I Trust You (6 page)

              Powell nodded slowly. ‘Gerry Coleman started out on the ships here in Southampton along with my old man. He was common as dirt back then.’

              Marisa smiled politely. She decided that Lee must have got his names mixed up. As far as she was aware, Eliot’s dad had always lived around the south-west. He was definitely ‘old money’, too. Her mother-in-law tirelessly pointed out this fact at parties. ‘Well, anyway, Gerald retired in 2011 and Eliot has taken over the business, although we only have the marina in White Bay and a couple on the Devon coast now. Gerald sold off a big part of the business after the crash in 2008. He’s always been a shrewd operator.’

              ‘You can say that again.’ Lee’s comment was delivered deadpan.

              Marisa stood. ‘I really should be going now. I’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of me.’

              Lee glanced out of the window at the darkening sky. ‘You should stay.’

              Marisa’s eyes widened in surprised.

              He laughed, with genuine good humour. ‘I didn’t mean here. I meant you should book yourself into a Travelodge or something, wait until the morning. The traffic will be shocking now.’

              She looked at her watch. ‘No, I told my husband I’d be back tonight.’

              ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to drive in the dark. That family can certainly afford to put you up in a budget hotel for the night.’ The residual bitterness he harboured was evident in his voice yet again.

              ‘It’s not the money, I just don’t want to be away for longer than I need to. Eliot likes to have me at home in the evenings.’

              Lee arched his thick, dark brows but made no comment. He simply noted, not for the first time, how the best looking women seemed to marry complete twats. He accompanied her to the door.

Pausing on the threshold, she muttered quietly, addressing the request to her shoes, ‘I’d like to keep in touch. Would you mind if I did? It almost feels like we’re
family
, in a strange sort of way.’

              ‘Yeah,’ Lee added begrudgingly. ‘That’d be okay. I kind’ve know what you mean. I feel that too.’

Chapter 10

T
he drinks reception was being held in the bar of the marina. The French doors were open wide and a good number of guests had spilled out onto the wooden pontoon which provided fantastic views of the Coleman’s very latest boats, set off by the stunning backdrop of White Bay.

              Marisa wore a floaty cerise dress and carried a flute of champagne as she mingled amongst her husband’s potential clients.

Sam Carter moved across to stand beside her. ‘No children allowed at this party,’ he said. ‘Thank God for that. Talia would probably be letting them jump off the jetty between the boats.’

Marisa smiled. ‘I’m sure that’s not the case. My antics on the clifftop must have given you both quite a fright, anyway. I expect she’ll be keeping the little ones close for a while.’

‘Oh, it’s not stopped Talia going for the prize of most laid back mum in Dorset. When I arrived home the other evening, Talia and her pals were seated at the patio set getting sloshed. Some of the kids had managed to climb up our old oak tree, down at the bottom of the garden. Christ knows what would have happened if I hadn’t been there to get the step ladder out of the shed.’

Marisa felt uncomfortable. She didn’t really want to be a sounding board for Sam’s complaints about his wife. She polished off the remains of her champagne. ‘Sorry, I just need to go and check on the catering.’

She found her friend Louise behind the bar, popping the cork on another bottle and adding it to one of the silver trays. ‘Is everything okay out there? Are the girls circulating regularly with the canapés?’

‘Yes, everything’s fabulous, don’t worry. The weather is beautiful too. A few people are wandering down the jetty with their glasses to get a closer look at the boats. It’s exactly what Eliot had planned for the event.’

Louise looked genuinely relieved. She was a decade older than Marisa but remained glamorous in a figure-hugging silver dress and expertly applied make-up. Louise was local to White Bay. She’d set up the catering business when her daughters left home – one of whom worked as a beautician in Dorchester, hence her mother’s well-groomed appearance. ‘I hope Mr Coleman agrees. He made it very clear that our performance at the garden party wasn’t up to standard.’

Marisa’s mouth fell open. ‘Your catering was flawless. I never saw a glass or plate unfilled. Of course, it didn’t end in quite the way we would have hoped.’

Louise grimaced. ‘I think your husband was simply reacting to the shock of seeing you so unwell. Whilst you were sleeping upstairs, he tore me off a strip for not making sure you’d had enough to eat and drink. He said your blood-sugar levels were through the floor. To be honest, I was surprised we got this gig. It sounded like the marina wouldn’t be using our services again.’

‘I can only apologise. It certainly wasn’t your responsibility to look after me. Please don’t take his comments as a reflection on your work. We rate you very highly.’

              Her friend didn’t look entirely convinced. Marisa strode off to try and locate Eliot. He was standing some distance along the central pontoon, talking with a tall man in a casual linen suit. She could tell he was wealthy and important. Her husband was laughing heartily, his hand resting on the other man’s shoulder. This was full sales mode. It wouldn’t be a good idea to interrupt him.

