Chapter 7
7
CARINA
The wait had been interminable. Carina had been sitting on an armchair in the lobby for an hour, watching the door, replaying every detail of the last twenty-four hours since she’d seen her husband saunter out of the bathroom at their thirty-fourth wedding anniversary celebrations, having just had sex with their thirty-year-old daughter’s best friend.
The utter bastard.
Carina still couldn’t quite take it in, and it didn’t help that what happened next was still a bit of a hazy blur. There had been no crying. In fact, not a single tear had been shed since that moment. Maybe it was the shock. Or devastation. Or perhaps it was the fact that she was so fucking furious she could barely breathe.
Of course, dramatics and hysterics had been out of the question. Her late mother, the formidable Felicity Bateman, had passed away a couple of years ago, but she would have whipped herself into a very elegant spin in her grave at the merest hint of an emotional outburst at a public gathering. Instead, Carina had stayed in her room for a few minutes, pain ricocheting around her mind. That’s when she’d spotted the letter, the one from Moira, tucked into the book on her nightstand, where it had been since the day it arrived and she’d immediately, intuitively, decided what she needed to do. But first, she had to work out the details. Like Emma Thompson in that heart-wrenching scene in Love Actually , she’d straightened her dress, composed herself and then gone back downstairs. Spencer was back in his seat at the end of the table, with the senators on one side of him, and Imogen and Ara— Ara— she couldn’t even say the name in her head. That woman. Yes, that woman on his other side, all flirty hair flicks and smiles.
Her initial thought was to go and speak to Imogen, but she dismissed that almost immediately. No. The horror of this wasn’t going to be put on to her daughter. Imogen had been betrayed in all this too and Carina couldn’t even imagine how her daughter would feel when she found out her best friend was having sex with her father, but Carina wasn’t going to do Spencer’s dirty work this time. He could tell his daughter what he’d done and he could navigate the devastation that would cause with the young woman who’d hero worshipped him her whole life.
Instead, she’d slipped back into her seat, next to Ben who’d been nursing a brandy while chatting to one of their neighbours on the other side of him. The neighbour took advantage of her arrival by going off to join his wife on the dance floor.
Ben had turned to her and immediately reacted to her appearance. ‘Are you okay? You look like… actually, I don’t know how to describe it.’
‘Like someone who just heard her husband having sex with someone else in the bathroom?’
Naturally Ben thought she was joking and began to laugh. ‘Yes, exactly like… Oh hell, you’re not joking.’
‘Not joking,’ she’d confirmed, still stunned with disbelief at the words she was being forced to speak.
‘Carina, I’m so sorry. Christ, he’s an idiot.’
Something had struck her. ‘You don’t look surprised,’ she’d said, fear building again. Her brother-in-law said nothing, so she pressed on. ‘Ben, has he done this before?’
‘I honestly don’t know, but I’ve suspected.’
Carina had taken her glass of wine from the table and knocked it back before asking another question she didn’t want to hear the answer to. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I didn’t know for sure. It was only suspicions, Cary.’
Carina had fought the urge to misdirect her anger. This wasn’t Ben’s fault. The only one who’d done something wrong here was her husband. And Arabella, too, but not for the obvious reasons. She couldn’t blame Arabella for being swept up in the attentions of a wealthy, handsome, successful man who could pour out the charm on tap, but to go near your best friend’s father broke every ‘woman code’ in the book. They’d welcomed Imogen’s friend into their house for years and this is how she’d repaid them? That said, Arabella wasn’t the one who’d just broken a promise to be faithful. That was Spencer. Right then, all her rage went in his direction.
She’d inhaled, exhaled, tried to calm her racing heart, before turning back to Ben.
‘When are you going back to Hong Kong?’
He’d checked his watch. ‘The Emirates flight leaves at 3.30a.m. Crazy time, but I need to get back for an afternoon meeting tomorrow, so it works. I was planning to head to the airport in an hour or so.’
It hadn’t escaped her that the DJ had just changed the tune, and ‘I Will Survive’ had become the soundtrack to the conversation.
‘Can you book a seat for me, please?’
Ben hadn’t looked convinced. ‘Cary, are you sure? You don’t want to stay here, try to work this out?’
