The Perfect Life Read online

  As soon as they were seated in the lounge, a tall, exceedingly handsome young waiter bustled over to take their order. Amelia’s eyes widened and she put on her best flirtatious manner as she asked for a G and T for them both. ‘Plenty of ice, darling,’ she said to him, her voice pitched low and husky. ‘I’m feeling rather hot.’

  ‘You’re old enough to be his mother,’ Molly said bluntly when the waiter had gone.

  ‘You’re too fixated on age, Mol,’ Amelia said, unoffended, her eyes following the young man across the room before turning back to her. ‘If he’s interested where’s the harm?’

  Molly was about to laugh but seeing her friend’s expression she raised an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘You’re serious? What about Tristan?’

  ‘Tristan will be playing golf until the light fades, he always does. Anyway’ – Amelia waved a hand dismissively – ‘enough about my sexual exploits, what’s going on with you and Jack? There isn’t someone else, is there?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Molly ignored Amelia’s sharp eyes and pointed towards the outdoor seating on the other side of the window. ‘Why don’t we have our drinks outside? It’s a lovely day, seems a shame not to make the most of it.’

  ‘As long as we can sit in the shade,’ Amelia said, lifting a hand to attract the waiter’s attention. When he looked her way, she smiled, pointed outside and gave him a wave when he nodded understanding.

  The drinks arrived a few minutes later, the waiter putting the large balloon glasses down carefully in front of each of them. Amelia made a big performance over tasting her G and T. ‘It might be the best I’ve ever had,’ she said, smiling up at him.

  ‘Thank you. Would you like to charge it to your room?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Amelia swirled the cocktail stick around her glass. ‘I’m in room seven.’ When he brought her a docket to sign, she did so with dramatic flair before circling the room number heavily. ‘There you are.’ She handed it to him with a flirtatious smile.

  ‘Could you make it any more obvious?’ Molly said with a shake of her head when the waiter had left. ‘You don’t really think he’s going to call, do you?’

  Amelia shrugged and picked up her drink. ‘My darling, I’d almost bet money on it but that would be stealing. Of course, he’ll come, and hopefully well before Tristan gets back.’

  Molly laughed thinking that this time, surely, she had to be joking. The laugh died quickly when she realised, once again, she’d miscalculated. ‘But what if Tristan comes back and you’re… you know?’

  ‘If he walks in on us, he’ll turn around and walk out again. The proverbial blind eye, the same one I turn on his peccadillos. We have what I suppose you’d call an open marriage, Mol.’ Amelia sipped her drink and smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked, it works for us. I love Tristan but he can be a bit of a bore in the bedroom department, so I get my excitement elsewhere.’

  Molly looked at her with startled eyes, unsure whether she was shocked or slightly envious. Was fidelity an outdated notion? She picked up her G and T and frowned as a horrible thought crossed her mind. Amelia had come back to London about six months ago; around the same time she’d noticed a change in Jack. There isn’t someone else, is there? Amelia’s words echoed in her head. Had she been a fool? Was her friend dropping a not very subtle hint? Was Molly the classic last to know?

  Amelia was swirling ice cubes around in her glass, looking relaxed. There was no point in asking her, she’d deny it. Anyway, it would mean nothing to her, just another in her long list of conquests. If she had a bedpost, it would be riddled with notches.

  But Jack was a different type. Molly knew him so well, if he were indeed cheating on her, the guilt would take its toll. Maybe she’d have been better staying in London and having it out with him. She shut her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. Have it out with him? What would she say – are you having an affair? And if he said no – would she believe him? And if he said yes – what then?

  ‘Right,’ Amelia said, draining her glass. ‘I’m off for my facial.’ She stood and looked down at Molly. ‘See you for pre-dinner drinks? Around seven thirty?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ she said, conjuring up a smile, even as she wondered if she could think of a reason to leave, to head home to London and… what? She watched as Amelia sauntered across the lounge; she was a very striking-looking woman. The young waiter wasn’t the only man whose eyes followed her.

