Making Your Mind Up (18 page)

He
just
wasn't rich enough.

Cressida sat down on one of the kitchen chairs with a bump. This wasn't supposed to be happening. It was like opening a gloriously gift-wrapped present and discovering it contained a dead rat.

“No, that won't be possible,” Sacha Forbes briskly repeated. “We're away. One of Robert's district managers is getting married in Kent and we'll be staying down there for the weekend.”

Ringing to check that Sacha and Robert wouldn't mind her taking Jojo with her up to Newcastle had been purely a formality. They'd never said no before, which was why it hadn't occurred to Cressida for one minute that they might this time.

“And Jojo's going with you?” Cressida fought to hide her rising panic. “It's just that she didn't say anything about a wedding.”

“Well, I'm sure I mentioned it. You know what young girls are like.” Sacha's tone was careless. “Never pay any attention.”

“Although if it's a work colleague's wedding,” Cressida ventured out of sheer desperation, “she's not going to know anyone else there, is she? Are you sure you and Robert wouldn't rather leave her with me? Then the two of you can really relax and—”

“No, no, it's too late for all that now. Robert's boss is taking his noisy brats along and we promised him Jojo would look after them. Otherwise they'd cause mayhem.”

The unfairness of this took Cressida's breath away. “But—”

“Cressida, she's coming with us. We're going to this wedding as a family. Now if you'll excuse me, I do have some important phone calls to make.” Clearly implying that she'd spared Cressida more than enough of her precious time, Sacha said impatiently, “And maybe you could remind yourself that Jojo's our daughter, not yours.”

The line went dead, but the pain inflicted by this last remark cut through Cressida like a Stanley knife, all the more acute because Sacha was right.

Tears filled her eyes as she realized she would have to apologize to Sacha and Robert. Apologize and grovel. It wouldn't be a good idea to antagonize them. If they decided they wanted to stop Jojo seeing her, they could.

Two strong cups of coffee later, Cressida left another message on Jojo's phone explaining about the wedding.

Then she emailed Tom, telling him they couldn't make it this weekend after all. The fact that she could still make it was irrelevant; he had invited both of them so that Jojo could be a companion for Donny. The whole purpose of the visit was to make it fun for the children and to keep them happy. Turning up on her own would be like promising Donny a trip to Disneyland, then dragging him along to the dentist instead.

In fact, staying here in Hestacombe this coming weekend was going to feel a lot like one endless trip to the dentist.

* * *

What a shame, Tom emailed back from work twenty minutes later. Donny would be so disappointed. Of course, he added (hastily? politely?), he was too. The following weekend Donny was involved in a seven-a-side soccer tournament, but how about the weekend after that?

Checking the calendar, Cressida discovered that this was the weekend she had volunteered to help out at the local hospital's Autumn Fair. She was down to run the raffle in the morning and the book stall in the afternoon. So much for good deeds being rewarded.

Cressida could have wept. It was just as well she didn't own a cat; if she had, she would have kicked it.

* * *

Fenella gave a little cry of delight and held out her arms to Freddie.

“My darling, just look at you—all silver-haired and distinguished and more handsome than ever! Oh, it's so good to see you again!”

Freddie's head was aching so badly it felt as if his brain were being squeezed in a vice, but if anything was capable of making him forget the pain it was the sight of Fenella in a pink and yellow summer dress and floaty matching scarf. Her dark eyes glowed. She still wore her hair in a gamine Audrey Hepburn crop, and her legs were as slender and spectacular as ever. She was sixty-three, Freddie reminded himself. If he hadn't known that, he'd have put her at midfifties.

“And it's wonderful to see you.” Bending his head and breathing in the fresh, flowery scent of her perfume, he gave Fenella a kiss on each powdered cheek. “Thank you so much for coming. Please, let me take care of that,” he added as she unfastened the clasp on her handbag and pulled out a purse. “It's the least I can do.”

Freddie paid the taxi driver, tipped him a tenner, and said, “If I'd known you were catching the train I'd have met you at the station.”

