It’s Now or Never Page 11

  More blushing.

  ‘I bet they’re really proud of you.’

  How can I tell Blake that they probably couldn’t care less? That ambition and adventure are words that aren’t in their vocabulary? That the only thing they’re bothered about is spending all their money on booze at the weekends?

  ‘They’re thrilled,’ I lie.

  ‘And your husband?’

  Ah. Can’t even force a lie about that one. ‘Less so.’ I hang my head.

  ‘Then it’s even more brave that you’ve decided to go without his support. That’s tough.’

  My throat has closed. ‘Yes.’

  Blake fixes me with his baby-blue eyes and a smile curls his lips. ‘Well, I think you’re a very feisty woman, Annie Ashton.’

  My heart bangs in my chest again even though I’m not exercising and it’s not just because Blake Chadwick has actually remembered my name.

  Chapter 36

  It was after eleven o’clock at night when the intercom buzzer at Lauren’s flat sounded. Most people, she thought, would be worried by that, someone calling so late. For Lauren, it sent a bolt of anticipation through her.

  ‘It’s me.’ Jude’s voice sounded urgent. ‘Can I come up?’

  He had a key, of course, but mostly, out of courtesy, he didn’t use it.

  She buzzed him in and seconds later was in his arms. His hands roved over her body as he kissed her deeply.

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘I’ve just popped out to get some petrol.’

  Instantly, Lauren felt herself deflate. There’d been no chance for them to speak in the office at all today and the rash of emails she’d sent to Jude had gone unanswered. Now it was going to be just a few snatched moments when she always, always yearned for more.

  She’d given up any thoughts of seeing Jude at about nine o’clock that evening and had settled for a long bath and a night watching television instead. Lauren pulled her dressing-gown around her, aware that it was past its best.

  ‘How’s Benjy?’ she asked.

  ‘Better,’ Jude said, with a look of relief on his face. ‘You understand, I had to come back the other day. I couldn’t stay away when my son was ill.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lauren said, but it came out more crisply than she would have liked.

  ‘I said I’d make it up to you,’ her lover continued, ‘so I’ve booked a hotel for this weekend. Gorgeous place. Just you, me, long romantic walks and lazy hours in bed.’

  ‘Oh, Jude.’ He held her to him again. But somewhere, in the back of her brain, there was a nagging thought. What if she’d been busy this weekend? What if she’d decided to do something else for once?

  ‘It’s down in Bath.’ Jude was animated now. ‘I know you love it there.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘I’ve never been before.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Sometimes he got her likes and dislikes mixed up with those of his wife.

  ‘Well, you will love it,’ he said, recovering his composure quickly. ‘Bath’s a wonderful city, and the hotel has a great spa.’

  Despite her joy, Lauren wondered who he’d been there with in the past. It didn’t take much imagination to work it out.

  ‘I’ll have to meet you there,’ Jude said. ‘But I should arrive by lunchtime.’

  ‘Can’t we go together?’

  He tsked. ‘No can do.’

  Lauren remembered now – Georgia’s mother lived down that way. Was Jude taking his wife and children to see their in-laws on the way to visit his mistress? She knew that his whole relationship with her was based on lies, half-truths and manipulations, but that somehow seemed too cold, too calculating.

  ‘Are you happy, darling?’

  She nodded, pushing away any doubts, any fears.

  ‘Two whole days together. Though I’ll have to leave after lunch on Sunday.’

  That wasn’t two whole days, she thought, it was barely twenty-four hours.

  ‘What am I this time?’ she asked. ‘An urgent business meeting or a conference?’

  Jude looked taken aback.

  And even Lauren was surprised at how bitter she sounded.

  Chapter 37

  Greg and I are having dinner. At home. On our own. Goodness knows where Ellen and Bobby are. As their parents we’re not privy to such vital information. I used to insist on knowing their every movement, but I gave up when they both turned eighteen and I realised that they’d rather I didn’t know where they were. The mood at the table is sombre and, without the kids here, there’s nothing to distract us.

