Chapter 8
C onrad stepped out of the shop, arms laden with bags of expensive clothes, hoping Louise would have calmed down by now. She wasn’t there. He raised his eyebrows and scanned the colourful crowd, but he couldn’t spot her hazelnut hair anywhere. She had simply vanished—along with the Tesla that Colton was supposed to bring over.
Struggling to balance the stiff glossy paper bags in one hand, he fished his phone out of his pocket. After a few clumsy attempts, he tapped the car number, and Colton picked up almost immediately.
“Mr Conrad, I’m on the way to the cottage with Ms Louise. She said you made other travel arrangements.”
“Did she now?” Conrad clicked his tongue.
“Isn’t that so? Would you like me to come back and pick you up, sir?”
“No, it’s fine. Things didn’t go as planned, but I’ll make my way back.”
“Are you sure?” Conrad could hear the concern in his assistant’s voice.
He exhaled in an attempt to make his voice sound reassuring. “Absolutely. Don’t worry about it.”
“Have a great evening, sir.”
“You too, Colton. Have a great time with your family.”
Conrad shook his head, shifted the bags in his arms, and marched to the taxi rank. An old-style black cab waited, and he climbed into the backseat. The cracked grey faux leather groaned beneath him, and the scent of sandalwood and green apple air freshener filled the cab. He barked his address at the driver, making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.
As the taxi cruised through the countryside, with the windows partly open and the plush dice bobbing from the rearview mirror, Conrad brooded over Louise’s behaviour. Why was he trying so hard when she kept rejecting him? What would he need to do to woo her enough to stay? Would that even be worth it?
The contents of the bags on his lap could easily cover a month’s salary, yet she’d acted as if his efforts were insignificant and beneath her. It seemed pointless. Why was he going to such lengths, pushing himself deeper into debt, when she was too stubborn to see him as an ally?
When the taxi arrived at the cottage, Conrad paid the ￡100 fare, his teeth clenched with anger swelling within him as he stepped out. Using his elbow and knee for support, he opened the cottage door and stumbled inside, making enough noise to wake a bear from hibernation. Instead of luring her out, his entrance was met by the sound of Louise’s bedroom door slamming shut.
Pursing his lips, Conrad dropped the bags on the coffee table and stormed over to her room.
Banging on the door, he shouted, “Why the hell did you ditch me in Bath? I was trying to buy you clothes. Is this how you show gratitude?”
“Gratitude?” Her voice was loud and clear. “You were treating me like a doll! Like I was your property, deciding what I should wear and eat without asking what I wanted. I’m not a puppet!”
“I was trying to make you feel special.” His voice faltered. Didn’t she see that? How hard he was trying?
“I certainly didn’t feel that way. How many women have you sent to Mr Klatz before whisking them off to a fancy dinner? I bet you choose the same bloody restaurant each time, don’t you?”
That struck a chord. It was the best restaurant in town. Obviously, he had been there once or twice. With women.
“I was trying to do something nice for you. But I got a barrage of insults, instead.”
He clenched his fists and stormed off to his study, shutting the door behind him with a bang.
Inside, he buried his head in his hands, taking a few deep breaths, but his jaw remained clenched so tightly it hurt.
“A big mistake.” He rubbed his temples to ease the tension building there.
Maybe it would be better to end it all. He might have to sell his soul to the vultures, but he’d manage. Some people would lose their jobs, but what could he do? He had tried, and he had failed. No one could blame him for not putting up with a woman from hell.
An email notification pinged on his phone—a supplier asking when they would get paid. Conrad felt the walls closing in on him. He burst out of his study and through the living room, shouting toward her closed door, “I’m leaving. Don’t wait up!”
A sting came straight back: “I never planned to!”
He slammed the door behind him—the sound echoing through the cool evening air. So much for having the last word.
A gust of chilly wind hit him, cooling his head. What now?
A tantalising aroma of steak drifted through the breeze, a reminder of the dinner they’d missed.
He scoffed. “She can handle her own food.”
