By Friday the hotel was a shell, almost every vestige of the Websdales’ decor eradicated. The weather was glorious. From their vantage point they could see the village starting to fill up with visitors who’d taken advantage of the forecast and decided to make a long weekend of it. Justin had pleaded for a day off, but Lisa was adamant.
‘But I’ve booked a surfing lesson,’ he whined.
‘Look, the sooner we finish this place the sooner we start making money. Those are all potential customers down there . . .’ She waved her hand airily at the beach. ‘It’s only a few weeks until high season. If we miss that golden six weeks, we’re screwed.’
‘I’ve got to do some paperwork.’ George was determined to stand his ground. ‘I’ve got to work out a proper schedule and make sure everything we need’s been ordered. Trust me on this, Lisa. It’s what I do.’
‘OK,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘You can have the morning off, Justin. And you can spend the day in the office. I’ll strip the banisters.’
She stomped off. Justin and George exchanged glances.
‘She’s scary,’ said Justin.
‘Yeah, but she’s a great gaffer,’ grinned George in reply. ‘I’ve never seen a place demolished so quickly.’
‘She’s a slave-driver.’ Justin produced his brand new wetsuit from a carrier bag and surveyed it thoughtfully. ‘Are you supposed to pee in these or what?’
By midday, Lisa realized she was shattered. It was searingly hot and the smell of paint stripper was making her giddy. Maybe she’d have the afternoon off after all. What she really wanted was sleep. They’d stayed up till after midnight every night this week, and though there’d been a party atmosphere, with music blaring and plenty of bottles of beer, it had suddenly caught up with her.
She went into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of cool water. Maybe a drink would revive her. Or perhaps she’d pop down into Mariscombe for an ice cream; just take half an hour’s break, then carry on. She went back into the hall to find her bag and stopped in her tracks.
There was a girl standing in the middle of the chaos, glancing around with an air of dismay. She was slight, almost too frail for the bulging crocodile-skin handbag slung over her shoulder. She wore a jade-green Chinese kimono, faded designer jeans and three-inch stiletto boots. On top of her head, tucked into her mane of toffee-coloured hair, was an outsize pair of white Courrèges sunglasses.
As Lisa got closer, she realized that she wasn’t a girl at all: that she was well into her thirties, that despite her tiny frame and delicate features there were lines round her eyes and round the corners of her mouth that spelt years of hard living and late nights. Moreover, her clothes might scream limitless budget, but her nails were bitten to the quick, her skin was dull and lifeless, and she smelt of stale perfume and cigarettes. Whoever she was, she didn’t stand up to close scrutiny.
‘Can I help you?’ Lisa enquired politely.
The woman’s smile lit up what had been a lifeless face. It was obviously her tool, her weapon, the means by which she got what she wanted. She had very small, perfect white teeth.
‘I’m looking for George.’
Her voice was surprisingly deep, and she managed to eke three syllables out of George’s name.
Lisa raised an eyebrow.
‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Victoria.’
‘And Mimi.’
Another figure stepped through the doorway, sporting a two-inch tweed kilt held together with outsize safety pins, a corduroy blazer smothered in heraldic badges and a backcombed bob, from the depths of which peered two faintly suspicious eyes ringed with metallic blue.
‘Victoria and Mimi,’ repeated Lisa faintly. She’d spotted a Hello Kitty suitcase and a huge carpet bag by the front door, which rather indicated that Victoria and Mimi hadn’t just popped in for coffee. ‘Do you . . . have an appointment?’
She was rewarded with another dazzling smile.
‘I don’t really think I need an appointment,’ Victoria said. ‘I’m his wife.’
Years of being on public display and dealing with obnoxious members of the public meant Lisa was adept at hiding her emotions. She didn’t baulk at these words, especially as something in the triumphant look the woman threw at her told Lisa she was expecting a reaction. She certainly wasn’t going to give her the benefit of seeing she was thrown. Despite the terrifying lurch she felt in her stomach, she smiled.
‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll just go and see if he’s available.’
With her heart thumping, Lisa walked as graciously as she could out of the hall. As soon as she was safely out of sight, she leaned against the nearest wall. George’s wife? It couldn’t be true, could it? But why would this Victoria lie? About something that could be so easily disproved?
