Chapter 35
MAGGIE SMELLED CIGARETTE SMOKE as soon as she walked into the kitchen.
She stuck her head through the back door. ‘Audrey? Can I have a wor— What are they doing?’
Beyond the vegetable patch, Gray and Jamie were running on the spot. Or at least, Gray was running on the spot, arms pumping either side of him. Jamie looked more like he was skipping but, every few seconds, exhausted, he paused and bent over, dangling his arms towards the ground.
From under the apricot tree, bemused by this display, Paul and Ringo stood watching.
Audrey exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. ‘Gray said ’e wanted to train and Jamie asked if he could too because he wants to get in shape and show off ’is muscles to Louis.’ She made a scornful noise. ‘But ’e is not very good.’
‘No,’ murmured Maggie, as she heard Jamie swear. ‘No, I don’t think he’s very fit. Certainly not as fit as our American friend.’
Gray started lunging, stepping one leg in front of him before pushing back again. With every step, his shorts rode up, revealing several inches of tanned, taut thigh, and both women watched in silence until he looked up and waved.
Maggie quickly waved back, embarrassed that he’d caught her staring.
‘Audrey,’ she said, looking away and sitting on the other end of the bench, trying to sound commanding. ‘Audrey, I have some news.’
‘ Oui ?’ Audrey said, her eyes remaining on Gray, before taking another drag of her cigarette.
‘I’ve just been to see Georges because, the thing is, Audrey, I’ve accepted an offer on the hotel.’
Audrey’s head snapped away from Gray and her eyes welled up. ‘You ’ave sold it?’
‘It’s technically under offer, not sold yet but, yes, oh, Audrey, don’t cry. I’m sorry. But this is the only wa—’
‘Who ees eet?’
‘The buyer? The man who came and had a look around last week. But he’s a hotelier, so he’s going to keep running it as a hotel.’
Audrey let out a small sob. ‘This is a big moment for me.’
‘No, I know. I know it is. But what I was thinking was, if you agree … hang on, I’ll get a tissue.’
Maggie ducked back into the kitchen, pulled off a handful of kitchen roll, then resumed her seat on the bench, turning to face Audrey so Gray wouldn’t think she was watching him. She felt oddly aware of his proximity, and his shorts.
‘Here you go. And what I was thinking, Audrey, what I can say to Bob Lacey, he’s the man buying it, I can say to him that he has to keep you on.’
Audrey blew her nose again, then wiped under each eye, leaving dark smears of mascara over her cheeks.
‘It would make sense, to keep you on,’ Maggie persevered. ‘You know this place better than anyone.’
‘Not better than Madame Phil!’ Audrey wailed. ‘I miss ’er so much.’
‘No, I know. Me too. But in her, er, absence, I really think this is the best way forward. It needs someone who can take it on, spend some money on it, to preserve it. That’s what Phil would have wanted, someone who loves this place as much as she did.’ Maggie tried to sound as confident as she could, for both their sakes. She wasn’t making a mistake; this was the right call.
‘But ’ow do you know this man loves it so much?’ Audrey blew her nose into the kitchen roll and made a noise like a wet trumpet.
‘Well, er, let’s see, he seemed very taken with it when he came round, and he’s made a good offer. And he wants to move quickly so that nobody else has the chance to swoop in.’
‘’Ow quickly?’
‘Two weeks …’
Audrey’s mouth opened to let out another wail so Maggie continued talking.
‘… which is fast, but I think achievable if we start packing up this week, and I’d love your help with that. I want you to take whatever you want from Phil’s room, and any furniture.’
Audrey’s shoulders were heaving up and down as she sobbed into the tissue.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘But … but … but … what will ’appen to Paul and Ringo?’
Maggie looked towards the donkeys. ‘I don’t know; that’s on my list of things to sort out.’
Audrey whimpered and Maggie was about to slide her arm around her shoulders when she heard the doorbell.
Grateful for the distraction, she hurried to the front door to find a man in jeans and a t-shirt there, with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder.
‘Hello,’ he said, with a very English accent and an ingratiating smile. ‘I hope you don’t mind my showing up without a booking but I wondered if there was any chance of a room for a few nights?’
‘Er …’
‘The hotel is still open? Someone in the village said that it was.’
‘We’re sort of open, but it’s all a bit cha—’
‘It’s just me, for a couple of nights. I was going to stay in an Airbnb nearby only they’ve cancelled it.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, and well, uh …’ Maggie thought. Did she really need a guest to think about while she started packing up the place? And dealt with Audrey?
‘I’ve heard so much about this place,’ he persisted. ‘My parents came to stay here years ago and they’ve talked about it so often, and so fondly.’
She smiled, relenting because he didn’t seem like the sort of guest who would cause trouble. He sounded like a BBC newsreader. ‘Go on then, if it’s just for a couple of nights, no problem.’ She stepped aside to let him into the hallway, then carried on talking to cover up the sound of Audrey crying from the kitchen. ‘It’s in a slight, er, state of flux at the moment so you’ll have to forgive us.’
‘Am I the only guest?’
‘You and one other. Can I take your name and take your passport?’
