Chapter 27
27
Saturday and still not a peep out of George. I’m actually a little irritated with him now; how dare he make this all about him, as if I was just a passive object he unwittingly kissed? Don’t my feelings deserve to be taken into account too? Still, as Rebecca said, there’s no doubt where he’ll be today, so I’m on my way to Tenterden to confront him.
Despite being a little distracted by the whole George thing, we have made progress on going through Ben and Rebecca’s plans, and I am gradually starting to come round to the idea. The way they see it is that Ben will be the animal expert, I’ll be in charge of the milling, and Rebecca will sort out the soft play and the gift shop. We have no idea who’s going to run the café yet, but they’ve made a start on putting together our application to the council based on Ben’s original plans with a few updates. I’ve made it clear that I’m not totally sold yet, but I’m happy to explore the idea a bit further. I think, for me, the thing that has reassured me the most about it is that we still have the mill and the land if it all goes wrong and, although we’d probably have to sell it at a loss, we should still get enough to revert to a slimmed-down property development scheme if we needed to.
My heart is banging in my chest as I pull up outside the industrial unit where George’s traction engine lives. Although I’ve rehearsed this moment several times in my head, the reality of what I’m about to do is just beginning to sink in. If I make a complete fool of myself, it won’t just be in front of George, but presumably his friends as well. I’m just about to get out of the car when my phone pings with a message. I grab it eagerly, as I have done every time it’s made even the slightest chirp since Monday, hoping that George has finally decided to get in touch, but to my surprise the message is from Alasdair.
9 months quarantine is officially over and we’re allowed to talk again!!! Just been to your house with flowers and champagne to celebrate, but the door was opened by a very angry man who accused me of having designs on his wife! Took a bit of straightening out. Anyway, where are you? Champagne is starting to get warm… Ax
I stare at the message for a few minutes, trying to think how I feel about it. On the one hand, it’s nice to hear from Alasdair, and to know that he hasn’t forgotten me, but I also feel a tinge of annoyance that he’s just rocked up with flowers and champagne, presumably expecting that I’d let him in and we’d just pick up as if nothing had changed. Knowing him, he was probably expecting sex. To be fair to him, I probably would have been up for that if it wasn’t for George. That’s enough to re-focus me and I slip my phone back into my bag and open the door. Alasdair will have to wait; I’ve got more important things to deal with right now.
There’s a surprising amount of activity going on when I slip through the door of the industrial unit. Two guys are applying black paint to some part of the traction engine, and there’s a regular metallic clanging coming from the other side. Neither of the two guys I can see is George, and they obviously haven’t heard me over the din.
‘Hello?’ I call, but my voice is lost in the noise, so I slowly approach the guys who are painting. They have their backs to me but, once I reckon I’m close enough to be heard over the clanging, I try again.
‘Hello?’
‘Bloody hell!’ one of the guys exclaims, whirling round. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Sorry. I did call from by the door but you obviously couldn’t hear.’
‘I know,’ he says, softening his tone. ‘It’s enough to give anyone a headache.’ He raises his voice and bellows, ‘Oi, Bob! Knock it off for a minute, will you?’
The clanging stops, much to my relief.
‘So, can I help you with something?’ the man asks.
‘I was looking for George. Is he here?’
The man studies me for a moment. ‘Are you Thea?’ he asks.
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘I’m Trevor,’ he says, holding out a paint-spattered hand. ‘George isn’t here today, but he left something for you.’ Once again, he raises his voice. ‘Bob, where’s the letter George gave you?’ he calls.
‘On the desk in the office,’ a voice replies.
‘Come with me, I’ll show you,’ Trevor offers, leading the way across the unit to a small office. Inside, there’s a rickety-looking desk covered in messy stacks of paper and a swivel chair that’s definitely seen better days.
‘It should be here somewhere,’ Trevor tells me, beginning to leaf through one of the stacks. ‘Ah, here we go.’ He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. On the front, in George’s neat handwriting, is my name.
‘Look,’ Trevor says carefully. ‘I don’t know what’s going on between you and George, and I don’t need to know. What I will say is that I’ve never seen him this upset before, and I’ve known him for a long time. If he’s done something to hurt you, then you must do whatever you need to do, but I just hope, for all our sakes, that this is a misunderstanding.’
‘Don’t worry, he hasn’t done anything wrong,’ I tell him. ‘Which is why I’m struggling to understand why he’s so obviously avoiding me.’
‘Let’s hope that letter will help to clear things up then,’ he replies. ‘Whatever’s happened, I think you can be sure he’s very sorry for his part in it.’
I sigh. ‘Thanks, Trevor.’
‘No worries. Would you like to read it before you go? I can make you a cup of tea or something if you’d like.’
‘No. That’s kind but I think I’ll head off. Thanks anyway.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I don’t want to sit outside the unit reading whatever George has written, so in the end I drive into Tenterden and find a coffee shop. Settling myself at a table with a flat white and a fortifying slice of carrot cake, I pull the envelope out of the bag, open it and start to read the contents.
