The Long Weekend (26 page)

Of course Luca belonged to Claire. Of course he did.

Colin and Chelsey were the first customers in Au Bord de la Mer that morning. It was a children’s boutique whose charming window displays winkled money out of the pockets of the stingiest of parents. And if there was one thing Colin wasn’t, it was stingy.

‘I want a complete wardrobe makeover,’ he told the delighted assistant. ‘She’s grown out of everything recently. Could you take charge?’

Soon Chelsey was installed in the changing room, which was done out like a mermaid’s grotto, while the assistant brought her everything the shop had to offer in her size. Colin sat in the big leather armchair that had been thoughtfully provided for bored husbands and read the paper. From time to time he looked up as a new outfit was brought out for his approval. Gradually, the purchase pile grew higher and higher.

He bought her jeans with rolled-up cuffs, and a velour hoodie with stars all over it, and several cute T-shirts, a polka-dot mac; a pair of flowery wellingtons and some sneakers with velvet laces. A red-and-white striped dress, a swimsuit with an anchor on the front, and a softer-than-soft cardigan with candy-coloured buttons.

‘Do you want to wear some of this now?’ he asked her, and when she said yes eagerly, the assistant put the clothes she’d been wearing into a bag, and he had to resist the urge to ask her to put them in the bin. And then Chelsey stood in front of him, in the jeans and a T-shirt with a monkey on the front, and her sneakers, and she looked beautiful, he thought, not nearly so podgy. Like a proper little girl on holiday. She did need her hair cut, though; it was very long and straggly. But that could wait.

He paid in cash. He paid for everything in cash when he had his weekends with Karen and Chelsey. He didn’t want to leave a paper trail.

He wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer.

The six stags made their way through the centre of Pennfleet, their unexpected morning tipple filling them with
joie de vivre
. They stopped off at the bakery for pasties and doughnuts and the Spar shop for beer, bantering and laughing. The sun shone down on them, promising magic and fun. A glorious
Boys’ Own
day spent on the water – who could ask for more? They earned admiring glances from girls and women passing them in the street – a bevy of attractive thirty-something men on a mission.

As they turned the corner to the harbour, Gus stopped in his tracks.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I’ve left my mobile in the room.’

‘Don’t worry about it. You don’t need your phone. We won’t even have a signal,’ Nick pointed out.

‘No – I feel lost without it. I won’t be a minute – catch up with you on the pontoon.’

He turned and jogged his way back to the hotel.

He had to do something about this situation. He could see that Nick’s heart wasn’t in today’s adventure; that his mind was elsewhere. None of the others had noticed, because they were too wrapped up in the excitement, but Gus could sense that Nick was on edge.

He had seen Nick’s face when Claire and Luca announced their engagement. He had also seen Claire and Nick exchange glances. Albeit for a fleeting moment, but there was no denying their complicity. Her unspoken message had been a plea for help. And then Nick had walked out of the hotel, unable to bear the tension, and Gus had gone after him.

‘What am I supposed to do now?’ Nick asked, his jaw clenched tighter than tight.

‘Forget her,’ Gus told him, and the look of disgust Nick gave him made him shrivel inside.

‘She doesn’t want to marry that wanker. I know she doesn’t,’ he said.

He really was bewitched, thought Gus. He had to do something to break the spell.

So now here he was, hurrying back to the Townhouse with the mad idea of talking to Claire, even though he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

When he got to the hotel, it had quietened down considerably: the glasses had been cleared away, although the extravagant flowers and the helium balloons still denoted a celebration.

‘I need to speak to Miss Marlowe,’ Gus told the receptionist. ‘It’s rather urgent.’

‘She’s going out for the day,’ Angelica replied. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘Not really. It doesn’t matter.’ Shit. He was too late. He backed away from the reception desk, smiling. ‘Thanks anyway.’

And he turned and bumped straight into her. She was dressed in white shorts and a blue-and-white striped T-shirt and blue espadrilles, a straw basket over one arm.

‘I know you’re going out,’ said Gus, ‘but could I have a word?’

Claire hesitated. Luca was on his way down; they were meeting Trevor and Monique any moment.

‘Of course,’ she said, the consummate professional. ‘Shall we pop into my office?’

