Love Me Or Leave Me (23 page)

Just after 8.30 p.m. and I’m frantically trying to do a discreet check on all guests. Low level panic driving me, mainly because my worry is if Dave managed to get that ossified drunk, chances are high he had a boozing buddy with him. I’ve worked in the hotel business a long time and trust me, I know the way these things play out.

I check the bar first, but it’s empty. Which is good, means they’re all still at dinner. Odd that Tommy’s not around, but then he could be downstairs in the wine cellar restocking, while it’s quiet round here.

So I slip into the back of our Yellow Dining Room just to check everyone else is all-present and correct, which by the way, is a hugely impressive room off the first floor, meticulously restored with a stunning Farrow & Ball paint job and sweeping views all the way down onto the gardens below.

We’ve laid on a set menu for tonight and it’s no exaggeration to say there really is something for everyone in the audience. Well, given everything our guests will be facing into this weekend, it’s my mission to see at the very least that everything else around them, the food particularly, is world class and completely fabulous. Our maître d’ and I pre-approved the whole menu together and to be honest, I thought everyone would turn up for dinner, just so they could salivate over it. You wanna see it! Hand dived scallops in garlic butter, lamb rump with homemade ricotta, fillet of pork with black pudding rosti. ‘Worthy of a bloody Michelin star,’ as Nick, our head chef had proudly – and not unjustifiably – boasted to me. To be perfectly honest, if it were me, I’d want photos of each finished mini-masterpiece dish, just so I could post them up on Facebook and Twitter.

And while it’s fairly full in here and most couples at least seem to be enjoying the banquet laid out for them, a second glance round the tables and somehow I don’t exactly get the feeling that all’s well.

For starters, two absent couples stick out like sore thumbs. Dawn, Kirk, Jo and Dave. Some chance of any of them wandering in here late and looking to be fed and watered now, I think ruefully.

Another lightning quick scan of the room and to my surprise, tucked into a discreet corner I see Andrew Lowe, eating alone. Polite, polished Andrew Lowe, who looks so handsome, greying and distinguished that I almost feel there should be a portrait of him hanging up on one of our walls somewhere. He just has that kind of face, that carries fifty plus years of authority with him. He looks up and catches my eye, so I weave my way through the tables over to him.

‘Good evening, Mr Lowe,’ I smile politely. ‘Just making sure everything is alright for you so far?’

He raises an eyebrow and pushes aside the
Financial Times
he’d been reading.

‘I’m afraid, my dear Miss Townsend,’ he says with a gracious nod, ‘that I can only answer that particular question in relation to your fine service and menu. Which, as you’d expect, are completely flawless.’

‘Glad you’re enjoying it,’ I smile back warmly. But then, I really
like
Andrew Lowe. If all of my other guests were like him, I’d have absolutely no bother round here.

‘And I hope your initial mediation session before dinner wasn’t too exhausting for you or Miss Belton?’

‘It certainly wasn’t.’

‘Oh, well that’s good to hear.’

‘Mainly because I’m afraid we didn’t go.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Which, naturally I apologize for, but, well I’m afraid Lucy didn’t turn up for it and the last thing I wanted to do was go looking for her and force her into something she may not have been entirely comfortable with. In fact, as soon as I arrived and checked in, I had some business to catch up on in my room, so I’m afraid I haven’t seen her all evening, as of yet. I was hoping she might join me for dinner, but as you can see –’

I do not fecking well
believe
this. That’s two no-shows on our very first evening. First Jo and Dave, now this pair. Not good. Not by a long shot. Then a sudden alarm bell shoots through me. Come to think of it, I haven’t set eyes on Lucy since she first checked in either.

Oh, Christ no. Don’t tell me I’ve another guest about to cause trouble on my hands? Don’t tell me she was down in the bar boozing the night away with Dave earlier, while I was stuck in a bloody meeting?

Andrew Lowe seems to be a sensitive man though, and correctly reads my thoughts.

‘Miss Townsend?’

‘Please, it’s Chloe.’

