Paradise Fields (28 page)

Nel relaxed as the first sip of whisky reached her stomach. ‘That's odd. I thought he knew the building was inevitable.'

‘Mum! Surely not! Those are our fields!'

‘I didn't know you cared! And no, they're not our fields, they belong to the Hunstantons, and they're putting houses on them.' Without the glimmer of hope that she had Jake in her life, this fact was even more unpalatable than ever. ‘Now our project is to convince the Hunstantons to use our nice friendly builder, and not someone who apparently gives the ugly face of capitalism a bad name.'

‘What on earth are you talking about?' Fleur perched on the arm of the sofa, holding a glass of water.

‘There are two builders. One will re-roof the hospice for the cost of the materials and the other will put dozens of rabbit hutches up and leave us no river frontage.'

‘Rabbit hutches would be quite sweet. I like rabbits.'

‘Fleur!'

‘It's all right. I know what you mean really.'

Nel sighed and closed her eyes. ‘And if that wasn't bad enough, what I also suspect might happen is that we might lose the hospice building too. I've a horrid feeling that our chairman is planning to sell it to the builder – the bloated plutocrat one, not the nice one.'

Fleur nodded wisely. ‘Tricky.'

Nel managed a weak smile. ‘Which explains why I've turned to strong drink, and why I want to see Viv.' It wasn't the real reason, but she didn't want Fleur to know that.

Fleur had lost interest. ‘I'm starving. Why don't you ask Viv round for a Balti? You could order it and she could pick it up. Save you cooking.'

Nel laughed, in spite of feeling so depressed. ‘I thought you might like to knock us up a light, low-fat meal, full of free radicals and anti-oxidants?'

Fleur shook her head. ‘I do pasta or pasta, nothing complicated.'

‘Ooh! What with one thing or another, I don't think I told you! I met the most heavenly chef last week!' It was good to talk to Fleur about normal things. ‘He's going to cook for the farmers' market. So sweet! He might even inspire you to lift a wooden spoon from time to time.'

‘Mum! You're not thinking of having a toy boy, are you?'

‘Of course not! As if!' said Nel, wondering how much younger a man had to be to qualify as such, and deciding Jake was far too dangerous to be thought of as a toy. She sighed again. Oh for the feel of his arms round her, just once more. This was all so painful. She gulped her whisky, so Fleur wouldn't hear her groan again.

Despairing of ever getting anything to eat, Fleur got up. ‘Shall I get the phone and you can ring Viv? A girl could die of hunger round here.'

‘You're very expensive to keep, you know, Fleur.'

Fleur grinned. ‘Yes, but I'm worth it.'

Viv agreed to come, told Fleur what she wanted and Nel left the comfort of the sofa to attack the kitchen. The prospect of a girly evening with Viv and Fleur penetrated her misery a little. She had, after all, been perfectly happy before she met Jake. There was no earthly reason to think she couldn't go back to being happy. The phone rang while Nel was making preparations for the Balti, spreading sheets of newspaper over the plasticised tablecloth, so it wouldn't get stained with turmeric-coloured ghee. She took the plates out of the oven before she answered it. It would be Simon, ringing back, and her heart clenched with guilt for not having invited him to join them.

It was Jake.

Her mouth became instantly dry. ‘Oh, it's you.' How could she even pretend to talk normally to him?

‘Who were you expecting?'

‘Simon.'

‘Oh, I see.'

With an effort, she sucked some saliva into her mouth so she could speak. Supposing he'd seen her looking at him in the car park? It would be so humiliating. ‘I really should have phoned you to thank you for dinner . . .'

‘So why didn't you?'

‘I haven't got your phone number.'

He laughed. ‘That would explain it. Shall I give it to you?'

‘Well, no, don't bother. I can thank you now, while you're on. Thank you so much for dinner the other evening. I really enjoyed myself. I hope you got my email about it.' Her voice sounded flat and artificial and she hoped he wouldn't hear. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how much pain he had caused her.

‘Well, I'm glad about that. What are you doing now?'

‘Viv's coming round with a Balti. We're going to discuss the hospice.'

‘Oh, can I come?'