  Molly sipped her G and T and checked her phone, pleased to see messages from both Remi and Freya. She read them with a smile. They were such good kids. An exciting future lay ahead for both, a world of promise waiting to be explored. A dart of what she recognised as glossy-green envy startled her. She remembered being there, it seemed only a blink ago. Where had those years of promise gone? When had she become a dull middle-aged woman with a worried, increasingly distant husband? Increasingly distant. She shook the self-pity away. They had two gorgeous children. Who’d flown the nest, and would probably never live at home again, might never even live in the UK again.

  And she would be proud of any and every choice they made. She would be proud. It was part of being a parent, wasn’t it? You reared them, gave them all you could, and you let them go. A heavy sigh escaped her at the thought.

  The evening ahead was unlikely to be a bundle of laughs. Listening to Tristan drone on – Jack had been right there, he did tend to fixate on the most boring of subjects. Her cheeks would ache from the plastered-on smile she’d wear that would probably look as false as it felt.

  It might have been a good idea to go to the gym or do a few lengths in the pool, but she couldn’t rustle up enthusiasm for either. Instead, she returned to her room and lay on her bed reading until it was time to get ready.

  At seven thirty, wearing a pale-blue, knee-length silk shift dress that was an old favourite and more importantly, loose and cool, she headed back to the lounge.

  Although Amelia had said seven thirty, it was obvious she’d been there a while, ice-cubes from a finished G and T melting in the bottom of a glass, the second in her hand, half drunk.

  ‘Molly!’ Amelia’s voice was raucous, a good indication that the drink in her hand wasn’t the second.

  ‘Hi,’ Molly said, taking a seat opposite.

  ‘What’ll you have?’ Tristan asked, getting to his feet.

  ‘A mineral water, please.’

  Amelia snorted. ‘Water! You’re going to be a bundle of laughs.’

  Tempted to say that it looked as if her friend was drinking enough for the two of them, Molly took a breath and let it out. There was never any point in crossing swords with someone inebriated. Instead, she gave her a friendly smile. ‘I’ll catch up later, I’m a bit thirsty.’

  When Tristan returned with her drink, he suggested they move into the restaurant. ‘I’m starving,’ he admitted, patting an abdomen that strained against his shirt buttons.

  ‘Fine with me.’ Molly picked up her handbag and stood, waiting for Amelia before heading from the lounge.

  The restaurant was a breathtakingly beautiful room. The clever use of mirrors on the rather low ceiling gave the illusion of space and reflected light from the numerous candles and carefully-positioned lamps. The walls were dark with a profusion of paintings set into ornate silver picture frames. Overall, the look was a gothic fantasy. It was, Molly decided, fabulous.

  It was also very flattering. In the soft light, every woman there looked ten years younger.

  ‘This is lovely,’ she said as they sat around a circular table set for three.

  With food ordered and wine poured, they relaxed into social chit-chat. It wasn’t until they were on coffee that Tristan, more verbose after several glasses of wine, looked at Molly intently and asked, ‘Have you never been tempted to change jobs… in all these years?’

  Molly had worked for the same company since graduating. Working her way up, certainly, but for the same company. The thought suddenly appalled her. How incredibly dull it sounded. What had happened to the
exciting ambitious woman she’d been in university? It would have been easy to blame marriage and children, but unfair; Jack had supported her through every promotional opportunity. And, between au pairs, childminders and the wonderful much-missed Rebecca in the last ten years, she’d had plenty of help with the children. Intelligent and experienced, she could have gone anywhere. But she’d stayed put.

  ‘They’ve been very good to me,’ she said. ‘Plus, it’s secure, lucrative, well-regarded. There is a certain cachet about working for Dawson Marketing that I wouldn’t have had elsewhere.’

  ‘But the same company, all these years?’ He raised his hands, palms out. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. You’re right. It sounds appalling,’ Molly said, with an attempt at a smile that failed.

  Amelia, obviously bored with the conversation, told them a long, rambling, barely coherent story about a mutual acquaintance that was amusing enough to lighten a mood that had turned a little oppressive.

