Chapter 8
8
C assie was relieved to be dismissed and wind her way up the stairs, clutching tight to the rail on her climb. Once, on an influencer weekend at a restored country estate, she’d had to navigate a spiral staircase whose rail was made of rope and about as much use as an umbrella in a force-ten gale. She’d ended up going back down the stairs on her bottom.
She reached the first floor and stepped out onto a landing: more pale wood, more blinding white walls. The door to the garden was open, revealing a small patio area with a wrought-iron table and chairs. Cassie sat down on one of them and looked at the elevated lawn and flower beds beyond that.
It was a beautiful day; the kind of limitless blue-skied, honeysuckle-scented, fat bumblebee-d kind of English summer’s day that poets wrote sonnets about.
With one eye on the back door, she took out her pocket mirror to check that yes, she still looked tired. Dark shadows had made their home under her eyes, which looked muddied rather than their usual deep brown. Thank God for concealer, bronzer and … she pulled out the big square-framed Bottega Veneta sunglasses she’d bought in a fashion and beauty sale at Skirt over ten years ago for a fiver. Cassie had guarded them with her life ever since. Then she plucked at her top, a white T-shirt with huge black circles on it, from a Marimekko x Uniqlo collaboration, which was probably the best thing that had happened to her in 2020.
She stopped primping just as Marc appeared with a tray. ‘One builder’s, one glass of still water,’ he said in a deadpan voice as if he approved of neither of those choices. He put the tray down on the table and picked up a tiny coffee cup so he could knock back his preferred roast blend like it was a shot of tequila. ‘Have you heard from Russell and Lucy?’
Lucy, Russell and the girls were en route to their family-owned farmhouse near Nantes. Usually they got there via the Eurotunnel and a hellish day of driving but this time they were flying from London City Airport then picking up a hire car. ‘Less stressful,’ Lucy had said. ‘We usually end up having the mother of all rows by the time we’ve reached Compiègne.’
So far it had seemed like business as usual. Now this change to their annual travel plans, and cutting down their month in France to just a fortnight, seemed like a sinister foreshadowing.
‘Lucy sent me a pic from the plane of her glass of champagne and I’ve had several memes from the girls. I hope they have a great holiday.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Marc folded his arms, so she guessed the small-talk portion of her visit was over. ‘Shall we get started then?’
It wasn’t as bad as Cassie had anticipated – but then she’d been anticipating a cross between the Spanish Inquisition and a busy day at Guantanamo Bay. She took out her laptop, Marc connected her to his Wi-Fi, then they worked through the itinerary and all the flashpoints that Cassie had already decided weren’t worth fighting about.
If Marc wanted to get a crate of vintage champagne and other assorted drinks from a wine merchant in East Sussex who’d deliver, then fine. ‘Because it’s Lucy’s birthday so let’s toast her with the Dom Ruinart 2010. She really deserves the best,’ Marc said calmly as if everyone knew that the Dom Ruinart 2010 was much better than anything Ocado could offer. ‘And I’m really not trying to micromanage the meat but in this day and age it’s morally reprehensible to eat meat that isn’t organic and free range. Again, Marie-France did some research and there’s a great local butcher who’ll deliver.’
That was fine too. They also agreed that the breakfast boxes from a local baker stuffed full of delicious pastries and artisanal breads would be great for Saturday morning. Marc even conceded that for everything else, Cassie could just do a massive Ocado order, which would be delivered on the Friday morning.
Then they ran through the room allocation, which again was fine. Cassie suspected that Marc just wanted to make sure that she hadn’t stuck him in a dingy attic. In fact, he had a very nice room with a view of the lawn.
‘Where will you be sleeping?’ he asked.
‘I’m on the second floor. It’s all sorted,’ Cassie said in an offhand way to discourage further questions. She hadn’t quite finalised her sleeping arrangements. Her former room was now going to Heather and Davy, even though Heather kept clogging up the group chat with her demands for the self-contained cottage that was in the grounds, which Cassie had earmarked from the start for Lucy and Russell.
‘Even before I knew about Russell, I thought he and Lucy would want some privacy,’ Cassie said softly. It was only then she realised that finally she was with someone who knew how she was feeling. Marc had to be feeling it too. ‘You know, I still can’t get my head around it.’
‘I’m living with this permanent state of dread and sometimes I forget why, then I remember and it’s a shock all over again,’ Marc said, running his fingers through his hair, as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands. ‘It’s so fucking unfair.’
‘Russell … I don’t even know how to put this into words but he’s, like … I mean … he always brings so much energy and positivity to everything he does, everyone that he’s with.’
‘Yeah, he does.’ They sat there in what felt like a stunned silence for a few moments until Cassie couldn’t help the tiny sniff that escaped.
‘Don’t cry,’ he said sharply. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for crying later, believe me.’
‘I’m not crying,’ Cassie huffed. These last couple of weeks she’d been constantly on the verge of tears but couldn’t quite commit to it. Not that she thought a good cry would make her feel any better. ‘Right, let’s get back to the itinerary. What’s your objection to the scavenger hunt?’