‘There’s every chance I’ll remove his genitals,’ she’d said, her voice low and leaving no doubt that she meant it. As that moment, she definitely had.
‘I’ll do it now,’ he’d agreed hurriedly, fishing his phone out of his inside pocket. She’d watched as he clicked on to the Emirates app and made the booking, then she’d excused herself. ‘I’m just going to quickly pack a bag and then I’ll come back.’
Upstairs, she’d tossed some things into one of the Louis Vuitton cases Spencer had bought her for a previous anniversary and grabbed her favourite jewellery from the safe – not only the expensive stuff, but the sentimental treasures too. There was no way in hell she was leaving the ring the girls had bought her one Christmas when they were about ten and eleven and they’d pooled their allowance. Organising for a trip was in her muscle memory, so, almost on automatic, she’d collected everything she needed. Her passport had gone into her handbag, where it sat next to a purse containing all her credit cards and the book that had been on her nightstand, with Moira’s letter tucked inside. There were some HK dollars in the safe, so she’d taken them, too, then checked her watch. Spencer would probably be looking for her, wondering where she was. Or perhaps he’d just assume that she was flitting around, checking that all was running smoothly as usual, while he got to sit there and be king of his adulterous bloody castle.
She’d felt the knot in her chest begin to tighten again as she’d strapped her handbag onto the handle of her trolley case. Time to go. She’d called down to her house manager and asked him to arrange a car at the door to take Ben back to the airport in ten minutes. She didn’t mention that she’d be going with him, or ask him to come up for the case. Instead, she had pulled it to the lift at the end of the corridor and taken it downstairs herself, then wheeled it over to the front door.
Her house manager was already there. ‘The car is outside, Mrs Lloyd,’ he’d informed her and if he was confused by her sudden departure, he didn’t say. Discretion was part of his very well-paid job. ‘Thank you. Can you put my bags in it, please?’
He’d nodded. ‘Of course.’
Ben had come out at that moment and seen that she was there. ‘Ready?’
‘Just one more thing to do. I’ll be back in two seconds.’
Deep breath. Then another. Then she’d pulled her shoulders back, lifted her head high, and walked back into the terrace, where, yes indeed, Spencer had been sipping on his eye wateringly expensive Hennessy Paradis cognac, the bottle sitting in front of him on the table. It was his favourite after-dinner talking point and he liked to show off the $5,000 bottle so that his guests would be suitably impressed. Imogen was nowhere to be seen, but he was still holding court with the senators and Arabella.
The DJ had switched vibes, and a slow, quieter song was playing now – Madonna’s ‘Crazy For You’ – one of their favourites when they’d been dating. She’d forgotten that she’d added that to his playlist.
Spencer had spotted her approaching and his handsome face had broken into a grin as he’d opened his arms. ‘Darling! I just sent Imogen to search for you.’
Returning his smile, she’d taken him off guard as she’d moved close to him. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t been prepared for her to elegantly reach over and tip the bottle of cognac forward, so that the ludicrously expensive nectar gushed across the table and into his lap, only stopping when he’d snatched the bottle up. Or why he’d been stunned into silence when she’d purred, ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I’m getting clumsy in my old age and now look – your crotch is damp. Perhaps you should go to the bathroom and sort that out. I’m sure Arabella will be able to help you.’
With that, she’d turned and walked out, leaving four astonished faces to watch her go.
Spencer had blown up her phone all the way to the airport and Carina had declined every call. It was only when Imogen had messaged to ask where she was, that she’d replied with a text.
Sweetheart, I’m fine and so sorry to leave so abruptly. Ask Dad to explain. Taking a trip, and I’ll be on a flight for the next few hours. If you want to join me, just let me know and I’ll make the arrangements. Love you x
She’d deliberately left the message opaque, because she wasn’t sure what her daughter knew, and hadn’t wanted to put Imogen on the spot by revealing the truth about what had happened. Her daughter had always been a daddy’s girl through and through, and the reality was that his opinion and thoughts were the ones that had always mattered most to their daughter, even more so now that they worked together. The fact that a friend had betrayed her would also be devastating for Imogen, so Carina knew it was best to leave Spencer to handle that situation. Imogen would undoubtedly forgive her father because she adored him, and for once, Carina wasn’t going to put her own feelings to one side in order to smooth over Spencer’s behaviour. That had been the story of their lives. Every birthday he missed due to business, every time their lives were uprooted with a move to a new country, every time Spencer missed a significant event in their world, Carina would be the one trying to make it better while taking the brunt of her children’s pain. Not this time. He could handle the fallout of this one all by himself. Carina had pushed that thought from her mind, as she’d switched off her phone and thrown it in her handbag, resolving not to switch it back on until she was ready to talk about what had just happened. And it had struck Carina that the only person she wanted to speak to about this was a friend she hadn’t seen for thirty-odd years.