‘I’m afraid I must ask you to make allowances for my wife right now,’ he tells me calmly. ‘You must remember, as I’m trying so very hard to, that she’s in fact the blameless party and not at all responsible for why we’re staying at your delightful hotel in the first place. So may I suggest relaxing the schedule just a tad as far as she’s concerned?’

He must cop the puzzled look on my face, but he’s far too well mannered to say any more. So the professional half of me knows now is the time to offer him a drink on the house, then beat a hasty retreat and leave him alone to his thoughts.

But then a part of me won’t let up. Because Andrew seems lovely and kind and genuinely concerned for Lucy. And he still refers to her as ‘his wife’. So what are they doing here in the first place? What in God’s name could have gone wrong there?

And then we both hear her, right before we see her. A woman’s voice, loud and clear, wafting all the way up from Reception, just downstairs.

‘Get your fucking hands pawsh off me, you human gorilla! SHHTOP IT! YOURE MAN … hic … MANHANDLING ME!!’

I do not be-fecking-lieve this. Not more trouble. Please dear God, not more –

But it’s her alright. It’s Lucy. With every head in the restaurant turned to look at us, Andrew is up on his feet in one fast move and the two of us are out the door, following the sound of the racket.

Which isn’t all that hard, really. We follow the noise down the short flight of stairs to Reception, where Lucy’s being half led, half lifted by poor Tommy the barman, clearly trying to guide her into the lift. Chris is right beside them, making soothing noises and every now and then saying useless things like, ‘Wait till you see, you’ll feel a whole lot better after a little lie down, Miss Belton!’

‘I was just relaxing and having a few harmless shrinks … sorry … I mean drinkies out the back garden!’ Lucy practically spits into poor Tommy’s face. ‘What kind of a pissing hotel do you call yourselves anyway? Can’t a guesht even have a harmlesh little drink without being hauled off like this?’

‘I’ll take it from here,’ I hiss at both Chris and Tommy as I step into the lift beside her, pressing for the third floor and just praying she doesn’t start having a go at me once we’re left alone.

As the lift door slides shut, I see Andrew standing right in front of us. And just the look on his face alone tells me everything I need to know.

Chapter Eighteen

10.45 p.m.

Andrew Lowe was an even-tempered man, one slow to anger and quick to forgive. Or so he liked to think. Difficult though, to keep a cool head when your wife – or rather, the woman you’d separated from – had clearly spent the entire evening acting like some kind of a vapid, air-headed good-time girl. The kind of girl the gutter press had insisted on labelling, ‘Lucy Belter,’ a moniker Andrew had always hated.

It was unfair, it did her absolutely no justice. If they knew the real Lucy, no one would paint her to be ‘Party Central’. Yet another crude nickname that made him wince with embarrassment.

Because this most definitely was not Lucy. The woman who caused that mortifying scene just now, the woman who practically had to be dragged into a lift by Chloe and an obliging barman, was most definitely not the girl he’d married. Yes, Lucy had always been vibrant and full of energy and fizz, it was one of the many things he’d adored about her, but never falling down drunk and making a complete sideshow of herself, as she had been this evening. Why did she insist on conforming to stereotype like this?

It stabbed at Andrew, physically hurt to think that he was the root cause of that pain and unhappiness. This had been the girl he’d loved, in spite of everything and everyone that had conspired to come between them. What had become of her? What had she turned into since they separated?

But worst of all was the one accusation that kept running round his addled mind on a loop. No denying that he himself was to blame. Or more accurately, he and his family, with Alannah playing significantly more than a minor supporting role in all this.

It was just coming up to 11 p.m., still too early for bed yet, so, with his mind racing, Andrew stepped out into the cool of the garden outside and found himself a quiet bench under an apple blossom tree, to sit quietly with his thoughts. He lit up a cigar, sat back and exhaled deeply. Under normal circumstances, a quiet cigar in a tranquil setting never failed to relax him, and God knows he’d certainly needed more than his fair share of calming down over the past eighteen months.

But for some reason, the old charm didn’t seem to work. In fact, Andrew was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d been utterly at peace with himself. He’d been living with worry and stress for so long now, it was tough to remember back to a time when things were otherwise. The few friends he still had remaining on the Board of Directors had all variously said to him that the pressure he was operating under would have felled a lesser man.