As Conrad marched through the quiet streets, his footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, and his pace relaxed the farther he got from the cottage. The ten-minute walk made his anger simmer away as he pictured himself enjoying a few pints of cold beer, far from the tension awaiting back at home.
The Swan pub came into view, its entrance adorned with twinkling fairy lights. A solitary car sat in the small car park, a testament to the pub’s laid-back atmosphere. Conrad had never understood how the place stayed in business with so few customers, but tonight, he didn’t care.
Nothing would take the edge off better than a few pints and a lighthearted conversation with the locals.
“And she can do what she wants.” Conrad puffed, shaking his head. “Let’s see how well it works out for you, Little Miss Independent.”
***
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A nnie cracked open the door, straining her ears for any sound of Conrad’s presence. All she could hear was a dog barking in the distance and the gentle rustling of leaves in the light breeze. Perhaps he really had left the house, as he’d said. She pulled her packed suitcase into the living room, its wheels rattling across the floor.
Her gaze fell on the olive-green paper bags on the coffee table, and she couldn’t resist taking a peek. In two strides, she reached the table and nudged the stiff bag open. Inside was the sweater she had chosen. Its cosy fabric under her fingers, along with the scent of wood smoke drifting through the windows, reminded her of a summer evening by the campfire. She pushed the jumper aside to check the rest of the bags, and the rich red of a dress appeared. Annie smirked and put the bags down. She wouldn’t take charity from that guy.
Scanning the room for a pen and paper, she noticed a small blackboard beside the kitchen counter. Her fingers gripped the chalk, feeling it crumble slightly as she wrote, “It’s over. Don’t look for me.”
Satisfied with her last words, she grabbed the suitcase’s rough plastic handle and rolled it across the polished floor toward the door.
She paused and turned to take in the cottage with its rustic charm, inhaling the fresh air drifting through the open windows. For a fleeting moment, Annie imagined raising a child here, away from the city’s noise, surrounded by the orchard and breathing in the lilac-scented air. She shook her head, banishing the thought, and pulled out her mobile phone to call a cab.
Just as she was about to dial, her phone lit up with several missed calls from her father. Before she could decide what to do about them, it rang again. Annie rolled her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to her parents, but rejecting his call would certainly offend him—and somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Besides, she couldn’t avoid him forever. With a sigh, she answered, and his voice immediately shattered the serenity of the place.
“Why haven’t you called us? Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. Did you convince Conrad to sign the paperwork?”
Annie clenched her jaw, her fingers digging into her palm. “I haven’t, and I’m not planning to. He’s a pathetic excuse for a human being. How can you expect me to be with such a man even for a second longer? I’m done with this whole charade. Forget about it.”
Her father’s voice remained calm. “Darling, slow down and think before making any rash decisions.”
Her mother chimed in, “Would you rather live with that rude man than a respected gentleman like Conrad?”
Annie’s stomach twisted in fear as her grip on the phone tightened. “What man?”
“The awful man who barged into our house earlier today, demanding to see you.” Her father’s tone suggested he blamed Annie for the unexpected visit.
Annie swallowed hard, leaning against the wall by the door for support as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
“Did you tell him where to find me?”
“Of course not!” her mother snapped. “But if you want, you can call him yourself.” She rattled off the number Annie knew all too well. Darren. He had found them.
Annie bit her lip, tasting blood. “What did you tell him about me?”
“Nothing, other than that you don’t live here and to bugger off. But enough about that man. You could do so much better with Conrad.”
“You can’t expect me to stay in this fake marriage!” Annie’s face grew hot.
“You don’t have to—not for long. Just postpone your departure, darling.” Her father’s jovial tone made her cringe. “Once the cottage is transferred, you can tell him you’ve changed your mind and walk away. Everyone wins.”
“Except for Conrad,” Annie pointed out.
“Well, we’d be doing him a favour, really. He couldn’t get rid of that cottage anyway, and we’d just be taking the problem off his hands.” Her father chuckled. “And he’s got his inns. He’s not a poor man. He’ll get over it.”