“Maybe I was worried you might pick me up in that terrible old Austin 7 of yours.” Fenella's gaze, alight with mischief, slid across to the gleaming burgundy Daimler parked on the driveway. “Is this really yours? Looks like you've done pretty well for yourself, darling. I'm so happy for you.”

Freddie knew he was behaving like an eight-year-old teased by his peers for not having a bike, then getting a brand-new one for Christmas and not being able to resist riding up and down the street, showing it off. Forty years ago his lack of money had meant Fenella hadn't taken him seriously. Since then he
had
done well for himself, but the slight had always rankled like an itch beneath the skin. Seeing her again and showing her what she'd missed out on completed a kind of circle; he was a sixty-four-year-old man careering up and down the street, ringing his bell and crowing, “Look at me on my shiny new bike.”

They had lunch in the conservatory and caught up with each other's lives. Fenella was full of admiration for the house, and Freddie told her how he had built up his property business. In turn he learned that she and Cyril had divorced after twenty-three years of marriage.

“He took early retirement, and we moved to Puerto Banús. Being married to someone who's working nonstop at least gives you time on your own,” Fenella confided. “Once Cyril gave up work there was no escape from him. It drove me mad.
He
drove me mad. He wouldn't even take up golf or serious drinking, for crying out loud! Well, I couldn't stand it. So we broke up and I got involved with Jerry Britton.”

Freddie wondered whether her involvement with Jerry Britton had preceded the breakup of her marriage to Cyril.

“Who played plenty of golf and practically single-handedly kept the bars of Puerto Banús in business,” Fenella continued wryly. “But he was great fun and he made me feel young and desirable again. After twenty-three years of being married to Cyril that meant a lot, I can tell you.”

“And you married him.” Freddie couldn't resist asking the question. “Was he wealthy?”

Fenella smiled sadly and said, “Oh yes. I may have been in my late forties, but I still hadn't learned my lesson. Jerry splashed his money about like nobody's business, and I loved it when he splashed it out on me. All my life I'd needed the comfort of financial security. I was a silly, shallow woman. I can see that now. Jerry turned out to be a complete and utter bastard, of course. I'd never been so miserable. He was sleeping around. He started belittling me in front of all his friends…it was just a nightmare.” Putting down her knife and fork, she said sadly, “And the thing was, I knew deep down that I deserved it. This was my punishment for being so shallow and mercenary all my life. I'd deserved my comeuppance and now here it was in all its glory.”

“Don't be too hard on yourself. At least you were honest about it,” said Freddie.

“Oh, darling, and look where it got me.” Fenella shook her head. “And the really ironic thing is…no, nothing, forget it.”

Freddie watched her wave the words away.

“What's the really ironic thing?” he prompted.

Reaching for her glass of Chablis, Fenella said, “OK, but I warn you it makes me sound completely pathetic.” She paused, took a sip of wine and gazed steadily at him. “I missed you, Freddie. I loved you. I know I never told you this, but that was because I couldn't. I'd made my bed and I had to lie in it. But I never forgot you. I never stopped comparing other men with you, wishing they could
be
more like you.”

“Like me if I'd been a lot richer.” Freddie's tone was dry.

“No, like
you
,” Fenella insisted. “Look, it took me a while, but I got there in the end. When I divorced Jerry, I could have fought for a fabulous settlement, but I didn't. I left without a penny, came back to England, and resolved to become a better person. From now on, money wouldn't rule my life. If I met a genuinely nice man who was poor but honest, I'd settle down with him because at last I knew that happiness had nothing to do with the size of someone's bank balance.”

Impressed, Freddie said, “And did that happen?”

