did love her sister.
‘Mum, what are you like? Seriously? What was there to cry at? Honestly, you’re a pair of saps. I’ll give him hot, though. Up in the old Fahrenheit register. Hot, hot, hot,’ she paused with a cheeky raise of her eyebrows, ‘for an old guy.’
‘Old?’ chorused Angela and Carrie at the same time, exchanging secretive smiles.
‘Yeah, he must be at least thirty. Old.’ She grinned. ‘Obvs, not for you geriatric crustys, of course.’
Carrie and Angela each linked an arm through Jade’s.
‘What do you think?’ Carrie said to Angela. ‘Bread and water for the next ten years?’
‘Ladies, you can do better than that.’ Alan frowned as if giving it serious thought. ‘How about no phone upgrade for another year?’
‘Nooo!’ howled Jade, dramatically locking her hands in mock prayer, ‘anything but that.’
‘Or we could give her away?’ suggested Angela
‘Who’d have her?’ Carrie shrugged as Jade poked her tongue out.
‘There is that,’ agreed Angela with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Look’s like we’re stuck with the brat.’
‘You know you love me. Both of you.’ Jade tugged at their arms, pulling them closer to her.
Her mother placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘We do.’
Carrie followed suit. ‘Course we do.’
She pushed back at the sense of melancholy hovering over her, as if ready to snatch her away.
She had plenty of love in her life. What more could she ask for? She had a tight-knit family and a lovely man, who adored her.
CHAPTER TWO (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
‘You coming in for a coffee?’ asked Carrie, opening the car door.
Alan shook his head, as Angela and Jade stepped out of the passenger seats in the back. ‘No, it’s a school night and I’ve still got a stack of marking to do.’
So did she. Guilt pricked at the thought of 8G’s navy-blue exercise books heaped in a pile in the kitchen. They ought to be done tonight.
She came round to the driver’s seat and Alan climbed out of the car to face her. She was lucky to have him. Good looking in a forty-watt sort of way. Every feature created a harmonious symmetry that fell a touch short of dazzling. Nice brown eyes, with thick dark lashes that begged the question was he wearing make-up, good skin, hair mid-brown but slightly limp and a nice neat nose. He was the same height as her and quite possibly the kindest man she knew.
‘Okay. Thanks for coming with us. Sorry about the film choice. I’m sure it wasn’t your cup of tea.’
‘What? And Breakfast at Tiffany’s was?’ He tilted his head to one side.
With a gentle laugh she tugged at his jacket. ‘Yeah, but it’s iconic and you said you’d never seen it. And everyone should see it at least once.’
He put his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace.
‘Well, the other one wasn’t so bad. Though who knew you were such a closet romantic? Tears, Miss Hayes? I always thought for a drama teacher you were incredibly emotionally stable.’
‘Thanks, I think. That was supposed to be a compli-ment?’
He grinned at her. ‘Of course it was. Not that you need them.’
He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. For a minute she clung to him, her heart lifting in anticipation. She wanted him to kiss her. Properly. Chase the demons of fantasy away. This was real.
She deepened the kiss, needing that connection with him, but he pulled back.
‘I need to go. Those books won’t get marked by themselves. Sleep tight. See you at work in the morning. Only three more Mondays and we’re home free.’
She bit back disappointment. Alan was being sensible. In a few weeks’ time they’d have a whole summer off, although they’d yet to decide what to do. He’d got a cycling holiday in the Swiss Alps booked and, despite the invitation, it didn’t appeal. She could’ve gone along but Angela and Jade still hadn’t sorted out a holiday and it felt wrong to abandon them.
‘Thank the Lord.’ She hugged him. ‘This summer term is always a killer. There’s so much going on. Exams. The leavers getting too big for their boots. I can’t wait until we break up.’
Jade had already gone up to bed when Carrie sank down at the kitchen table opposite her sister. She let out a weary sigh and reached for the cup of tea Angela had made for her.
‘You okay?’
Carrie rubbed her hand over her face, trying to summon up the right words. She didn’t want to worry Angela but no she wasn’t okay. Nothing like okay.
‘I’m fine. That last bit got to me. But I’m fine.’
She should be fine. After all, she’d worked in the business. Written her own scenes designed to engineer an audience’s response. Should be impervious to a scene where the director had brought every cinematic trick in the book into play, expressly to create a total heart-stopping, heart-fluttering scene.
‘Are you sure?’ Angela’s soft voice penetrated her thoughts, her gentle grey eyes glistening with sympathy.
‘Am I fuck?’ Carrie laid her head on the table and bashed it a couple of times. It hurt.
‘Carrie!’
