‘What about your family? Can they help?’ suggested Emily, thrashing about for ideas.
Fran shrugged. ‘I haven’t told them yet.’
Emily sucked in her cheeks, then huffed. ‘Come on then, let’s get you a bed for the night. But this is the last time, Fran. Mark is back tomorrow and, in the morning, it’s straight-talking time! If you’re having this baby, you’ll need to stop acting like one yourself. You need a plan. Some structure in your life.’
Walking into the sunshine at Faro Airport, Mark felt at home. For once he hadn’t enjoyed his trip; sitting through a remuneration committee meeting comparing similar sized company salary packages to justify rewarding a management team he believed were underperforming, left a sour taste in his mouth. The Fiat 500 drew to a stop beside him, and Emily waved, lowering the window. ‘Mark, where’s your suit jacket? You haven’t left it on the plane, have you?’
He shook his head, pointing to his bag. ‘I packed it.’
‘But you always tell me that crushes it.’
He shrugged, stowed the bag in the boot, and climbed into the passenger seat. Who cared about a crushed jacket when any moment now Mr Jones would call again?
‘Would talking about it help?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to drive? Take your mind off whatever it is?’
Mark sat gazing out of the window while Emily drove back to Villa Anna, chattering about her morning with Miguel. Later, he concluded that if he was offered money to replay what Emily spoke about on that trip home, he wouldn’t earn a penny.
Mark opened the front door and his eyes fell on a marble-topped table. He dropped his overnight bag. ‘That’s new,’ he muttered through gritted teeth.
Emily’s arms wrapped around him from behind, squeezing. He felt a soft kiss on his neck, and then she whispered, ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’
He unwound her arms and stalked to his study, dragging his case. Behind him he heard a burst of laughter.
‘Only joking, boyo. I think it’s perfect for Tina’s entrance hall and I can earn a chunky commission if I sell it to her when she’s here playing tennis tomorrow.’
Mark sat at his desk for an hour staring at spreadsheets, tapping in revisions, tweaking assumptions. Without the B&B, the Ellises would be living way beyond their means. He was sitting on a pile of cash, but he didn’t dare invest it in case the taxman demanded a payment. He pushed himself away from the desk, enjoying the childlike sensation of the chair rolling backwards, and sprung up. He had a tennis match to play.
Emily appeared in the doorway.
‘Off for your first foursome?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I’m a bit nervous.’
‘Why?’
‘In case I’m not good enough.’
‘It’s not Wimbledon.’
He trotted upstairs, sensing she was following. In the master suite, Mark pulled out his sports kit. The door opened, and Emily walked in; he heard the bed squeak, but he didn’t lookup. He ripped off his long-sleeved shirt, rolling it up into a ball and tossing it behind him towards the laundry basket. Glancing under his armpit, he saw he’d missed and braced himself for a waspish comment.
‘I’m so pleased you’re playing a proper game and not just having another lesson.’
He turned round, an aertex T-shirt in his hands. Emily was standing by the laundry basket, holding his dirty shirt, and gazing at his chest.
Slipping the T-shirt over his head, he mumbled through the fabric, ‘Has Fran sorted herself out?’
‘Well, the thing is—’
He cut in, ‘I take it that’s a no.’ He stretched the fabric, pushing both arms into the sleeves. ‘Is this another one of your stray dogs, Emily?’ He sat beside her on the bed, inserting a foot into a sock and jerking it on. ‘She is, isn’t she?’
‘You know me so well.’
He finished lacing up his tennis shoes, then peered up at her. ‘Promise me you won’t offer her a bed. She can find someone else to sponge off.’
