Honeycote Page 23

  Lucy put her head in her hands, her tortoiseshell locks falling over her face. James, for the millionth time in his life, just wanted to hold her. But he knew he had to stand firm until the time was right. Slowly, slowly, catchee monkey. He probed gently.

  ‘So – if you knew nothing about the brewery… why are you here? What’s happened?’

  Lucy looked up at him. She was impossibly pale.

  ‘Mickey’s been screwing Kay Oakley.’

  ‘Shit.’ James assumed a suitably shocked expression, even though he’d been pretty certain of his brother’s misdemeanours for some months now. ‘Oh, Lucy.’

  ‘I know.’

  Lucy looked utterly wretched as he took her in his arms. But she didn’t cry, just buried her head in his shoulder as he stroked her hair gently, soothing her as he would one of his dogs.

  ‘I don’t know why. And I don’t know what to do. I wish I’d never found out.’

  ‘No – it’s better you know the truth. He can’t go on living a lie, Lucy.’

  Lucy choked back a sob. The thought that her marriage had been a lie sickened her to her stomach. She felt as if she’d jumped from a plane and had just realized her parachute wouldn’t work. She was in emotional free fall, desperate to go back to the safety and security she’d once had, and living in terrible fear of what was to come, knowing that she couldn’t possibly walk away unhurt. If only she hadn’t picked up the phone. If only she’d listened to Mickey and kept out of Kay’s business. She wondered how many other people knew. It was classic, wasn’t it, the faithful wife being the last to know of her husband’s infidelity? Was everyone in Honeycote watching her every move with bated breath, waiting for her to find out? It was like living in a soap opera. Only she didn’t have a script, didn’t know her lines, didn’t know what to say next. She turned to James, slightly accusing.

  ‘Did you know?’

  ‘No. I promise you I didn’t.’

  James didn’t feel he was lying, because he didn’t actually have proof that it was Kay Mickey was screwing, even though he’d have put good money on it. But he wasn’t going to make Lucy feel a bigger fool than she already did. He’d already neatly broken the news to her about the Liddiard finances – or lack of them. And his role wasn’t to humiliate her. It was to bolster her up. Give her the support she needed, a shoulder to cry on that she would come to realize she couldn’t live without. In other words, make up for her husband’s shortcomings. Which shouldn’t be difficult…

  What he needed to do now was to inject some fighting spirit into her. Build up her strength so that she could fight her own battle. Make her angry. He knew Lucy rarely got angry. She was extraordinarily placid. Long-suffering, had she but known it. Which is how Mickey had got away with his behaviour for so many years. Other wives would have nagged him to death about his excessive drinking, his inability to take his muddy boots off, his habit of forgetting the social engagements that didn’t matter to him. But Lucy just smiled fondly, or tutted in mild exasperation. Only now she was paying the price for her tolerance and James was damned if Mickey was going to get away with it again. Lucy deserved someone who appreciated her, not someone who abused her good nature. Not that Mickey didn’t love her – James was certain he did – but with love like that, who needs it? He would put Lucy on a pedestal, respect her, appreciate her.

  James stood up decisively.

  ‘I’m going to run you a bath. Have a nice long soak. Then we can decide what to do about this mess.’

  Lucy nodded dully. She looked at the devoré dress that James had hung carefully on a hanger the night before. He’d found it in a crumpled heap on the floor when he’d come to check on her. The dress had been perfect for Christmas Day, but now Lucy needed something warm to heat up the chill she felt deep inside her. She needed comfort clothing, not something that required poise and grace and elegance.

  ‘I haven’t got anything to wear. I can’t put that back on.’

  ‘I’ll dig you something out.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to go back to Honeycote and get some clothes.’ She sighed a deep sigh. She just wanted to hide. As long as she didn’t have to confront Mickey, she could pretend nothing had really happened.