She lifted her head and said with a weary sigh, ‘I’m not fine at all. I feel pants.’
Seeing Richard had knocked her sideways, out through a glass window seventy-five stories up, and she was still hurtling through the air.
Her response was ten times worse than she could have imagined. Out of sight, out of mind had worked pretty well for her to date. Whoever talked about opening cans of worms had known their onions. She wished she’d walked out of the cinema as soon as she’d heard the name Richard Maddox.
‘Probably the shock of seeing him again, as it were.’ Angela lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug, her brave attempt at reassurance at odds with her bewildered expression.
She and Carrie were so different. Angela’s mild disposition and gentle approach meant that she sailed rather serenely through life on a gentle swell, never plunging into the lows or cresting the highs, despite the constant pain and difficulties she suffered with her rheumatoid arthritis.
Her affair with a married man that resulted in Jade was the most out-of-character thing that Angela had ever done and even now Carrie had difficulty in believing that her sister had been swept away enough to commit adultery. ‘Maybe it’s because you never had proper closure. When I got pregnant with Jade, I knew that it would be over with Clive. With you and Richard, it never ended properly. Just drifted to a halt.
‘I’m sure that’s what it is. How long ago was it since you last saw him? Seven, eight years? You can’t possibly be in love with him, not after all this time.’
Carrie swallowed a protest. What if she could? She’d never tested the theory before today. ‘Yes, you’re right. It’s the shock of seeing him in all his twelve-foot celluloid handsome glory.’ That’s what had made her heart beat a thousand times faster and deepened the hollow feeling in her stomach all the way to Australia.
‘No one’s that good looking. Do you think he was wearing loads of make-up?’ Angela said knowledgeably, as if she spent hours on a film set.
‘Probably,’ agreed Carrie, nodding as if her life depended on it.
‘And I bet he had a body double.’ Angela leaned back in her chair, waving her cup about in her usual feeble grip, sloshing tea over the sides. ‘His body can’t be that good.’
Carrie nodded again. If she wasn’t careful someone would stuff her in the back window of a car.
Angela had a point, though. It certainly hadn’t been when he was in his twenties but then he wasn’t leading a superstar lifestyle then. You don’t exactly fill out a scrawny frame when you’re existing on baked beans and fish-finger sandwiches, living in an unheated, mould-ridden flat off Cold Harbour Lane in Brixton, shivering off any muscle tone to keep warm.
‘Alternatively,’ Angela was her in stride now. ‘he could have a Rottweiler of a personal trainer who dogs his every step-making sure he lives on horrible Hollywood-healthy milkshake things, like wheatgrass and alfalfa sproutings or that keen squaw stuff.’
Carrie smiled as Angela pulled a bleurgh face.
‘And he must wear contacts. No one’s eyes are that blue.’
Richard’s were. To hide the ping of protest her heart made, Carrie let out a mirthless laugh, cupping the mug of tea to take a sip.
‘Sweet of Alan to come with us.’ Angela’s eyes were guileless and her smile kind.
‘Subtle.’
Angela shrugged. ‘He’s lovely. You’ve been seeing each other for a while.’
Carrie didn’t say anything.
‘Do you think something might happen there one day?’
‘One day. I guess.’ Carrie had been giving it more thought recently. He made her happy. So happy. They were good together. She loved him. Not in the crazy, helter-skelter being-at-a-fairground way she’d loved Richard but in a stronger, more enduring fashion.
‘What if one day is soon?’
Carrie was missing something. Angela’s eyes were bird- bright, beady with expectation.
‘What do you know?’
‘Oh.’ Worry crept across her face. ‘Shoot, I’ve given the game away.’
‘Well you hadn’t but you have now.’
‘If he did ask you, you know, to marry him, you’d say yes, wouldn’t you?’ The lines in her forehead deepened as she realised she’d dug herself into an even deeper hole.
‘Angela. What do you know?’
‘You mustn’t tell him I told you.’
‘Like I’m going to do that.’
‘He asked to borrow one of your rings, to get the size right.’ She sighed. ‘And he showed me lots of pictures, to check he’d get something you’d like.’ She brightened. ‘But he didn’t say when. Although, now I’ve spoilt the surprise. You’re going to have to act surprised when he asks you.’
‘You muppet. How could he not know you are the worst person at keeping secrets?’
‘I kept one.’
Carrie sighed. ‘You did.’
‘If he asks, what are you going to do, about, you know? You’ll have to do something.’
‘Yeah, I will and I should have done it years ago, instead …’ she paused. Instead of deliberately ducking the issue. ‘I need to do something about Richard Maddox.’ See, if she said his surname, it made it less personal, as if he wasn’t her Richard. As if she wasn’t entitled to call herself Carrie Maddox. ‘It’s time we got a divorce.’