              Besides, things were a little frosty between them right now. It had been half ten before she arrived back from Southampton the other evening. She found Eliot seated at the dining table, a nearly empty bottle of wine in front of him.

              Marisa had gone over to kiss him, intending to explain why she was late; share some of her discoveries with him. But when she got close, Eliot grasped her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. Without words, he had undone her trousers and slid his hand between her legs. She’d lifted herself up and allowed him to push his fingers deep inside and manipulate her with his thumb. She reached down to touch his erection, squeezing gently as his expert touch made her cry out in pleasure. He hadn’t seemed to want his wife to reciprocate. They’d hardly said a word to each other since. Marisa had gone up to bed, expecting Eliot to follow. In fact, she didn’t sense his presence beside her until the pale light of early morning was showing through the curtains.

              The memory of this oddly emotionless encounter had brought a rosy bloom to her cheeks. A hand slipped around her slender waist and Marisa found herself involuntarily shudder.

              ‘It’s the effect I always have on beautiful women.’

              She turned to face her father-in-law, who was still lean and handsome at the age of seventy. ‘Gerald.’

              He kissed her on both cheeks.

              ‘I suppose boyo didn’t tell you I’d been invited. Normally I wouldn’t dream of interfering, but Gaia is away with her girlfriends this week. To be perfectly honest, I was sick of sitting at home on my lonesome.’

              ‘You’re always welcome. It was a shame you couldn’t make the garden party on Saturday. Mum and Dad were there. We managed to catch them during a rare moment in the UK.’

              Gerald Coleman smiled. ‘Still trailing about Europe in that campervan, eh? Good old Roger and Trude. Very sensible, actually. You need to get all the travel in before the grandkids come along. Gaia and I discovered that the hard way!’

              Eliot’s older sister Grace had three children in quick succession. The Colemans saw them a lot. Marisa glanced down to make sure her father-in-law had a drink in his hand. ‘Is Louise looking after you? There are plenty more canapés in the kitchen.’

              ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’ He lowered his commanding voice just a fraction. ‘It’s not me, but these lovely clients you should be taking care of. Imagine I’m not here.’

              Marisa took the hint and excused herself to mix with the other guests. It was absolutely impossible to pretend that Gerald Coleman wasn’t there. He attracted people like bees around a honeypot. Every time she glanced over, he was holding court with yet another group. The man had a gift for schmoozing. Try as he might, Eliot had never quite matched it.

When the sun had dipped behind the headland and the air wasn’t quite as pleasantly warm as it had been at the start of the event, the guests began to drift away. Marisa thought she’d help Louise by picking up the glasses that had been left along the edge of the pontoon, some had even been discarded on the boats themselves.

She felt a presence close beside her. ‘You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s not your job.’

Marisa answered without even looking at him. ‘I want to get these empties shifted before they leave a mark on the fibreglass. Would you believe how thoughtless people can be?’

Eliot’s voice softened. ‘Money can’t always buy class.’ He rested his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘Please come inside and let Louise’s team do this. I’m not just being an arse for the sake of it, you know. I don’t want you to overdo things.’

Marisa leant against him. ‘I understand, and I’m sorry I was so late the other night. The traffic was awful and Erin and I had so much to talk about.’ For some reason, she didn’t allude to her visit to Lee Powell’s house in Thornhill.

              ‘Don’t mention it sweetheart. I was a little worried when you were so late back and I couldn’t reach you on the mobile, but it doesn’t matter now. You won’t be going again, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.’

              Marisa’s body stiffened by the tiniest fraction. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. Changing the subject, she whispered, ‘your dad’s here, he arrived an hour ago.’

              ‘I could hardly miss him. I was on the verge of closing a deal with Donald Tucker. Suddenly, Dad’s dulcet tones drifted down the jetty towards us on the sea breeze. Before I knew what was happening, Donald was leading Dad off for a whisky and soda at the bar.’

              ‘He says Gaia is away with the girls this week, otherwise he wouldn’t have come. He’s usually quite good at leaving you to it.’

              ‘That’s true enough. Oh yes, Gaia’s in Paris. I remember her mentioning it now at lunch a few weeks back. You got an invite, darling. You should consider joining them next time.’

              Marisa creased her face. ‘It’s just not my thing. Shopping on the Rue St Honoré and an evening at the Rex Club comparing Dior outfits. I’d be totally out of my depth. Grace never goes.’

              ‘She’s got the kids as an excuse.’ Eliot immediately gave her a tight squeeze, hoping his wife wouldn’t take offence at this comment. He was only stating a fact, after all.

              ‘Another of the perils of being childless. No bloody excuse to get out of unwelcome social events.’

