The Decision (48 page)

‘Well, thing is, I got quite a big team now, working on my various sites.’

‘Ye-es?’

‘Yeah. Couple of very good roofers. And I thought, I could send them down here. It’s quiet just now, and we’re waiting on planning permission on a new development, costs me money for them to be hanging about. So they could come down here, do some work on your roof.’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Sarah went bright pink. ‘Well, that is so very kind of you, Matt, but we don’t have any – enough money for that. I have no idea what it would cost and – I’m afraid we would just have to say no, wouldn’t we, Adrian?’

‘No, well, I could help there as well,’ said Matt. ‘First off, it won’t be nearly as much money as you might think, we can do everything at cost, and then I could arrange you a loan. Not me personally, my company. We’ve got a couple of very good bank managers who value my custom, if you know what I mean; it’d be company rates. And if it was too much, I could absorb it, and you could pay me off as you could afford it. What d’you say?’

‘I – I just don’t know what to say,’ said Sarah, ‘it is so terribly kind, but we couldn’t possibly accept, I’d feel so embarrassed and why should you—’

‘Well, I’m married to your daughter,’ said Matt, smiling at her suddenly, ‘I don’t like to see the family house going to rack and ruin.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Sarah, and there were tears in her eyes, ‘oh, dear, it’s so – so good of you. I just don’t know what to say …’

‘You’re such a fraud,’ said Eliza, as they got ready for bed, ‘pretending you’re so hard and tough. It’s so wonderful, Matt, so generous, I can’t believe it.’

‘It’s you I’m doing it for really,’ he said. ‘Because it worries you. Because I love you.’

‘Oh Matt – I love you too.’

‘And if it’s not too cold, leave that nightdress off, would you. I want to celebrate Christmas properly with you.’

‘Now how can I refuse, after what you’ve done for us all?’ said Eliza, grimacing at the cold as she pulled her nightdress off again.

She woke Emmie; yelling as she came. She simply couldn’t help it. Matt grabbed a pillow and put it over her face, but it was still quite noisy. And good. So, so good.

They had only just started having sex again; it was different. She’d dreaded it, had lain there almost shaking when the statutory six weeks were up, and she’d been told at the post-natal that she could ‘go back to being intimate’.

But Matt had been very patient, very careful; even so, it took her a while to start responding, wary of pain, of tenderness, of damage even, but when she did, when the half-forgotten sensations began, when she felt the stirring, the wanting of him, when she started moving under him, it became a roller coaster, a wonderful wild rediscovered delight, gathering pace, sweeping her along, carrying her up and up and into pleasure.

‘Goodness,’ she said, lying back when it was over, wiping the tears that always came on the back of her hand, ‘goodness, Matt, I never thought that would happen again.’

‘Nor did I,’ he said with a grin.

She turned to him now, moved beyond anything at his generosity, filled with love and a certain pride in him, kissing him, pulling him against her, wrapping her long legs round him.

‘More than more than?’ he said.

That was their private joke; he had once asked her if she wanted sex ‘more than anything’ and she’d said no, she wanted it more than more than anything.

And – how did you describe that feeling? It was exactly that. You could want lots of things more than anything; but wanting sex, wanting the sweet, shooting, aching, painful pleasure of it, the absolute laughing, crying joy of it, the huge, wild relief and release of it, that really was more than more than anything. Nothing could be better than that. Really and truly, nothing at all.

Emmie woke again; started snuffling and moaning, then whimpering.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she hissed at Matt.

‘I didn’t make all that noise. Your fault, your fault entirely.’

‘So that means I have to go downstairs and heat up the bottle and sit and feed her in that freezing kitchen? While you sleep?’

‘Got it in one,’ he said. ‘Anyway, you can sit by the Aga.’

She picked up the baby, went down into the kitchen. She waited until she was inside, with the door closed, before turning on the light; and then jumped.

Her mother was sitting at the table, a bottle of whisky in front of her. She was clearly a little drunk. She was also crying.

‘Mummy,’ said Eliza in alarm, going over to her, putting her spare arm round her shoulders. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

‘I just feel so – so ashamed,’ said Sarah, ‘so very ashamed. Of how we – I – have behaved.’

‘In what way? Here, take Emmie, I have to put her bottle to warm …’

‘Of the way we treated you and Matt. When he is clearly so kind and loves you so much. What he’s doing for us, with the house – well, it makes everything so much better. I don’t know how to make it up to him, I really don’t.’

‘Oh, Mummy,’ said Eliza. ‘That’s easy. Just tell him what it means to you. He’ll understand the rest. He’s not nearly as – as difficult as he seems. I’m just glad he could do it for you. Now, I wouldn’t mind a drop of that whisky myself.’

She looked round at the scene, five minutes later, as Emmie sucked peacefully on her bottle and she and her mother downed rather large glasses of Adrian’s best single malt, and giggled.

‘If a health visitor came round now,’ she said, ‘Emmie would be taken into care. Alcoholic mother and grandmother.’

She had been afraid that someone might beat her to it, have discovered it for themselves and set up some alternative deal. Or – of course – that it was not quite as she had thought, less perfect, less tailor-made for her purpose.

She need not have worried.

‘Miss Scarlett,’ said Demetrios, beaming at her as she walked into the foyer, the still blessedly small foyer, a wonderful sweet, cool contrast to the pelting heat outside. ‘How very, very nice to see you once more.’

‘It’s lovely to see you too, Demetrios. Are you both well, you and Larissa?’

‘Very, very well. Larissa is having a baby—’

‘A baby! How lovely.’

Would she ever be able to contemplate babies again without a catch at her heart?

‘Yes. Very soon, in three, four weeks.’

‘That’s wonderful. So – is she resting?’