  I’ve been running twice more this week with Blake Chadwick and my complaining muscles are currently struggling to keep me upright. My calves feel like they’ve got two tennis balls forced inside them.

  Tonight, I’ve made us chilli con carne. Greg hates chilli, yet is forcing it down without complaint. He’s not even picking out the kidney beans like he normally does. The silence is stretching between us and I realise that we’ve turned into one of those couples you see in restaurants who never speak a word to each other throughout their dinner.

  My husband clears his throat and takes a sip of his water.

  I’m now feeling bad that I’ve made the chilli so hot.

  ‘Is Lauren coming up tomorrow?’ he asks, his voice gruff.

  ‘No. She’s having a weekend away.’ I don’t add that it’s with Jude although it’s implicit in the statement. Greg doesn’t agree with her relationship with a married man. As well as an old-fashioned view of most things in the world, he has old-fashioned morals too.

  ‘Thought we could do the same. The two of us. Together.’ He looks embarrassed by the thought. My heart twists. I should have done boiled potatoes. ‘Last time was a bit of a disaster,’ he adds sheepishly.

  Hit the nail on the head there. ‘It was my fault as much as yours,’ I say. We give each other tentative smiles and, I guess that’s as near as we’re ever going to get to apologising to each other.

  ‘The weather forecast is good,’ Greg continues.

  ‘That would be lovely. Where to?’

  If he says Cromer, I’ll scream.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ he says, and concentrates on his chilli.

  Greg doesn’t do surprises. Not in twenty years of marriage have I ever been swept off my feet by him or whisked away to an exotic destination. He’s never even turned up with a bunch of flowers from the local petrol station – and most men manage that at least once in a lifetime.

  ‘A surprise?’

  He nods. ‘Yeah.’

  That is a surprise.

  So that’s why I’m up early and in the car before seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. I was going to go running with Blake this morning and that gives me a flutter of guilt. Maybe I should call him or text him. I have his number for work purposes. It was only a loose arrangement, but I don’t like letting people down. What should I do?

  ‘Ready?’ my husband asks.

  ‘Yes.’ And I let my mobile phone fall into my handbag and try not to think of Blake Chadwick waiting for me.

  Chapter 38

  By lunchtime we’re in the Lake District. The sky is an unbroken blue. The sun is working overtime to reach Mediterranean proportions. There is no sign of the low-slung, penetrating rain for which this area is so famous.

  Greg and I wind our way through narrow roads of ever-decreasing size, squeezing through the drystone walls that line either side until we eventually reach the gravel car park at Wasdale Head, a deep valley nestling at the foot of Scafell Pike. We climb out and gaze up at the peak’s dark, immense contours.

  Scafell Pike is the highest mountain in England. It’s still so remote and difficult to access that it has managed to escape the worst excesses of the Lakes tourism. You’ll not find coachloads of Japanese tourists here with the very latest in digital-camera technology clicking away. Today, there is just a scattering of cars parked up and it feels like we have the place pretty much to ourselves.

  ‘Wa
lking boots are in the back,’ Greg says.

  Our rucksacks are in there too and both have sandwiches in them. Looks like my husband has thought of everything.

  It’s years since we did anything like this. Once upon a time we used to enjoy going out hiking together – short four- or five-mile circuits in the soft, rolling countryside of Buckinghamshire – but we’ve never done any serious hillwalking. In front of me, Scafell Pike looms mountainous and challenging. This is a relatively small lump of rock compared to the towering slopes of the Andes and already I’m looking at it and thinking, I’ll never get up there. The guidebook tells me that the ascent is nearly 1,000 metres and, to me, that sounds like no mean feat.

  In the car park we change into our hiking gear. I’m amazed that my boots still fit me as they only get an outing now once a year on our rare days of snow at home. Greg must have had to venture into the depths of the loft to dig the rucksacks out, too. They were probably behind the cot the kids used to sleep in that I can’t bear to part with, and the Christmas decorations which needed binning years ago.