CHAPTER THREE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
Carrie dragged herself up the stairs to the staff room, consigning whoever had timetabled double drama for Year 7’s last periods on a Friday to the very far reaches of hell. As usual the staff room looked as if a cyclone had torn through, followed by marauding Vikings, hotly pursued by random burglars. The cupboard was bare of a single clean coffee cup and the biscuit barrel offered nothing more than crumbs.
Glad it was the end of the day, Carrie retrieved her bag and phone from her locker and a yellow post-it note fell out. With a smile she scooped it up from the floor. Alan had a habit of slipping them through the crack in the door.
Dinner tomorrow night? Prezzo or Pizza Express. Both have offers on. Lots of love Ax
He was out at a quiz night this evening with his cycling buddies and she’d promised herself a curry, a glass of wine and an hour with her laptop. Since she’d won a playwriting competition a few months ago, she’d been tasked with making a few changes so that it could be considered for a West End run. She had until September to get it sorted. So far, good ideas had been elusive. Thank goodness for the long summer holidays.
She tucked the note in her bag and checked her phone to find a text message from her sister, assuming it would be the usual can you pop to Tesco and pick up … she scanned it quickly.
Exciting news. Grab a bottle of something French!!!!!
‘Why French?’ she asked walking through the front door and into the living room holding out the bottle of Macon Villages, currently being feted on the supermarket shelf as reduced from £9.99 to £5.99. A bargain, no less, although she was sceptical that this bottle had ever been sold at £9.99.
‘We need to start getting in the mood,’ said Angela, bouncing out of the chair beside the fireplace.
‘The mood for what?’ Carrie flopped gratefully into the small two-seater sofa piled high with mismatched cushions. Friday night was batten-down-the-hatches night. Once her shoes were kicked off, she wasn’t going anywhere, although in her head she fondly imagined she still went out dancing. With a sigh she nestled into the comforting embrace of the cushions. This was her favourite room in the house. The only one not co-ordinated to within an inch of a paint chart.
‘A holiday. I’ve found us a free cottage, villa, house thing in France.’ Angela sat back down, clasping her gnarled hands, the joints ravaged by arthritis, on her lap.
Carrie’s ears pricked up at the magical word. ‘How free?’
‘Proper, real free,’ Angela giggled. ‘Oh, Lord, I sound like Jade. Marguerite, at Winthorpe Hall, offered me the use of her house in France for the whole summer.’
Angela worked at a rather swanky residence for distressed gentlefolk of advancing years. Basically it was an extremely posh old people’s home with an army of carers, an à la carte menu for dinner each evening with wine and its very own private cinema with screenings every night.
Her duties, as far as Carrie could work out, involved making up a fourth at bridge, completing shopping runs to the Clinique counter at the local Boots for age-defying potions, managing library visits and accompanying the residents on cultural excursions to the Royal Opera House or the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was a tough job but someone had to do it. Although, to be fair, Angela’s work opportunities were fairly limited.
‘And does Marguerite have all her mental faculties? Actually own the house? Or did she sell it years ago and she’s forgotten that minor fact?’
‘Marguerite most definitely has every last marble intact.’ Angela nodded her head to emphasise the point. ‘She’s so sharp she could slice slivers from a block of ice for her six o’clock G and T. With all her airs and graces, she’s like one of those old Hollywood stars. You should see her slippers, I swear they’re trimmed with marabou, or whatever that fluffy stuff is called. She has a different pair every day, to match her outfit.’
‘She sounds quite a character.’ Carrie could imagine her quite well tripping down the corridors of the very grand Winthorpe Hall. It was more like a luxury hotel than a home for the elderly.
‘She is.’
‘This place she has in France, I’m sorry, but why would she have a place out there and not live there? Or not sell it?’
‘She keeps it for her family. And she does go out there, when they visit, but she likes company. That’s why she moved into Winthorpe. Anyway the whole family are going to America this summer. The house will be empty and she said we can have it. What do you reckon?’
Carrie reckoned that it sounded far too good to be true, but in the absence of anything better coming along in the next few weeks before the end of term it was definitely worth considering. Blimey, once upon a time, she’d have happily leapt on the back of a scooter with a tent and a sleeping bag on her back and gone. Being cautious had crept up on her. Maybe it was all those risk assessments they were so fond of at school. You couldn’t take a trip anywhere without seven levels of form filling-in. OV8s, SF9s and a triplicate V13a.
‘Whereabouts is it?’
