An Autumn Affair (18 page)

‘But it’s the end of the season. Don’t you think it’d be better if we waited until things were more organised. Came out next summer for a bit?’

Faye blew out an exasperated breath. ‘No, I don’t. It’s ages to next summer and I’m not spending God knows how many months wasting my life in that stupid village. This’ll show them all that Faye Blakelaw means business. That I’m not six years old. And that I don’t need to be grounded.’

‘But we don’t have a plan. It’s all a bit … random.’

‘Of course it’s not random. We find Miguel and he’ll sort us out.’

Josie wrinkled her forehead. ‘Have you actually spoken to him since the party?’

‘No. But what’s that got to do with anything?’

Josie shrugged. ‘People say things when they’ve had a drink. Maybe he was just telling you what you wanted to hear.’

‘Of course he wasn’t. He lives there. He has contacts.’

‘Do you have his address? Or telephone number?’

Faye hesitated. She’d really hoped Josie wasn’t going to ask her that. For all her bravado, she’d have felt so much better if she had spoken to Miguel after the party, or at least if she had his phone number. Still she wasn’t going to let a minor detail like that stop the proceedings. ‘No,’ she replied as confidently as she could. ‘But I know the name of the bar where he works. We’ll track him down there.’

‘But what if we can’t find it? There’s bound to be a million bars over there.’

Faye’s patience was waning. ‘Look, if you don’t want to come with me, I’ll go by myself.’

Josie didn’t reply. Instead, she stared at the ground, chewing her bottom lip.

For the first time since she’d booked the flights earlier that day – using her mother’s credit card – Faye experienced a surge of panic. If Josie bottled out now, then she couldn’t lose face. She’d have to go alone – the thought of which, now they were amidst the commotion of the airport, seemed a damned sight scarier than when she’d concocted the plan in her bedroom. And then there was the rather mercenary fact that she didn’t have any money. Josie had brought along all the cash she’d received for her birthday – three times as much as Faye’s contribution. And if Josie didn’t come, neither would the money.

She held her breath as Josie continued her lip-chewing and ground-staring. After what seemed to Faye like an eternity, she eventually blew out a long breath.

‘Oh, all right. I think the idea is completely mad, but I can’t let you go on your own.’

Faye’s confidence was galvanised. ‘Brilliant.’ She linked her arm through her friend’s. ‘Now let’s go and find our check-in desk.’

*****

Miranda was exhausted. All the party preparations, combined with Doug’s visit, and the strain of keeping her condition to herself, had really taken its toll over the last few days. Curled up on the sofa in the lounge at Buttersley Hall, she hugged a cushion to her chest and thought about Doug. For all she’d been dreading seeing him, she’d found his presence surprisingly fortifying. And when, following the celebrations, they’d eventually tumbled into bed, so tired had they been that he’d simply wrapped her in his arms and held her. A gesture which had made her feel safe. Protected. Like she belonged there. And, needless to say, completely emotional.

‘You okay?’ Doug had whispered.

No
, Miranda had wanted to wail.
I’m far from okay. I’m carrying another man’s child.
But she hadn’t.

‘Sorry,’ she’d snivelled. ‘Not feeling that great at the moment. Think I might be coming down with something.’

Thankfully, he’d bought her excuse. And, the following day, had flown back to Dubai. Miranda was only grateful he hadn’t been there when Faye Blakelaw’s mother had turned up at the house, tearing a strip off her for the state her daughter had been in at the party. Miranda had resisted hurling back that if Faye wanted to strut about like a prostitute and drink herself into oblivion, then that really wasn’t Miranda’s fault. She was only grateful Josie was level-headed enough not to be influenced by the likes of Faye. But she hadn’t had the energy to argue with the woman. Instead, she’d listened to the ranting in silence before muttering some semblance of an apology. Which, thankfully, had been enough to placate her. Just thinking about the confrontation made Miranda weary. For all it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, she was going to bed. And tomorrow she would call the London clinic and make the appointment for the termination.

Definitely.

*****

Julia perched awkwardly on the edge of Max’s sofa, wishing she hadn’t bothered with the hold-up stockings. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d worn stockings, but wasn’t doing something different precisely what this evening was all about? The stockings had made her feel sexy earlier. Now they just felt damned uncomfortable. Like they were cutting off her entire circulation, making it difficult for her to breathe.

