‘But if Jane knew – she’d feel betrayed all over again, wouldn’t she?’
‘Why? What’s it to do with her?’
Marta was staring at her. ‘I can’t believe you’re the friend I thought I knew, Carrie.’
‘And I can’t believe you’re such a prig. I’m sorry I told you now.’
‘Tom’s not to be trusted. You, of all people, should know that. And you don’t even
like
him, so why the hell would you sleep with him?’
‘Why would you invite him into your house? Because he’s charming – until you find he’s not. Anyway, he was a damn good lay.’
The accused is a passionate man, m’lud, on this occasion he allowed his feelings to run ahead of him. Convenient to forget the violence when you are defending your actions.
Marta jumped to her feet and started stuffing her mat and her flask into her backpack, her movements jerky.
‘We’ve been rotten friends, Carrie. Jane’s cut me dead. She thinks I’m trying to steal Emily’s affections or that I’m a malign influence, I don’t know which. You’re trying to blame me for bringing Tom back into your life when I didn’t even know he’d been in it in the first place.’
She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and glared down at Carrie.
‘And neither of you knows or cares that my husband has left me.’
Carrie watched, stunned, as Marta’s long legs took the slope at a pace that would have challenged even the best fell runner.
Left her
? Jake had left her? How could she not have known this? Marta was right – communications between the three of them had broken down completely. She hadn’t even told Marta yet about the partnership.
Overwhelmed by unhappiness she realised, as she squatted at the top of the grassy knoll, that she had always found their friendship to be a form of security. Certainly, she hadn’t realised just how much she’d valued it until now, when she most needed warmth, familiarity, support,
love.
‘Marta!’ The wind whipped her words away. ‘Marta! Stop!’
She scrambled to her feet as Marta’s slight figure disappeared down the steep path towards the beach. She was frantic at the thought that they might part in anger. Her newspaper, caught by the wind, blew into the air and a dozen sheets of gossip, innuendo and bigoted judgement scattered to the skies.
Best place for them. Gossip is damaging. Only the truth will do, only honesty can save us now.
Desperately, she launched into a run, scrambling down the path, sending stones scudding left and right as she slipped and slithered and nearly fell a dozen times. Thanking the heavens for her fitness, she called again, ‘Marta! ‘Stop!’
Marta jumped onto the causeway. This hadn’t worked out the way she had hoped. She’d meant this morning to be a reunion, a meeting of friends. Instead, Jane hadn’t come at all and she and Carrie had argued bitterly.
Her mind was still reeling from Carrie’s revelations – how could she have betrayed Jane like that? It was unthinkable. As for that Bed Buddies site ... Marta was still paralysed by shock at the concept. Where was morality? Where was affection? Where were feelings and respect and companionship? It seemed so clinical and calculating, not to say dangerous.
‘Marta!’
Far behind her, she heard a call. For a fraction of a second, she hesitated, then grimly strode on. She couldn’t bear any more revelations.
‘Marta!’
Something in the tone slowed her this time. Reluctantly she stopped and turned round. Carrie was sprinting towards her, a small frantic body with arms and legs flailing as she tried to cover the ground between them.
‘I didn’t know. Marta, I didn’t know about Jake. I’m so sorry. Christ, I’m sorry.’
Carrie hurtled across the last few yards between them, tears streaming down her face as she flung herself at Marta and wrapped her arms round her in a ferocious embrace.
The hug was sweetly unbearable. Marta had been bereft of love and deprived of the comforting support of her lifelong friends for weeks and she clung onto Carrie as though she were a lifebelt in a stormy sea. She could feel Carrie’s slight body shaking. It was the first time she’d seen Carrie cry since ... maybe since Simon Small had given her the heave all those years ago, but she was weeping as much as Marta as they sank onto a rock at the side of the causeway and huddled together.
Carrie said, ‘Tell me about it. What’s happened?’
‘You and Jane weren’t the only people Tom Vallely has messed with,’ she managed, with a croak. ‘He had me hoodwinked completely. Jake didn’t trust him, but I couldn’t see past the charm. He stole things from us. Money. Jake’s iPod. A rather valuable brooch of mine too, I think. But worst of all, he made himself so much at home that Jake felt sidelined – and I didn’t even realise.’
Marta dabbed ineffectively at her face with a tissue already soaked with tears.
‘I can’t believe how
stupid
I’ve been.
Blind
! I knew Jake hated losing his job but I just kept being my usual optimistic self instead of really listening to how he was feeling. Bringing Tom in ... how idiotic could I be – just opened up an even bigger gap between us.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s taken a temporary job in London.’
‘Temporary? That’s all right, surely? I mean, you’ve not separated? As in marriage on the rocks?’
