CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Present Day
The dark around the car is almost impenetrable. I could believe we were travelling through a vast nothingness – no road to hold us up, no stars above to wink our way – were it not for the fact that the headlights pick out snatches of our surroundings. Shorn stubs of winter hedgerows greet us at every turn, punctuated by the occasional leafless tree. Twice, a rabbit darts across our path, causing Gil to touch the brakes lightly.
I collapsed into myself as soon as the car door closed, trapping me in a confined space with a man I’ve always said I hated. I hardly heard the friends and family cheering as we sped away up Whitehaven’s drive and joined the winding country lanes.
I have no idea where we’re going. Some fancy hotel, I expect, with a honeymoon suite to die for and fluffy white towelling robes. It’s the sort of place I would book for a night like this. At that thought, I shiver, even though the temperature is comfortable inside Gil’s Audi.
For my wedding with Simon, we’d planned to stay at the same hotel as the wedding reception, the Royal Marina. We were going to …
No. Notgoing to. We are. We will.
I’ve got to stop thinking about that version of my life as if I’ve changed tracks, as if I’m travelling away from it and it’s never going to happen. It’s still waiting there for me as soon as I wake up and open my eyes.
I squeeze the skin of my thigh between thumb and forefinger, trying again for the millionth time to rouse myself to consciousness, even though I know it won’t work. But that’s me. I don’t give up. I survive. I muddle through. It’s all I know how to do.
Gil isn’t saying much. He’s concentrating on the winding lanes, which can dip and turn in most unexpected places. I want to ask where we’re going, but I suspect I should know, so it’ll only raise questions I’m far too tired to answer. And I already feel small and unsure of myself. I don’t want to sound even more like a child.Are we there yet?
But all is not lost, because while I’ve been sitting here in the silence, I’ve hatched a plan for what I’m going to do when we arrive at the hotel. I’ll play along at first – checking in, maybe even taking a quick peek at the room. If there’s a bar, I’m going to waste some time there drinking champagne, saying I’m too wired to settle down and go to bed. I’m going to push back bedtime as far as possible, because I want us both to be exhausted.
Tooexhausted, if you know what I mean?
The next bit of my plan is a little fuzzy, so I’m going to have to wing it, which is definitely not my skill set, but somehow Gil will end up snoring (and unsatisfied) on his side of the bed and I’ll quickly and quietly get dressed in the en suite then slip out of the room and down to reception. Once there, I’ll get them to call me a cab and I’ll be on my way. Exactly where to, I’m not sure. I’ll figure that bit out when I get to it.
I’m steeling myself for a drive of an hour or more in the thick silence, but it’s only another five minutes before Gil turns the car down an even narrower track, then brings it to a halt. The headlights are no help, illuminating only a tall evergreen hedge that is as neat and cultivated as the lanes are wild and unruly.
I climb out of the car warily, not waiting for Gil to come round to my side and open the door. Once outside, I see nothing I’m expecting to. There is no floodlit exterior of a former country manor turned into an exclusive couples’ hotel. No sound. No light of any sort, apart from the glare of the Audi’s full beams.
Where on earth …?
Gil strides round the hedge and seconds later a dull yellow glow illuminates a short path that carves through a small but gorgeous country garden. I follow him along it to an arched porch on a building that seems smaller than a five-star hotel should be. Much smaller.
‘Where are we?’ I ask quietly as he unlocks a hefty wooden door dotted with wrought-iron studs and gestures that I should go in ahead of him.
It’s much bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside. We walk into a small flagstone hallway with a beautiful wooden console table and open guest book, and then into a good-sized vaulted kitchen with exposed beams and a long pine kitchen table. Lights are on in strategic places, creating a warm, cosy glow throughout the ground floor. Someone must have come in and got it ready for us.
‘It’s part of the Whitehaven estate,’ he explains. ‘I initially considered the gatehouse, at the end of the main drive, but thought we wouldn’t want to be disturbed by hearing our guests leaving, and then Louise mentioned this gamekeeper’s cottage.’
As he tells me all this, Gil’s eyes are fixed on mine. There’s something in his demeanour I don’t quite recognize, and then I realize it’s because he’s nervous and is desperately trying to hide it. He’s worried I won’t like it.
I take a few steps and peek through a doorway into a cosy living room with two large, squashy sofas. There are woollen throws and plump cushions in dark green and berry colours, baskets of logs and books on the coffee table and at the far end of the room, set into a rough stone wall, is a giant fireplace, complete with softly crackling fire.
On one hand, I’m flummoxed. There’s no bar to lose myself in, no reception desk with a phone I can tiptoe down to and use to order a cab. Just me and Gil, and no obvious means to sneak away without him knowing. On the other hand …
‘It’s gorgeous,’ I say, turning to look at him. And I mean it. It isn’t what I was expecting, and isn’t what I would have chosen for myself, but it’s possibly better.
He smiles at me. I mean,reallysmiles. It changes his face completely, lighting it up. It’s such a surprise to see such unfettered joy on Gil Sampson’s face that I laugh, possibly out of nerves, possibly because it’s infecting me too.
He hasn’t smiled like this all day, I think, as he picks me up and spins me around. On his wedding day. Why is that? It’s not that he’s not happy to be marrying me, because he wouldn’t be grinning like this now if that were the case. Most puzzling. I always thought Gil was just naturally grumpy, but maybe there’s more to it. Maybe he’s just more comfortable being one-to-one with someone than amid all those people?
A bit like me, really.
He stops turning and lowers me so my feet touch the floor. His arms are still warm and tight around my back,and he pulls me even closer, his face nuzzling into the curve between my shoulder and neck. And then nuzzling turns to kissing.
‘I … I think I’d like to take a shower,’ I stutter.
He places another kiss just below my earlobe. I have to resist closing my eyes. But then he lets me go – reluctantly, I can tell. ‘Okay. Why don’t I grab us a couple of glasses of what’s chilling in the fridge and then you can join me down here when you’re done?’
