Just a Family Affair (37 page)

The girls debated his proposition for a moment, but the general consensus was they were all exhausted after the journey and would make an early night of it.

‘We need our beauty sleep,’ explained Sasha. ‘We’re going to need it for all those millionaires tomorrow night.’

‘Then I will see you at breakfast. Do you have any special requests? I usually do Señora Sherwyn coffee and rolls.’

‘Fresh mango would be nice, if you can get hold of it,’ said Sasha airily.

‘Sasha!’

‘Only kidding, Mum!’

 

Alejandro had slipped out into the night and got on his moped. It had been an interesting evening, he thought. They were all so attractive, but different. Even the twins. Kitty might be quieter than her sister, but was possibly the wilder deep down, while Sasha was all talk, he suspected. The redhead, Caroline, wouldn’t need much encouragement, but would be trouble afterwards; an emotional time bomb. The bride-to-be was untouchable, beautiful but untouchable - definitely a one-man woman. And what a lucky man. And as for Ginny. She was adorable, but she didn’t know it. She was tense, unable to relax, and gravely lacking in confidence - all common enough problems at her age, when insecurity and self-doubt seemed to rampage out of all proportion. If he was to carry out his instructions, Alejandro decided, he needed help. It would take weeks to wear her down of her own accord, even with his powers of persuasion.

He wove the bike through the back streets, parked and slipped in through a tiny doorway that led into a crowded bar. It was a far cry from the glamorous establishments that lined the marina; this was a seedy joint, generally filled with the workers who toiled behind the scenes creating the ritzy façade that kept the tourists happy. Fishermen, boat-builders, waiters. It wasn’t his usual choice of venue, but tonight he needed to find someone in particular.

He pushed his way through the sweaty throng and found Raoul in his usual place, looking fat and happy. As well he might. Business was booming. He had a huge network out there working on his behalf, suave and well-dressed, able to get past the bouncers and security staff, for nobody in their right minds would let the rancid, long-haired Raoul into their establishment. Not that he cared a jot. The way things were going, he’d be able to buy the whole of the marina before long.

Raoul looked askance at his friend when he joined him at the bar. The two of them had been at school together and were still firm friends, even though Alejandro disapproved of Raoul and Raoul thought Alejandro was a fool, dancing attendance on rich older women for a pittance. He’d often tried to recruit him to work the clubs - with looks like that Alejandro would make them both a fortune. But Alejandro steadfastly refused to get involved in the drug business. So Raoul was bemused by his request.

‘What’s the story, then?’

‘Hen weekend at the villa.’

Raoul nodded sagely. The hen and stag scene in Puerto Banus had been largely responsible for his rise in profit.’ ‘You want to keep the ladies happy, huh?’

Alejandro smiled thinly. The less said, the better.

Raoul rummaged in his inside pocket. He didn’t usually keep stuff on him, just enough for personal use. But Alejandro wasn’t asking for much.

‘You wanna ask me over to enjoy the party?’

‘I don’t think so, Raoul. No offence.’

Raoul laughed until his cheeks wobbled, then pulled out a little plastic bag.

‘Enjoy, my friend. And don’t forget - you wanna join me in the business, we can clean up . . .’

Alejandro took his booty. ‘Thanks. But no thanks.’

He made himself scarce as quickly as he could. He hated that bar. It reminded him of the squalor and the poverty he had come from. He was working so hard to get out. He’d been saving for three years for a deposit on his own apartment, away from his mother. Somewhere he could take his girlfriend, instead of squatting at Señora Sherwyn’s when she wasn’t there. And the money Sandra had offered him for this weekend’s task was going to help him reach his target.

Alejandro threw the little bag up in the air with glee, then tucked it into his jacket pocket. The last thousand euros were in sight. He was going to have his own space at last.

S
andra rose at six on Saturday morning. It had been gone midnight by the time she and Keith had said their rather solemn goodbyes the night before. Her plans might have changed somewhat in the light of his revelation, but they were watertight nevertheless. Never let it be said that Sandra Sherwyn couldn’t think on her feet, she thought, as she swept around the twenty-four-hour supermarket just outside Eldenbury.