‘Resting? No, Miss Scarlett, she is busy, busy in the kitchen, busy in the garden, I don’t know where she is not busy.’

‘Well, I’ll catch up with her later. You know why I’ve come?’

‘I do. And we think it is very, very good plan. We would like to join your club after all. If we may.’

They had been wary at first; afraid of losing their uniqueness, their personal running of the place.

‘Excellent. We can talk tonight.’

Over dinner in the vine-roofed veranda, watching the sunset, she chatted to them both, agreed terms, told them it would be for the following year.

‘I know most bookings are in January, February time, so there’s no point doing anything before then. You can go in my next little brochure, and – well, I’m sure you’ll get lots of people.’

‘Lots of nice people?’

‘I can’t guarantee it,’ said Scarlett, laughing, ‘but just let me know about any who aren’t and I’ll tell them they’re out of my club. Oh—’ she added, as a tall shadow fell across her view, briefly blotting out the sunset. ‘Oh, hello.’

The owner of the shadow looked at her blankly, and attempted a rather anxious smile.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Mr Frost. Good evening. Can we get you a drink? You remember Miss Scarlett, she was here last year at the same time as you. Excuse me. Larissa, can you get some vine leaves, perhaps, and some olives …’

‘I – well, of course, I—’ He looked increasingly bewildered.

Scarlett took pity on him, stood up, held out her hand.

‘Why should you remember? I was staying here, on my own, and so were you, but we overlapped by only one night. Scarlett Shaw.’

‘Ah. Well – yes, of course. How rude of me.’ He took her hand. ‘Mark Frost. How do you do, Miss Shaw?’

‘Please join me. I’m just chatting to Demetrios and Larissa.’

‘Oh – no, I couldn’t – that is, no I’m just passing – I—’

Since there was nowhere to pass from or to at the taverna, this was clearly a feeble attempt to escape; Scarlett felt quite sorry for him. He was so clearly excruciatingly shy, it would have been cruel to pursue the encounter. She would make her excuses and disappear to her room; but Demetrios had returned with a bottle of ouzo and four glasses.

‘There. We all drink together. Larissa will be back very soon. Mr Frost is building a house here, Miss Scarlett.’

‘Oh, so you are building it?’ said Scarlett, passing him the glass of ouzo, hoping it would help him feel better. She actually hated the stuff, sipping at it cautiously now so as not to offend Demetrios.

‘Yes,’ he said, clearly slightly baffled by her question, ‘yes, I am.’

‘I heard you were looking for somewhere to build,’ she said, ‘Demetrios told me, after you’d left last year.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s correct.’

‘And – is it going well?’

‘Yes. Very well.’

‘How near completion is it?’

‘Not very near. They are only just starting work now. So—’

‘Perhaps tomorrow, Mr Frost, you could show the house to Miss Scarlett.’

‘Oh – I don’t think—’ He looked as if Demetrios had suggested Scarlett did a striptease.

‘No, no, Demetrios,’ she said quickly, ‘you know I’m leaving first thing. But are you staying here while your house is being built, Mr Frost?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. Not all the time, of course. Just – just when I can get away.’

‘Of course.’

She smiled at him; he smiled back, very briefly, his whole persona transformed. He was, she realised, quite exceptionally good-looking in a kind of chiselled way; she had not properly absorbed that fact before, the height, the slenderness, and the floppy dark hair. What she had remembered were the unusually dark grey eyes looking warily out from the wire-framed spectacles. He was wearing a blue denim shirt with frayed jeans and washed-out-looking espadrilles; he was very tanned and when he did smile, his teeth were American-perfect. He could have been a film star.

‘So – where’s home?’

‘England,’ he said. Not a very detailed piece of information.

‘And you work in England?’

‘Yes. Most of the time.’

‘But – you obviously love Greece?’

‘Yes.’

Scarlett gave up. The thing about people as shy – or, to be precise, unforthcoming – as Mark Frost was that you couldn’t make any progress without asking endless questions, and that seemed, after a while, intrusive and impertinent.

‘Mr Frost found out about us through a friend,’ said Demetrios, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Is that right, Mr Frost?’

‘Yes. That’s right.’

‘His friend came here three years ago and he very kindly suggested Mr Frost came to see us.’

There was a silence; Larissa came back and started speaking very fast to Demetrios in Greek. After a few minutes, she stood up and beckoned to him to follow.

‘Excuse us,’ he said.

Left alone with Mark Frost, Scarlett felt quite panicky, then told herself she was being ridiculous and made one more attempt.

‘So, what do you do?’ she asked. ‘What sort of work are you in?’ Trainee Trappist monk perhaps?

‘Oh – I – I –’ there was a pause, then, ‘do research,’ he said as if suddenly alighting on an explanation.

‘Oh, really? Into what?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Well, I mean what sort of thing do you research?’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Well – geography, I suppose you could call it.’

‘So – are you a lecturer?’

‘Not exactly.’

He poured himself some more ouzo, offered the bottle to her. She shook her head. ‘No thank you.’

Another silence. Then, ‘Filthy stuff isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I observed you not drinking it. I don’t like it either, only drink it to please Demetrios. Shall we …?’ He looked over his shoulder into the house and then, confident of not being observed, tipped most of the bottle into one of the pots of budding geraniums.

‘Probably kill the poor things,’ he said, ‘but better them than us.’

Scarlett looked at him consideringly; he suddenly seemed a different person. ‘Indeed,’ she said.

‘So – you must like it here a lot. To come back.’

‘I absolutely love it. I was afraid it wasn’t as special as I remembered, but it was.’

‘I always fear the same thing,’ he said, not sounding in the least surprised, ‘but it always is.’

‘You must like it very much,’ said Scarlett, ‘to be building a house here.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, and lapsed back into total silence. After a minute or two, she decided her book would be more interesting and stood up.