‘South of France. Provence sort of way,’ Angela paused, wrinkling her nose in thought, ‘Or around there. It’s in a village.’
‘And what sort of accommodation?’
‘I think, from what she said, it’s all on one level, a bungalow. She said it’s got fabulous views.’
Estate-agent speak for ‘it hasn’t got much else going for it’.
‘And the market in the village is wonderful and there are plenty of lovely places nearby to eat.’
‘The kitchen is dire you have to eat out.’ Carrie could see it now. No wonder Marguerite’s family weren’t keen on going.
‘What do you think? Do you want to come with us?’
‘In principle, yes’ Carrie said slowly, not wanting to let practical considerations dim Angela’s enthusiasm, ‘it sounds wonderful. Can I let you know? Perhaps you need to find out more.’
Angela’s face fell and her mouth crumpled into a mutinous line that was horribly reminiscent of Jade when she didn’t get her way. Except, unlike Jade, Angela wouldn’t voice her emotion, she’d button it up in disappointed, accepting silence. Angela didn’t complain about much and she had plenty to complain about.
‘Nearest airport. Train station. Things like that, so that you can work out the best way to get there and how much it will cost.’
‘Marguerite says you can fly EasyJet,’ Angela beamed. ‘And then it’s not far from there.’ With Angela’s smile restored, Carrie felt slightly less of a killjoy. Her sister and niece depended on her. They needed her and it was important to remind herself of that occasionally. Especially when thoughts of Richard intruded. Swanning off to Hollywood had never been a realistic option for her and she didn’t begrudge staying for her family. They’d needed her far more than he did, as all the pictures of him with his leading ladies had soon proved.
‘I can’t wait to tell Jade,’ said Angela. ‘She worked hard for her exams. She deserves a proper break.
‘Now, what time shall I order the curry. What do you fancy? Your usual.’
Carrie stretched, luxuriating in the fact she didn’t have to leave the house again today. She might even go and put her pyjamas on.
‘Chicken Biryani? Sag Aloo? Basmati rice?’ Angela had already picked up the phone. God, they were predictable. She sat up quickly, or as quickly as she could. It wasn’t that easy to gain purchase on a mountain of cushions.
‘No, let’s have something different for a change. Where’s the menu for the Tandoori Cottage?’
‘But we always ring the Banani on the High Street.’
‘I fancy a change.’ Carrie cringed inside. A different curry house constituted a radical change? She really needed to get out more.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
‘Blimey, you’re up bright and early.’ Carrie rubbed her eyes, as if trying to clear the mirage that was Jade in the kitchen before nine o’clock on a Saturday morning.
‘I’m on a mission.’ Jade flicked her head up from her laptop. ‘Sort out flights to this place in France before Mum gets all uber-twitchy and comes up with a gazillion reasons why we can’t go. She’s finally got the deets of the village where this place is. And I’ve got an early shift at the café today. Babysitting tonight. And working at the hotel tomorrow. I’ll be rolling in the Benjamins when I get paid. Primani here I come.’
‘Not paying for your flight?’ asked Carrie and immediately regretted it when she saw her niece’s crestfallen face. She shouldn’t tease her; she was a good kid who most of the time pulled her weight. Her positive work ethic couldn’t be denied. If you asked her to do a job, and she wanted to do it, or acknowledged she had time to do it, you could rely on her. The trick was finding the right job and mentioning it at precisely the right moment.
‘I should, shouldn’t I?’ She turned to Carrie with a worried frown.
‘No, honey.’ Carrie laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I was teasing you. I’m sure flights to France won’t be that expensive and you can be completely flexible about dates. Means we can get the cheapest flights.’ She winked at her niece. ‘And still be able to afford a pair of new jeans.’
Jade pushed her hand off, laughing up at her. ‘You’re mean.’
‘What’s this about a new pair of jeans?’ Angela wandered in carrying a mountain of washing. ‘You’ve got enough clothes to sink a fleet of cruise ships.’
‘Actually,’ Jade tilted her nose in the air and said with a smug tone, ‘I told Auntie Carrie that I’d pay for my flight to France instead of buying a new pair of jeans.’
‘Really, darling, that’s sweet of you but you don’t have to.’ Angela put an arm around her daughter. ‘You’re saving up for your own car. That’s more important.’
If she wanted to drive, Jade would need her own car, as Angela’s automatic, with its specially adapted steering wheel, wouldn’t be suitable.
‘What time do you need to be at work?’ Carrie took a quick peek at the clock. ‘I can drop you off at the café when I go to Alan’s if you’d like.’
‘That would be ace, thanks. I need to be there for ten- thirty. Crikey Moses, I’d better do this and get ready.’
