Chapter 7
Towards the end of the meal, Marcus excuses himself and heads to the men’s toilets.
He needs a break from the ear-bending that Tobias is giving him.
He’s experienced this before with other clients when he was a junior architect, working his way up through various firms in London.
But now that he’s gone solo, he’d hoped he would have more freedom.
Freedom to pick and choose his own passion projects.
To be trusted to get on with the job. But this one’s turning into the usual nightmare.
Interfering clients who presume they know it all, like the cost of everything and the value of nothing.
A quick check of the stalls satisfies him that the coast is clear, so he goes into the nearest cubicle and takes out a small baggie of white powder, proceeding to cut a line hastily on the cistern top with his credit card.
Just a small one to wake him up before the drive back to London.
It’s a habit he picked up during his early twenties when he first moved to the city and started earning some real money.
It helped with all the early mornings and late nights on site.
Goes with the territory really. Especially when you’re expected to be sharp as a tack all day and then go out wining and dining corporate clients in the evening.
As a single man of means with no attachments, it is one of the many little indulgences he still appreciates.
His tailored suits. His beloved car. The Docklands flat.
But, as many of his contemporaries seem to be settling down now, getting married, even becoming parents, he finds there is an air of loneliness seeping into his days and nights that can’t quite be filled by the gym or the drugs or his other online habits.
He’s found himself becoming that person.
The one in the group who is obsessed with work, the confirmed bachelor, the one they all secretly pity.
As he dusts away the residue of powder with his hand, pocketing the card and baggie, he wonders whether he was always destined to be this way.
Will he always be viewed as the best-looking guy who’s inexplicably still single?
The most successful architect who was never offered partnership.
The one who had the biggest salary but is now somehow maxed out on his credit cards and living hand to mouth.
Straightening up, he hears the sound of someone clearing their throat nearby. He unlocks the door and heads towards the sink, begins to wash his hands.
‘I wouldn’t say no to a cheeky bump, if you’re offering.’
He looks over to see Tobias and Olivia’s daughter standing silhouetted in the doorway, arms folded, one leg lifted in a flamingo-like stance. The surprise immediately turns to panic before his usual bluff exterior takes over.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he says steadily, eyes on his soapy hands as they move under the jet of water.
‘Honestly,’ she laughs. ‘You’re a dead giveaway. I could see the backs of your shoes under the cubicle door. You forgot to flush. And you might want to check your nose in the mirror before you leave,’ she adds, gesturing to his reflection.
He turns to look at her.
‘Shouldn’t you be running along back to the table? Your ice cream will be melting.’
Bella holds his gaze for a second, a look of challenge on her face.
‘What do you think my mum and dad would say if they knew their hotshot architect was nursing a little habit while working on their dream home?’ she says.
Marcus dries his hands on a paper towel and deliberately tweaks the underside of his nose in the mirror.
‘I think they’d be just as interested to learn that their innocent young daughter was doing the same.’
‘Hmm, I think my dad would be inclined to believe me over you actually. Anyway, I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. Maybe we could meet up in London and keep some more of each other’s secrets?’ she adds with a throaty giggle.
He sees how she is like her parents now.
The red hair is all Tobias’s obviously but he can see something of the mother in the aquiline nose, the sensual mouth.
He can imagine how Olivia would have looked when she was younger; not just attractive but beautiful once upon a time.
Teasing out the silence between them a little longer, he finally takes out his wallet and passes her his business card.
‘My personal mobile number is on there,’ he says, proffering it to her, and she reaches over for it eagerly, like a child taking a lollipop. ‘Just between us, mind,’ he adds, tapping his nose, and she smiles before ducking out of the room and heading to the ladies.
Outside the restaurant, Marcus takes his leave of the Woolfs, promising Tobias that he will be in touch.
He lifts a hand in the general direction of the others.
At a distance, the wife is clutching her pashmina around her bare shoulders, looking as though she would like to get back to her hotel and high-thread-count sheets while the boy is picking up pebbles and skimming them over the water.
The daughter stands beside her father, twirling a strand of her coppery hair and looking like the cat that got the cream.
As he walks towards his parked car, he flips his keys in his hand, enjoying the sharp, enlivened feel of his head as the coke takes effect, mingled with the pleasure of mild threat and flirtation.
It has distracted him from his frustration earlier at the house.
The innate worry he feels about how the project is slipping out of his control, his original vision for the place becoming compromised, just like all the rest. But he needs it to work.
He has got to turn it around somehow. There’s too much resting on this one.
He is about to unlock the car and get in when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. A message reads:
When can I see you again? Couldn’t eat my pudding because of you!
Marcus reads it once and then again. He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief, and pockets the phone.
Wow, he thinks. This family. They really are unbelievable.