              Eliot glanced at her nervously, not knowing how to respond to this apparent quip. He saw she was smiling and relaxed, so he allowed himself to laugh. But inwardly he was shocked. Marisa hadn’t been able to make a joke about their struggle to have children during the last eight years – if ever. He wondered if this counsellor she was going to might actually be having a positive effect. He hardly dared hope that Marisa might finally accept the reality they’d never have a child of their own. Because if she could, he believed there may actually be some hope for their marriage after all.

Chapter 11

A
lthough it was a Saturday, Eliot had taken a prospective client out for a sail around the bay. They would certainly go for lunch in one of the local hotels afterwards, or even a restaurant further up the coast which was currently in fashion and therefore worth the drive.

              It was a beautiful morning, with only a few soft, white clouds to interrupt the blue sky and enough of a breeze to make it great sailing weather. Marisa had taken a pot of tea into the garden and placed it on the patio table. She still had her pyjamas on. They were a light cotton set with a strappy top, actually perfect for such a warm morning. Eliot wasn’t there to tell her to get dressed. She could do as she pleased. Even so, she still felt a stab of guilt at being such a slob.

              The newspaper kept fluttering in her hands, making it impossible to read. Marisa got up and strolled down the garden, examining the bountiful blooms of the peonies as she passed. They were bowing under the weight of their opulent flowers, such lovely pinks and creams – like a curvaceous bride and her bridesmaids.

              As she proceeded down the gentle slope towards the bank of tall pine trees, Marisa thought she saw a movement amongst the lower branches. Her heart sank. She refused to allow her imagination to create any more strange visions. It was first thing in the morning and she was fully rested.

              The movement came again. She froze to the spot. It wasn’t a child she’d seen, that was for sure. This person was tall and broad. ‘Is somebody there? This is private property!’

              A figure stepped out of the shadow of a tree. He stood quite still at the boundary of the woods. It was Lee Powell.

              Marisa automatically crossed her arms over her chest, aware of how semi-naked and vulnerable she was. ‘Lee, what are you doing here?’

              ‘You shouldn’t be wandering about half-dressed. The world isn’t always a friendly place, you know.’

              ‘I’m in my own garden.’

              ‘Makes no difference.’ He took a step forward, scanning the garden up to the house. ‘Are you alone?’

              Marisa knew she’d be a fool to tell him that she was. ‘Eliot is in the kitchen having breakfast. He might see you at any minute.’

              Lee retreated back into the shadows. ‘Shit. I hoped he’d be off playing golf or something. I’ve got something to tell you. It’s important.’

              ‘What about?’

              ‘Our past.’

              She blinked vigorously, assessing the situation carefully. ‘Eliot isn’t here. He’s out on one of the boats with a client.’

              Lee remained where he was. ‘How about you go inside and get some clothes on. I’ll wait for you at the patio table.’

              Marisa nodded. ‘There’s some tea left in the pot. It might still be warm.’

*

Lee Powell poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea. He gazed up at the white-washed monolith that constituted the Coleman residence. He thought the garden was lovely, but the house itself was cold and unhomely.

He watched Marisa enter the kitchen. She’d put on a shirt and figure-hugging jeans. He smiled to put her at ease. The intention wasn’t to frighten her.

She stepped out onto the patio. ‘Look, it was great to meet you the other day and I really do want us to keep in touch. But you can’t turn up at the house like this. Eliot really wouldn’t like it. He might even call the police. I don’t want you to get into trouble.’

Lee swept his hand dismissively. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not some psycho stalker. You left me a lot to think about when you dropped in on me last week. It got me digging about into the past. I wanted to tell you what I found out but I sensed you wouldn’t be able to get over to Southampton again anytime soon.’

Marisa felt her cheeks flush. That much was true. She’d been narrowly permitted one trip. There was no chance of Eliot letting her have a second.

‘I also sussed that the Coleman menfolk are the types to leave their wives home at the weekend while they network on the golf course. I almost got that right.’

‘I doesn’t happen
every
Saturday.’ Marisa became defensive.

‘It’s not my business if it does or doesn’t. Each to their own.’

Not wishing to get into an argument with someone who clearly had multiple chips on his shoulder, Marisa invited him inside. ‘Now, what is this information you’ve come to tell me?’

‘Have you got a computer?’

‘Yes.’ She led him into Eliot’s study, powering up the laptop in there.

Lee placed both hands squarely on the desk, leaning over the screen, as if he could intimidate the machine into life more quickly. ‘After you’d left, I called my Dad.’

‘He’s still around?’

‘Of course. He’s only sixty eight and he’s been on the wagon for nearly thirty years. The guy’s probably healthier than either of us.’

‘Oh, I’m glad to hear that.’

‘I told him about you. Dad had no memory of you at the Dorans’ place. He wasn’t on the scene around the time you were fostered. But he certainly remembered Gerry Coleman.’ The computer was now on and Lee appeared to be logging into his emails. ‘I got the feeling you didn’t believe me when I said Gerry and my dad were workmates back in the day. So I asked Dad to see if he could dig out any photos from their time at Southern Seaways. He scanned over this picture.’ He shifted the screen around so she had a good view.