Carrie bit her tongue. She knew better than to query how long it took to get ready. Jade’s make-up, admittedly a work of art, took a minimum of an hour to achieve. Perhaps that was where Carrie had gone wrong in her younger days. She hadn’t cared enough about that sort of thing. Looks, appearance. There was never enough time to think about them. She was too busy living life. Teenagers these days had lots more opportunities and yet the boundaries of their lives were limited by their addiction to social media and what everyone else thought of them.
‘Right Mum. Sleezyjet. Luton to Nice. Piece of … cake. If we fly out on a Thursday evening its thirty-two quid. Come back on a Saturday night. Only twenty-four pounds.’
‘That sounds very cheap.’ Angela frowned.
‘Cos, no other bugger wants to fly then. Market forces. Supply and demand.’
‘Wow that Economics GSCE level is really paying off,’ said Carrie in mock admiration as she sauntered out of the kitchen. ‘Leave at ten-twenty.’
‘Sure.’ Jade was already busy tapping away at her laptop, Angela craning over her shoulder as Carrie went upstairs to take her shower.
With a quick review of her wardrobe, Carrie yanked out a pair of jeans and her favourite pair of Converse High Tops, covered in gold sequins. She’d bought them on a whim and she adored them, despite the comments both Angela and Alan had made. She didn’t care, they were utterly gorgeous. The fact that they were comfortable was a happy coincidence. If she and Alan were going into St Albans for the day to take a look around the Cathedral and the Roman Museum, comfort was the order of the day.
After her shower, Carrie gathered up her hair and with a ruthless tug secured it in a ponytail before wrapping it round several times into a messy bun that she skewered with a couple of decorative wooden chopsticks. She sometimes wondered if perhaps she should have it all cut off, it wasn’t as if she ever wore it down and it nearly reached her waist. She spent half of her life tidying it back into its bun. It was a constant battle, like trying to tame a small animal into submission and failing.
Grabbing her jacket, she called for Jade. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Nearly,’ came the expected response from Jade’s bedroom next door.
‘See you downstairs. I’m leaving in two minutes.’
‘Okay! I said I’d be ready!’
With a roll of her eyes, Carrie pounded down the stairs and went to retrieve her handbag from the kitchen.
Angela pored over the laptop with an unhappy frown.
‘What’s the matter? Are the flights too expensive? Did Jade get it wrong?’
‘No. They’re fine. We can get flights for around sixty-five pounds return, which is fantastic, if we fly at funny times but that’s okay. No, the problem is getting from the airport to the village. There’s no public transport – or none that connects. And a taxi from the airport would be rather expensive. I’ll have to ask Marguerite what she does.
‘Are you back tonight?’
‘No but I’ll be back early tomorrow. Marking and planning.’ She caught sight of the clock. Easy-going and laid-back in most things, Alan did have a bit of a thing about punctuality. Being late showed, he thought, a lack of respect for the other person.
‘Jade! I’m going.’
‘Alright, keep your hair on. I’m coming.’ Jade shouted back.
Angela and Carrie exchanged eye rolls. ‘Bye Angela, see you in the morning.
‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is here,’ said Alan as they strolled arm in arm around the nave of the ancient stone building. ‘No chance of bumping into any kids from school, either.’
‘Always a bonus,’ agreed Carrie with a sigh, drinking in the calm, quiet atmosphere. It seemed difficult to believe the cathedral was a step away from the busy high street.
Above them, the sun shone through the rose-stained glass window glistening with brilliant colour.
‘Now, do you fancy the guided tour? There’s a highlights tour in a few minutes.’
Carrie checked the time on her phone. They’d already been wandering around for an hour. How much more was there to see?
‘Why don’t you do the highlights tour and I’ll sit in one of the pews?’ She’d be quite content to gaze up at the window. ‘I can wait for you but I don’t think I’m up for a tour. My brain’s turned to mush.’
‘Why didn’t you say? Come on let’s go to the refectory. Tea and cake.’
‘No, Al. You stay. I don’t mind.’
‘No,’ he took her arm in a gentle but insistent grip. This was forceful Alan. Not exactly a force to be reckoned with, he did everything with calm understatement. ‘We can come back here any time. Besides cake solves everything.’
The Cathedral café, Abbots Kitchen, offered a very fine selection of cake.
‘Excellent. Coffee and walnut. Perfect. What do you fancy? I’m starving.’
She burst out laughing as the woman behind the counter served him a huge slab.
‘You’re always starving. It’s all the cycling.’ She gave him a quick, teasing glance. ‘You’ve been out this morning already, haven’t you? What are you like?’ He put her to shame, not that he ever bothered about her single-minded aversion to exercise.