Dear Thea,
If you’re reading this letter, it means you came to find me. I’m sorry that I’m too much of a coward to face you, but I’m so ashamed of myself that I couldn’t bear to have this conversation face to face.
What I did was wrong. I know that, and I can’t express how sorry I am for losing control of myself when you were vulnerable. Our relationship is a professional one and, despite being attracted to you, I’ve worked hard to make sure I kept within the proper boundaries: My role is to help you with the mill and advise you in line with HIBT guidelines. What happened in the barn was unprofessional, unethical and a serious breach of the trust you have put in me, and if you wish to put a complaint in about my behaviour, I would completely understand.
‘Why would I want to put in a complaint, you idiot?’ I murmur out loud. ‘It was me that started it, or have you forgotten that?’
In light of what’s happened, I have asked Charlotte to transfer me onto other projects, as I obviously cannot continue with the mill. I wish you every success with it, and once again I’m truly, truly sorry for such an appalling breach of conduct.
Yours
George
I read the letter several times, picking out different parts each time. The fact that he felt the attraction too ought to buoy me up, but the rest of it just makes me feel sad and cross that he didn’t feel he could talk to me face to face so we could have straightened this out. In many ways, I’m no further forward, but his actions have made it clear that he doesn’t want to see me, so maybe I should just let him go.
I’m in a sombre mood as I walk back to the car, and I nearly miss the ping indicating that I’ve got a new message on my phone. Knowing for certain now that it won’t be George, I almost don’t bother to read it. It’s Alasdair again.
Are you there? Or have you changed phone numbers as well as addresses? Are you in witness protection? Ax
At least talking to Alasdair will take my mind off the mess with George, I suppose. Once I’m in the car, I call him.
‘Thea!’ he answers in his typically enthusiastic voice. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen off the end of the earth.’
‘Not quite,’ I tell him.
‘Nine months to the day. I’ve had a countdown set on my phone. How is it out there in the big bad world? More importantly, which bit of the big bad world are you in? I was a bit surprised to find you’d sold your house. You loved that place.’
‘Whoa, slow down,’ I tell him. He is cheering me up at least. ‘I’m not a corporate lawyer any more; I can only handle one question at a time.’
‘Sorry, it’s just that I’ve missed you and I’ve been really looking forward to catching up. Let’s start with where you are, if you’re allowed to tell me.’
‘I’m not in witness protection, so it’s fine. I’m in Kent.’
‘Kent? What’s there?’
‘A long story. Do you remember my friend Rebecca?’
‘The one John Curbishley knocked up?’
‘A little crude, Alasdair, but that’s her. We had this mad property development idea, sold up and are the current proud owners of a watermill and ten acres of land in Kent.’
‘A watermill? What the hell would you want with a watermill?’
‘A question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately, strangely. We were going to convert it into a sumptuous family home and sell it on for a fat profit, but now it looks like we might be going to open it as a tourist attraction.’
‘Sorry, none of this makes sense. Well, the words make sense, but they don’t tally with the Thea I thought I knew. Are you having some kind of breakdown? An early mid-life crisis? I mean, it’s one thing to give up a partnership at one of the most prestigious law firms in the country, but this is next-level extreme. Do I need to stage an intervention?’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘It doesn’t sound like it. Left to your own devices, I worry you’re going to turn into one of those weirdos who gets off on standing in the corners of rooms in National Trust buildings, hissing at people not to touch stuff. Give me the postcode. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Really, Alasdair, there’s no need.’
‘There’s every need. You patently need saving from yourself, Thea, and that’s what I’m coming to do. Oh, and also because I have an expensive bottle of fizz with your name on it. You haven’t mysteriously sprouted a husband and five adorable kids dressed in matching gingham frocks in the last nine months, have you?’
‘Even I’m not that fast.’
‘Good, because I’d be having a word with the fucker if you had. One of the finest legal minds in the land, running a sodding watermill? God help us all. Postcode, please.’
In spite of myself, I’m smiling as I give him the address of the mill. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed talking to Alasdair. His straightforward, no-nonsense approach to life might be just what I need right now. And, given that George has staged a disappearing act just at the point things were starting to get interesting, maybe some straightforward, no-nonsense sex will help me to get some perspective and cheer me up as well. Unfortunately, just as my libido starts to wake up, I realise that might prove tricky; Mum and Phil’s is out as they’ll be there and I don’t want to have to explain Alasdair to them, let alone run the risk of them overhearing anything. The mill is the other obvious place, but there’s no furniture or anything there. For a moment, I allow myself to contemplate spreading a blanket over some hay bales in the barn, before glancing at the outside temperature display in the car and seeing that it’s five degrees and we’ll freeze to death, assuming someone doesn’t come along and catch us in the act first. I’m open minded about al fresco sex, but not when it comes with a side helping of pneumonia and a hint of arrest for indecent exposure. Perhaps it’s for the best; I don’t want Alasdair to think he can just waltz in and pick up exactly where we left off, particularly while there’s the faintest chance of sorting things out with George.
Thinking of George again makes me realise that Alasdair has at least taken my mind off the whole sorry mess we’re in, for now at least.