‘He said some awful things to me, Carrie. Like I was bossy and overbearing, that I never let him make any decisions. He said I was trying to run his life and he needed space.’
‘Needed space. Oh Marta.’
‘Yes.’ Marta pulled a face. ‘That old line.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, right,’ Carrie added, realising, ‘I wasn’t answering your calls.’
‘I so wanted some support.’
Carrie’s smile was rueful. ‘I didn’t think about that, I’m sorry to say. I was angry with you. At least, I thought I was angry with you.’
‘It was all my fault,’ Marta sniffed. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘No. How could you know about Tom and me? No-one did. Anyway, I was only hurting myself by not answering your calls. I was feeling so ashamed, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone. And that was just stupid, because I’ve had some bad news and I’ve been desperate to talk about it.’
‘More bad news? What?’
‘I didn’t get the partnership.’
‘
No
! Why ever not? You
deserve
it.’
‘I thought I did. I took my eye off the ball.’
‘Carrie, you never stop working. How could they fault you? I don’t understand.’
Carrie shrugged. ‘I haven’t brought in enough business, apparently. It’s a key requirement.’ She gave a ragged sigh. ‘I could have done more. All those evenings I was having fun playing with my Bed Buddies, I should have been out networking.’
‘You can’t work non-stop. Other people have families. You need some down time.’
Carrie scrambled to her feet. ‘Come on. It’s cold and my bum’s wet. Let’s walk, shall we?’
She tucked her arm through Marta’s.
‘Are we friends again? Please tell me we’re friends.’
‘Forever, Carrie. Please God.’
‘And Jane?’
‘You tell me. She’s so angry with me about Emily. I don’t blame her. She asked me to talk to Em, you know. She was worried about her behaviour. I took her out for a birthday treat and ... oh God.’
‘And what?’
‘I’m
hopeless
. I’ve been getting everything so wrong recently. Emily wanted to get her hair coloured. She said it would be fine with the school. I was thinking maybe a shade lighter or some highlights but—’ She groaned.
‘But? Come on, Marta, you can’t stop there. What happened?’
‘I left her at the hairdressers. I never thought for a minute that she’d ... I thought I’d just have a quick look round the shops and when I got back, she’d gone a hideous platinum blonde and the last six inches looked as though they’d been dipped in a bucket of purple dye.’
Carrie burst out laughing. ‘Is that all?’
‘It was
terrible
. I knew Jane would kill me.’
‘No-one died. Emily’s just a teenager, pushing at the boundaries. Remember what we were like?’
‘I was supposed to be in charge. If I’d stayed it would never have happened. Anyway, that’s not all.’
‘What else?’
‘The last time I saw Emily she was in a hospital bed and I haven’t dared call Jane to find out how she is.’
‘Hospital? Why?’
‘She sneaked out of the house and got blind drunk at a party in Portobello. Her friend Suzy phoned me in the middle of the night. I called an ambulance and rushed round to try and help. When Neal and Jane caught up with us at A&E, Jane jumped to all the wrong conclusions and somehow the whole episode was my fault.’
‘How could it have been your fault?’
‘Try telling her that.’
The walked on in silence.
‘Where did you leave your car?’
‘Silverknowes. You?’
‘The same.’
‘What are we going to do, Carrie? I’ve been worried sick about Emily.’
‘Well, I’m not exactly flavour of the month either, not since Tom ratted on me.’
They walked along the shore path in silence. The wind had risen fiercely and was whipping the sea into a creamy foam. They had to battle against the force of the gale.
‘Tell you what,’ Carrie suggested when they finally came to a halt by her car, ‘I’ll try to get hold of Neal. It’ll be easier talking to him than Jane.’
‘Would you? That would be fab. I’m off on tour up north next week. Let me know as soon as you hear, OK?’
‘Course. Marta—’
‘Mm?’
‘—I’m so glad about today. Fresh start?’
‘Fresh start.’
Business must go on, despite everything. Marta, as professional in her own field as Carrie was in hers, woke the next morning feeling fractionally less miserable than she had since Jake had gone to London, but also feeling distinctly nauseous.
Nothing sat well in her stomach. She trifled with some cereal, before pushing it aside and retreating to bed. This was worrying. Drew McGraw was flying in at any moment and she was due to dine with him that evening. In another twenty-four hours his colleagues would arrive and they would all depart for the Highlands.
At lunchtime, she called Carrie.
‘I’m feeling grim and I need help,’ she said. ‘I need you to play hostess for me tonight.’
‘You wouldn’t be trying to matchmake again, would you?’
‘Not on your life. I’ve never even met the man. You might find it useful though. You know you were saying you needed to bring in more business? Well, Drew might just be your man. He’s looking to set up in Scotland.’
‘Okay. What’s the deal?’
‘Thanks, Carrie. Just meet him at the restaurant and be nice, that’s all.’