He responded with an impish grin. ‘I’m making sure I’ll be in peak shape for the holiday.’
‘Rather you than me.’ Carrie shuddered. She couldn’t think of anything worse than a week toiling up and down the mountain roads of the Alps.
‘I’ve been thinking. You know we were talking about perhaps going to Cornwall or Wales later on in the holidays.’
‘Yes, I think I’d prefer Cornwall, bit more chance of sunshine.’ With the whole summer break in front of them, the holidays had seemed ages away and they hadn’t booked anywhere yet and now she had Angela’s offer to think about.
‘Well …’ Alan looked a little sheepish. ‘I was thinking … that maybe we should wait and save our money … go somewhere in the half term in October …’ A flush ran up his cheeks and the coffee cup in his hand shook, ‘… for maybe a honeymoon.’ He put the cup down in its saucer with a clatter and started fumbling in his pocket, tugging as the lining came out, ejecting a red velvet box onto the floor. It tumbled under the table, coming to rest beside her foot.
Biting back a smile, she bent to retrieve it.
Alan sighed and grinned. ‘I messed that one up, good and proper.’
Carrie laughed and handed it back to him. ‘Possibly not your finest hour. Do you want to start again?’
‘I’m not sure you’re going to have me, after that fine example of my total ineptitude in the romance department.’ He shook his head and pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I had it all worked out. Planned. I was going to go down on one knee on the lawn outside, but there were too many people. I got nervous. So I decided I’d do it later … and then it came out. All wrong.’
He twisted the box in his hands as he spoke and then, with a start, glanced down, as if suddenly remembering what it was. Placing it on the table, he took her hand, serious now.
‘Carrie Hayes. Will you marry me?’
No fuss. No drama. Just Alan. Quiet, steadfast and true. She’d had drama and fuss and look how that had worked out. With Alan, she knew exactly where she was, while it might not be thrills and spills, his gentle love was like a warm hug. He would always be there for her.
‘Alan Lambert. Yes, I will.’
They stared at each other, smiling for a minute.
‘Oh, you need this.’ He opened the box and started to take out the ring and then half way through changed his mind. ‘Here, you’d better do it. I might drop it and then the damn thing will go flying across the room and get lost before you’ve ever seen it.’
Carrie took the open box and went to take the ring out.
‘Don’t worry if you don’t like it. I can take it back. If it’s not right. And say so, won’t you. If you don’t. Like it, that is.’
She leaned over the table and kissed him to shut him up. ‘Shh. It’s beautiful.’ And it was. A single solitaire diamond in an elegant raised setting. She handed it to him. ‘Go on.’
As he slipped it on to her finger with a shaking hand, a warm rush of love filled her heart. He was a good man. He’d look after her. Be a good partner. She’d never have to worry about him leaving her. ‘We’re engaged,’ she said with a giggle, suddenly giddy and light-hearted. It seemed rather staid and sober to be sitting there when they should be bouncing around with excitement.
‘We’ll need to talk about some of the practicalities,’ said Alan, taking her hand and tracing around the ring on her finger. ‘Like where we’re going to live. My flat’s a bit small …’
‘And bachelory,’ added Carrie with a smile.
His face fell. ‘It’s not that bad. I was going to say, I know it’s small but I think we should live there. Think how much money we could save, with you paying half the mortgage and the bills. I mean, we could carry on, but I think getting married makes a lot of financial sense. You know, pooling our resources. Later maybe, we could think about getting a bigger place. I’m loathe to throw my hat into the ring for the Head of Department job and have to suck up to Johnson.’
Alan was a brilliant teacher, but he had no ambition when it came to his career.
‘Actually, I’ve got some money set aside.’ Carrie wasn’t sure that she wanted to start married life in Alan’s flat. ‘When my parents died they left their house to me and Angela. She bought the house with her half of the money and my rent money covers the mortgage, but I still have my half of the proceeds.’
Alan sat up. ‘I’m marrying an heiress. Well that’s even better. I had no idea.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Hmm, well that will put us in a better position financially.’
The moment was in danger of going flat with this boring talk of jobs, mortgages and money.
‘Come on,’ she grabbed his hand.
‘But I haven’t finished my …’
She dragged him out of the café, pulling him along by his hand, bumping into chairs as they went. She wanted to run, jump up and down and get rid of some of the energy crackling through her before it burst out through her skin. Her arms prickled with it.
As soon as they emerged outside, Alan tugged back, slowing her to a halt.
‘Carrie!’ he said, smiling down into her face with a slightly reproachful shake of his head. ‘You’re crazy.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it.