  Ten minutes later Lucy slid into a nearly scalding bath of Czech & Speake bubbles and tried to take in what James had just told her about Honeycote Ales. She felt consumed with guilt. No wonder Mickey had sought solace with another woman. Deep down Lucy had suspected something was wrong at the brewery for some time, but she’d buried it, hadn’t asked any questions because she didn’t really want to know. She didn’t like nasty things, or anything difficult. She liked everything to run smoothly, look nice, for everyone to be happy, and she had been certain whatever the problem was it was just a glitch. They often had bad patches, but they always managed to struggle through them somehow. And anyway, she’d figured that if anything was irretrievably bad then Mickey would have told her…

  But would he? He’d obviously wanted to keep the truth from her because he knew she couldn’t deal with it. And the stress, the pressure, had driven him into another woman’s arms. A woman like Kay, who was businesslike and realistic, would understand the implications of what he was going through and could probably offer him reassurance. Because she lived in the real world, unlike Lucy.

  Lucy sank down under the bubbles, as if they might afford her some protection from the truth. Suddenly she felt horribly inadequate, responsible for the situation. If only she’d pressed a bit further when she’d asked Mickey if everything was all right, instead of accepting his platitudes so readily. She should have been supportive and offered solutions. She could even have offered to work at the brewery if that would have helped. Plenty of women helped out in their husband’s businesses these days. Kay, for a start… God, who did she think she was, messing about playing horses and deliberately ignoring the tell-tale signs of economic hardship that were under her nose – the overdue accounts, the red bills she’d spotted lying around that had gone unpaid. She was superficial, shallow and selfish. As she turned on the hot tap to top up the water, hoping it would take away the chill that was creeping into her bones, Lucy concluded that Mickey’s infidelity had been inevitable and she probably deserved everything she’d got.

  Kay woke up on Boxing Day morning in a hospital ward bedecked with lurid tinsel – a half-hearted attempt to inject some festive cheer for the benefit of those inmates who were being kept in over Christmas. A nurse saw her eyes open and came to sit on her bed.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Like death. What am I doing here?’

  ‘You had your stomach pumped. You overdid it a bit yesterday.’

  Kay sat up, then had to lie back down again as her head felt swimmy. She tried to take in the information. Did that mean she’d lost the baby?

  ‘The baby…?’

  The nurse looked startled ‘The baby?’

  It was still there, then. If she’d had a miscarriage, they’d have noticed. She was in a hospital, for God’s sake. She sighed.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘How far gone are you?’

  ‘Five months.’

  The nurse frowned.

  ‘I’d better get the consultant to come and have a word with you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘She’ll be doing her rounds any minute. Do you want anything to drink?’ She grinned conspiratorially. ‘If I were you I’d have the hot chocolate. Everything else is undrinkable. And do you want anything to eat? You’ve missed breakfast, but I can do you some toast in the kitchen if you like.’

  Kay agreed to cocoa and a couple of slices of toast, and was surprised to find she was ravenous. As she was finishing her meal, the consultant arrived, a weary young woman with heavy rings under her eyes who’d obviously been on duty far longer than was humanly acceptable. She sat on the side of Kay’s bed and fixed her with a stern glare. Kay couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that.

  ‘So, what have you been up to?’

&nbs
p; Kay tried to defend herself.

  ‘I didn’t even know I was pregnant until a few days ago.’

  The consultant did a double take that was straight out of a pantomime. Kay went on to explain.

  ‘I thought I was infertile. My periods have always been all over the place, so when I didn’t come on it never even occurred to me… I was going to have a termination. But apparently I can’t. It’s too late.’

  ‘Well, getting blind drunk isn’t going to help anyone. Least of all the baby. You should know better.’

  ‘Have you got any idea what it’s like? Thinking you’ll never give birth, then finding out you’re five months gone? When you never even wanted it in the first place?’

  Kay could feel her voice rising with hysteria. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other patients staring over at their conversation, intrigued. She supposed they must be bored. She couldn’t blame them. Whatever happened, she had to get out of here as soon as possible.

  ‘What about the father? What does he think?’