How many women did he need at one time? Kerry Anne at lunchtime – and it must have been a long lunch – her and Viv and Fleur this evening. ‘No. It's girls only. And people who care about the hospice only.'

‘I care about the hospice.'

But not quite as much as he cared about Kerry Anne. ‘Not enough, otherwise you wouldn't encourage people to build on the land.'

‘I'm not encouraging anyone, I'm just facilitating something which is bound to happen.'

‘Call it what you like, you're still the enemy as far as the hospice is concerned.' She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that it was only the Hunstantons he was facilitating, and not Gideon Freebody. Now that she was calmer, she had remembered his curious hints at dinner about the plans, and was very confused.

‘So I won't come round, then?'

‘Please don't.' Why didn't she – couldn't she – say ‘no' firmly, and mean it? Why did she still want to see him, in spite of everything? ‘Viv and I really have got work to do. The Balti is just to please Fleur.'

‘Are you having onion bahjis?'

‘I expect so, Fleur ordered it.' Although the conversation was really over and he might be the most devious, pernicious slug on the planet, she wanted to go on hearing his voice.

‘I love bahjis.'

‘Do you?'

‘Nel, are you all right? You sound a bit odd?'

‘Do I? I expect I'm just tired.'

‘You were tired the other night, but you didn't sound like you do now.'

‘Different sort of tiredness perhaps. Anyway, I've got to go now. Goodbye.'

‘Mum! Was that Jake on the phone? Why were you so funny with him?'

‘Like I said, I'm tired.' She turned away so Fleur wouldn't see that she was also close to tears.

She'd always known in her heart that Jake wouldn't give her a second glance if someone young and lovely came along. Now she'd had proof of it with her own eyes. And she'd lost her senses so completely, she'd gone to bed with him. Despair closed over her. She could imagine Chris Mowbray, the Hunstantons, Gideon Freebody, discussing the matter.

‘She's the troublemaker,' Chris would have said. ‘Take her to bed, Jake, get her eating out of your hand. She's over forty, she's a widow, she'll be grateful. You'll only have to do it once. It'll be worth it to keep her out of our hair . . .' The pain was like acid on her soul, that she, a fine, upstanding pillar of the community, mother to all the world, should have let herself be made love to (there was a shorter, harsher expression she couldn't bring herself even to think) by someone who was using her for his own purposes.

She would have poured herself more whisky, only Fleur was looking at her strangely and she didn't have time to drown her sorrows just then.

Viv arrived at that moment, laden with leaking plastic carrier bags, so she couldn't get even more depressed. She'd have to wait until Fleur had gone to bed before she could confide in Viv, to tell her what she'd seen.
And even the relentlessly positive Viv would find it hard to say something positive about that.

While Viv was getting past the dogs, who loved her a lot and so made it a time-consuming exercise, Nel had time to consider that even if he hadn't seduced her to keep her sweet and biddable, he was a very bright, attractive man, and his attention span was probably not very long when it came to women. He had probably suffered from Attention Deficit Disorder as a child. She couldn't expect to hold his interest for more than a few weeks. And she knew that feeling like that was nothing to do with her being over forty and a widow.

Over several thousand calories and several poppadoms, Nel and Viv discussed the hospice, Nel leaving out any reference to Jake. ‘I can't say I'm very hopeful about things at the moment,' said Nel, aware that Viv was looking at her intently and feeling obliged to give her a reason for her despondency that Fleur would accept. ‘I mean Christopher and the Hunstantons and Gideon Hardy and Willis, whatever his name is, are all in cahoots. I bet they know who owns that strip of land and have got it all sewn up. Do you want tea, or would you like another lager?'

‘Tea, please—' Viv stopped as the doorbell rang. ‘Expecting anyone, Nel?'

‘If that's Jake,' said Nel crossly, tripping over the dogs in an attempt to get to the door, heart pounding in a pathetically girlish way, ‘I'll kill him.'

‘Why should it be?' called Viv. ‘Have you been holding out on me?'

‘Oh, hello, Simon,' said Nel. ‘Was I expecting you? Did Fleur forget to give me a message?' She knew this
was unfair. Fleur never forgot to give messages. (The boys frequently did.)

