Happy Ever After (25 page)

‘If it works for you both, why not?’ Aimee did not really wish to hear the intimate details of Roger’s marriage.

‘I suppose I lost the run of myself when I was younger and began to get a taste of the good life – and it was a very good life – but I lost my wife in the process because I neglected her.’

‘That’s a shame.’ She risked a piece of croissant.

‘It’s very interesting to see how women treat you when you’re wealthy,’ Roger expounded, taking a slug of coffee. ‘I know I’m no oil painting. If I was my age now and still on the farm I grew up on, women wouldn’t give me a second look. A little fat man trying to hide his bald patch – no, indeed, Aimee, I wouldn’t even rate a first look, let alone a second, but having money changes all that. And you know something?’ He put his knife and fork back down and looked at her earnestly, ‘I’d love to meet a woman who likes me for
who
I am and not for my wallet. Because now I never know.’ He shook his head. ‘When you have money, people think you have it all, but money doesn’t put its arms around you, and the older you get, the less you want to be out socializing with all that crowd who secretly look down their nose at you but wish they had your lolly. And what’s worse . . . lick up to you because you have it.’

‘You’re highly respected out there, Roger,’ Aimee assured him.

‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, but my point to you, Aimee, is, on your climb up the ladder, and you are climbing fast, don’t lose sight of what’s important.’ He pointed towards her stomach. ‘Family is all that matters, Aimee, and take that from one who knows. Now, what I propose is to have a chat with Myles and let him know the score, and then we’ll take it from there. Obviously, he may have his own views on the matter. But, from my point of view, your pregnancy is not an insurmountable problem, and you have my respect for being upfront about it. As I say, a lot of women wouldn’t have said anything until after the contract was signed. And, as someone who climbed a hard ladder once, I understand that too.’

‘Thanks, Roger,’ Aimee said sincerely, seeing a whole new side to the stocky, red-faced man opposite her. She had been one who had looked down her nose at him, although happy to grasp the opportunity he’d given her. His brash, hail-fellow-well-met façade hid a surprisingly sensitive and self-aware man who was also, it seemed, rather lonely, despite constant appearances in the social diaries.

‘Now, Aimee, I’ll let Ian treat us to breakfast. He made enough out of me, God knows, and I bet I’m right in thinking you haven’t even been given a bonus yet.’

Aimee laughed. ‘How did you know that?’

‘If he was treating you properly, as an asset to his company deserves to be treated, you wouldn’t have said yes straight away to our proposal, because he would have made sure to keep you sweet. We would have had to woo you. That’s how I know. I’ve been in business a long time. Don’t forget that. I’ll be in touch.’ He stood up and shook her hand firmly. ‘Peppermint tea and plain biscuits.’ He winked and barrelled out of the dining room like a mini tornado, greeting various other diners with a handshake, a wave or a quick word.

Aimee exhaled a deep breath and felt much of the tension seep out of her body. That had gone much better than she’d expected. Yes, she’d seen the dismay on her prospective employer’s face when she’d told him her news, but he hadn’t felt it was an insuperable barrier. Maybe she should start thinking like that too, she reflected, as she sipped the last of her tea. A more positive attitude might help her get through the months ahead and, at least, if Roger was able to persuade Myles to stay on board, she’d have her new career move to keep her occupied.

More satisfying than anything else that had occurred, though, was the fact that a hugely successful, multi-millionaire businessman felt she was an ‘asset’, whom he would have ‘wooed’ if she’d played hard to get.

Roger O’Leary certainly respected her, that was more than obvious, and that, after her row with Barry and her father’s presumptions, was balm to Aimee’s weary soul.

‘It was bumpy coming down, wasn’t it?’ Juliet remarked as she walked briskly alongside Karen and Connie, down the pink-speckled, marbled floor of Arrivals, to Passport Control.

‘I hate that steep descent over the mountains, it always makes my ears pop.’ Karen wriggled her jaw, not the better for the rough approach, when crosswinds from the sierras had buffeted the plane. ‘I suppose we were lucky we weren’t flying Ryanair; you know the way they throw the plane on to the runway. I’ve never once had a smooth landing with that lot.’

‘Still, we’re here, and I for one am looking forward to a stiff gin and tonic with lunch,’ Connie remarked, holding her passport up for inspection.