  Kay knew this question was inevitable, but she hadn’t realized it was going to hit so hard. She had to confront the issue. She hadn’t really digested Lawrence’s bombshell, which could only mean one thing. It had to be Mickey’s baby.

  No! It was her baby, and hers alone. That was the only way she was going to get through this. She was the one who was going to have to cope, so she didn’t want anyone else to have any rights, any hold over her, any influence over the decisions she had to make. Kay knew that she was in for the duration now. She was going to have to have this child, whatever she decided to do afterwards. Suddenly, she was overcome by a feeling of panic.

  ‘My God – it is going to be all right, isn’t it?’

  The consultant chose her words carefully.

  ‘We don’t have any firm evidence about binge-drinking on a foetus. But damage tends to be done in the early stages of development. It’s not something I’d recommend you do again, but I suspect your baby will probably be all right.’

  Kay felt tears of relief welling up in her eyes. The consultant softened.

  ‘Would you like to see the baby? On a scan? It might reassure you.’

  Kay looked down at the tin foil containing the last scrapings of butter and the chewy white crusts of her toast.

  ‘Yes. I’d like that very much.’

  On shaky legs, Kay followed the consultant through miles of corridor until they reached the antenatal unit. She was led into a room that was dark, womb-like. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was.

  Kay lay down on the bed. Her top was lifted up and a handful of clear jelly was rubbed on to her stomach, to allow the ultrasound to glide unhindered. The nurse sat down in front of a screen. Kay craned her neck and saw a murky grey swirl, like a ship’s radar. As the nurse ran the ultrasound over her stomach, Kay waited, not sure what to expect, until the nurse smiled. She pointed out a flicker on the screen.

  ‘There’s the heart beat.’

  The nurse went on to point out arms and legs and a perfect little spine. Kay was too overwhelmed to speak. A tiny little creature filled with life was growing inside her. She watched as it moved around almost in slow motion, independent of her, a being with its own needs and responses. The nurse was busy checking plot points, estimating the baby’s size and age.

  ‘I’d say you were about twenty-two weeks. And everything looks absolutely fine.’

  The nurse looked at her. Tears were coursing down Kay’s cheeks.

  ‘It’s all right – there’s nothing to worry about.’ She patted her hand reassuringly. ‘You’ve got a lovely healthy baby there. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  Denham House always left Caroline speechless with admiration. It was picture book, chocolate box – but luckily far enough off the main drag in Eldenbury to escape the rapturous gaze of all but the most energetic Americans. It was masculine in its proportions – square and solid, pleasingly symmetrical, with deep sash windows and ancient wisteria softening the already mellow edifice. No matter what time of day or what time of year, it always seemed to glow golden in the sunshine. James had pinned a tasteful, understated wreath to the front door in recognition of the festive season and two red silk ribbons around the trunks of the standard bay trees that stood either side of the entrance.

  She pulled up, jumped out of the car and opened the large, black double gates that allowed her access to the courtyard at the side of the house. She parked and walked through the ivy-clad archway leading to the kitchen door. She didn’t feel up to the grandeur of the hall, with its French chandelier and the priceless grandfather clock, the burnished walnut table and a vase always bursting with flowers that never seemed to wilt, but maintained a just-picked freshness until the day they were changed. The funny thing about James was he was so obsessive about detail, about everything looking perfect, that you could be tempted to think he was gay. But Caroline knew with a certainty he wasn’t. If there was one thing that was positive about their relationship it was the sex.

  She let herself into the kitchen and stopped short. There, at the table, sat Lucy Liddiard, wearing what looked suspiciously like one of James’s shirts and some cotton long johns tucked into a pair of thick socks. She looked delicate and fragile and irritatingly gorgeous. Caroline was immediately on her guard. Lucy always made her feel cumbersome, cheap and ginger.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ said Caroline, in a tone that blatantly asked, ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ said Lucy, in a tone which gave absolutely nothing away. She was clutching a cup of tea. A proper cup, bone china, with a saucer. James didn’t possess anything as commonplace as a mug. Caroline thought that as soon as she was in charge, that was the first thing that would be introduced.