  When Tristan suggested retiring to the lounge for after-dinner drinks, Molly pleaded tiredness and made her escape. Amelia, she noticed, made no attempt to persuade her to stay.

  Back in her bedroom, Molly flopped on her bed and groaned. What a night! She lay for a few minutes before she gave a chuckle and sat up to reach for her handbag. Opening it, she pulled out her mobile phone and pressed a speed dial button.

  When it went to answer machine after a few rings, she grunted, hung up and dialled again. It wasn’t until the third attempt that the call was answered. ‘Hi,’ she said, adding a fake breeziness to her voice, wondering where Jack was, who he was with. She could hear voices and the faint sound of laughter too light and high-pitched to be anything but female. They’d probably gone to a pub after dinner, she reasoned, there was nothing to be concerned about.

  ‘Hi, darlin’, you havin’ a good time?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ she said. It wasn’t a complete lie; the food had been good. ‘You in O’Dea’s?’

  ‘Yeah, me an’ Charlie, we’re havin’ a few pints.’

  It sounded like he’d had more than a few. ‘Tell Charlie I said hello,’ she said. ‘I wish you’d come here, Jack, the hotel is really lovely and there are beautiful gardens that run down to the canal. The towpath is along the other side, I’m going to go for a run along it in the morning.’

  ‘At cockcrow, I s’ppose.’

  She smiled. ‘If the cocks are crowing at seven thirty, then you’ll be right. Okay, go back to your pint, I’m heading to bed. Chat tomorrow. Love you.’ She waited until he echoed her words before hanging up.

  6

  Molly expected to sleep well; the room was almost eerily quiet, the bed extremely comfortable, the pillows perfect, everything designed for a peaceful, relaxing night apart from churning thoughts in her head that kept her tossing and turning. Wide awake before the first light of dawn chased the shadows from the room, she lay still, concentrating on her breathing, hoping to get another hour’s sleep. It didn’t come, but she lay there anyway, uneasy about wandering around the hotel so early. The distant but distinct sound of a cockerel’s cock-a-doodle-doo followed by the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside her open window made her throw back the duvet and swing her feet to the floor.

  Checking her phone, she was surprised and pleased to see a message from Jack. It had been sent at four, she guessed the long drinking session with his friends had had its inevitable consequences and he’d used the toilet break wakefulness to text her before going back to sleep. Be careful running on the canal, I worry about you. His concern made her smile. Whatever was wrong, they’d get through it. She sent a quick reply. Heading off soon, wish you were here.

  Padding over to the window, she peered around drapes she hadn’t bothered to pull shut and looked out. It was a beautiful day with that just awake fresh greenness that made her open the window wide and take a deep breath. There was no one to be seen, but the murmur of voices drifting from somewhere below indicated the hotel staff, at least, were up and about. She took her running gear from the drawer and pulled it on, tied her hair back with a scrunchie and a minute later, was quietly opening her bedroom door. She stood a moment, listening, then stepped out into the corridor and shut the door behind her.

  Downstairs, she was surprised to see quite a few guests were up and about and she had to wait until the one receptionist on duty was free before she could ask her about access to the canal.

  ‘There’s a path that cuts through the hedge on the right,’ Molly was told, the receptionist pointing towards the hotel gardens. ‘Follow it to the bridge, cross it, and you’ll be on the towpath. You can run for miles in either direction. Keep your eyes open for herons, and if you’re really lucky you might see a kingfisher.’

  Molly’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve never seen either.’

  ‘You should see a heron, they’re fairly common; a kingfisher is harder.’ The receptionist smiled as she admitted, ‘I’ve never seen one, to be honest.’

  ‘I’ll keep my eyes open,’ Molly said. ‘What time does breakfast finish?’

  ‘It’s served seven thirty to ten thirty, you’ve plenty of time.’

  With a nod of thanks, Molly headed across the reception to a door leading out onto the patio. It was a perfect morning for running, cool but with the hint of a warmer day ahead. Following the directions, she easily found the path through the high hedge, stepping carefully over slimy, slippery leaves in its deep shade.