Her father was right. Judging by the way Conrad had splashed cash around town today, he wouldn’t be that much worse off. But what about her? Could she live with herself if she did such a thing? Annie would never go through with it if it were just about her. But what about her baby? What mother wouldn’t do everything to ensure her child had a safe place to call home?
***
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T he door to the dimly lit pub squeaked as Conrad stepped inside, announcing his arrival. The Swan, a local favourite, had an eclectic mix of rustic charm and industrial design, with wooden beams and stone floors juxtaposed against metal accents and exposed pipework.
He breathed in the familiar scent of a pub—stale beer, a hint of fried food, and the faint trace of decades of spilled alcohol. This place had the soul of a hardworking man, reminding Conrad of how his life used to be.
Magic Radio played feel-good ‘80s tunes—not too loud, but enough to muffle conversations. As he took a seat, the bar stool scraped against the stone floor with a metallic screech that made him cringe.
“Conrad! Long time no see, mate.” Tony, the bartender, greeted him, pulling a squeaky pump and pouring a pint of Punk IPA. The beer swooshed into the glass, its bitter aroma filling the air.
“Cheers, Tony.” Conrad took a sip of the refreshing beer and grabbed a handful of wasabi peanuts from a bowl, enjoying the heat that made his eyes water.
“Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon or something? I heard you got married.” Tony wiped down the counter.
Conrad raised an eyebrow. “News travels fast around here.”
Tony chuckled. “You know how it is. So, who’s the lucky lady? Never seen you bring anyone here before.”
“It’s an arranged marriage.” Conrad shrugged and took another swig of his beer.
“Oh?” Tony shuffled some bottles around. “Sounds ... interesting.”
“You have no idea.” Conrad sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “She’s the most ungrateful and insufferable woman I’ve ever met.”
Tony refilled Conrad’s glass. “Really?” Then he raised his index finger. “Be back in a moment.” He strode to the end of the bar to serve another customer.
Conrad played with a round coaster, sliding it back and forth on the counter. The pub’s warm, strategic lighting and muffled music created a cosy environment that seemed to encourage honesty.
“So?” Tony refilled the peanut bowl.
“You won’t believe it, man.” Conrad shook his head in disbelief. “She’s been nothing but trouble since the wedding. And today, just a day after we got married, she ditched me in Bath.”
“No way!” Tony raised his eyebrows. “What for?”
“I was trying to treat her, you know.” Conrad sighed. “Took her to an expensive boutique, bought her clothes, planned a fancy dinner ... and she just flipped. Said she’d never wear the red dress I picked out for her and refused to go to the restaurant I booked.”
“That’s odd,” Tony mused. “Why would she do that?”
Conrad shook his head. “Who knows? She muttered something about making her own choices and not being anyone’s puppet. But I was just trying to be nice and make her feel special.”
Tony leaned in, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “So, you like her, huh?”
“What? No!” Conrad waved his hand dismissively. “I just told you she’s the last woman on Earth I’d want to spend my life with.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “If you didn’t like her, you wouldn’t go to so much trouble to please her.”
Conrad huffed, taking a swig of his beer. “I only just met her.”
Tony chuckled, shaking his head. “You always liked feisty girls. Remember Nicky?”
They both cackled, and Conrad grinned. “Oh, yeah. She was something else. Hot as the surface of the sun.”
Tony lined up the coasters. “So, what are you gonna do about your wife, then? Divorce her?”
“I can’t. I need her money, and I need her help to get it.” Conrad’s mood darkened, and he stared into his pint glass.
“Ah!” Tony tilted his head. “I knew there was an ulterior motive. Does she know about it?”
Tapping his fingers on the counter, Conrad nodded. “She knows about the money. It was part of the arrangement.”
The bartender scratched his chin. “Well, you just said you’re getting her money. I bet she’s not thrilled about that.”
Conrad shrugged. “Well, it’s a trade. She’s getting a cottage for it.”
Tony’s eyes widened in surprise. “George’s cottage?”
“Yeah.”
The bartender froze with a glass in his hand. “Your cottage?”
Conrad nodded again.
“Your home?”
“Yes, my home.” The bitterness of the words lingered on his tongue.
“Damn, man.”?