She led the way. Gus followed. He flicked his eyes around the little room, with its flat-screen computer, neat files and wall charts. The centre of operations from where she controlled her empire. She really was terribly pretty, thought Gus, with that tumbling hair and those greeny-blue eyes and her Elizabeth Taylor eyebrows. Not chocolate-box pretty like Sophie, but compellingly pretty; a pretty that crept up on you. He could certainly see the attraction.

She looked at him quizzically, and he realised he was staring.

‘I need to talk to you.’

‘Of course.’ Claire gave him her most professional smile. ‘Is it about tonight’s dinner? Luca’s put together the most amazing menu, but obviously if there’s anything you’d like us to organise . . .?’ She laughed. ‘I don’t mean stripper-grams or anything – we don’t really have that sort of thing in Pennfleet.’

‘It’s not about the dinner.’ Gus looked awkward. ‘It’s about Nick.’

Claire looked wary.

‘This is very embarrassing.’ Gus scratched at his curls, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world. ‘He told me. About the two of you.’

‘I see.’ Claire folded her arms.

‘I know it’s awfully bad timing. And I know that seeing you again has totally rocked him. Knocked him off his perch, to be honest. I’ve never seen him like this. Obviously, it’s a hideous coincidence that we booked in here . . .’

‘As coincidences go, it’s up there,’ agreed Claire. ‘But it’s happened.’

‘I know,’ said Gus. ‘But you have to pretend it hasn’t.’

Those Liz Taylor eyebrows went up.’

‘He’s got to marry Sophie next weekend,’ he went on fervently. ‘If he calls the wedding off, he’ll break her heart. They’re made for each other. Honestly, if you could see them together . . .’

Gus trailed off, distressed.

‘I’m sure,’ said Claire. ‘Frankly, the whole thing’s been a shock for both of us. Neither of us knows what to think.’

‘
Nick
seems to think . . .’

‘What?’

‘That you’re the love of his life. That now he’s found you again, he can’t let you go. That he can’t go ahead with the wedding. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to interfere.’

‘You’re just doing your job,’ said Claire. ‘You’re his best man. It’s your duty to make sure he gets up the aisle.’

‘I didn’t think it was going to be this complicated.’

‘No . . .’

Claire looked away, biting her lip, her body language still defensive. ‘Look, I don’t know what to think. We need to talk. But I don’t know how we can. It’s very difficult. What with . . .’ She waved a hand in the air helplessly.

‘What with you getting engaged and all?’ suggested Gus.

Claire looked down at her ring.

‘You couldn’t make it up, could you?’

There was an awkward silence.

‘There’s over a hundred guests turning up on Saturday. And they’re due to exchange on a flat later this week.’ Gus paused, then went in for the kill. ‘Sophie’s giving up her job after the honeymoon. She wants to start a family. Did Nick tell you that?’

He hadn’t. And the revelation eviscerated Claire more than she had thought possible.

‘Look.’ Gus held out his iPhone. On it was displayed a picture of Nick and, presumably, Sophie, their arms around each other, beaming at the photographer. They were at a party – he was dishevelled, his black tie undone; she was still ravishingly perfect in a turquoise evening dress. That they were blissfully content was obvious. Claire could see they belonged to each other. Sophie was just the sort of girl who would marry into the Barnes family. The perfect, leggy, Sloaney blonde. The sort of girl who had featured recurrently in the Barnes photo montages. The sort of girl Claire never would be.

She felt a sudden burst of anger and pushed his hand away. She didn’t want to look at their togetherness a moment longer.

‘Look, I didn’t ask you to barge into my hotel with his entourage. It’s a complete nightmare, but we can’t just pretend it hasn’t happened. It’s pretty momentous, for both of us. So bloody well leave us alone to sort it out for ourselves, will you?’

Christ, she was gorgeous when she was angry, those eyes flashing fire. Gus had got a real sense of her passion now. She had seemed like such a cool customer before. He realised he had to calm her down.

‘I know, I know. And I’m sorry. I had no idea, obviously. And it’s because I feel guilty that I was instrumental that I’m trying to sort it out.’ Gus’s tone was placatory. ‘Can’t you just . . . be happy for him? And be happy yourself? Leave things as they are? Like they would have been if I hadn’t been dumb enough to book this place?’

