Chapter 29
29
Bloody hell, I feel like I’ve just done ten rounds in a boxing ring. My eyes are still closed, but whatever I’m lying on is hard and seriously uncomfortable. I shift position slightly to try to relieve the pressure on my pelvis, only to have it transfer to another part of my body. I’m not in my bed at home, that’s for sure, so where the hell am I?
Cautiously, I crack open one eye a fraction. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling isn’t reassuring, and neither is the curtainless window. It must be early, because it’s still fairly dark outside. I can just make out the sound of someone moving around somewhere else in the building. My befuddled mind initially decides I’ve been kidnapped and I’m now a prisoner in some remote part of the country where nobody will ever find me, before I realise that I recognise the window frame as one of the ones I lovingly repainted in the summer; I’m in the cottage.
I sit up, surprised to discover that I’m wearing nothing except my bra and knickers. As I place my hand on my pillow, the reason for that becomes obvious; I’ve been resting my head on my clothes, which are in a messy pile. Alarmingly, there is another pile of clothes next to me, which I clearly recognise as Alasdair’s. Wrapping the blanket around me, I make my way over to the door and flip on the light switch, immediately having to shade my eyes from the glare of the bulb.
Once I become accustomed to the brightness, the view doesn’t get any better. Our mattress, if you can call it that, is just a pile of decorating blankets, with another couple of blankets on the top to form a makeshift duvet. No wonder I’m sore this morning. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to spend the night here?
As I stare at the rudimentary bed, snatches of the previous evening start to come back to me. Alasdair, full of his customary enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling as he tested out various plans and theories. At some point, a bottle of wine appeared, and then another. Did we eat? I think we must have done, because my stomach would be growling furiously this morning if we hadn’t, and my hangover, although not great, would be much worse if I’d drunk as much as I suspect I did without any food to soak it up. A memory of fish and chips swims lazily into my head, along with an image of Dave and Brooke. Were they there? I guess they must have been, for part of it at least.
‘Ah, you’re awake,’ Alasdair says, strolling nonchalantly into the room in his boxer shorts, carrying two mugs. ‘I’ve made you a coffee. Did you sleep OK? I’ve had better nights myself.’
‘What on earth are we doing here?’ I ask him.
‘Don’t you remember? It was your idea, actually. We’d both had a bit of a skinful so I suggested getting a taxi and booking into a local hotel for the night, only there weren’t any taxis or hotel rooms available because we’re so far from civilisation. So you suggested we camp out here. I don’t know about you, but my boy scout days are a long way behind me. Give me a proper bed, preferably made up with high thread count Egyptian cotton, any day of the week. Still, at least we’re awake early. We need to get to Tenterden before your friend George shows up.’
‘Hang on, Alasdair, slow down. Are you saying you invited me to spend the night with you, and I accepted ?’ I think about my state of undress under the blanket. ‘Did we…?’ I ask in horrified tones.
‘No, relax.’ He smiles. ‘It was purely platonic. Nothing happened. I mean, we kissed a bit, but nothing more than that.’
‘Oh, God.’ I feel absolutely mortified. ‘Did I come on to you? I’m so sorry.’
‘You didn’t come on to me as such. You were a few sheets to the wind, and wondering out loud about whether George had run away because you kissed weirdly – apparently Rebecca had planted that seed of doubt in your head – so you asked to kiss me to check if you were all right.’
Another vague memory surfaces. ‘And was I?’
‘You were fine, as you always were. You’re a great kisser, Thea.’
‘But that was it? You’re sure there was nothing more?’
‘Positive. We came back here, had a laugh trying to find enough stuff to make a bed out of, and then went to sleep. I don’t think either of us were in a fit state to do any more, and even if we had been, I knew you would have regretted it this morning.’
‘Phew,’ I exhale with relief.
‘Thanks a lot!’ he says, mock-affronted.
‘I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’re right. I would have felt horribly guilty if we had. It would have made talking to George really difficult. “Hey, George, I think you might be the man of my dreams, which is why I shagged my bestie last night.”’
‘You’re all good. If it’s any consolation, it was clear to me from your drunken rambling that this George has got under your skin, so there was a real risk you might have called out his name in the throes of passion by mistake. I like to think I’m a fairly confident guy and a decent enough lover, but that would put a serious dent even in my ego. Emailgate was bad enough.’
‘It was only the one time, and we laughed about it afterwards, if I remember correctly.’
‘Yes, but even so. Anyway, you’d better drink your coffee, splash some water on your face and get dressed. We need to get going if we’re going to get there before him.’
‘Remind me what the plan is?’
‘We’re going to stake out the industrial unit where his fabled traction engine is, remember?’
‘That’s a terrible plan!’ I exclaim. ‘How drunk were we when we came up with that one?’
‘What’s so terrible about it?’
‘He’s avoiding me, remember? He’s not going to be there.’
‘Of course he is. We talked about this. He wasn’t there yesterday because he was avoiding you. But his mate, what’s his name?’
‘Trevor.’
‘Trevor will have told him that you came in and collected the letter. So he’ll be confident that you’ve got the message and won’t be coming back, ergo he will turn up today.’
‘What if he doesn’t?’
‘Then you’re on your own. I’m off to New York for two weeks tomorrow.’
‘OK, let’s assume he does turn up. Then what?’
Alasdair looks thoughtful for a moment. ‘I don’t think we got that far. Let’s deal with that when we get there. I’ll drive.’
‘Why do men always assume they’re going to drive?’ I ask crossly. ‘I’m quite capable, you know.’