  ‘This is a really great idea,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

  The valley is also home to the deepest lake in England – Wast Water – and the scree-slopes climb steeply from its edges, mirrored perfectly in the still surface of this three-mile stretch of water.

  Greg takes my hand and we set off at a steady pace, walking up through the fields, across trickling brooks, scattering skittish sheep as we go. As we start to climb higher, the peaty waters of Wast Water shimmer below us in the midday sunshine. Even this bit’s steeper than it looks. As a novice, my breathing’s already hard and laboured, but I’m determined to do this. This has to be fabulous training for the Andes and I’m really grateful to Greg for bringing me up here.

  ‘All right?’ he asks.

  I nod in lieu of speaking and we continue higher. Even my husband is panting now. The rough stone path steepens and we climb in silence, only the sound of our breathing disturbing the air. The crystal-clear waters of Lingmell Gill cascade alongside the rocky trail. We splash across the gill and climb steadily up Brown Tongue. Ahead we can see the towering peaks of Pikes Crag and Scafell Crag, joined by the impressive col ridge of Mickledore.

  We pause and look down the valley. My lungs are crying out for release and I think that if I slipped now, then surely I would slither all the way down to the bottomless pit of Wast Water with nothing to stop my fall.

  We press on to the summit. My thighs are burning with the exertion and we reach a steep gully known as Lord’s Rake. The rough scree grabs at my feet, making them slip and slide as we scramble slowly upwards. From the top we stop to catch our breath. Mine is hot and ragged in my chest. The view from here is stupendous. The mighty Wast Water looks like nothing more threatening than a large blue puddle.

  The terrain is rough and boulder-strewn now, and the clouds come down to meet us, but I feel a spring in my step as I can see that we’ve nearly reached our goal.

  When we finally ascend to the pinnacle of the peak my soul soars and I feel as if I can see the whole world from here. The rocky crags and the soft, verdant curves of the Lake District are spread out before us – and the beauty of it brings a tear to my eye.

  I hug Greg fiercely. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you so much.’

  We’re both flushed, unaccustomed as we are to such exercise and I haven’t felt this alive in years. The blood is zinging in my veins and, although I could do with a lung transplant and my poor muscles are wondering quite what’s hit them, I’m feeling fan-flipping-tastic!

  I throw my arms wide and breathe in the sharp air. ‘Imagine what the Andes will be like compared to this. I can’t wait!’

  Looking at my husband, I see that his face has darkened. My arms drop to my sides.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I hoped,’ Greg says tightly, ‘that by showing you this –’ he makes an angry little dismissive wave at the stunning landscape of the Lake District – ‘you’d realise that you can have adventure in this country. There’s no need to pursue some harebrained scheme to go to the other side of the world with kids half your age to prove yourself.’

  I’m open-mouthed. ‘Is that what this is about?’ I say when I eventually regain the power of speech. ‘To try and show me that I’m an idiot to dream?’

  Greg, jaw set, stares out from the summit.

  ‘I thought you’d done it to help with my training,’ I tell him. ‘To encourage me.’

  ‘You don’t seem to need any encouragement,’ he spits out. My husband looks hurt, confused and more than a little angry. ‘It’s quite obvious you’ve got your mind set on it.’

  ‘I have,’ I say. ‘I’m going to Peru. I’m going to do the Inca Trail. I’d like it even better if it was something we could do together. But it’s quite obvious that you’ve got your mind set on remaining a boring old fart for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Go,’ Greg says. ‘Go on your own.’

  Hands on hips. ‘I will.’

  My husband shakes his head sadly. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you recently, Annie. But I don’t understand it.’

  And, with that, he stomps off down the mountain, leaving me behind.

  I sit, stunned, and pull out my sandwiches. I’m aghast at Greg’s reaction – as he clearly is at mine. All I want to do is go on a small adventure. I’m not declaring that I intend to sail the world single-handedly. I’ve not announced a major lifestyle upheaval such as moving a long-term toy-boy lover into the marital home. I haven’t suddenly broken the news that I’m carrying George Clooney’s love-child.