Simon shook his head. ‘No, I just came round to give you another list of farmers out of the
Yellow Pages
who might be interested in becoming stallholders. People I couldn't get through to before. And also . . .' he paused. ‘I thought you might be interested in this.' He waved a sheet of paper at her. ‘I got it off the Internet.'

‘Well, thank you very much for all the contacts, Simon. That's really kind. It must have taken you hours. You'd better come in.' She tacked on a smile of welcome, several seconds too late, and felt mean. He'd done all that work for her on Saturday and now, and she didn't even feel grateful, let alone behave gratefully. And Simon only wanted her for herself, not for anything else. ‘Viv's here. We're just having a Balti and talking over hospice stuff.'

Simon came into the kitchen. Although he tried, he couldn't disguise his expression of disgust as he regarded the confusion of foil dishes, dirty plates, plastic bags exuding finely chopped lettuce and onion, broken poppadoms and bottles of lager.

‘Hi, Simon,' said Vivian. ‘Come in and get a plate, there's loads here.'

‘No, thank you, I've eaten. I just came round to show Nel this. And you, I suppose.'

Nel took it between finger and thumb, but still managed to get ghee on it. ‘Sit down, Simon, do,' she said.

It was a copy of an article from a local paper. She read it quickly. It was a report of a court case in which a builder and a solicitor were cleared of illegally demolishing a large old peoples' home so a housing estate could be built on the site. Nel couldn't bear to read
every word; the gist was bad enough. Jake Demerand wasn't named, but there was a picture of him leaving court. It was blurry, but unmistakable.

‘Let's have a look.' Vivian took it from her. ‘It looks like Jake. Still. He got off.'

‘I just thought Nel should see it,' said Simon. ‘It could help her anti-building campaign.'

‘It's not just Nel's campaign, Simon. All the hospice committee are against the building,' said Vivian. ‘Our entire major fundraising goes on on that site. And we need waterfront access.'

‘I think I'll make tea,' said Nel, wanting to get the subject off Jake and the hospice. ‘Did I tell you? I met the most divine chef for the farmers' market the other day. He'll be perfect. And a wonderful chef, too.'

‘You should watch out, Simon,' said Fleur. ‘I think Mum may be planning to get a toy boy.'

‘Think of it!' said Vivian. ‘A man who's good in bed and cooks! There can't be a better combination.'

Simon shifted uneasily in his chair. Nel sighed. Vivian was too raunchy for Simon, and she was sure Viv did it on purpose. She could behave perfectly well, but when Simon was there, she always went out of her way to be shocking. Could she possibly ally herself to a man who didn't get on with her best friend? She couldn't do without her friend, that was for sure; no man on earth would be worth that.

‘You don't know he's good in bed,' said Fleur, causing Simon even more embarrassment.

‘Well, you might have to train him up a bit,' said Vivian. ‘Give him a few pointers. But all that youthful energy, wow! And then some delicious little snack. Sounds perfect.'

‘I'll give you his address,' said Nel, wishing she was in the mood for this sort of conversation. ‘Now let's get back to the hospice.' She drained a bottle of lager, aware that Simon hated women who drank out of bottles. She wasn't that keen on it herself, in fact, but she had run out of glasses. ‘What we're aiming for now, Simon, is to convince the Hunstantons to go with Abraham's plan, which will get the hospice re-roofed, and not Gideon Whatsits', which by all accounts will be dreadful.'

Simon shook his head knowingly, making Nel feel more irritable than ever. ‘I've been playing golf with Chris Mowbray lately, and he thinks the Hunstantons will be better off with the bigger builder.'

‘Well, let's hope they're not taking their advice from him!' said Vivian briskly.

‘They could do worse. He knows a lot about business investment.'

‘So if you're all pally-pally with Chris Mowbray,' persisted Viv, ‘why are you telling us stuff you think might stop the building?'

‘Tea, anyone?' said Nel. She hated conflict at the best of times and now, when her heart was disintegrating, her threshold for it was lower than ever. She knew Viv didn't trust Simon.

Simon glanced at Nel. ‘I just thought you ought to know, that's all.'

It was to do with Jake, realised Nel. It's his way of telling me he's a swine. Well, thank you, Simon, but I'd worked that out for myself.

‘Did anyone else want tea, or is it just me?'