‘It’s not that simple, is it?’

‘Why not?’ Gus gazed at her, his eyes wide. ‘Surely that way nobody gets hurt?’

Claire turned to the window and looked out. He had no idea about hurt. She’d had more than her fair share of it – more than anyone deserved in one lifetime. And just as the pain was fading, the wounds had been opened again.

‘Let him go, Claire.’ Gus’s voice was low and pleading. ‘Just pretend he never walked in here. You’ve got your future, with Luca. How would
he
feel if you broke it off?’

‘I don’t know . . .’ Claire realised she hadn’t really thought beyond Luca’s initial fury. His reaction would be explosive, volatile, because he was an alpha male filled with pride. How he would feel deep down, she didn’t know. Did he really love her? A proper, profound, wholesome love that would endure? There were so many questions, questions she couldn’t answer.

To her horror, she realised that there was a tear trickling down her cheek.

‘Oh shit,’ said Gus. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

He stepped forward, not sure what to do, whether to console her by putting an arm round her. Her body language told him to stay away.

‘Actually,’ she said. ‘I think you should mind your own business. Nick and I go back further than anyone – you or Sophie or Luca. So it’s up to us to figure it out. Wouldn’t you say?’

She tipped her chin up defiantly, her voice trembling, not feeling any of the assertiveness she was trying to put across.

‘Okay,’ said Gus. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just making it more difficult. But Sophie isn’t here to speak for herself—’

‘I don’t care about bloody Sophie!’ Claire’s voice was harsh. ‘Because do you know what? Life isn’t always fair. And she might have to learn that the hard way.’

Gus looked appalled.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘If that’s how you feel. Forget I said anything.’ He turned to walk out of the office. ‘I just hope you think about what will happen if you fuck everything up. Because it’s not just about you.’

Claire looked at him evenly.

‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘it has to be. Sometimes we have to be selfish. Don’t you think?’

She stepped closer to him, and Gus could feel the force of her passion yet again.

‘What if we do the “right thing”? What if Nick marries Sophie, and I marry Luca, but then we both spend the rest of our lives in love with someone else, wishing we’d had the courage of our convictions? What’s the point of that? How is that the “right thing”?’

Gus very much wished he had kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t really used to dealing with this level of emotion. Why had he gone steaming in?

Because he cared about Sophie, that was why. Because he couldn’t bear to think of her broken heart if Nick cancelled the wedding. Because he believed in Sophie and Nick as a couple. Because they were the real deal. They were right together. Nick was being distracted by some teenage fantasy. He’d built Claire up into something more important than she was. And as long as he was able to feed himself on her, he would prolong the agony.

Maybe he should call Sophie? Get her to come down and talk some sense into Nick? No, that was crazy. That was dragging her into the mess when she should be enjoying her hen weekend. He needed to contain the situation, not compound it.

Claire was still staring at him, her eyes stormy, as dangerous as the sea in a force-ten gale. What could he say?

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s none of my business. Except they are my friends and I care about them. And the clock’s ticking, Claire. If Nick’s going to bail out, he needs to do it sooner rather than later. So we can tell the vicar. So we can tell the guests who are out there choosing outfits and buying presents not to bother. So we can tell the caterers to cancel the smoked salmon blinis and the bloody mini profiteroles—’

Claire didn’t need to hear any more. She cut through him.

‘I’ve arranged enough weddings here to understand the practical implications, thank you very much.’ She was crisp. Businesslike. Unemotional. She had closed down completely. She gave Gus a bright, fixed smile. ‘I hope you have a good day, and we look forward to seeing you at dinner.’

She strode across the room and pulled open the office door. Luca was standing outside, looking lean and tanned in faded jeans and a sea-green polo shirt.

It was anyone’s guess how long he had been listening.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked with a dazzling smile. ‘Are you ready, darling? The Parfitts are waiting.’ He turned to Gus, the picture of charm. ‘We’ll see you tonight – we’ll put you on the terrace if the weather holds.’

Gus managed a weak smile and a nod of thanks.

‘Have a great day,’ he said, and scarpered as quickly as he could.

Claire slumped back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. She’d handled that really badly. Come across as a card-carrying bitch, in fact.