Just call her Mother Teresa because Cassie agreed they could lose the scavenger hunt as it wasn’t conclusively one of Lucy’s favourite things.
‘Let’s chill on Sunday and it will save you having to get up at the crack of dawn to hide all sorts of random shit in the garden that people don’t really need,’ he said rather brutally as Cassie tried not to take offence.
‘It wasn’t random shit,’ she mumbled. For one thing, she had several boxes of luxury candles to offload. ‘OK. So, Digby and Kwame want to cook a big Sunday roast and on Saturday, Iris is happy to sort out a picky-bits lunch …’
‘Picky bits?’ Marc raised an eyebrow and accessorised it with his most punchable smile. ‘What are picky bits?’
He knew exactly what picky bits were. ‘Cold meats, cheeses, salads, there’s even talk of a couple of rustic savoury tarts,’ she said. ‘I think you’d call it charcuterie in French.’
‘Charcuterie actually means—’
‘Please, we’ve been getting on so well. Don’t Frenchsplain charcuterie, I beg of you,’ Cassie said and Marc’s smile became slightly less punchable. Which was good because she was dreading what she had to say next. It hadn’t even occurred to her until she’d seen the price of just one bottle of Dom Ruinart 2010 champagne and now Marc wanted to order ‘two – no, let’s play it safe and say three cases’.
To stall and not just blurt it out in a clumsy rush, Cassie tapped her laptop keyboard. ‘This has been a really productive session,’ she said.
‘And I only wanted to kill you a couple of times,’ Marc offered with a lazy grin. His arms were still folded but his posture was no longer stiff and he kept smiling at Cassie, which was nice while it lasted but experience had taught her that it wouldn’t be for long.
‘I thought about murdering you only once, a personal best,’ Cassie said, though her heart wasn’t really in it. ‘Like I said, this has been really productive but I’m worried that – I haven’t had a chance to do the exact costings, but – all this is really going to drive up the price per head.’
Marc shrugged because he wasn’t the sort of person who’d ever had to worry about the price per head. ‘It’s for Lucy and Russell. Whatever it costs, they’re worth it.’
‘They really are,’ Cassie agreed as she frantically did sums in her head. Maths wasn’t her strongest subject but a thousand quid each seemed to be the lowest she could come up with. ‘It’s just this is quite a lot of money for a long weekend, especially when people have already forked out on their summer holidays.’
Cassie hadn’t had a summer holiday for a couple of years. Not even a mini-break, and she used to love a mini-break. It was one of the many economies she’d had to make while she was paying off the debts she’d amassed trying to save her business, then wind it down. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d bought a takeout coffee, but she still had thousands to go before she was debt free.
‘It’s not so much spread out over four days,’ Marc said easily and Cassie felt the familiar prickle of tears. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t cry about Russell but the thought of extending her already extended overdraft …
‘The thing is, people might be having to cut back on their personal expenses at the moment,’ she said in what she hoped was a delicate manner. Though maybe she should just stomp through what had to be said in the heaviest way possible and then Marc might get it. ‘Yes, everyone loves Lucy and Russell, but there is a cost of living crisis so maybe we should agree a budget and stick to it.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Marc said, wiggling his toes. Normally Cassie was quite repulsed by other people’s bare feet, especially men’s bare feet, but Marc’s feet were as elegant and as well cared for as the rest of him. Did he have regular pedicures? He could afford them.
‘I don’t want to argue but a budget is very necessary,’ she said quite forcefully because she didn’t want to cry any more but did want to throw up at the thought of having to admit in the group chat that her share of the payment for the weekend had been declined by her bank.
‘I’ve been racking my brains trying to think of what to get Lucy for her birthday so I’m going to take the easy way out and pay for the whole weekend,’ Marc said easily, as if throwing down at least ten grand on a fortieth birthday present was no big deal. ‘I should have said earlier.’
‘But I’m sure people are happy to spend—’
‘You’ve already all paid the deposit,’ Marc pointed out. ‘That’s enough. I’ll sort out the rest.’
‘I wasn’t hinting or anything …’
‘Cass, we’ve been getting on so well, let’s not ruin things now.’ Marc stood up.
Cassie began to pack her things up. She felt quite light-headed from sheer relief. ‘Thank you. That’s really generous. The group chat is going to be very lively tonight.’
‘It’s nothing,’ he said.
‘Also, Heather and David haven’t paid the deposit.’
‘They still haven’t paid?’ Unless he was contradicting everything that Cassie had to say about the weekend, Marc was never that active in the group chat. ‘Well, I guess now they don’t have to.’
‘Oh no, they’re paying the deposit,’ Cassie vowed. ‘It’s become a point of principle. Even if I have to take them to the small claims court.’
‘I almost feel sorry for them. I’ve been on your wrong side many times and I don’t recommend it,’ Marc said, the smirk back on his face now that he’d won on practically every point.
Cassie could be gracious in defeat. But not that gracious. ‘I expect you’ll be on my wrong side again quite soon.’
