Chapter 53
The first message had arrived from Tommy Kessler fifteen minutes earlier, whilst Nick had been on site at the just-purchased old watermill two miles outside Starbourne. A full refurbishment was required and he was in the middle of a meeting with the architect and the foreman of the team he’d be using to carry out the extensive work. The architect, whose name was Remy, had driven over from Foxwell to go through the plans he’d now finished drawing up.
Nick said, ‘Sorry, could you give me a sec?’ and skimmed the text on his phone, then felt his heart rate shoot up, probably along with his blood pressure.
‘Everything OK?’ said Remy.
‘Fine.’ He realised a muscle was jumping in his jaw, because this wasn’t fine at all. It was the polar opposite of fine. Bloody Tommy Kessler; and to think he’d liked him. What a sly, double-dealing lowlife he was turning out to be.
Hi, Nick, just a heads-up to let you know I’ve offered Nella her old job, so you don’t think I’m going behind your back. Yes, I suppose it’s headhunting, but then you headhunted her from the hotel she was working in, didn’t you? If you want someone, it’s the only way. All’s fair in love and business, right? Anyway, just letting you know she’s definitely interested and is likely to be asking how much notice she needs to give you before heading back up here. We’d both appreciate it if arrangements could be made as soon as possible. Cheers, mate.
Nick was inwardly seething. The nerve of the man. And no, he definitely wasn’t his mate; if Tommy Kessler was stupid enough to be expecting a reply, he could just fuck off.
He put his phone away and forced his attention back to the task in hand, until a few minutes later, when he felt the phone buzz in his pocket once more.
It was unprofessional, but he had to check. In a perfect world, the message would be from Nella, laughing off the completely ridiculous idea that she would want to return to Manchester to work with Tommy.
‘Two secs,’ he said.
The message was from Nella.
Asking him how much notice he’d need if she left.
That absolute bastard must have offered her whatever she wanted. Fuck fuck fuck .
The sun was beating down on Nick’s head. A trickle of perspiration slid down the back of his neck. He showed the other two men that he was switching off his phone this time, then said to Remy, ‘Sorry again. Right, please carry on.’
The meeting finally concluded an hour later. Nick’s phone was still switched off and tucked away in the back pocket of his jeans, but the words of the two messages had managed to burn themselves indelibly into his brain.
Had Nella already made up her mind to leave? It felt like betrayal, but far worse than that was the sense of loss that was already spiralling through his body. The thought of not seeing her any more was too much to take in. His feelings for her were off the scale, but after nearly giving in and declaring how he felt the evening Hugo had turned up with the DNA results, he’d held back from trying it again. Because ironically, the prospect of losing her was just unbearable. If he could be granted any wish in the world, it would be that they could be a proper couple, living and working together every day for as far as he could see into the future. He loved her, it was that simple. And now, after months of not making that move, he stood to lose her anyway.
Back in his car, he took out his mobile and sent her a message. No, he wasn’t going to do this in a phone call, not when he knew she was at the polo festival.
In a meeting. Talk later. Once you’ve dropped the Harrington party can you get down to the farm shop and buy six bunches of peonies. The Taylor-Greys say the roses in Hay Hall are drooping. (Pink peonies. Not white.)