Cocktails for Three (32 page)

“Are you asleep?” said Ed after a while. His hand caressed her stomach and she felt a fresh, undeserved delight run through her body.

“No.”

“I've wanted you ever since I've known you.”

There was a pause, then Candice said, “I know.” Ed's hand moved slowly up to her breast and she felt a renewed
frisson
of self-consciousness; of strangeness at being so close to him.

“Did you . . . want me?” he said.

“I want you now,” said Candice, turning towards him. “Is that enough?”

“It'll do,” said Ed, and pulled her down to kiss him.

Much later, as the evening sun crested the hills, they wandered downstairs.

“There should be some wine somewhere,” said Ed, going into the kitchen. “See if you can find some glasses on the dresser.”

Yawning slightly, Candice went into the little adjoining parlour. A pine dresser in the corner was covered with colourful crockery, postcards of paintings and thick, bubbled glasses. As she went towards it, she passed a writing desk, and glanced down as she did so. A handwritten letter was poking out of the tiny drawer, beginning, “Dear Edward.”

Edward, she thought hazily. Ed. Dear Ed.

Curiosity overwhelmed her. She struggled with herself for a few moments— then glanced back at the door and pulled the letter out a little further.

Dear Edward
, she read quickly.
Your aunt was so pleased to see you last week; your visits do her the power of good. The last cheque was much appreciated and so generous. I can hardly believe—

“Found them?” Ed's voice interrupted Candice, and she hastily stuffed the letter away.

“Yes!” she said, grabbing two glasses off the dresser. “Here we are.” As Ed entered the room she looked at him anew.

“You must miss your aunt,” she said. “Did you . . . visit her much?”

“A fair bit.” He shrugged. “She was a bit gaga by the end. Had a nurse living in, and everything.”

“Oh, right,” said Candice casually. “That must have been pretty expensive.”

A faint colour came to Ed's cheeks.

“The family paid,” he said, and turned away. “Come on. I've found some wine.”

They sat outside, sipping wine, watching as the sun grew lower and a breeze began to blow. As it got chillier, Candice moved closer to Ed on the wooden bench, and he put an arm round her. The silence was complete, thought Candice. Unlike anything in London. Her mind floated absently for a while, landed on Heather and quickly bounced away again, before the flash of pain could catch light from her thoughts. No point thinking about it, she told herself. No point reliving it all.

“I don't want to go back,” she heard herself saying.

“Then let's not. Let's stay the night,” said Ed.

“Really?”

“It's my house,” said Ed, and his arm tightened around Candice's shoulders. “We can stay as long as we like.”

Chapter Nineteen

It was three days later that Maggie got round to ringing Charles Allsopp about coming back to work. She waited until Paddy arrived for morning coffee, then handed Lucia to her, together with a load of house details.

“I want to sound businesslike,” she explained. “No wailing babies in the background.”

“Good idea,” said Paddy cheerfully. “Are these more London houses?”

“Arrived this morning. I've put red crosses on the ones I think are possibles.”

Maggie waited until Paddy had carried Lucia carefully off to the sitting room, then dialled the number of Allsopp Publications.

“Hello, yes,” she said, as soon as the phone was answered. “Charles Allsopp, please. It's Maggie Phillips.” Then she beamed in pleasure. “Yes, I'm fine, thanks, Doreen. Yes, she's fine, too. An absolute poppet.”

Paddy, from inside the sitting room, caught Maggie's eye and gave her an encouraging smile. This, she
thought, as she dangled a pink furry octopus in front of Lucia's waving hands, this is what the real Maggie was like. Confident and cheerful and in command. Thriving on a challenge.

“I'll miss you,” she murmured to Lucia, letting the baby grasp her finger and tug at it. “I'll miss you. But I think you'll be happier. Don't you?” Paddy reached for one of the estate agents' house details and began to read the description, trying to conceal her shock at the pitiful size of the garden and the enormous figure printed in bold black and white at the top of the page. For that money around here . . . she found herself thinking— then smiled at herself. For that money around here you could buy The Pines. And look what a success that had been.

“Yes, I look forward to it, too, Charles,” she could hear Maggie saying in the kitchen. “And I'll be in contact with Justin. Oh, could you? Well, thank you. And I look forward to our meeting. Yes. Bye.” She looked up, caught Paddy's eye and gave the thumbs-up, “He seems really nice!” she hissed. “He even suggested I have a computer set up at home, so I can . . . Oh, hello, Justin,” she said in a louder voice. “Just wondering how it's all going?”

“Shall we get you a computer?” said Paddy, smiling down at Lucia. “Would you like that?” She tickled Lucia's little tummy and watched in pleasure as the baby began to chortle. “Are you going to be clever like your mummy? Are you going to be—”

“What?” Maggie's voice came ripping out of the kitchen, and both Paddy and Lucia jumped. “You did
what
?”

“Goodness,” said Paddy. “I wonder . . .”

“And she didn't have any explanation?” Maggie stood up and began to pace furiously about the kitchen. “Oh, she did. And you followed that up, did you?” Maggie's voice grew colder. “I see. And nobody thought to consult me?” There was a pause. “No, I'm not angry, Justin. I'm livid.” There was another pause. “Justin, I don't give a fuck about your spot-checks!”

“Goodness!” said Paddy again, and glanced nervously at Lucia.

“Yes, I am challenging your authority!” shouted Maggie. “To be frank, you don't deserve any!” She thrust the phone down and said angrily, “Wanker!” Then she picked up the phone again and jabbed in a number.

“Oh dear,” said Paddy faintly. “I wonder what—”

“Come on,” said Maggie in the kitchen, drumming her nails on the wooden table. “Come on, answer the phone. Candice, where the hell are you?”