Her heart had gone out to Keith as he had driven off from the Lygon Arms. He looked so vulnerable, alone at the wheel, his head silhouetted in the street lights. How awful for him, to be going back to an empty house knowing what was to come the next day. She couldn’t bear to imagine how he would feel when he woke, which was why she was now determined to get to Keeper’s Cottage as soon as possible. She didn’t want him to be alone any longer than he had to. Swiftly, she bought a Dan Brown paperback, a Sudoku puzzle book, a new sponge bag filled with men’s toiletries, several bottles of elderflower cordial and a bag of the barley sugar sweets she knew were his favourite. Little things to show she cared. Little things that Ginny should be buying, she thought triumphantly, as she paid for the goods and hurried back to her car.

She was at Keeper’s Cottage by ten to seven. She knew Keith was leaving at half past, in order to be at the hospital by quarter to nine.

‘I’m only staying for a couple of nights.’ Keith looked at her booty, alarmed. ‘At least I hope so.’

‘You want to have everything at your fingertips, just in case.’

Sandra tucked her thoughtful extras into his overnight bag, then busied herself tidying the kitchen. She couldn’t make him breakfast, as he was to have nil by mouth in anticipation of the anaesthetic, but she wanted to make herself useful. And she couldn’t bear to sit down with him and just wait. She flipped on the television, ostensibly to catch the headlines, but actually to fill the silence that otherwise she would feel obliged to fill with inane chatter.

Keith looked at the clock, trying to remember the time difference between Kiplington and the Costa del Sol, but his brain felt like mush.

‘I’m wondering if perhaps I should phone Ginny after all,’ he said.

‘It’s too late now,’ Sandra told him, peeling off her rubber gloves with a snap. ‘You’ll just ruin the weekend for her. And Mandy. Come on, let’s pack up the car.’

She led him out to her Audi.

‘It’s OK. I can drive myself,’ Keith protested.

‘No, you can’t. What about when you come out? You’ll be in no fit state.’

Sandra flipped open the boot and slung his overnight bag inside.

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ he admitted.

‘It seems to me you haven’t thought anything through very much,’ chided Sandra. ‘It’s lucky I’m here to help.’

Keith had to admit that he was grateful for her presence. He had only just got to sleep when he woke at five with a sudden start and a heavy heart, too frightened to go back to sleep in case he overslept. The hands of the clock seemed to be made of lead, and he had nothing to think about but his own fate. What was going to happen? What would they find? Would he come round to find Mr Jackson looking down at him sorrowfully? Or would he not come round at all? Would he have a violent reaction to the anaesthetic or the latex on the surgeon’s gloves or would his body reject any blood given to him if he needed a transfusion? He didn’t allow himself to imagine a happy outcome, as he felt it was bad luck. Although some would tell him that positive thinking and visualization would bring about the desired result, Keith didn’t subscribe to that school of thought. He shied away from counting his chickens. After all, if he expected the worst, he couldn’t be disappointed.

His head was throbbing with tension by the time he got into the passenger seat. As Sandra slipped in beside him, she gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.

‘You’re in the best possible hands, remember,’ she told him. ‘And they’ve caught it early. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t make a full recovery. The tumour’s contained in the prostate; it’s not aggressive . . .’ She repeated everything he’d told her back to him, spreading out her hands to indicate there was only one conclusion, then gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I understand. It must be awful. I had a lump once . . . I didn’t sleep for weeks.’

‘Did you?’ Keith looked at her, horrified.

‘It was benign. Just a bit of fatty tissue. But the waiting was terrible.’

Keith stared at her. To think she had been through the same thing, but hadn’t had any choice about whether to share her agony.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’m fine now.’

‘No. I mean, I’m sorry about us. You shouldn’t have had to go through that on your own.’

‘It was my own fault, wasn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Keith slowly. ‘Was it? Surely I should have seen that you were unhappy. Unfulfilled. Maybe I was just burying myself in my work because I didn’t want to face the truth?’