‘Calm down, Emmeline Pankhurst, it’s nothing to do with sexism. I’m driving because he’ll probably recognise your car, but he hasn’t seen mine before.’
‘Oh, good point,’ I concede, annoyed with myself for jumping down his throat so quickly.
It’s a little after eight o’clock when we pull up outside the industrial unit. Alasdair fusses about, trying various parking locations until he’s satisfied that he’s found one where we can observe the entrance without being conspicuous ourselves.
‘Now what?’ I ask him as he settles back in his seat.
‘Now we wait.’ He turns the radio on low and pulls a pair of sunglasses out of the glovebox, handing them to me.
‘I don’t need sunglasses, it’s barely light,’ I tell him.
‘They’re for disguise,’ he explains. ‘If George should happen to glance this way, we don’t want him to recognise you.’
I feel vaguely ridiculous as I slip them on, but I have to admire Alasdair’s attention to detail. The radio programme is some kind of phone-in on the subject of immigration, and the participants are gradually winding themselves up with increasingly xenophobic remarks.
‘We have activity,’ Alasdair murmurs happily as a silver BMW pulls up outside the unit around thirty minutes later. I think he’s honestly having the time of his life.
‘That’s not him,’ I tell him as a man gets out of the car and walks towards the door, carrying a big bunch of keys. ‘That’s Trevor.’
‘Eagle Two is in the nest,’ he states once Trevor has unlocked the door and disappeared inside. ‘Hopefully, Eagle One is inbound.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘I’ve given them code names. Eagles one to four. Just thought it would make it more exciting. George is Eagle One, obviously. Look sharp; we have another arrival.’
‘That’s him,’ I say excitedly as George climbs out of his slightly weatherbeaten Honda. He gazes around carefully before making for the door, but thankfully doesn’t spot us.
‘The young gazelle sniffs the early-morning air carefully,’ Alasdair whispers, trying to sound like David Attenborough. ‘Danger is all around in the Serengeti, and the long grass could be concealing any number of predators. If he picks up the slightest scent, he’ll be off.’
Evidently satisfied that everything is as it should be, George disappears through the door into the unit.
‘And Eagle One is in the nest,’ Alasdair observes. ‘I’ll give you credit for one thing – you’ve got taste. He’s a good-looking guy.’
‘Right. Time to confront him,’ I say, reaching for the door handle.
‘No.’ Alasdair’s grip on my arm is surprisingly firm.
‘Why not?’
‘Because, not to put too fine a point on it, right now you look like the ghost of Christmas past and you don’t smell much better. We know where he is and he’s not going anywhere, is he? He’ll be there for the whole day, so we’re going to use the time wisely. Let’s go back to yours, get showered and then I’ll take you out for a slap-up breakfast so we can get rid of the last vestiges of hangover and plan what to do next. I take it you do normally live somewhere a little more furnished than your mill?’
‘I’m currently staying with Mum and Phil.’
‘Good. Let’s go there then.’
As I give him the postcode for the satnav, the folly of what I’m about to do hits me. By now, Mum and Phil will have realised that I didn’t come home last night. It’s Sunday morning, so Rebecca will probably still be at Ben’s, but Saffy might be there. Pitching up with a strange man is going to set their tongues wagging from here to next week unless I have a plausible explanation.
‘If anyone asks, we stayed in a hotel last night,’ I tell Alasdair. ‘Very much separate rooms.’
‘Why would we look and smell like death warmed up if we’d stayed in a hotel?’ he asks. ‘Also, wouldn’t we have had breakfast there?’
‘You’re right. Shit.’
‘Are you ashamed of me?’ His tone is curious rather than reproachful.
‘No, of course not. I’m just trying to stop my family reading more into this than there is.’
‘Personally, and maybe it’s because I’m still a lawyer, I find the truth is generally the easiest option. I’m an old friend, which is true. We can leave out the fuck-buddy bit if you like. I haven’t been in contact because it wasn’t allowed under the terms of your gardening leave, but I came down to visit you, we ended up having a bit too much to drink and sleeping it off in your cottage. What is there to read into that?’
‘The way you say it, nothing. I just have no confidence in the way they’ll interpret it.’
‘I’ll turn on the old Alasdair charm. They’ll be eating out of my hand in no time, just you wait and see.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’ll see a charming, handsome male and instantly decide to marry me off to you.’
‘Handsome?’ He grins.
‘Behave.’
He glances at me. ‘You’re a curious mixture these days, Thearless.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘When we were in London, you used to take work, your career and your life very seriously, but the one thing you never gave a damn about was what other people thought of you. That was one of the things I found most attractive about you. Now, your career appears to be more of a hobby thing, but you’re desperately anxious socially.’
‘No, I’m not! Wait a minute, are you saying you no longer think I’m attractive?’
‘Does it matter whether I find you attractive or not?’
I’m just about to reply that of course it does when I see the trap he’s laid. If I tell him his opinion matters, I’m playing into his observation that I care too much what other people think. If I say his opinion isn’t important, he can throw my previous question straight back at me to suggest I’m lying. Come on, Thea, you used to be better at verbal sparring than this.
‘When I woke up this morning, I noticed that I wasn’t wearing a top,’ I tell him after thinking for a while.
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘Or my trousers.’
‘That sounds right. People normally undress when they go to bed.’
‘So I stripped down to my underwear. Was the light on?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t risk you falling over something. What’s your point?’
‘Enjoy the view, did you?’
I smile triumphantly as he turns puce. Never underestimate my ability to come for you from an angle you never even considered. I may be nine months out of the cut and thrust of law, but I’ve still got it.