Having It All (51 page)

‘That was before Garth.’

‘And who’s Garth? He sounds like one of Ben’s He-Men.’

‘I haven’t met him. But it’s true luurrve, Mel says, and Garth yearns to be a country boy again.’

‘Oh my God, don’t tell me he’s one of these Sloane Rangers in green wellies and a jeep who wants to come down here and play the country squire?’

‘I don’t think so. From what Mel says, Garth is more Texas Ranger than Sloane Ranger.’

‘Oh well, that’s something I suppose.’

‘But even if Mel joins, it won’t be enough.’ Liz chewed the end of her pencil thoughtfully. ‘We need an adviser, someone we can trust who’s run their own company,
to tell us if it really
is
possible to run WomanPower on the terms we want to. Actually’ – Liz looked down at her hands for a moment – ‘there’s someone I have
in mind.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Britt.’

Ginny’s head shot up in astonishment. ‘Britt?’ she squeaked. ‘Yes, Britt,’ Liz said firmly. ‘You remember Britt? Tall, blonde hair, ran off with my
husband.’

‘OK, I’ll do it. On two conditions.’ Britt sat opposite Liz at the round table WomanPower used for important meetings.

Liz felt a huge weight being lifted from her chest. Britt would sort them out. She was the best businesswoman Liz knew. And she seemed so much better now. She’d clearly thrown herself into
work to get over the miscarriage. She was the old Britt again. But nicer, much nicer.

‘And what are they?’

‘One. That I get complete access to your finances, down to the last penny spent on paperclips. And two . . .’

She trailed off for a moment.

‘And two?’

‘That you don’t hate me if I have to tell you some home truths.’

‘Home truths are what we need.’

Britt looked down into her coffee. ‘Liz, there’s one more thing I wanted to say. Thank you for asking me.’

‘Thank you for accepting.’

And their eyes met for a second, sealed in trust.

As Liz went off to get Britt the reports she needed Ginny put her head round the door.

‘Hello, Britt. When are you starting?’

‘On Monday.’

‘Make it Sunday. Come to lunch. It’s a little ritual Gavin and I are reviving to boost our flagging marriage. Pimms at twelve. Enough food to feed an army, then sleep it off in
armchairs with the Sunday papers.’

‘Thanks, Ginny, it sounds glorious but I’m not sure I can. I’m supposed to be doing something.’

‘That’s a pity,’ she dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘because you’ll miss meeting Mr Perfect. Liz is finally bringing him along at last to be officially
introduced.’

‘In that case,’ Britt grinned and whispered back, ‘I’ll just have to drop everything and come. Looking at Liz I can’t wait to meet him.’

By Sunday the weather had changed again and it turned out to be the kind of perfect early summer day that makes everyone feel patriotic and believe in England’s green and
pleasant land. The sun shone from early morning, the sky was bright blue, the clouds high and chubby just like they were on Jamie’s duvet cover.

Ginny’s guests spilled out through the French windows into the garden and the children ran riot in the orchard.

Britt stood watching Liz, amazed by the change in her over the last few months. With the cares of WomanPower safely laid on to Britt’s shoulders, at least for a week or two, she gleamed
with happiness like the heroine of a Hollywood musical who knows everything will come right in the final reel.

Discreetly Britt glanced round for the man who’d done it. Most of the people here today she knew, but there was one man she didn’t, deep in conversation with Gavin. He was tall and
good-looking with extraordinary green eyes and clothes so subtly expensive and smart that he looked as though he’d wandered off the set of some commercial, for Martini perhaps or one of the
new designer beers.

For a moment she thought of David, lying with his shoes off and the television blaring on her white sofa. At the time she’d resented his slobbishness, but now next to the flawless Nick
Winters, he seemed somehow real and three-dimensional.

What was it that made her so uneasy about Nick Winters? He was devastating and he was rich and he was making Liz happy. But why hadn’t some clever little girl snapped him up and moved him
into a mock-Tudor mansion with a swimming pool and a child a year to make divorce difficult?

Suddenly a hand knitted through hers and she found herself propelled towards him. It was Liz. ‘Nick, you must meet Britt.’

Britt found the penetrating green gaze suddenly on her. Then he smiled. But it wasn’t the warm, teasing smile she’d so loved in David. It seemed to her to be consciously charming, as
if charm were not so much a natural attribute but rather a useful currency.