‘I’m counting on it,’ he said over his shoulder as he headed for the back door. ‘No, stay there for a minute. I need to get something.’
Cassie sat back down. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if Marc had already known that he could browbeat her into giving way and Mademoiselle Marie-France Vartan had already drafted a new work plan which he was now going to make her sign and initial on every page.
‘Here you go!’ Marc was back and holding out a credit card. ‘Marie-France will be able to handle a lot of things but you’ll need this to pay for the grocery order and miscellaneous.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You’re not the sort of person who’s always losing her bank cards, are you?’ Marc asked sternly.
‘No, I’m not.’ Cassie was the kind of person who’d managed not to lose or break her Bottega Veneta sunglasses for over a decade. ‘I’m a very responsible person.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Marc said.
An edge was creeping back in because their history was long and troubled and Cassie hadn’t been a very responsible person sixteen years ago but then again, neither had he.
‘I’m not going to lose it,’ Cassie insisted as she tucked the black card into her purse.
‘The pin is ten, twelve. Ada Lovelace’s birthday,’ Marc added. ‘Because I’m a feminist.’
He loved to wind her up. But Cassie was perfectly capable of returning the favour. She smiled demurely. ‘I can’t wait to take this bad boy shopping. I’ve had my eye on a diamond necklace and bracelet set from … what’s the name of that really expensive jeweller’s?’
Marc shook his head. ‘I know where you live.’
‘Not when I relocate to Monte Carlo to start my fabulous new life,’ Cassie said, standing up and hoisting her tote bag over her shoulder.
‘Monte Carlo is very small and I have superior tech skills – I’d find you in seconds,’ Marc said mildly, as he ushered Cassie through the back door. He wasn’t touching her but he was nearly touching her and she was sure she could feel the heat of him even through cotton and denim. ‘Or I could just cancel the card. That would probably be easier.’
‘Well, that’s … oh God!’ Cassie came to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. She pushed her sunglasses up so she’d actually be able to see the ground rush up to meet her as she tumbled down them.
‘Is there something we’ve forgotten?’ Marc asked from behind her, a little bite to his words. ‘Surely we’ve covered everything.’
‘Is there a way through the garden that leads me back into the mews?’ It was worth a try.
‘Why would there be? The house is built in an elevation, the garden is too high to be at street level …’
‘I’m not good with stairs. Especially an open spiral staircase that’s … why did the architect think it was a good idea to make the stairs out of glass? Was he a complete sadist who’d never met anyone who suffered from vertigo?’ Cassie practically moaned in anticipatory terror. ‘I’m going to take my sandals off.’
Marc was silent but Cassie could feel the waves of disapproval emanating from him as she wobbled from one foot to the other while removing her sandals. Then she took a deep breath.
He brushed past her to start going down the stairs, clearly impatient with what he thought of as ridiculous theatrics.
Then he paused.
‘Give me your sandals and your bag,’ he ordered brusquely and Cassie was in no position to argue. Not when she could now have an unencumbered death grip on the rail. She handed them over and, given the gravity of the situation, it wasn’t even funny when Marc put her ‘My Other Bag Is A Birkin’ tote over his shoulder.
Cassie took another deep breath. ‘OK, you got this,’ she told herself quietly.
‘Give me your hand,’ Marc said as Cassie shied away from his touch.
‘If I just go down very slowly.’ She sighed unhappily. ‘Maybe if I sat down.’
‘Cassie, just give me your fucking hand!’
When Marc snapped at her like that, it did two things.
It made Cassie angry but it also made her do what he was ordering her to do. Which made her even angrier.
Cassie placed her hand in his and gripped the rail tightly with her other hand.
‘Just one step,’ Marc said.
For one moment Cassie couldn’t quite figure out how to make her legs work. Then she was stepping down onto the first stair and he kept her hand in his firm, sure grip, body-blocking her path so Cassie felt brave enough to take another step down.
‘You’re doing so well,’ Marc murmured, stepping down himself but keeping hold of her hand. ‘Come on, let’s do the next one.’
That one twisting flight of stairs seemed to go on forever but Cassie was moving down them slowly and steadily, one hand clutching Marc’s, the other on the rail.
Then there were only three stairs left.
‘You’re nearly there, Cass.’
Two stairs.
‘You can do it.’
One stair.
‘I’m so proud of you.’
Then there were no more stairs and her feet were firmly on the ground. Cassie was still breathing hard and Marc was still holding her hand and looking her right in the eyes.
‘Such a good girl,’ he said quietly, his voice curling through Cassie, so she felt it deep in her belly and between her thighs, which she pressed together as an urgent pulse beat out a warning rhythm.
Then he let go of her hand and they both stepped back and it was an awkward tense scramble to put her sandals back on and mutter something about emails and the group chat and all the while he just stood there, arms folded again, his face all tight lines and harsh angles.
Cassie had never been so pleased to leave a place, to leave someone, as she stepped out into the sunny Sunday and teetered her way across the cobbles. She was sure that she could feel his eyes piercing a spot between her shoulder blades until she finally heard the door shut behind her.