Worse, his GP was taking things a helluva lot more seriously, but Andrew brushed that aside for the moment. Bloody man, always fussing. If it wasn’t over his high cholesterol, it was some blood pressure issue. Utterly ridiculous! Andrew still had the strength and energy of someone ten years younger and after all, given that people he knew were actually taking their own lives because they’d lost everything in the recession, he figured all in all, he was holding up astonishingly well.

Until this came along. Left to him, the last thing on earth Andrew would ever have wanted was a divorce. It was the last thing that had entered his shattered mind when his whole world spectacularly combusted, just under two years ago. Not all that long after he and Lucy were first married, in fact.

He felt a sharp pang, just thinking back to Lucy and the woman she’d been back then. How breathtaking she’d looked at their wedding. He’d made a solemn vow to her that day, standing toe-to-toe, barefoot on that sandy white Caribbean beach … was it really only three years ago now? For richer for poorer, for better and for worse. Till death us do part. He’d sworn that promise to her and now look at where it had brought them. The hurt he’d caused her. All that unnecessary pain.

These days, Andrew was renting a small flat, laughingly referred to as a ‘bachelor pad’ by the estate agent, but to this day, with digital clarity, he still had recurring nightmares about the removals van pulling up outside their home, to clear away the remains of their whole life together. He could handle the loss of status, all the trappings of a life of wealth and privilege being stripped from him, bit by bit. His statement home, his Bentley, his pension reserves, all his stocks and shares, even his club membership had to go. In fact, he could school himself to bear far worse. But the loss of Lucy was something very different.

Had she been wrong to act as she subsequently did? To bring them both to this?
For richer for poorer, for better and for worse
. There was no question that she got a raw deal, being plunged into the ‘for worse’ part of their marriage almost from the word go.

And yet, with a niggling conscience, he couldn’t help thinking back to something Alannah had pointed out. Lucy had made exactly the same vow on that tropical beach, hadn’t she? So why had she bailed out on him at the first sign of trouble?

He inhaled deeply, feeling a familiar pang at the fact that their marriage was even denied a brief honeymoon period before real life intervened. He didn’t blame her, if anything he blamed himself. And Alannah and Josh, he sadly had to acknowledge, had certainly played their part in what had subsequently transpired. Although he was quick to absolve them; after all, a great deal of pain and unhappiness had been caused to his first family when he and Lucy got together. So really, was it any wonder his children had acted the way they did?

Andrew thought back to Lucy, who right now was probably lying up in bed, surely with the mother of all hangovers just hovering over her. What to do?

‘She’s just tired and emotional at the moment, I believe is the phrase,’ he’d calmly explained to Chloe, who seemed like such a sweet-natured, understanding woman. ‘I’m anxious that she’s allowed to rest and isn’t disturbed.’

‘Of course,’ she’d reassured him.

He’d made a point of seeking Chloe out after she’d safely seen Lucy to her room and telling her that his wife – or rather, his estranged wife – had been working herself to the bone as of late and that they’d just have to reschedule their meeting till sometime tomorrow instead. With of course, his sincerest apologies.

Chloe had been incredibly diplomatic about it though and even offered to have dinner sent up on a tray to Lucy’s room later on, if she was feeling up to it. Sensitive of her, Andrew had thought, to unquestioningly accept his excuse and act as though there was nothing wrong with Lucy other than tiredness, when it had been glaringly obvious to anyone who saw her what was really the matter with her.

But then Chloe seemed considerate and discreet in small ways; the hallmark of a good manager. The sort of woman who should have been working on the board of his bank, Andrew thought, and then maybe they could have neatly side-stepped a lot of the mess they were in now.

In fact, it was taking bloody calls from work and fending off urgent emails while holed up in his room after he’d first checked in that had caused all this trouble in the first place. Had Andrew actually put his wife first, as he rightfully should have done, had he sought her out considerably earlier this evening, he’d have been aware that she was overdoing it at the bar and could have dealt with it himself there and then. But no, instead he’d stupidly stayed in his room/office, trying to put out urgent fires at the Board. For all the good that did him.