Nick turned to an older man in a red cashmere cardigan by his side.

‘Have you met my business partner, Henry Carlisle?’

Britt smiled at the older man, taking in his beautifully manicured nails, and his immaculately polished shoes and his air of weary patience. And suddenly a lot of things fell into place.

‘So what do you think of Mr Perfect?’

In her eagerness to hear Britt’s reaction Mel had forgotten that she was never going to speak to Britt ever again in her whole life and plonked herself down on the arm of her chair, almost
spilling her drink as she did.

Britt looked out into the garden where Nick and Liz were laughing together, the sun splashing them with light, a golden couple.

‘He seems to be making Liz very happy.’

‘Yes.’ Mel took a sip of her wine and watched them over the top of her glass, only the slightest edge detectable in her voice. ‘Yes, he does, doesn’t he?’

‘By the way’ – Britt smiled at Mel with genuine pleasure – ‘congratulations. I gather you’re joining WomanPower.’

‘Yes, crazy isn’t it? I’m going to do the PR and generally help out. I don’t know whether I’ll last five minutes. I’m a real town mouse. But Garth really
likes the idea. All that huntin’, shootin’, and fishin’.’

Britt tried to picture Garth with his ponytail in plus fours, a gun slung over one shoulder, and failed. From what Mel said about Garth’s attributes in the trouser department, he’d
probably keep falling over his own equipment.

Mel jumped up, remembering she’d promised to pass round a plate of canapés. If Ginny had abandoned the kitchen for the life of a high-flying exec, she’d certainly redeemed
herself today. It was all Mel could do to stop herself sampling the mouth-watering selection of bite-sized asparagus quiches, paper-wrapped prawns and oysters wrapped in bacon as she headed for the
garden.

Popping a quail’s egg on toast in her mouth, Mel looked round guiltily. But there were no guests left in the sitting room. The sun had lured them all outside and Mel followed.

Two feet from the French windows she stopped dead. Immediately outside Nick Winters stood alone. Liz must have got up to get a drink and he was watching her with a look of such passionate
yearning that Mel stood transfixed, staring at him.

Lucky Liz! Sighing with envy, Mel stepped out on to the terrace with the plate of canapés. But Liz was nowhere to be seen. She must have gone for a walk with Jamie in the orchard.

Liz woke up and looked lazily around her as the sun streamed in through the curtains of Nick’s bedroom and turned the oak panelling the colour of old gold. She reached
out and touched it. It felt warm to the touch even though the morning was still cold outside.

She loved waking here in this beautiful house with its creaky floors and its sun-filled rooms and its ornate plaster ceilings. Usually she went home every night so that Jamie and Daisy
wouldn’t miss her, but today was Saturday and they were staying at Ginny’s.

She rolled languidly over to wake Nick with a kiss and found the other side of the bed empty. Irrationally she felt a moment of panic. Had Nick gone, disappeared, left her without a word?
Suddenly she realized how much she’d miss him if he had. He might drive her mad at times – like taking Dawn to lunch and embarrassing her in front of all her staff, and then the next
day sending a bunch of flowers so huge that it embarrassed her all over again when she saw everyone wonder exactly what it was he was apologizing for. But that, she was beginning to learn, was
typical of Nick. He thought the grand gesture and the romantic treat made up for anything.

And then she heard him coming up the wide staircase. A couple of seconds later the door opened and he stood there, carrying a breakfast tray with a shining white cloth and a rose on it.

She smelt the coffee and the croissants and couldn’t help smiling as she propped herself up on her pillows. Another perfect morning. It was amazing the lengths he would sometimes go to to
make sure that everything was perfect. Every hotel beautiful, every view dazzling, every meal delicious.

And as she bit into a warm croissant she wondered for a second how he’d cope if the car broke down with Jamie and Daisy in it, or if the food was awful or the hotel double-booked. But
maybe those sort of things didn’t happen to Nick.

She looked at her watch and kissed him affectionately. ‘I must get home.’

Nick smiled. It was a charming smile that flirted with smugness but drew back just in time. ‘Ah, but you’re not going home.’

‘Why not? I’ve got to pick Jamie and Daisy up.’

‘No you haven’t. They’re staying on at Ginny’s.’

