‘Don’t stay if you don’t want to, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. There is a room for me here, if I do need to sleep.’
‘OK, Daddy. I’m so tired and I don’t want to be asleep when Mummy wakes up. I’ll go home now, have a few hours’ sleep and come back early in the morning. You will call me if you need me, though, won’t you. I won’t turn my phone off.’
‘Of course, sweetheart.’ Feeling an intense surge of guilt, he stood up and held her to him – something he had not done for too many years. She felt frail, helpless – his baby girl.
‘I’ll look after Emma, Professor Princeton,’ Josh added in grown-up fashion.
‘Thanks, son.’ He shook Josh’s hand and pushed a wodge of cash into it. ‘Take that for petrol and anything else you might need.’
When they’d gone, he paced slowly around his home for the night, stretching his arms high above his gangly body. He thought he heard the rhythm of his wife’s breathing change and leant down so his face almost touched hers.
‘Come on, old girl, you can do this. I know you’re strong enough. Even if it’s for Emma and not me.’ His voice cracked.
A nurse came in and started doing the necessary regular checks.
He sat down and drank his coffee. He couldn’t eat. He looked at Cynthia’s bruised and swollen face with the tube down her throat helping her to breathe. She had always been so self-sufficient, never needy, and he felt an overwhelming rush of love for her.
What he and Maya had now paled into insignificance. Did he really love a twentysomething sex-worker? Somebody he would always have to look out for. Probably provide for. Or was it just the thrill of the sex, the naughtiness of the whole situation. Could he really see himself living with the girl, sharing wine, sharing memories? Did they really have anything in common? Did you need to have anything in common to be in love with someone? Actually, as you got older, he thought, yes, you did.
At whatever age a relationship starts, passion fades and then what are you left with? In twenty years’ time, where would he and Maya be? He would be sixty-five, she would be just forty-two – not even the age he was now. She might have traded him in for a younger model by then. He wasn’t ageing that well as it was.
Could he see himself sitting with her over breakfast? OpeningTheSunday Times? Chatting about current affairs? About life in general?
Here, in front of him, was his future. An intelligent, still very attractive woman, the mother of his beautiful daughter. What had he become? A selfish middle-aged man, who had spent too much time thinking of nothing but his own sexual gratification. It was time he woke up to what he had and not what he thought he could or should be having.
It distressed him even more that it had taken something as dreadful as this to make him realise the truth.
He liked Maya. He had missed her when he hadn’t seen her for a few weeks, and it really had been great to see her the other night. He couldn’t deny how he felt when he was with her, but it must have been lust, not real love, and if he didn’t face up to his responsibilities, he would end up a sad, lonely old man.
SIXTY-FIVE
To avoid any unnecessary rumpus at the hotel reception, Sam went ahead and sorted out the check-in. He spoke to the concierge in private and ushered both Gracie and Leo up a back staircase to their room.
‘The Presidential Suite! Leo, this is just too amazing!’ Gracie couldn’t believe the decadence of the whole place. ‘I have to jump on the bed.’
Leo laughed. ‘Do exactly what you want. We are here for one night only, let’s enjoy it. There are two bedrooms so you can choose which one you like best.’ She loved the fact that he didn’t expect anything from her.
The Gran Hotel La Florida was magnificent: set high on Tibidabo, twenty minutes above the city of Barcelona. It was the epitome of luxury. Gracie was in awe of the huge bedrooms and marble baths. But best of all was the vast terrace that overlooked the city and the Mediterranean, complete with hammocks and Jacuzzi. It was the sort of place she had only dreamt of staying at. And now not only was it her home for the night, but she was staying here with a beautiful and charming Hollywood actor. If somebody had told her six months ago that this would be happening to her, she would have thought they were mad.
‘So, Grace, my proposal is that Sam gives us a whistlestop tour of the city. I’ve booked you a massage in the spa and then we’ll have dinner up here overlooking the city. Is that OK?’
‘That sounds just perfect. Thank you so much, Leo.’
‘I hope you understand why I want to stay here and have dinner. I just love not being in the public eye when I don’t have to be. It’s not for one minute that I wouldn’t be proud to have you on my arm.’
It had crossed Gracie’s mind that the press might go crazy following a sighting of Leo with someone like her; she was certainly not the usual sort of girl he was seen with in the glossy magazines.
‘This is the most beautiful hotel that I have ever set foot in. I’m more than happy to take in the amazing view… and not have to share you, to be honest.’
‘Really? That’s nice.’
Gracie couldn’t believe he even questioned her. The more she got to know Leo Grant, the more she thought she’d be happy eating fish and chips with him in a one-bedroom flat in Cleethorpes.
By the time they had got back from their tour of the city and she’d had her massage it was nine o’clock. When she returned, glowing and relaxed, Leo was lying outside in a hammock leafing through a new script that had been couriered to the hotel. Darkness had fallen and a magnificent full moon filled the sky.
Leo looked up and beamed at her.
‘That was so what I needed. The oils they use smell so good, too. I can’t thank you enough.’