  I want to go to Peru. For charity. I’d love Greg to want to come with me. Is that really too much to ask?

  My stomach is in knots and the last thing I want to do is eat, but I force my sarnies down really, really slowly, chewing and chewing each bite and even though they taste like sawdust in my mouth, I make them last a really long time.

  Chapter 39

  I stomp down the mountain. I fall into a brook on the way. I get back into the car. Hours later. Soaking wet. Greg starts the engine. We sleep back-to-back in the lumpy bed in the Mountain View Guest House. Which is equally bad, if not worse, than Mrs Emerson’s Clifftop Guest House. The sexy lingerie has already been returned to the sexy lingerie emporium, so no worries on that front.

  We drive home in silence.

  Chapter 40

  Lauren drove down to Bath with the wind beneath her wheels. As much as she wanted to feel cool towards Jude, to punish him for being married, for being only available to her on a part-time basis and entirely on his terms, her heart had other ideas.

  The hotel, as he’d promised, was magnificent. Set high on one of the hills above the centre of the city, it was a grand Georgian mansion of mellow stone and splendid proportions. A quintessentially English destination for lovers. Another marvellous addition to the dirty weekends diary.

  Jude hadn’t yet arrived. For once, it would have been nice if he’d been waiting here to meet her, if she was the one running into his arms. Still, he’d be here soon enough and then the loving and the laughing could start.

  At this hotel, they even had their own appointed butler dressed in black tails and striped trousers. Lauren was shown to their suite by him. Jude had surpassed himself. Champagne was already waiting on ice.

  The rooms were elegant, traditional. They were decorated in a tastefully understated way – cream walls and bedlinen, silvery green and burgundy soft furnishings. Lauren could have written the definitive guide to hotel rooms, since she’d seen the inside of so many during her relationship with her boss.

  This time she wouldn’t get the saucy lingerie out until later. It wouldn’t do to tempt fate. Maybe they’d walk into Bath, have lunch there. Take a look at some of the sights. With the day stretching ahead of them they could afford not to rush straight to bed as they usually did.

  She sat in the living room of the suite, flicked through a magazine – Country Living. The property on of
fer for the discerning and loaded purchaser was mouth-watering. Perhaps when Jude left his wife they could move somewhere like this. A nice barn conversion or restored Georgian manor house with five or six bedrooms on the outskirts of the city would suit just fine. It wasn’t absolutely essential for the offices of Happening Today to be tied to London. They’d need to have easy access to his children for when they came to stay for weekends, of course, but there was no real reason for them to be there every day. They could look to live in the country. Somewhere not too far away from Annie either. Lauren smiled. She could quite see herself as the Lady of the Manor – finally give their sister Chelsea a run for her money.

  Lauren glanced at her watch. Lunchtime. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast for excitement, but now she was more than peckish.

  Jude, she thought, should have been here by now. Time was getting on. She’d been on the internet this week to have a look at some of the touristy things they might do. It was always wonderful to be able to walk through the streets, the parks, wherever, arm-in-arm and not be forever dreading that they might bump into someone that Jude knew.

  The magazine she was flicking through was starting to lose its thrall. Should she text him? He always hated her doing that in case Georgia was by his side and, at the moment, there was every chance that they were driving down here together. Her stomach growled. Lauren didn’t want to start lunch without him. That would be rude. And if she went out for a walk, then the moment she left the room, Jude was bound to turn up. Didn’t it always happen like that? She drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa. Maybe she should have brought a book with her, but Lauren hadn’t imagined that there would be much time for reading this weekend.

  Channel surfing the television produced no joy. In the end, she cracked and texted Jude. Where r u?

  Then she paced the room. The view from the full-length Georgian windows was wonderful. It looked really warm out there. Perhaps they could take an open-top bus tour round the city this afternoon. What was left of it. That would be fun. Or they could try the new rooftop spa today in case the weather turned colder tomorrow. Lauren just couldn’t wait to get out and get at it.