‘What’s up, anyway? Are you going to be alright to travel?’
‘I’ll have to be,’ Marta said grimly. ‘I must have eaten something. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow, let me know how it goes?’
‘Will do.’
‘I’m so glad we’re friends again, Carrie.’
‘Me too. Take care, petal.’
‘Bye.’
She was tired. So very tired. Closing her eyes, Marta sank into slumber, wishing more than anything in the world that Jake was there to cuddle her.
Chapter Twenty-five
Drew McGraw was younger than Carrie had imagined he would be and well built but not fat. She could sense the muscles beneath the impeccably cut suit. His wide, pleasant face was topped off with a huge mane of thick, blond hair, which fell rather cutely into his eyes as he stooped to meet her gaze.
A lion nose to nose with a kitten.
‘I hope you don’t mind me standing in for Marta?’
Carrie had spent the afternoon being uncharacteristically anxious. Should I meet him at the airport, she had asked Marta, who had already covered this by booking a private car.
What should I wear?
What should I talk about?
Are you sure you want me to stand in for you?
So many questions, until Marta had growled and said, ‘Carrie, if you don’t stop I’ll have to get up and do it and I really do not feel up to it, so be a sweetheart and just go and be yourself, hey?’
So now she was standing in the plush surroundings of Martin Wishart’s Michelin-starred restaurant in Leith, her small hand in Drew McGraw’s great, warm clasp, smiling up at his ruddy face and feeling suddenly irrationally elated.
‘Delighted to meet you, Ms Edwards, delighted. Sorry about Marta, of course, but so long as she’s okay for tomorrow—’
‘I’m sure she will be. And please call me Carrie.’
He was still holding her hand between his two huge paws, but now he withdrew them, beaming. Carrie, who had tried on half a dozen outfits before selecting a black Armani cocktail dress, simple pearls and her favourite Jimmy Choo heels, was satisfied with her choices. Simple, classic, timeless, smart. Gradually, her self-confidence began to reassert itself.
‘I’m sure you’re tired. Shall we eat?’
Fine dining is an art form. Each mouthful is to be savoured, dwelled upon, analysed. Marta had suggested they go for the tasting menu and this proved to be a good choice. Each small but delicious course was complemented by wine specially selected by the sommelier for its aroma and bouquet, its length on the tongue or its lingering aftertaste. Drew McGraw, it quickly became clear, was a man who enjoyed his dining. Despite his obvious tiredness, they did not rush the meal.
Carrie diligently discussed his journey, the weather, his home town of Houston and the food. Talking to Drew was easy. If this had been a Bed Buddies date, she thought, she would scarcely have waited until the last course before she suggested taking a room. If only...
‘...So you see, I need to establish myself quickly, and open an office.’
Carrie jerked her thoughts away from her fantasies. Behave, she rebuked herself. This man is out of bounds.
‘Tell me about your business.’
‘I’m an entrepreneur.’ He laughed. He laughed from the belly, an easy, infectious laugh that had Carrie smiling at once.
‘Is that funny?’
He shook his head. ‘Not in itself. I was thinking about George W. Bush.’
Carrie was mystified. ‘I can see some people would think that was funny,’ she said cautiously, uncertain of Drew’s political allegiances.
‘Oh man,’ he was laughing again. ‘He was so prone to gaffes. “The trouble with the French”, he once said, “is that they have no word for
entrepreneur
”.’
Now Carrie was laughing too. ‘Did he really say that? Really truly?’
Six heady wines, six light courses – the balance, Carrie discovered, was edging slightly in favour of the wine. She would have to be careful.
‘What line of business are you in?’ she asked, setting her glass down and reaching for the water jug.
‘I look at scientific research, try to seize on things that might have practical application, invest in them, and turn them into a commercial proposition.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘It can be very satisfying. It puts money back into science and gets the good things out there for folk like you and me to benefit from.’
‘So why Scotland?’
‘You have some terrific scientists, that’s why. Hi-tech innovation, bio-technology, all sorts.’
‘Have you got a legal team?’
‘Sure.’
Carrie gave a small sigh.
He said, ‘Why do you ask?’
Carrie smiled, ‘Was I that transparent? I’m a lawyer. I work for a big firm here in Edinburgh. I guess I was hoping you’d say you needed some help.’
‘It would do you good to introduce a new client, huh?’ Drew asked shrewdly.
Carrie nodded. ‘Yes. But that’s not why I’m here,’ she added hastily, ‘I’ve been a friend of Marta’s forever, I’m just helping her out. Honestly.’
Drew finished the last morsel of his dessert and laid down his spoon with a contented grunt. ‘I never thought anything else, Carrie. And as it happens, I do have a great legal team back in the States, but I have a suspicion that here in Scotland the law is rather different, huh? My guys gave me some contacts to talk with – Grant Morrison? Abercrombie’s?’