Perhaps that was why now, standing in the reception of the Harbour Lights Hotel, with Moira’s arms wrapped around her, she finally felt her shoulders begin to shake and tears pooling in her lower eyelids. She blinked them back. This wasn’t the time. Again, her mother’s aversion to public dramatics, drummed into her for decades, was calling the shots. Although, many times over the years, she’d hoped that was the only attribute she’d inherited from the condescending snob that was Felicity Bateman.
‘Oh, you sentimental old thing, I’m so happy to see you too,’ Moira said, misunderstanding the emotion in the hug. Under normal circumstances it would indeed come from a place of joy.
‘Come on, let’s park here and have a drink to celebrate this bloody marvellous occasion.’ Moira chirped, before turning back to the receptionist. ‘Can we hold off on the room tour please? I’m just going to have a drink with my friend before I go upstairs. In fact, I’ll just go on up by myself when we’re ready.’
‘Of course, Ms Chiles,’ the receptionist replied, before giving Moira directions to the room.
Carina had barely sat back down in her chair, when a brick fell out of the dam that had been holding back her reaction to everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
‘I caught Spencer having sex in a bathroom with a thirty-year-old last night.’ She blurted it out before she could stop herself. Maybe her mother’s ‘privacy and discretion’ genes weren’t so strong after all. Moira’s eyes widened but she barely missed a beat.
‘Okay,’ she said softly, seriously. ‘So let’s have a drink and plan what we’re going to do about that. I’m so sorry, Carina.’
Carina felt an instant pang of remorse. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m sure this wasn’t how you expected to begin this trip. I just needed to tell you that first because… because…’ She bit her lip, as a single tear ran down her cheek. ‘Because I’m not okay.’
‘You don’t need to be,’ Moira told her, putting her hand on Carina’s. ‘Let’s forget the drink here and go upstairs to have this conversation. What is it that the young ones say? I’ve got you, pal. And I have. If all we do this week is handle drama and put each other back together again, that’s just fine. It’ll be exactly like the way it used to be. Good times and bad.’
‘Good times and bad,’ Carina repeated, a sad smile of gratitude pushing her tears back down, as they both picked up their handbags. On the flight, she’d told Ben about Moira’s letter, and plans for a reunion, and then used his laptop to book a room here. The hotel was almost fully booked, so she was in a tiny, basic double room on the second floor – no guest services manager offering to show her to her room – but she didn’t give a damn. Right now, she’d sleep in the cleaning cupboard if it meant she got to be here.
Standing up, she pulled her bag onto her shoulder, and lifted her chin, determined not to let another brick fall out of the dam until they got upstairs.
‘Let’s go,’ Moira said, but then, strangely, stopped so abruptly that Carina almost crashed into the back of her. She didn’t understand what was going on.
‘Moira! Did you drop something?’ she asked, beginning to scan the floor in case there was something obvious.
Moira took a few seconds to answer. ‘No. But…’
Eyes raised, Carina could see now that Moira was staring at something to their right. Before she could catch up, Moira nudged her, her gaze never leaving its target. ‘Carina, can you look over there and tell me if you’re seeing what I’m seeing or was there something dodgy in the gin I drank on the plane?’
Carina turned around, squinted, blinked. Then blinked again. No, she wasn’t imagining it.
Walking towards reception, was a petite blonde woman, her hair a shaggy tangle of waves, her fringe dropping over her eyebrows, her face perfect. She was wearing black trousers and a flowery kaftan over a black vest top.
‘It can’t be,’ Carina gasped. ‘But yet it is.’
Heading straight for them was the third person in their trio. Yet it didn’t make sense, because yes, it was Lisa… but it was the one from 1990.