Much to her relief, Max had seemed delighted to see her when he’d pulled open the apartment door.

‘Wow. You look amazing. I love the dress.’

Julia smiled her thanks. She had to admit that she did rather like the dress – a burgundy wrap-around she’d bought for Paul’s office cocktail party. And it had the added bonus of making her waist appear smaller and her boobs bigger.

‘Come in,’ he’d said, stepping aside.

He led her into the lounge. A huge square room with brilliant white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows, in front of which were two squashy black leather sofas, strategically placed either side of a coffee table, permitting spectacular views of the city.

‘Sit down.’

Julia did as she was bid.

‘Glass of wine?’

She nodded her acceptance.

‘Right. Give me two minutes.’

While Max loped off to what looked like a very sleek, modern kitchen, Julia cleared her throat, wondering if her vocal cords had gone on strike. But then again, other than making some banal comment about the view, which Max had probably heard a bazillion times, she had no idea what to say.

‘There you go,’ he said, returning to the lounge and sliding a glass of white wine across the table to her. ‘Just the one, mind, given you’re driving.’

He plumped down on the opposite sofa.

Julia managed a shaky smile. She was driving but she needed a drink to steady her nerves. One wouldn’t touch the sides, though. In fact, the way she felt right now, several bottles could well be required before even a dint would be made.

‘Are you okay?’ Max asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Julia picked up her glass and took a tentative sip. ‘Fine thanks,’ she croaked.

Max leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. ‘No, you’re not. You look terrified. Maybe you coming here wasn’t such a good idea.’

Julia gazed across the table at him. He gazed back. With such a concerned look on his face, something tugged at the centre of her heart.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I’m just a bit …’

He raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Terrified?’

His green-grey eyes twinkled and a mischievous smile tugged at one side of his mouth.

‘Absolutely terrified,’ she confessed, before they both broke out laughing.

Max rose to his feet and took the few strides necessary to sit beside her.

‘Look, Ju …’

Julia’s breath caught in her throat. No one other than Max had ever called her that.

‘… I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know what you want me to do or say. I don’t even, if I’m honest, know why you wanted to come here tonight …’

Julia bit her bottom lip. A few minutes ago, she hadn’t known either. But now, with Max so close she could feel the heat of his body, drink in the subtle scent of his aftershave, she was beginning to remember.

‘… but what I do know,’ he went on solemnly, ‘is that I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent with you lately; loved having you in my life again. But I understand that you’ve moved on …’

Julia choked back the snort of ironic laughter that rose in her throat at that statement.

‘… you’ve got a family now, and I can’t expect you to …’

Before he could utter another word, Julia set down her glass, grabbed hold of him and pulled him to her.

Chapter Twelve

‘Oh my God,’ gasped Josie. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one place.

Fighting their way through the battalion of bodies at Malaga airport, the same thought had just scuttled through Faye’s mind. Swiftly followed by how on earth they were going to get from the airport to Marbella.

‘How do we get to Marbella from here?’ asked Josie, as if reading Faye’s thoughts.

Faye sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t admit to Josie that she didn’t have a clue. That the crowds were freaking her out. That she was beginning to think this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She’d instigated the trip; dragged poor Josie along. She had to take charge. Prove to Josie – and the world – that she wasn’t a kid any more. That she was a fully grown, mature woman. The problem was, at that particular moment, she didn’t feel like a fully grown, mature woman. She felt exactly as she had when she’d been six years old and wandered off in the local supermarket: very scared, and very vulnerable. A fierce-looking woman squeezed past, catching Faye’s ankle with her trolley. Faye bit back an expletive as tears sprang to her eyes. But she couldn’t cry. That wouldn’t be cool at all. And would only stress Josie out even more. She gulped down another mouthful of air, before blurting out, ‘We’ll catch a bus.’

Following the overhead neon signs, they eventually located the airport’s bus station. It, too, was thronged with people – all talking, it seemed to Faye, at maximum volume. A child began wailing. Someone jabbed their elbow into Faye’s chest. The bus for Marbella was just pulling out. And the crowd waiting for the next one was about twenty people deep.