Candice was lying in the garden of the cottage, staring up at the leaves above her. The early summer sun was warm on her face and she could smell the sweet scent of lavender on the breeze. But she was cold inside as thoughts she had tried to put from her mind during the last few days came crowding in.

She had been suspended from work. She had been publicly branded dishonest. And she had ruined the two friendships that meant most to her in the world. A sharp wave of pain went through Candice and she closed her eyes. How long ago was it that the three of them had been sitting in the Manhattan Bar, innocently ordering their cocktails, unaware that the girl in the green waistcoat standing at their table was about to enter their lives and ruin everything? If only she could
rewind and play the scene again, thought Candice miserably. If only Heather hadn't been serving that night. If only they'd gone to a different bar. If only . . . A sickening self-reproach went through Candice and she sat up, trying to escape her thoughts, wondering what Ed was doing. He had disappeared mysteriously off that morning, muttering something about a surprise. As long as it wasn't more hideous local cider, she thought, and raised her face, enjoying the warm breeze on her cheeks.

They had been down at the cottage for four days now, but it felt as though it could have been weeks. They had done little but sleep and eat and make love, and lie on the grass in the early summer sun. Their only forays into the local village had been to buy essentials: food, soap and toothbrushes. Neither had brought any spare clothes— but in the spare room, Ed had found a pile of colourful extra-large T-shirts advertising a screen-printing exhibition, and, for Candice, a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with a bunch of cherries. They had not spoken to a soul, had not even read a paper. It had been a haven; a place for sanctuary and healing.

But although her body was well rested, thought Candice, her mind was not. She could push the thoughts from her brain, but they only came rushing back in when she wasn't expecting it. Emotions would suddenly hit her, causing pain to spread through her body and tears to start to her eyes. She felt bruised, humiliated; full of shame. And her mind constantly circled around Heather.

Heather Trelawney. Blond hair, grey eyes, snub nose. Warm hands which had held Candice's affectionately; bubbling infectious laughter. Thinking back, Candice
felt sickened, almost violated. Had every single moment of their friendship been an act? She could hardly believe it.

“Candice!” Ed's voice interrupted her thoughts and she stood up, shaking out her stiff legs. He was coming towards her, a strange look in his eye. “Candice,” he said, “don't get angry— but I've got someone to see you.”

“What?” Candice stared at him. “What do you mean, someone to see me?” Her gaze shifted over his shoulder but she could see no-one.

“He's in the house,” said Ed. “Come on.”

“Who is?” said Candice, her voice truculent. Ed turned and looked at her steadily. “Someone I think you need to speak to,” he said.

“Who?” She followed him with hasty legs, stumbling with nerves. “Who is it? Oh God, I know who it is,” she said at the door, her heart pounding. “It's Justin, isn't it?”

“No,” said Ed, and pushed the door open.

Candice peered into the gloom and saw a young man of about twenty standing by the dresser in the kitchen. He looked up apprehensively and pushed a hand back through his long fair hair. Candice stared at him in puzzlement. She had never seen him before in her life.

“Candice,” said Ed, “this is Hamish.”

“Hamish,” said Candice wrinkling her brow. “You're . . .” She stopped as a memory surfaced in her mind like a bubble. “Oh my God. You're Heather's ex-boyfriend, aren't you?”

“No, I'm not,” said Hamish, and looked at her with steady grey eyes. “I'm her brother.”

Roxanne sat in the office of Strawson and Co., sipping tea out of a bone china cup and wishing that her hand wouldn't shake every time she put it down. There was a smooth, thickly carpeted silence about the place; an air of solid opulence and respectability which made her feel flimsy and cheap, even though she was wearing one of the most expensive, sober outfits she possessed. The room she was sitting in was small but grand— full of heavy oak bookcases and a muted atmosphere, as though the very walls themselves were aware of the confidential nature of their contents.

“I'm so glad you decided to come,” said Neil Cooper.

“Yes, well,” said Roxanne shortly. “Curiosity won in the end.”

“It often does,” said Neil Cooper, and picked up his own cup to take a sip.

He was much younger than Roxanne had expected, and had an earnest, guarded expression on his face, as though he didn't want to disappoint her. As though he didn't want to let down the hopes of the gold-digging mistress. A flash of humiliation passed through Roxanne and she put down her cup.

“Look,” she said, more aggressively than she'd intended. “Let's just get this over with, shall we? I wasn't expecting anything, so whatever it is, I'll just sign for it and leave.”

“Yes,” said Neil Cooper carefully. “Well, it's not quite as simple as that. If I can just read to you a codicil which the late Mr. Allsopp added to his will shortly before dying . . .”

He reached for a black leather folder, opened it and
shuffled some papers together, and Roxanne stared at his calm, professional face in sudden realization.

“Oh God,” she said, in a voice which shook slightly. “He really has left something to me, hasn't he? Something serious. What is it? Not money.”

“No,” said Neil Cooper, and looked up at her with a tiny smile. “Not money.”

“We're fine for money,” said Hamish, taking a sip of tea from the mug Ed had made. “In fact, we're pretty loaded. After my parents split up, my mum remarried this guy Derek. He's . . . well, he's stinking. He gave me my car . . .” He gestured out of the window, to where a new Alfa Romeo was sitting smartly on the gravel next to Ed's BMW. “He's been really good to us. Both of us.”

“Oh,” said Candice. She rubbed her face, trying to marshal her thoughts; trying to let yet another astonishing fact sink in. She was sitting across the table from Hamish, and every time she looked up at him she could see Heather in his face. Heather's little brother. She hadn't even known Heather had a brother. “So . . . so why was Heather working as a cocktail waitress?”

“It's the kind of thing she does,” said Hamish. “She starts something like an art course or a writing course and then she drops out and takes some crummy job so we all feel bad.”