Downsizing (18 page)

Maxine’s mother was less circumspect. Too
self-absorbed to even notice her daughter’s refusal to return to
Colebrook, she occasionally volunteered snippets of information
about Noah. He was doing well and always asked about her when Mrs.
Small saw him. He and Cassie had moved into a detached house in the
best part of town, and had two sons now. Maxine, telling herself
that she didn’t want to know, lapped up every little shred of
information that came her way, storing them away in dark little
corners of her brain where she wouldn’t have easy access to
them.

She’d save Rachel’s email for later. There
were a couple from other lawyers relating to some of her cases but
she was too tired to concentrate upon them now. There was just one
more. She glanced absently at the name of the sender, did a frantic
double-take and froze.

Noah Fenwick!

Her heart, slowed by the initial shock, was
now beating in double time, pounding painfully against her ribcage.
Why now, after all this time, had he chosen to contact her? Surely
it couldn’t be a coincidence that it had happened just a few weeks
after she’d run into Charles again? Soup forgotten, she breathed
deeply and looked at that email for what must have been an
eternity. She contemplated deleting it unread, but not for long.
He’d chosen the only means of contacting her that she found
impossible to resist. Safe, anonymous cyber-speak, disposable at
the click of a button. She had to find out what he wanted. Heart
still racing, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts as she
choked back ten years’ worth of suppressed emotions, she clicked on
his name.

The e-mail was headed: Frenchman’s Creek.
What am I supposed to make of this French pirate then? (Would a
pirate really be a philosopher and poetry lover, by the way?) And
what does his running rings round the English aristocracy say about
their sleuthing powers? I know that creek was supposed to be
difficult to detect but those ships of theirs weren’t exactly
inconspicuous, were they? Makes our lot look a bit dense, if you
ask me. I mean, surely one of them would have had the savvy to
figure it out?

Smiling as she read his words, so typically
blunt and to the point, Maxine felt tears streaming down her face.
He couldn’t have picked a subject more guaranteed to make her
respond. But she wouldn’t do so. At least not yet. She needed to
think about it a bit first.

She crawled into bed, images of Noah’s
laughing features dancing before her eyes as distinctly as though
she’d seen him only yesterday. Suddenly it was all too much for her
to bear. All these years of denying the pain, of guarding against
the torrents of grief that just glancing at his picture could
sometimes set in motion when she was feeling particularly low, came
crashing down on her.

She’d tried to pretend she no longer felt
anything for him, but now she knew she’d been deluding herself.
There would only ever be one man in this world for Maxine. He’d
spoiled her for all the rest, but he was married to her ex-friend.
Overwhelmed by bittersweet memories, Maxine curled into a defensive
ball and cried herself to sleep for the first time in
years.

Chapter
Thirteen

At two-thirty in the morning, the only
illumination in Noah’s study was the steady glow from the screen of
his laptop. He focused his gaze on it, willing Maxine to respond to
his message. He’d found her email address months ago, knew her
office telephone number by heart, and had even managed to get hold
of her mobile number. Her mother had given it to him without
batting an eye, saying she was surprised he didn’t already have
it.

He knew where she lived, and where she worked.
Once, when visiting Charles in London, he’d spent half a day
loitering outside her office building on the off chance that she
might appear. He’d looked up at the concrete and glass tower,
trying to imagine her feeling at home in such a soulless monolith.
The girl he remembered would have felt completely out of place in
such an establishment, but he reminded himself that Maxine was now
a sophisticated woman of thirty; her tastes would have changed, and
he no longer knew what she liked.

She was always in his thoughts, but recently
his desire to see her again—or at least to speak to her—had turned
into an obsession. He’d dialed her number a dozen times, replacing
the receiver before it started to ring. What was there to say after
all this time? He knew he was being selfish, just wanting to hear
the sound of her voice because he was feeling especially low, but
he couldn’t seem to help himself. She probably hardly remembered
him nowadays, but if he didn’t call he could cling to the
unrealistic fantasy that she might actually be pleased to hear from
him.