It had been worrying about the past which had kept him awake till dawn. For all those years he had blamed Sandra for the breakdown of their marriage, but after last night he was able to see it all from a different angle. There had been so much misunderstanding, so many assumptions, and now it was too late to go back and address what had gone wrong. He had shut her out of his life. Just as he was now shutting Ginny out. He had become cold and distant because he hadn’t known how else to behave. Of course Sandra had left him.

The two of them gazed at each other.

‘We never talked about it,’ said Keith. ‘Not properly.’

‘I didn’t exactly give you the chance.’

Keith felt choked. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the car for both of them. He put a hand to his collar, trying to loosen his tie. He couldn’t find the right words for what he wanted to say. Anyway, it was far too late for reconciliation. In a few hours’ time he might be lying on the mortuary slab. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

‘Would it be all right if we had the roof down?’ he finally managed.

 

Patrick stepped onto the station platform at Eldenbury, trying his best to look inconspicuous. It was unlikely that he would see anyone he knew getting onto the train to Paddington, but sod’s law said there would be some cheery soul who would come bounding up to him. That was the problem with being born, brought up and having a family business in a small town. Everybody knew you. Everybody thought they owned you. It was on a par with celebritydom; you lived in a goldfish bowl. Not that it really mattered. He and Mayday had both agreed that being seen on a train together could be passed off as coincidence, whereas driving in a car would not.

He saw her sitting on a bench at the far end of the platform. She was wearing a bottle-green crushed velvet frock coat with high heeled leopard-skin boots and not, as far as he could see, much else. He sauntered over to her casually, so that any onlooker would not suspect they had arranged to meet.

‘Hi.’>

She looked up. Her eyes glittered green to match her coat, and Patrick remembered her disconcerting penchant for coloured contact lenses. It had confused him on more than one occasion. Her mass of hair was in a loose ponytail tied to one side.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, because she did.

‘I got us first-class tickets,’ she grinned in reply. ‘You can upgrade for a fiver at weekends.’

The train rumbled in. Patrick followed her on board. The first-class carriage they chose was virtually empty; just one whiskery gentleman and a businesslike woman, neither of whom they recognized. As the train drew out, Patrick stretched his legs out, relaxed and grinned. He was determined to enjoy the weekend. It would be an escape from the nightmares of the past few weeks. Not the wedding preparations as such, for he was looking forward to that, but all the other clandestine stuff. Kay - although she had kept her head down, she played on Patrick’s conscience. And the brewery. Although the way things were looking, that particular cloud seemed to have a silver lining.

The proposal they’d had from the potential investor looked amazing. The plans were ambitious but realistic, outlined in an achievable time-frame that made the most of what they already had. In other words, it built upon Honeycote Ales’ strength whilst bringing in innovations that had made Patrick’s heart beat with excitement. Whoever the investor was, they had respect for what already existed, but enough flair and imagination to take the company to another level.

But he wasn’t going to spend the weekend thinking about whether they could strike a deal, and what it meant for everyone. This was his time. His much deserved first and last moment of freedom. He looked over at Mayday, her hands curled round a cup of cappuccino, gazing out of the window. She looked rather pensive, and Patrick wondered if she was thinking about her grandmother. She deserved a break too - she hadn’t taken any compassionate leave after the funeral. He was going to make sure they both enjoyed themselves.

Mayday watched the telegraph poles slipping past outside. She had resisted the temptation to buy a copy of the Financial Times to read on the train. That might have aroused Patrick’s suspicions. She’d been devouring it over the past few weeks, scouring its pages for ideas, picking up key phrases and concepts that would underpin the proposal she and Robert had worked on together, holed up in his office until the small hours. Mayday’s only worry was that Robert’s wife Fleur might get suspicious about what they were up to and come in screaming like a banshee. Robert, however, was very philosophical about the possibility.

‘We’re not guilty of anything, are we?’ he pointed out quite reasonably. ‘We’re working.’