‘Yes. Crazy. Alive. Happy.’ She grinned up at his familiar face, her cheeks stretched a tad wider than comfortable, ignoring a little voice telling her rather peevishly that she wasn’t as happy as last time.
Happiness last time had propelled her down Primrose Hill, running too fast and giggling so hard she could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter because there wasn’t room in her chest to take a breath with all the fireworks exploding and whooshing and crashing inside her. She’d thought she might explode from sheer joy, which only became giddier when they fell together, arms wrapped around each other, rolling down the hill. And when their pell-mell flight was halted by a hawthorn bush, with a bump that forced the air out of them, they stared at each other with the kind of hungry intensity that made you want to crawl inside the other person because you couldn’t get close enough.
Carrie ducked her head to look at the ring on her finger, fighting the sick thud in her stomach. She didn’t want to remember that. It was in the past. A different time. A different person. This was now. This was what she wanted.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f)
How the hell did you divorce someone when you had no idea how the hell to get hold of them in the first place?
Carrie pulled her laptop closer. Sitting in the kitchen felt a little precarious, Jade could get bored with her Netflix binge at any moment and appear behind her, but apart from the lounge, it was the only place you got a decent wi-fi signal.
According to the government website, you could have a DIY divorce for very little money, which sounded great until she started doing more digging. Initially she’d hoped she might get away without having to get a solicitor involved. It wasn’t as if she and Richard had anything to fight about. No shared belongings. No children. Not even a marital home. A solicitor wouldn’t be interested. Or maybe they would be if they thought major pound signs might be involved. She’d soon disabuse them of that thought.
Richard wasn’t likely to contest it, surely not after all this time. He was established, a big-time superstar.
Years ago she’d suggested a divorce. Richard said he didn’t want to. Neither did she, but with gritted teeth, she’d pointed out it was the practical, obvious thing to do because they hadn’t seen each other for eighteen months. The rush of relief, when he said he didn’t want to call time either, had only been eclipsed by her heart breaking into tiny pieces when he explained that it might hurt his chances of landing the next role.
Stupid idiot, she’d held that last-chance-saloon prayer that they’d work things out, but even though he’d smashed up all her hopes, having not worked in the theatre for eight months, she knew how precious every opportunity was. Who was she to deny him his big break?
She twisted a curl in her hand as she stared at the laptop screen. A divorce certainly wouldn’t hurt his career now. Getting a divorce was surprisingly straightforward providing you had an address.
She didn’t have a clue where Richard lived. It wasn’t exactly something you could look up on the internet. Google was amazing, but she didn’t think it was quite that amazing. Deciding to give it a go, she typed in Where does Richard Maddox live? What she loved about the great god of search engines, was that it never admitted it didn’t know anything. Wouldn’t it be great if occasionally a message would pop up, Google does not have a clue?
Article after article about Richard Maddox popped up, but not one of them handily said he lived at 3025 Pacific Beach Highway West, Malibu or 95a Beverley Hills Avenue, Hollywood, Ca.
The third from top mentioned that he was about to start filming a new film, Turn on the Stars, a romantic comedy, scheduled to go into production in the summer and to be filmed on the Cote D’Azur in France. Carrie winced. Where else but the Cote D’Azur? Although quite where it was in France, she was a bit hazy. Geography had never been her strong point.
‘Hey Carrie.’ Carrie jumped as Jade sauntered into the kitchen, working hard to resist the urge to slam the laptop closed. ‘You okay? Is there anything to eat? I reckon Mum’s hidden the rest of the chocolate biscuits.’ She crossed to the cupboard, peering into the empty biscuit box with an air of utter disbelief.
‘No, I’m pretty sure you ate them all.’
‘That’s ridiculous, I’ve only had a couple.’ Jade pulled a disconsolate face. ‘You don’t get many in a packet, do you?’
Possibly not when you munched two or three every time you passed the biscuit barrel. Carrie decided it was best not to voice that thought out loud.
‘Your film finished?’
‘No, got bored. It was lame. What you doing? Don’t tell me you’re still working?’ Jade squinted at the screen.
‘No, just surfing.’
‘Did Mum tell you about the holiday?’ Jade threw herself into the chair opposite.
‘No. We haven’t spoken about it.’ On the one hand free accommodation sounded wonderful for a whole summer holiday, but if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was.
‘Looks like it’s a no-go.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘We can’t get there, not without a flaming helicopter. It’s too complicated. No public transport, which means it must be some crappy, middle-of-nowhere place.’
‘How does Marguerite, the woman that owns the place, get there?’ asked Carrie, used to Jade’s dramatics.
‘Chauffeur-driven from the airport.’ Jade wrinkled her nose. ‘Alright for some, eh?’