It was the dismal state of his personal life
that had prompted him to contact her by email. He’d crept out of
bed two nights ago, unable to sleep in spite of the full and active
days that left him physically exhausted. Careful not to disturb
Cassie, he’d let himself into his study and picked up his open copy
of
Frenchman’s Creek.
He’d found the peace of mind that so
eluded him as soon as he started one of his conversations with
Maxine about the book, but two nights ago even that wasn’t enough.
Impulsively he took the conversation to a virtual level by typing
in her email address and writing the words exactly as they came to
him.

Seeking a diversion from his empty in-box,
Noah contemplated the turn his life had taken. Given his time over,
would he still have married Cassie? It was a question that could
only have one answer. If he hadn’t married her, he wouldn’t have
Josh or Billy. His sons gave his empty life meaning, a reason to
work so hard, something to build on for the future, and he couldn’t
imagine an existence without them.

The honeymoon period on Broad Street hadn’t
lasted long. By mid-January Cassie was having difficulties coping
with her pregnancy. Noah, still gripped by a fierce determination
to make a success of himself, couldn’t be there for her all the
time. Guilt prevented him from complaining when she spent more and
more time at her mother’s house, being pampered and fussed
over.

Cassie couldn’t be expected to cook for him
any more according to Mrs. Turner, not in her condition. Noah
didn’t see why not, but anxious to keep the peace, he resigned
himself to having dinner on Lightfoot Drive each evening before
taking Cassie home. Mrs. Turner inveigled herself into a position
where she could poison her daughter’s mind with niggling doubts
about Noah’s activities, while Graham was on hand to bombard her
with compliments. Cassie soon found excuses to sleep over at her
mother’s, pretending she was doing it for Noah’s sake, and before
long they were virtually living under Charles’s roof
again.

When Cassie unexpectedly went into early labor
in mid-February, Noah was at her side for the grueling sixteen-hour
ordeal. He held baby Josh in arms and gazed in awe at the tiny,
wrinkled bundle, falling headlong in love for only the second time
in his entire life. This creature was only in the world because of
him! It was incredible. A few minutes causal pleasure in a swimming
pool had resulted in a gift he’d never be able to place a value
on.

His chest swelled with pride, and in a mellow
frame of mind, he vowed to make more of an effort to give his wife
the attention she so craved. He had true purpose now, and worked
like a man possessed to see his conversion project through to a
successful completion. He got home earlier, anxious to see Josh,
happy to observe that Cassie shared his fascination with their
son.

His home life had taken a turn for the better,
but the same couldn’t be said for his business concerns. Noah
lurched from one disaster to the next as he struggled to keep his
head above water: supplies went astray; workmen failed to turn up
when they were supposed to; the local planners gave him grief. He
started to think that someone was deliberately sabotaging his
efforts, someone who bore him a particular grudge.

He hadn’t forgotten about the stranger who’d
bid against him at auction, but the only person he could think of
with reasons to resent him, other than Mrs. Turner or Ryan Watts,
was Graham Spiller. If Noah’s business failed perhaps that might
persuade Cassie to view Noah as a lost cause, and Graham would
willingly come to her rescue. Spiller would know exactly how to
make life difficult for Noah.

Suspecting that Cassie was innocently feeding
him information, Noah mentioned to her that there was a four-story
house coming up for auction that he really wanted to get his hands
on. He even told her how high he was prepared to bid for
it.

Noah did want the house, but not as badly as
he made out, and it certainly wasn’t worth as much to him as he’d
implied. When he saw the same stranger at the auction, not bidding
on anything until Noah’s house came under the hammer, he was filled
with grim satisfaction. Such coincidences just didn’t occur in real
life. Other bidders dropped out quickly until it was just Noah and
Graham’s stooge. Noah pushed the price up as far as he was prepared
to go, showing an enthusiasm that didn’t usually have any place on
his face in an auction hall. But it worked. His opponent fell for
his ruse and made a higher bid. His expression was almost comical
when Noah sadly shook his head, shooting a smile at his stunned
competitor as he walked away.