His teasing expression was driving her crazy.

‘What on earth for?’

He sat down on the edge of the bed, unable to hold out any longer. ‘Because you and I are going away for a long weekend.’

Liz choked on her coffee. ‘But I haven’t got any clothes.’

‘Oh yes you have.’ He delved under the bed and pulled out a suitcase. ‘Ginny packed it.’

Liz hid her face in her hands, hardly able to believe him. She had to admit one thing about Nick. With him life was never dull or predictable.

‘So where are we going?’

This time the smugness in his tone was unmistakable, but endearing, so endearing. ‘It’s a secret.’

As the countryside flashed by Liz looked out of the window and hugged herself with pleasure. They were leaving London from the north-east. That must mean East Anglia. How
glorious! She loved the Suffolk coast. So wild and lonely with its endless empty beaches and its extraordinary luminous light that had inspired so many painters. A million miles from her own soft
Sussex.

Almost two hours later, just before the market town of Woodbridge, Nick turned left down a small country road, and almost immediately swung into a hidden driveway which led to a breathtaking
Tudor manor house. It was a perfectly preserved brick building with six gables, all covered in ivy, and high towering Tudor chimneys. A discreet sign peered out announcing it as ‘Sackville
Hall Country House Hotel’.

But though the building was extraordinary in itself, it was the resemblance that took her breath away. It was, to the life, a larger, grander version of her family home, Five Gates Farm.

‘Remind you of anywhere?’

‘Oh Nick, it’s extraordinary!’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ He reached over and stroked her hair. ‘Wait till you see the bedroom. I just hope it lives up to the brochure.’

‘Room seven, sir?’ smiled the manager. ‘The Tudor Bedroom, our finest room.’ And he led them past the carved Great Hall where the other guests were having afternoon tea,
past a tank full of live lobsters caught that day in nearby Aldeburgh, and up the wood-panelled staircase to their room.

As he threw open the door and stood proudly back, Liz gasped in amazement. Dominating the beautiful room was the biggest four-poster bed she had ever seen in her life.

‘It’s the oldest piece of furniture in the house,’ beamed the manager. ‘Built in 1587. It’s so big no one’s ever been able to get it out of the
building.’ He dropped his voice a couple of notes from pride to awe. ‘Queen Elizabeth I held court at Sackville Hall, you know. And she slept in this bed.’

Liz couldn’t believe it.

‘Oh Nick, you’re amazing!’ She threw her arms round him as the manager discreetly withdrew. ‘Only you could find a bed Queen Elizabeth really
has
slept
in!’

Liz leaned out of the diamond-leaded window and looked down at the vast lawns sloping down to an ornamental lake. One or two early drinkers were already sitting down for an
aperitif in white iron chairs under a huge chestnut tree by the water’s edge.

‘What an amazing house. How old do you think it is? Fifteenth century? Look at those brick finials . . .’

But Nick didn’t let her finish her sentence. Gently he turned her round and pushed her against the window and began to kiss her until she lost all interest in Tudor architecture. As he
felt her arm snake around his neck in response he carried her across the room to the enormous bed.

‘And
now
, milady . . .’

He smiled seductively and began to undo her buttons. It was so perfect. The bed. The hotel. And now this.

She felt desire licking at her, driving her, so that she pulled him to her and unzipped him and swiftly guided him into her without even waiting till either of them had taken off their clothes.
Then, slowly and shamelessly she removed his shirt, and his jeans, and kissed his toes as she removed each shoe and looked up at him with a smile so brazen that he slipped to the floor beside her
and pushed her back onto the soft carpet of the finest bedroom in the Sackville Hall Hotel.

‘Come on, slugabed, get into your finery. ’Tis the cocktail hour betimes!’ Nick slapped her ungraciously on the rump. ‘I’ve just ordered the
lobster for your dinner.’

Liz woke up and found herself still on the floor, but with a blanket over her Nick must have found in the enormous wardrobe, and looked at her watch. Seven-thirty! Where had the last two hours
got to? And she hadn’t even unpacked!

‘Give me five minutes. I’ll have a quick shower. You go on down and have a drink.’

He kissed her shoulder and slipped quietly down to the Great Hall.

Jumping up, Liz rushed into the shower and felt the hot blast of water revive her in seconds. She hoped Ginny had put in the right clothes.