It was clear to Lisa that only one person had the answers, and that was George himself. She steeled herself for the confrontation. There was no point in dithering. Gathering herself together, she marched into the office, where George was going through the quote they’d had for the refurbishment with a fine-tooth comb.
‘George. There’s a woman for you in reception.’
George looked up from his paperwork, frowning at the interruption.
‘What is she? A rep? I’m not expecting anyone.’
‘No.’ Lisa crossed her arms. ‘She says she’s your wife.’
‘What?’ George jumped to his feet.
‘Thin. Beautiful. Oh, and there’s a young girl with her.’
‘You’re joking.’ He ran his hand over his face, leaving his hand clamped over his mouth.
A horrible thought occurred to Lisa.
‘Tell me it’s not your daughter.’
‘No, no. Of course it’s not my daughter. It must be Mimi.’
‘Oh.’ Lisa narrowed her eyes and made a rapid deduction. ‘Your stepdaughter, then?’ she asked brightly.
George didn’t answer for a moment. He bit his finger in concentration, looked longingly at the window for a moment as if leaping through it might provide either an answer or an escape, then sighed.
‘I’m sorry, Lisa. This wasn’t supposed to happen.’
‘No. I guessed as much.’
‘I don’t know how they found me.’
‘It can’t have been that difficult. It’s not like you’re under the government protection scheme or anything.’ Her tone was dripping vitriol.
George ran his fingers through his hair, which he always did when he was stressed.
‘I’d better go and talk to her.’
‘So she is, then?’
‘What?’
‘Your wife. Not some crazy, deluded madwoman with an identity crisis?’
‘Tick both boxes,’ George replied drily, then came over and put his hands on Lisa’s upper arms, squeezing her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘Look, I’ll go and see what’s going on. The sooner I can get rid of her, the better. Will you wait here for me? Then I’ll explain.’
‘Fuck off,’ said Lisa bitterly, then shook him away and strode off down the corridor. George shut his eyes, took a deep breath and followed. The last thing he wanted was a cat fight.
By the time he reached the reception hall, Lisa had disappeared and Victoria was smoking languidly. She pointed towards the front door with her cigarette as George walked in.
‘She’s gone. I asked her to stay, but she ignored me completely. Have I put the cat amongst the pigeons?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘It’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t it? I’ve sent Mimi down to the beach so we could have a chat.’ Victoria held out her cheek expectantly. ‘I got the feeling your girlfriend knew nothing about me. She seemed awfully surprised when I told her who I was. No kiss?’
She pouted, feigning hurt. George gritted his teeth.
‘Get to the point, Victoria. I can’t imagine you turning up here is just a happy coincidence.’
Victoria flicked her ash on to the floor.
‘I must say, she’s very pretty, but she has eaten all the pies.’
‘Lisa is not fat,’ George snapped.
‘I think you’ve put on a bit of weight yourself,’ Victoria taunted him. ‘Georgy Porgy pudding
and
pie?’
Why was it Victoria always managed to find his Achilles heel? They were living off fish and chips and cream teas at the moment. He knew he’d put on a couple of pounds. Trust her to notice. Trust her to point it out.
‘Victoria. Why are you here?’
Victoria clasped her hands together, touching her knuckles to her lips with a sigh. George noticed she still wore the rings he’d bought her. The outsize tourmaline glistening on her left hand. And the Cartier trinity ring she’d begged for her little finger.
‘Where to begin?’ she said huskily, shrugged, then smiled up at him from underneath that ridiculously long fringe that only someone without a grip on reality could wear. ‘In a nutshell, Nick and I are finished. And I’m broke. Haven’t got a bean. Mimi and I are homeless and penniless.’
George raised an eyebrow.
‘And your point is?’
‘You’ve got this gorgeous huge place. And we’re only tiny and we don’t eat much.’
No, thought George, but you drink like a fish. He didn’t say it, though, because he didn’t want to start a slanging match. Be firm, he told himself. Firm, ruthless. No compromises. It was the only way with Victoria.
‘Sorry. I can’t help.’
‘You’ve got to.’
George was surprised to hear a tremor in her voice. Victoria was always so defiant. So definite. But she had gone very pale. The chocolate-dark freckles on her milk white skin, the ones she hated and the ones he had once loved, were darker than ever. He remembered tracing them with his fingers, playing dot to dot, in the days when her beauty had left him speechless with awe.