The following day Noah called at Graham’s
office without an appointment, deliberately dressed in
plaster-spattered work clothes. Graham’s secretary said she wasn’t
sure if he was available, but Noah grinned and said he’d wait,
suspecting that Graham would see him eventually simply to satisfy
his curiosity. He was made to wait for half an hour, but he’d
expected that, pulled a book from his back pocket and lost himself
in the litigious world of John Grisham.

“
What can I do for you?” Graham
asked, not looking up from the papers he was studying when Noah was
finally ushered into his office.

“
Well, it’s probably more a case
of what I can do for you.” Noah cocked his head to one side,
enjoying the moment. “I’ll relieve you of that property you got
stuck with at auction yesterday, but only for the amount of my
final bid.”

“
What the hell are you talking
about?” He sounded genuinely perplexed, but the telltale flush
creeping up his cheeks gave him away.

“
You’ve made the mistake of
underestimating me.” Noah shrugged. “But don’t feel bad about that.
You’re not the first and almost certainly won’t be the last. I
don’t care about the house particularly, but I also don’t think you
intended to get stuck with it. Anyway, it’s up to you. You have
twenty-four hours to decide if you want to off-load it, and then my
offer’s withdrawn. But,” he added, cutting Graham off as he
attempted to say something, “if I have any more trouble with the
building inspectors, or the planners, or any other god-damned
figure of authority you think you can influence against me, I’ll
make damned sure everyone knows who’s really responsible for my
misfortunes. So my advice is that you tell your buddies to back
off.”

“
Even if I knew what you’re
talking about,” Graham said, his expression one of unmitigated
loathing, “what can you possibly do to damage me?”

“
Not you, but your reputation. Mud
sticks. All I have to do is start a whispering campaign about your
unreliability and no one will bring their business to you. Don’t
forget that you’ve got some healthy competition from other
solicitors in Colebrook now.”

“
You couldn’t do that,” he said,
his voice no longer quite so arrogant. “No one would believe your
word against mine.”

“
Prepared to put that to the test,
are you?” Noah leveled a steady glare on his nemesis’s face.
“Thought not,” he said when Graham was the first to drop his eyes.
“Twenty-three-and-three-quarter hours left,” Noah pointed out,
consulting his watch as he turned toward the door. “Oh and,
naturally, you’ll stand the legal fees to transfer the auctioned
property to me.”

Graham rolled over like a puppy, ungraciously
selling him the house and calling off his campaign of interference.
Since then an uneasy truce had reigned between them.

Shortly after the birth of his son, encouraged
by Kitty, Noah had branched out into building from scratch. The
site by the river that he and Maxine had favored was released for
real estate development. If it had to be defiled, Noah didn’t trust
anyone else to develop it without completely destroying the
landscape and all his precious memories with it. Roping in more
investors, he purchased the land and built twelve up-market duplex
flats, the design of which won him wide acclaim, and his reputation
was made.

Colebrook was changing, expanding to
accommodate an increasing population, but the town planners were
strict, and it retained an image of gracious rural living. It
attracted further businesses to cope with the additional demands of
the populace, and two new firms of solicitors sprang up.

Graham and his father could no longer rely
upon their long-established respectability to gain clientele, and
had to aggressively tout for business, just like everyone else. It
soon became apparent to Noah that Graham wanted his business. The
haughty disdain of the early days had been replaced with outright
obsequiousness, which amused Noah. When Graham’s charm offensive
failed to bear fruit, he asked Noah outright one day what he could
do to attract his business away from his current solicitors. Noah
roared with laughter and told him to fuck off.