‘That sounds lovely,’ Juliet sighed. ‘I think I’ll do the same.’

‘Do you rent a car when you’re here?’ Karen asked as they clattered down the stairs to the baggage hall.

‘Actually, we bought one here; it’s cheaper in the long run. Manolo, who takes care of our villa, was supposed to be meeting me off the flight, but he ended up in hospital yesterday with a broken wrist, so I’ll take a taxi. Would you like to share, or are you renting a car yourselves?’

‘I’m going downstairs to car rentals now to queue up to get the keys while Connie collects the luggage. Sure, we could drop you off, if you like. It’s in Cabopino, isn’t it? And we’re between Riviera and Calahonda. It’s only a few miles, five minutes in the car.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of putting you out,’ Juliet exclaimed.

‘You’re not putting us out at all, we’re practically neighbours,’ Karen said hospitably as they reached their luggage carousel.

‘Well, thank you so much, it’s very kind of you,’ the older woman said appreciatively.

‘Let me go get a trolley before you go down to the car place,’ Connie suggested. She weaved her way through swarms of passengers, to two lines of trolleys, which were disappearing rapidly. The queues at the car-rental agencies would probably be long, and they could be here for a while, and she’d have to make small talk with Juliet Davenport, she supposed. She extracted a trolley and tried to steer it through the throngs without inflicting damage on anyone’s ankles. Her heart sank at the prospect of prolonged polite chitchat. While the woman seemed pleasant enough, Connie was very conscious that she was Aimee’s mother and wondered had the other woman ever discussed her with Juliet.

‘God, it’s mad trying to get a trolley,’ she remarked a few minutes later as she joined the other two women at the carousel, which had started to move creakily, indicating that the luggage wouldn’t be long coming.

‘I’m going to leg it, see you down there. Don’t forget, mine’s got a red ribbon on it,’ Karen declared, taking off at speed along the crowded concourse.

‘It’s almost impossible to see,’ Juliet complained, trying to edge in between two six-foot golfers who wouldn’t budge. ‘Bloody men,’ she muttered to Connie. ‘They’re all the same. Thank God I came by myself.’

Connie laughed. She’d met Ken Davenport, and not been impressed with his loud, overbearing manner. ‘Sometimes it is nice to get away on your own, but I love going on holidays with Karen because I live on my own.’

‘Of course. Company is lovely, but living on your own . . . how peaceful that must be sometimes,’ Juliet remarked. ‘Do you know what I did, Connie?’ she confided impulsively. ‘I came away and never told Ken I was going, because we had a row. I didn’t fill the freezer, I didn’t do any shopping, I didn’t even do his laundry.’

‘Ummm . . . I’d say there’s a fairly disgruntled husband at home then.’ Connie elbowed her way between the golfers, to the edge of the carousel.

‘Yes, well, I was a fairly disgruntled wife coming to Spain. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. It might teach him not to take me for granted,’ Juliet declared. ‘I’ve been too accommodating all along, but he pushed his luck once too often. And there comes a time when you just aren’t willing to put up with bad behaviour any more. Better late than never,’ she said dryly, having edged in beside Connie, as luggage careered along past them on the belt.

‘Oh! Well, you certainly made your point in no uncertain terms, I’d say. Good for you.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ Juliet grinned. ‘As I say, it’s never too late, Connie. And if my husband doesn’t like it, he can lump it.’

‘Get me
Derek
O’Mahony’s file, not Dermot O’Mahony’s,’ Ken barked into the phone at his secretary before slamming down the receiver. He was in a foul humour. He had three patients in his waiting room. He was running late, and he had to make two important phone calls before he started seeing the people outside, and that stupid woman had brought him in the wrong file. Incompetent carelessness was not what she was paid a very good salary for.

He picked up his mobile phone again and scrolled through his messages. No report to indicate that Juliet had received his text message. The damn woman hadn’t even turned on her phone.

He played back her message to him. ‘Ken, I’m sitting on the plane for Malaga. We’re taking off in a few minutes. I’ve booked myself an open ticket. I don’t know when I’m coming back. I’ve had enough. I need a break to decide my future. Bye.’