‘Of course. Here you go. And it’s David, David Donovan.’
Maggie took his passport and jotted down his details, then turned to the keys behind her and reached for a set. ‘I’ll put you in Iris, third floor, just turn right at the top of the stairs.’
‘Fabulous, this is tremendously kind of you. And I might need to do a spot of work while I’m here, so is there Wi-Fi?’
‘Yes, ’course. Can be a bit hit and miss from upstairs but you can always work in our bar, and the password’s lefiguier, all lowercase.’
‘Terrific.’
‘Dinner’s served at eight and …’ Maggie paused as her phone vibrated in her hand; her mother was calling, ‘lunch will be laid out in the dining room from one.’
‘You get that,’ David said, nodding at her mobile. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way.’
She smiled and lifted the phone to her ear.
‘Margaret?’ Veronica said shrilly.
‘Hi, Mum, hang on, just going outside.’ Maggie waved the guest upstairs, then moved back through the kitchen, where Audrey was rinsing her coffee mug, still crying, and sat down on the bench outside.
‘Margaret, how are you feeling?’
‘Me?’ Maggie asked, as she lifted her face to the sunshine. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I spoke to Mungo this morning and he tells me you’ve accepted an offer.’
Her eyes snapped open. Mungo had been close to her mother, close to both her parents, since he’d asked their permission to marry her eight years earlier. Maggie had loved it at first; having a fiancé and parents who got on so well was the dream. Mungo played golf with her father and talked interiors with her mother, and having him around made seeing her parents more bearable. They were nicer to her when he was around. After her father died, Mungo had been an enormous help, even encouraging Veronica to move in with them, which she did until she felt strong enough to return to Fulham three months later. But occasionally, and especially since they’d started seeing fertility doctors and going through IVF, Maggie wished Mungo would run things past her before speaking to her mother.
‘Yes. Yes, I have,’ she said carefully.
‘Thank heavens this fiasco is sorted.’
‘It’s hardly a fiasco.’ Maggie’s gaze flitted to Gray and Jamie, who were now doing stomach crunches; Jamie rested for several seconds between each one, Gray moved faster, up and down, his elbows jutting out either side of his head. ‘It’s been good for me, I think, being out here.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Margaret, because Mungo said you’d had a conversation about treatment this weekend.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yes, and I know you must be bored of it by now, I do understand.’
‘Do you?’ Maggie challenged, her temper flaring at the idea that Mungo had shared the details of such an intimate conversation while he still wasn’t speaking to her. She’d messaged him twice since he’d left but heard nothing back.
‘I do because I went through the same process, so I know how gruelling it is. Believe me, I know.’
‘When?’ Maggie was so surprised at this admission from her mother that she forgot her anger. (Veronica’s middle-class sensibilities meant she regarded all bodily functions, practically even itching, as vulgar and tried never to mention them. They’d never even talked about periods. One afternoon, when she was thirteen, Maggie had simply come home from school to find a packet of sanitary towels on the end of her bed with a note saying that there were more under the bathroom sink.)
‘When I was trying to have you. I had three rounds of treatment before, well, before you came along. So, like I said, I know how unpleasant the experience is.’
‘That’s one word for it,’ she replied, as she felt a rare pang of sympathy towards her mother.
‘But you have to persevere because you’re not getting any younger.’
‘Mum …’
‘I don’t mean to sound brutal, Margaret, but it’s true. If you really want a baby then you have to keep going. It’ll all seem worth it when that little bundle is in your arms. Everything will seem worth it then.’
Maggie watched Gray jump to his feet and hold a hand out for Jamie, to pull him up. ‘I think maybe my marriage is a more pressing problem than my womb right now.’
‘What on earth is that supposed to mean?’
‘I think …’ Maggie began tentatively, knowing that her mother would disapprove of any emotional confession, but deciding to forge on because she had to get the words out. She wanted to be honest with her. ‘I think we’ve changed, Mum. I’ve changed, anyway, or he’s changed. Or the past few years have changed us both. Or maybe … We got married quite quickly, didn’t we? I haven’t been very happy for a while, and I’ve been putting it down to the hormones circling my body, but now I’m not sure. Because I feel different out here, having a break from it all, having a break from him.’ She inhaled, dragging breath back into her lungs, relieved that she’d let out the thoughts that had been circling her head in the past few days.
Veronica tutted. ‘Margaret, honestly. You almost sound like her.’
‘Who?’
‘Philippa. Always dissatisfied with her lot.’
‘I haven’t always been dissatisfied. But I’m not sure Mungo’s happy either. He wouldn’t be calling you to grumble about me if he was.’
‘He called because he’s worried about you.’
Maggie curled her fingers into a fist and thumped the bench slats in irritation. ‘He’s not worried about me. He’s worried because I don’t want to do what he says any more. And I really don’t, Mum. I cannot go back to another clinic. I can’t do it. I won’t.’
Her mother tutted again. ‘Margaret, you sound like a child. You’re married to a very good man who loves you and looks after you and wants to have a family with you. What else do you want?’
Maggie resisted the temptation to say ‘more’.