“Only very briefly.” Sadness shadowed Fenella's eyes. “I did meet a lovely man. His name was Douglas, and he worked in a garden center. He had no money, but it didn't matter. We got on wonderfully well together. I had such high hopes for the future. But two months later he died suddenly of a heart attack.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Thank you. It was a horrible time, just horrible. I felt as if I were being punished for all the bad things I'd done in the past. So much happiness, snatched away. That was eight years ago.” Fenella reached for a handkerchief in her bag and wiped her brimming eyes. “There hasn't been anyone else since. I'd have liked there to be, but it just hasn't happened. Oh dear, I know this must sound ridiculous, but can you understand how excited I was when I opened that letter from your friend Lottie? Discovering that you were looking for me and wanted to see me again? I felt like a teenager! This was my chance to make up for the terrible way I'd treated you before…and, less unselfishly, I thought it could be my chance to be happy again with my first love. Because that's what you were, Freddie. I may not have been able to admit it at the time, but it's true. You were my first love.” She stopped and gave a brittle laugh. “And now I'm here, and it's all gone wrong again. I think I must be jinxed.”

Bemused, Freddie said, “Why are you jinxed?”

“Because the whole point of coming here today and seeing you again and…whatever”—another nonspecific wave of her left hand—“was to prove to you that I really have changed! But now I can't, because you aren't poor anymore. You have all this!”

Freddie smiled. “I'm sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am, let me tell you.” Fenella sat back in her chair and tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. “When you told me your address I assumed Hestacombe House was a block of apartments. I expected you to be a normal, not-very-well-off man leading a not-very-well-off life. And I wanted to show you that it didn't matter a bit. When the taxi driver pulled up outside this place I almost fainted. I never imagined you ending up somewhere like this. And it means I can't flirt with you, because if I did you'd think I was only doing it because you're rich.”

“I don't know what to say.” Freddie paused, then decided he may as well come clean. “OK. If I'm honest, that's one of the reasons I wanted to see you again. To prove to you that I'd made something of myself, against the odds and despite the fact that you broke my heart.”

Fenella's hand flew to her mouth. “Did I break your heart? Really?”

“Oh yes.”

“I thought you'd just go back to that sweet girl of yours…what was her name?”

“Giselle.” Freddie's heart contracted.

“That's it. Pretty little thing. What happened?”

“I messed up. All my own fault. After you and I broke up, I was hard to live with. Giselle hadn't done anything wrong, and she couldn't understand why I was so distant. It wasn't an easy time.”

“Oh God, I'm so sorry,” Fenella exclaimed. “I feel dreadful.”

“These things happen. Call it fate. Anyway, we were struggling on but we were both unhappy,” said Freddie. “Then I met someone else. And that was it. I finished with Giselle. Started seeing the other girl.”

“Whose name was?”

“Mary. Within six months we were married. She died four years ago.”

“Oh, Freddie. And you were happy together? Of course you were,” Fenella exclaimed. “I can tell by the look in your eyes. That's wonderful. I'm so glad you found the right one in the end.”

Unable to speak for a moment, Freddie nodded.

“Poor darling.” Fenella reached over and took his hand. “You must miss her terribly. It's the loneliness, isn't it? Not having anyone to share your life with. Oh, it breaks my heart to think of you being so sad.”

“Grief is the price you pay for love,” Freddie said simply, before gathering himself and leaning forward to top up her wineglass. “Anyway, this isn't very cheerful, is it? You'll be wishing you'd never come to see me.”

“Freddie, it's heavenly to see you. I just can't bear to think of you on your own. You're still a very attractive man, you know.” Breaking into a smile, Fenella said, “If it wasn't for all this wretched money of yours, who knows what could have happened? The two of us meeting up again might have…oh heavens, just ignore me, I'm a silly old woman…”

As her voice trailed away Freddie realized he was meant to do the gentlemanly thing and gallantly contradict her. His head was still pounding and he needed his next dose of painkillers. But first he had to explain to Fenella that any kind of future together simply wasn't on the cards.

“Of course you aren't silly. Or old,” he added hastily. “But I'm really not looking for a relationship. That isn't why I wanted to see you again.”

Startled, Fenella said, “Oh.”

“Sorry if I misled you.” Freddie felt guilty, since he clearly had. “I just thought it would be nice to find out how you were and how life had treated you.”

“Oh well.” Summoning a brave smile, Fenella said, “And now you know. Is that it? Would you like me to leave now that you're all up to date?”