What the hell did she mean by that?
I need a break to decide my future
. Juliet looked at far too many rubbishy soap operas, that was her problem. Ungrateful woman. He was surrounded by them. Aimee had been most unhelpful this morning. She was his daughter; the least he could expect from her was some sympathy for his predicament and a cooked dinner or two. Not too much of a requirement, considering the business she was in, he thought sourly. Hadn’t he paid for her to go to catering college, for heaven’s sake, seeing as she hadn’t the brains to do medicine? If it wasn’t for him paying for her college course, she’d never have got a job in the first place. But, of course, did she ever stop to think of that? Did any of them ever stop to think of how hard he had worked to give them life’s luxuries? It clearly meant nothing to his wife. He sat, shrouded in self-pity.

His secretary sidled in with the correct file, and he snatched it rudely from her. ‘File that other one properly and see that I have no interruptions until I’ve made my phone calls,’ he decreed imperiously.

‘Yes, Professor Davenport,’ she murmured respectfully, and scuttled out of the office with the offending file.

He picked up his mobile and rang Juliet’s number. Infuriatingly, it went straight to her mailbox. The daft woman hadn’t even turned her mobile phone back on; she was surely well ensconced in the villa by now. He didn’t have the landline number handy. He knew he had to put in a 34 code, but that was all he remembered.

‘Would you kindly ring me,’ he clipped, leaving his second voice message in her mailbox. It was most disconcerting not knowing how long she was staying. They usually went to the villa six times a year, and sometimes she would go with some of her friends for a week or two, but to have bought an open ticket was completely out of character for Juliet, and he was beginning to wonder was she psychologically unbalanced. Could there be some physical cause for this uncharacteristic behaviour? He began to think of probable causes and stopped himself when he got to a possible brain tumour. This was not helpful. He needed to speak to his wife to try and evaluate for himself what her state of mind was. But she was uncontactable, and he was beginning to get worried.

‘Ring my villa and put me through,’ he ordered his secretary, and he beat a tattoo on his desk until she said down the line, ‘Ringing for you,’ and he heard the unmistakable long dial tone that signified a foreign number was being called.

‘Hola.’ At last, Ken thought with relief, as he recognized the voice at the other end of the phone. It was their Spanish maid.

‘Incarna, is my wife there please? I wish to speak to her.’

‘No, Señor, she not here. Ze señora she has gone out to ze lunch, and I will be gone when she come back. I leave ze message and get her to ring you, si?’

‘Si, thank you, Incarna,’ Ken sighed, defeated, and hung up.

Gone out to lunch, had she? And not a thought for him. What had got into her at all? Inconsiderate and unacceptable, that’s what her behaviour was, and he’d be letting her know what he thought of it in no uncertain terms, as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

‘Bottoms up, girls. This was completely unexpected.’ Juliet giggled, a little tipsy, as she drank her second glass of chilled Chablis. They’d already had a G&T as they perused their menus.

‘To the perfect holiday,’ grinned Connie, clinking her glass with Juliet’s.

‘To no cooking, for ten days.’ Karen patted her stomach, replete after a meal of tapas starters and a pepper steak with roasted vegetables.

They were sitting under an awning at a beachside restaurant listening to the swish of the sea as it lapped the golden curve of beach in front of them. It was one of those exquisitely clear, bright days which allowed you to see right across the glistening waters of the Mediterranean to the peaks of the High Atlas mountains in Africa. A massive white cruise liner glided serenely along the horizon towards the Straits of Gibraltar, and a sleek motor yacht sailed closer to shore on its way to Puerto Banus. A cooling breeze took the intense heat out of the day, ruffling the red-paper tablecloths, and a buzz of chat and laughter added to the holiday atmosphere as diners, in various stages of undress, enjoyed their meals.

The ladies were totally relaxed, the hassle of airports and queues at car rentals already a dim and distant memory. Juliet was surprisingly witty and entertaining out of her husband’s shadow, and Connie found herself thoroughly warming to the older woman. She had invited Karen and Connie to lunch at the beach restaurant close to her villa and insisted that they all take a taxi from Karen’s apartment so that they could enjoy a few drinks with their meal. It was a most enjoyable start to their holiday.

Connie’s phone tinkled, and she opened a text from Debbie reminding her not to forget to buy a couple of sarongs at the market. ‘I’ve to buy sarongs in the market in La Cala,’ she informed her companions. ‘Don’t let me forget them, Karen, my mind’s like a sieve these days.’