  A short while later, she was walking over an old, stone humpbacked bridge. On the other side, the towpath stretched each way. Both directions looked tempting, each having enticing bends to lure her on. She’d go one way today, the other tomorrow. And with that easy decision made, she ran, slowly at first, getting a feel for the rough path underneath, then increasing her speed until she was moving at a steady pace. She ran in London, despite the fumes, but this was sheer pleasure.

  The path was separated from the farmland beyond by lush hedgerows filled with life; birds twittered, butterflies fluttered, bees buzzed. Molly wanted to laugh aloud at how perfect it was. She would have missed the heron, if her eyes hadn’t been scanning the canal on the lookout. It was standing on the edge of the path ahead, staring into the water, waiting for a sign of prey. She stopped and stood watching it, mesmerised at how still it was before edging closer to get a better look. The heron moved its head slowly, beady eyes focusing on her, then with a slight bend of its long legs, it launched into the air, wide wings flapping gracefully as it skimmed over the water. It didn’t go far, coming to a halt on the other side several feet ahead.

  It ignored her as she ran past a moment later. She guessed a kingfisher would be harder to see, especially as she needed to keep her eye on the towpath as she ran; it was far more uneven than she’d expected, with potholes and raised stones underfoot and the odd arching bramble extending from the hedgerow.

  Almost thirty minutes after leaving the humpbacked bridge, she saw a wooden bench ahead in the shade of a large tree. Maybe she’d sit a moment and see if she could spot a kingfisher before starting back, but when she got closer she saw she’d been deceived by a shadow… the bench was already occupied.

  She slowed to a walk, her eyes scanning the canal, peering into the branches of the trees on the far side, searching for a splash of colour. There was nothing and it was time to turn back. She’d seen a heron; she’d have to settle for that.

  ‘Hi.’

  One husky word. It brought her attention to the man sitting on the seat. He’d turned to look at her, his arms lying casually along the back of the bench, legs stretched out in front, ankles crossed. There was a curious stillness about him as he waited for her response.

  It would have been rude to ignore him. In London, she’d have done so, would probably have turned back as soon as she’d seen him, but in the country, it was more appropriate to acknowledge him before moving away. She never understood why, there were surely as many criminal types in the country as in the city. Neverthel
ess, she nodded, said, ‘Hi,’ and trying to be casual, stopped and stared at the water for a moment.

  ‘Do you have the time?’ the man asked, bringing her focus back to him. She was close enough to see that the eyes fixed on her were an unusual shade of blue, almost turquoise. A striking shade in a handsome face.

  She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s five past eight.’

  ‘Early to be jogging,’ he commented casually, holding her attention.

  ‘Early to be sitting there too.’ Despite a natural distrust of strangers, she took a step toward him. ‘Are you hoping to see a kingfisher?’

  The man’s smile was slow, beguiling. Molly was drawn by it.

  ‘I saw one,’ he said, lifting his hand and pointing toward the far side of the canal. ‘A minute before you arrived. Wait, and you might see it.’ He took one arm from the back of the seat and patted the space beside him. ‘You can sit, I don’t bite.’

  She laughed, the sound a nervous titter she didn’t recognise. With a shake of her head, she walked over and sat. The wooden seat was small, there was room for two, but there was the merest whisper between them. Molly caught the scent of his aftershave and a slight hint of… body odour… no, she corrected herself, it wasn’t the right word… it was the groin-tingling smell of virile masculinity. And it sent a shiver down her spine.

  She should have got up and left then and she would have done, she wasn’t Amelia, wasn’t given to fancying or flirting with strange men. Molly would have stood and carried on back to the hotel if she hadn’t felt his eyes on her… those amazing turquoise eyes.

  He spoke about seeing the kingfisher, how beautiful it had been, his voice low and melodic, almost hypnotic. And all the time, his eyes stayed on her. She could have turned and met them, but she was afraid to – afraid of the sudden dart of lust that swept through her. She felt the man beside her move closer and turned slightly to see the perfectly-sculpted cheekbones, the delicious curve of his lips – didn’t she deserve such excitement?