‘Ah. And there’s no other way?’ Carrie was a great believer in where there was a will there was a way.
‘Feel free to try. I’ve been on the web for hours trying to work it out. Basically we’re stuffed. No cheap holiday on the Côte D’Azure.’ Jade’s downturned mouth almost formed a perfect semi-circle. ‘Mum’s found a,’ she did speech marks actions, “cottage”– polite speak for caravan without wheels, in the Forest of Dean.’
‘Côte D’Azur?’ Carrie straightened.
‘No, Forest of Dean.’ Jade glared at her in that full-frontal, pay-attention manner teenagers were so good at adopting.
‘No before that. Marguerite’s place. I thought it was somewhere on the French Riviera.’
‘Yeah, that too. Same place, two names. Why? Just ridiculous. Although makes no difference cos I’m never going to find out what it’s like.’ Jade slid lower down in her chair. ‘Would you bloody Adam and Eve it? First time in a gazillion, trillion years that there’s a chance of me actually going abroad. i.e. needing my passport. And it’s snatched away from me in the nick of bloody time.’
As Jade had been talking, Carrie had done another quick search.
‘Apparently, Riviera is the Anglicised version of Côte D’Azur.’
‘For all I care, it could be the Welsh, Scottish or Irish version. It’s no good to me.’
‘How many does this villa of the famous Marguerite sleep?’ asked Carrie, narrowing her eyes, a prick of excitement stirring.
‘Doesn’t matter as the Hayes family will NOT be going.’ Jade slid down her chair, arms folded, glaring across the table. ‘My life officially sucks. Charlotte is going to the Hamptons. Becky is going to Paris. Eliza is going to Canada. I, on the other, rubbish, hand am going to a pathetic caravan park, without Wi-Fi, in the middle of nowheresville.’
‘Could be worse.’
‘How so?’ Jade slouched even further down, her chin now level with the table.
‘It might rain every day.’ Carrie smiled, getting up and walking behind Jade to flip on the kettle behind her.
‘That’s mean. Thanks a bunch for that cheery thought.’ Jade, now loose-limbed and droopy, looked in danger of melting across the table.
‘Always good to share.’ Carrie pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, holding one up to Jade in offer of a hot drink. ‘But, if you could get to Marguerite’s, how many bedrooms does it have?’
‘Oh God, you’re not going to bring Al are you? He’ll spend the whole time encouraging me to read.’ With a sudden start, Jade straightened, realising that perhaps there was renewed hope. ‘Not that he isn’t a great bloke and all that but not … to go on holiday with. Bit too much of a teacher.’
‘And what does that make me?’ asked Carrie with a lift of one eyebrow.
‘Ah,’ she said, with an air of being terribly knowledgeable about such things, ‘being an aunt is much, much worse.’
Carrie stuck her tongue out at her niece, and looped an arm around her neck in a wrestler’s headlock. ‘Is that so?’
Jade promptly dissolved into giggles.
‘Mum’s still not sure of the details but she thinks it’s six.’
‘That’d be two bedrooms and a sofa bed in the lounge,’ guessed Carrie out loud. This could be her best chance at tracking Richard down. Sleeping in the lounge was a smallish price to pay.
Jade shrugged. ‘I guess.’
‘What if I drove? Hired a car at the airport. Nice, did you say? Cinders and her mother could go on holiday somewhere hot and sunny.’
‘Seriously!’ Jade jumped up and threw her arms around Carrie. ‘Auntie Caz you rock. That would be awesome. Even with Al. Not that Al is not nice. He’s lovely. But … well you know.’ Occasionally Jade knew when to stop. This moment was clearly one of them. Al was a teacher. Fifteen years older than her. One day she would understand.
‘Good job Al is cycling in the Alps, then.’ Carrie’s stern look communicated that she’d gone far enough.
‘Is that in Russia?’ asked Jade, looking away.
‘Did they teach you anything at that school of yours?’ Carrie shook her head, but Jade gave her a cheeky irrepressible grin.
‘Yup, Poker, Spin-the-bottle and how to top up your lunch card with someone else’s account.’
Turning her back on her niece, Carrie poured boiling water over her teabag and waited for it to brew, tuning out Jade’s excited chatter. How hard could it be to find out where a film crew was working? Surely she could discover where Richard was staying and hand-deliver a letter. She wouldn’t even have to see him. This was the best possible solution. This way she’d be sure he’d receive the letter. She could spend weeks waiting for letters to go back and forth to the States, even if she had his proper address.
‘Come on then, Princess Jade. Show me where we need to get to and what the flight times and prices are.’
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