‘Looks like we might be here a while,’ sighed Josie despondently.

‘It’ll be worth it,’ said Faye, not sure who she was trying to convince.

What seemed to Faye like three days, but was actually three hours, later, she and Josie clambered off the bus in the centre of Marbella.

‘Well, here we are at last,’ huffed Josie. ‘What now?’

Faye had no idea. Having spent the entire bus journey sandwiched between two large sweaty Spaniards, she felt slightly nauseous. She stood for a moment, assessing their surroundings. The crowd that had descended the bus with them had already drifted off, obviously having somewhere to go. She and Josie didn’t have anywhere to go – a fact which made her even more nauseous. Hmm. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her arrival in Spain at all. She’d imagined Miguel waiting at the airport, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, before she hopped into his open-topped sports car and he whisked her to his gorgeous villa down a road parallel to the glistening Med. She’d imagined trendy music, her hair blowing in the breeze, the sun browning her bare limbs. Not that she had any idea if Miguel owned an open-topped sports car. Or a gorgeous villa. Or even if the road did run parallel to the sea. But what she certainly hadn’t imaged was a dark, dingy bus station, clouded in choking diesel fumes. Well, one thing was for certain. They couldn’t stay here all night.

‘Let’s go and find Miguel’s bar,’ she piped up.

Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘But we don’t have a clue where it is.’

‘I know it’s on the beachfront,’ said Faye. ‘And I know it’s called Samba. If we head towards the beach, someone’s sure to know where it is.’

Josie heaved a weary sigh as she tugged the straps of her backpack over her shoulders. ‘I’m knackered. Don’t you think it’d be better if we found a hotel and crashed? Then we can look for Miguel tomorrow.’

Faye hesitated for a moment. Finding a hotel and crashing sounded perfect. But that wasn’t what she’d come here for. She was dying to surprise Miguel and besides, he might offer to put them up for the night, which would save them a heap of money. ‘Look, why don’t we give ourselves an hour to look for him, and if we can’t find him in that time, we’ll head for a hotel?’

Josie contorted her mouth into a rather strange position. ‘Oh, all right then,’ she eventually huffed. ‘Just an hour, though.’

Following the signs, they headed down the hill towards the sea. The nearer they got, the livelier the place became, the beachfront being the liveliest of all. A paved promenade lined with palm trees, and a plethora of sea-facing, colourful, canopied bars nudged up against each other, blasting out a cacophony of pulsating music.

‘Wow,’ exclaimed Faye. ‘This is great, isn’t it?’

Josie didn’t reply.

‘Let’s go into this one,’ said Faye, marching into the place on her left. ‘And ask if they know where Miguel’s bar is.’

Fortunately for her, the proprietor did know. He informed her that Samba was actually more of a nightclub than a bar, and was located up a side street leading off from the promenade.

Following his detailed directions, they arrived at their destination some ten minutes later.

‘Right,’ said Faye, her positivity wobbling as she assessed the peeling paint and graffiti on the door, the flickering light above it, and the fluorescent signage which boasted only
S m a
. If she’d been forced to stick a label on her initial opinion, she would have opted for ‘seedy’.

‘Should we, er, go in?’ she asked Josie, part of her hoping her friend would steadfastly refuse.

Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘It looks a bit … dodgy. But I suppose … as we’re here …’

Faye sucked in a fortifying breath. It was only a stupid door and lights for God’s sake. Inside the place could be a veritable palace. Ignoring every one of her screaming instincts, she pushed the aforementioned shabby door open and stepped inside. To have every one of her senses immediately assaulted. It was the smell of marijuana that hit her first. At least Faye assumed it was marijuana. It was certainly something very pungent, sweet and earthy, which punched the back of her throat. Her eyes, meanwhile, beginning to water with the intensity of the smoke, attempted to adjust to the dimly lit fug. They scanned the large room, scattered with tables – all occupied with an assortment of clientele – eventually settling on the bar at the back, at which Faye could just about discern the shapes of three guys all dressed in black. The blaring techno music rebounding through her entire body, Faye didn’t bother to attempt to speak to Josie, but merely gestured her over to the bar.