  ‘Is James here?’

  Caroline’s question incorporated a thousand others, but still Lucy shed no light on her presence.

  ‘He’s getting dressed.’

  Caroline just managed to keep her temper under control. What the hell was going on? Lucy Liddiard was lolling about in James’s kitchen, having brazenly raided his wardrobe, looking bedraggled and big-eyed and annoyingly vulnerable. She’d obviously just had a bath – the ends of her hair were still wet, and anyway, Caroline could smell the Czech & Speake James kept in his bathroom.

  She hesitated, not too sure how to regain the advantage, and marched over to the Aga to put the kettle back on. She noticed with fury an untouched breakfast tray by the sink, with brioches and apricot conserve. James always had porridge or grilled bacon. What was going on? She turned to Lucy and smiled sweetly.

  ‘I think it’s coffee time, don’t you? Did you have a nice Christmas?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks’ Lucy’s tone was dull, unconvincing. She obviously had no intention of explaining her presence. She was in another world. Caroline was wrong-footed. Notoriously confrontational, for once in her life she didn’t feel she could go in with all guns blazing. Before she could decide on her next move, James entered, dressed down in a pair of faded jeans and a grey marl fisherman’s sweater.

  ‘Caroline.’ It was a statement rather than a greeting. His voice wasn’t exactly suffused with warmth. Nevertheless, Caroline went to give him a hug, to stamp her possession over him, but to her astonishment he put out a hand to stop her.

  ‘You should have phoned. It’s not a good time.’

  Caroline’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Phoned? I didn’t realize I needed to make an appointment.’

  Flummoxed, she looked between James and Lucy. Lucy was gazing into space, still clutching her teacup. Caroline wondered if she was in some sort of post-coital reverie, if they’d been at it all night. If they had, neither of them looked in the least shamefaced. Feeling rather outnumbered, she put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Does somebody want to tell me what’s going on?’

  James put a calming hand on her elbow and manoeuvred her out of the room. He spoke in a confidential undertone that Caroline fou
nd profoundly patronizing.

  ‘Lucy’s having a bit of a crisis.’

  ‘Well, so am I. I’m having a lot of a crisis. Demelza – ’

  James cut her off, uninterested.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  Speechless, Caroline followed him into his study. It smelled of beeswax and was piled high with papers and auction catalogues, back copies of Country Life. Something that could only be called a wireless cranked out Classic FM. James snapped it off and turned to face Caroline. She realized this was serious.

  ‘I think we should give things a break.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Lucy’s having a few problems. She’s staying here for the time being, while she sorts things out. I think she needs some space.’

  Caroline took in a sharp breath. If she’d had nails, they’d have been digging into her palms, but she’d bitten them to the quick on the journey down. She turned to James with an icy smile.

  ‘I see. So Lucy Liddiard has a little tiff with her husband and you think you’re in with a chance. Is that it?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘That’s how it looks to me.’

  ‘Caroline – she’s family.’

  Caroline just raised an eyebrow.

  ‘So there’s nothing going on but you don’t want me here?’

  ‘Look – maybe it’s time we called it a day anyway. We weren’t exactly heading for the altar, were we? Let’s face it.’

  Caroline couldn’t believe the irony. Little did James know the plan she’d had in store for him.

  ‘It’s news to me. I thought we were quite happy! OK, so we don’t live in each other’s pockets. But isn’t that what we both wanted…?’

  She trailed off. James was looking uncomfortable. Caroline knew he was weak and wouldn’t be able to stand up to her. She just had to be persistent. Yet again she marvelled at how useful her sales training was in her everyday life. And anyway, she hadn’t played her trump card yet. He’d be putty in her hands. She smiled to herself as she walked over and grasped the brass of his belt buckle. She hooked her finger behind the leather and tugged. To her astonishment James grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away.