He had named two of Ascher Frew’s big rivals. ‘Not Ascher Frew?’
‘Is that your firm?’
‘They’re good. Just as big as the ones you’ve been told about. Better.’
He finished the last mouthful of wine in his glass. ‘How about I get my guys to check them out? If they’re as good as you say, I’ll be happy to meet with them when I get back from this trip to the Highlands.’
‘Really? You would do that?’
‘Why not?’
She decided to go for it. ‘Would you let me be the person to introduce you?’
He met her gaze with an easy frankness. Drew McGraw was unlike anyone Carrie had ever met. She was drawn to his warmth and straightforwardness. She wanted him to like her – and not only to like her, but to admire her as well.
What would he think of Bed Buddies? Carrie had a horrible feeling that he would not approve.
‘Honey, of course I will let you introduce me. Just let me make a coupla calls first is all I ask. Now, I guess I should be sensible and get to bed. But I hope you’ll let me see you home first?’
Carrie hesitated. Was ‘see you home’ a code? Surely not. And yet ... over the course of the evening, she had felt the connection between them intensify. Surely she wasn’t wrong? Surely there was desire in his eyes as well as the alert, intelligent interest that characterised everything he said and did? Did she desire him? No question. No question about that at all.
Some instinct held her back.
‘There’s no need. I can easily get a cab.’
‘Please. It will be my pleasure.’
‘Thank you, then. I’m quite central.’
‘You’ll come up? My flat has fantastic views.’
‘Can you make cocoa?’
‘
Cocoa
?’
Again the deep, relaxed laugh. ‘Just joshing, honey. If you had a glass of whisky, now...’
‘Whisky I can do, cocoa would be more of a problem.’
‘A quick one, then, thank you.’
What was she thinking of? As Drew paid off the taxi, Carrie’s head was spinning. She had never asked anyone up to her flat, it was a fixed rule. This was her space and her privacy here was sacred. Marta had been here, of course, and so had Jane, but no men. Bed Buddies were never invited home.
So what was she doing, asking Drew up?
‘You lived here long?’
‘A couple of years.’ She’d bought it in expectation of a partnership at work. The mortgage was ferociously high, she couldn’t really afford it, and now that she had failed ... but she couldn’t confide that to Drew. It had been difficult enough telling Marta.
She opened the door, but didn’t flick on the light. Across the living room, the huge glass wall opened onto an astonishing cityscape. Edinburgh Castle, lofty on its rock, was illuminated so that its ancient walls rose, lofty and commanding, above a sea of city lights. Beyond was a ribbon of blackness – the dark waters of the Firth of Forth – behind that, the lights of the small towns of Fife, twinkling and distant. It was almost better than the daytime view.
‘Come in,’ she said, standing aside so that she could watch his face.
His reaction was all she could have wished for. He sucked in his breath sharply, then let it out again in a low, soft whistle. Four long strides and he was across at the glass.
‘Wow,’ he said slowly. ‘That is some view.’
‘We can go out.’ She slid the door aside. The night was cool and, up on the seventh floor, the breeze was brisk. Carrie shivered.
Noticing, Drew said, ‘Cold?’ and before she even thought about it, he had slid his arm across her shoulders and tucked her close in beside his body as he gazed admiringly around him.
It was a casual gesture. A thoughtful act, nothing more. Be still my beating heart.
‘So what am I looking at?’ Drew’s voice was unchanged, still steady, still relaxed.
He was just being kind.
‘The Castle, of course. George Heriot’s School. The Camera Obscura – those coloured lights there – the Bank.’ As she described the view, Carrie fought for self-control. She no longer knew how to behave in the context of a relationship and the thought brought her to the brink of tears.
‘I must go.’
‘You haven’t had your whisky.’
Disappointment bit deep and she realised she had been praying that he would make a move, that all she would have to do would be to follow.
‘Can I take a rain check, honey? I’m real tired.’
‘Of course.’ She led him back inside and reached for the light switch. Brightness flooded the room and brought with it commonsense. Of course he hadn’t kissed her. He was a stranger, he was her friend’s client. And that was all.
‘Thank you for being such a fabulous hostess, Carrie.’
‘My pleasure. I hope you have a good trip north.’
‘I’ll be in touch when we get back.’
‘About your legal needs?’ Let it be more, please let it be more.
‘Sure. I can be your prize catch.’ He laughed and made for the door. ‘Good night honey. And thanks again.’
‘Good night, Drew.’
As the door closed behind him, Carrie stood and looked around her. The space was the same as always: bright, contemporary, smart, stylish. It was all she had ever wanted it to be.
Yet now it felt only empty.