Marisa squinted at the image. It was of a group of burly men standing in front of a container ship. It looked to be at the docks in Southampton. Her father-in-law was very clearly the man standing at the far right of the group.

Lee pointed to the person next to him. ‘That’s my old fella, Bill Powell. This photo was taken by the skipper when they’d just arrived with a shipment of diamonds from South Africa. It was the most lucrative deal the company had ever done. Hence the photo for the album.’

‘When was this taken?’ The men were all dressed in a kind of dark grey uniform. It was impossible to date the piece.

‘Dad reckons it was the early eighties. It was the long voyages that caused him to start drinking heavily. I was a little kid then and still with my mum.’ He cleared his throat, the memory obviously painful to him. ‘Dad was away a lot and when he came back he was in the pub. Sometime in ’82, Mum packed her bags and fucked off. Dad barely noticed. It took a couple of days, but when he was finally sober, he realised he’d been lumbered with a four year old kid and a job which took him away for months on end, not to mention whenever he
was
in the country, he was off his face.’

‘And that was when you ended up with the Dorans?’

              ‘One of our neighbours called the social. Dad didn’t even have the wherewithal to manage that.’

              Marisa dropped into Eliot’s leather desk chair. ‘What the hell was Gerald doing working at Southern Seaways back in the eighties? As far as the family history goes, he built up the luxury boat business from being a young man, straight out of college. He inherited some money from his grandfather and used it to buy his very first marina, just outside Bristol.’ She looked again at the photo. It was unmistakeably him. The man had barely changed.

              ‘I don’t know what bullshit he’s told the rest of the world, all I know is what Dad’s told me. Gerry was a hard case when he worked on the ships, but he was also clever. Dad always reckoned he had a racket going with the cargos they were bringing in and out. Dad was too pissed to ever be in on it. But he outright accused him once, when a shipment of electrical circuits was low after they unpacked them at port. In a rare moment of sobriety, he took issue with Coleman.’

              ‘What did Gerald say?’

              ‘He informed Dad that if he asked any more questions or spoke to the bosses about it, he’d end up at the bottom of the Channel wearing concrete shoes.’

              Marisa felt her blood run cold. ‘It must have just been a threat,
surely
.’

              Lee shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Probably, but it was a particularly nasty threat.’

              ‘What did your dad do?’

              ‘He got drunk for the next ten years.’

              Marisa sat in silence for several minutes. She looked around her at the house, commissioned by Gerald himself and passed on to his only son. ‘When did he leave the shipping company? He must have moved out west at some point?’

              ‘Dad said he disappeared one day. Never turned up for work. That must have been a couple of years after this photograph was taken. I reckon he made enough cash from pilfering goods at Southern Seaways to buy a couple of building yards down this way. The rest is history.’

              ‘So the story of a legacy from a wealthy grandfather is bullshit. Gerald was a criminal before he started his business.’

              Lee frowned. ‘The big question, Marisa, is whether he’s still a criminal.’

              She didn’t have a chance to consider this possibility any further. They both heard the front door open.

              ‘
Fuck
,’ Lee rasped under his breath.

              ‘Where did you park?’ Marisa whispered urgently.

              ‘Down in the town. I’m not an idiot.’

              ‘Good. You’ve got to slip out. Now.’

              For some reason, Marisa brushed her hand against his and squeezed his arm. Then she marched out of the study to greet her husband at the door.

              ‘You’re back early, darling. I thought you’d be going out for lunch.’

              Eliot was still in his sailing gear. He shook out his waterproof jacket and hung it on a peg. Marisa noticed then that the sky had darkened and rain was streaking down the tall windows.

              ‘The weather turned, if you happened to notice. We had to bring the boat straight back to the marina. Clive radioed to warn of a squall coming in off the Atlantic. We’ve had to re-schedule.’ He finally glanced up at his wife. ‘Oh good, you’re up and dressed. I’ll take you to the Clifton for lunch if you’d like?’

              ‘Yes, I’d love to. You go upstairs and get changed, I’ll lock up out the back.’

              ‘Hang on, I just need to check the five-day forecast first, make sure we aren’t going to have a repeat of this weather fiasco when I take the client out again. I’ve only got one more shot with the guy I reckon.’

              To Marisa’s horror, he marched straight over to his study. She followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest and her mouth bone dry.

              Eliot burst in and plonked himself onto the leather chair, pulling it up close to the desk and pressing the power button on the laptop.

              Lee Powell was nowhere to be seen.

              Marisa was hugely relieved to observe nothing more incriminating than the home screen materializing before him.

              Eliot turned. ‘What are you hovering there for? Why don’t you go and put your linen slacks on? I don’t think the Clifton allows jeans.’