He didn’t want her anywhere near him now. One touch and he would be tainted. He felt himself drawing back. He could smell her perfume and it made him shudder. The aptly named Fracas.
Victoria leaned forward, her voice low, pleading.
‘I’m really scared, George. Mimi’s in a terrible state. You’re the only one who can talk any sense to her. You always were. I’m seriously worried she’s going to go off the rails.’
‘Like you, you mean?’ George knew he was being harsh.
‘Yes. Like me. It might surprise you, but I don’t want her to turn out like me. A complete loser. A flake, who shat on the only man who was ever decent to her.’ There were tears welling up in her eyes. ‘So what do I do then, George? Tell me.’
There were all sorts of things he could tell her. That it was her own fault. That she shouldn’t have been so greedy. So mercenary. So fickle. That the day she had slithered out of his arms and into the grasp of Nick Taverner, media mogul, entrepreneur and total snake, was the day he absolved himself from any responsibility for her whatsoever.
‘Victoria, I have no idea what you’re going to do. And, frankly, it’s not my problem.’
‘But you’re my husband.’
‘Estranged. Abandoned. Cheated. Or had you forgotten?’ He didn’t mean to sound bitter. He meant to sound cool.
‘I made a mistake.’
‘That’s not what you told me. You told me that Nick Taverner recognized your talents, which was more than I did. That he understood your needs. That he was going to nurture you.’
‘You were stifling me. You were trying to control me.’
‘I was trying to stop you killing yourself. I was trying to give you a sense of perspective. You told me I was boring.’
‘I didn’t know what I was talking about. I didn’t know what I was doing.’
‘Victoria, you were a grown woman. You made your choice.’
Victoria seemed to crumple before his very eyes. Her chin was trembling as she choked back a sob. George wondered just how much of this drama was a performance and how much was genuine. Victoria was capable of using every trick in the book to get her way. She wiped away a runaway tear with her fingers, and George tried to remain stony-hearted.
‘Please. Just let us stay for a week. While we sort ourselves out. I’ve got to work out how I can get some money. I’m in a real mess, George.’
‘What about your business?’
Victoria bit her lip.
‘Nick bought me out.’ She had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘I’m just an employee. I can hardly go back and work for him, can I?’
‘What about the money from the sale? You must have got a decent whack.’
‘We undervalued it. So I didn’t have to pay capital gains . . .’
‘Jesus, Victoria.’
‘I know. But I didn’t think I was going to split up with him, did I?’
‘You must have got something. Where’s it all gone?’
She gave a minute shrug.
‘You know . . .’
George narrowed his eyes.
‘Shoes? Handbags? Cocaine?’
‘You really don’t think much of me, do you?’ she flashed.
‘Then what?’
‘A new car. Stuff for Mimi. We went to Mustique . . .’ She trailed off lamely.
George sighed heavily. Victoria’s eyes were glassy with tears.
‘Please. If not for me, then for Mimi. You wouldn’t see her without a roof over her head, would you? I mean, I’m sure you couldn’t care less if I ended up in the gutter, but you care about her, don’t you?’
George shut his eyes. He was being stitched up. He knew he was. But Victoria had him over a barrel. Of course he loved Mimi. Even if she wasn’t actually his, she was technically still his stepdaughter, and he cared very deeply what happened to her. And he knew jolly well that if he didn’t take responsibility for her, no one else would. With Victoria adrift without the life raft of Nick Taverner’s millions . . .
What choice did he have?
‘I’ll have to talk to Lisa first.’
That perfect smile. That little dimple. George turned sharply and went to look out of the window.
‘This is an amazing place.’ She came to stand behind him. He could almost feel her soft breath on his neck.
‘It will be.’ His voice was matter of fact.
‘I can just see it. The walls painted chalky, matt white. Stripped floors. Curtains . . . ? Mmmm . . . Not blue; it’s so predictable by the sea. Hot pink and burnt orange, maybe. Some massive canvasses – modern, minimalist. Distressed furniture, like driftwood. Beaten copper wall lights . . .’
Had she already been in and rifled through his ideas? She couldn’t have. Yet what she was reciting was almost what he’d designed. Could she read his mind? Maybe she could. For George knew the truth. That in many ways he and Victoria were in sync with each other. That together they made a whole. That whole had somehow splintered, rotted, fallen apart. He had long thought it beyond restoration, that no amount of love and care could render them complete again. But her words had made him realize . . .