‘Really? Well, that’s some good news at last. Terrible what happened to her husband though.’
Olivia bows her head. She never got to know them, she acknowledges to herself, never really saw them properly though they were around the town all the time if she had really looked. She thinks of Mila’s long, dexterous fingers, the way she had shared a cigarette affectionately with Petras, resting her head on his shoulder; their relationship redolent of both young lovers and an old married couple, simultaneously. What will she do now, without him? If she was vulnerable before, she is now even more so.
‘I have to go,’ says Marcus, not unkindly, as he breaks into her reverie. ‘I can’t afford to stay at the hotel and I’m no longer officially in the employ of Tobias Woolf,’ he adds with a sardonic smile. ‘I need to head back to London, get my finances in order, sort my life out.’
‘I understand,’ she says, bravely attempting to be business-like. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Tobias covers your bill and pays you what he owes you for the work on the property. It’s the least he can do.’
‘I hope he has the funds,’ he replies wryly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s to be sued for compliance. Though knowing him, he’ll wriggle out of it. Probably try to pass the buck on to me.’
‘Surely not,’ she says. ‘I won’t let him. Don’t forget, I’ve got something on him now. I know exactly who he is and I’ll make him pay, one way or another.’
Marcus smiles in surprise, almost with a hint of pride.
‘That’s the spirit.’
‘And, I know it won’t be much, but I would still like you to help me out with my studio space, the gallery interiors.’
‘You intend to go ahead then, stay down here?’
‘Yep,’ she says breathing deeply as the coastal wind blows through her. ‘I do. My future is here, not in London. I’ve made up my mind. I’m asking Tobias for a divorce.’
59
Tobias sets off in the direction of the renovation. He’s not really sure why. Perhaps it is force of habit, having focused all his attention on the property for so long, he doesn’t know what else to do.
He rose at the crack of dawn this morning, his head banging and his face puce after finishing off the best part of a bottle of whisky last night at the hotel. Once Olivia and the kids had left the table, he and Marcus had sat for a while longer trying to get the real measure of each other finally. He’d hoped that they could have bonded over a proper drink, talked frankly man to man, or rather father to son, as it now transpires.
He feels he should have known, somehow, on some level, that Marcus was his. But if he trawls his memory, his subconscious, he must be honest with himself and admit that he really didn’t have a clue. That’s the truth; it really had never occurred to him. And as for this cock and bull story Marcus’s mother had told him, well that really didn’t chime with his recollection of events.
There were so many young girls, women, he supposes he should say, who passed through those offices back in the day. They were ten a penny and he struggles to remember any of the faces or names. A revolving door, a conveyer belt of PAs and secretaries; they all merge into one. Christ, he can’t be expected to recall every interaction, every drunken assignation or regrettable dalliance. He’s just glad this one didn’t come back trying to collar him for maintenance as some of them might. That couldhave been very awkward as far as Livvy and his own kids were concerned.
Anyhow, he decides, striding along and up the road as it climbs towards the house, it didn’t sound like she (what was her name again? Susie?) wanted anything from him and had quite rightly meant to leave it where it belonged: in the past. To his mind, it was only Marcus – typical of his generation – who wanted to rake it all up, analyse it. Why must young people always want to blather on about their feelings? Why the fetishisation of emotion? This recent fad of ‘talking therapy’ – I ask you! His parents had never had truck with such nonsense. They just point-blank refused to discuss anything – it was no one else’s bloody business.
His head continues to pound and he can feel his polo shirt growing damp. He’s forgotten a hat again, despite Olivia’s constant nagging. Livvy, he thinks, regretfully. How could she let him down like this, embarrass herself? Such a silly thing to do to throw herself at a younger man, who clearly only wanted her for one thing: money. It’s the only explanation for it. He’s irritated but he forgives her and he knows she’ll come round, in time. He’s less understanding about Bella. He thought she was more shrewd, that she had a bit more about her.
Both of his children were packed off at the station this morning. He put them on the train first thing, sent them back to London with a flea in their ear. He hopes they’ve learned their lesson and this whole sorry business has taught them a thing or two about life. He believes in the school of hard knocks and it’s about time both of them got back to some routine and structure.
Once he’d left them, he’d spent several hours on the phone to the police and his lawyer, trying to understand where he stood in this whole legal mess concerning the property. Of course, he’ll have to wait for the eventual findings. According to the police, they have no way of being sure exactly how the fire started, as of yet.
At one point, it had looked like arson but this was due to the fact they’d stored the new kitchen materials there. The dry timber must have caught easily and was an excellent source of fuel for the flames. That’s why the first responders, the firefighters, thought it might have been started intentionally but in the end it was probably just rotten luck or carelessness.
He huffs and puffs as he continues to climb, feeling sorry for himself. He’d been so sure it was that couple next door but the police can’t make it stick. They suggest it might even have been some kind of electrical fault now, though it’s all very inconclusive. Makes sense, he concedes, when he thinks how rushed a job it was, though the local sparky seemed like an old hand. Besides, Detective Price confirmed that the electrician and his family were sighted down in the bay during the fireworks.
No, he sighs to himself, it could be a simple case of negligence. The site was a bit messy at times, stuff left lying around, those cigarette ends he found littering the place. And apparently the couple who were squatting there were both smokers. He’s had a word with his lawyer though and he feels confident that he won’t be found responsible and the insurance will cover it. Just as well since the foreign chappie has gone and carked it. Bit of a blow that, in terms of the whole liability thing.
He has reached the summit of the hill and is strolling along the terraced street, his eyes appraising the fire-damaged property again, hoping against hope that each time he does, it will somehow have improved. But there is nothing to be done. It’s a complete write-off. He’d be lucky for anyone to take it off his hands even for the land value now. God, he hopes that insurance comes through. But how long will it take? He can barely afford the mortgage on their London place now as it is.
He stops in front of the house, pulls at his sodden shirt, leans on the nearby wall to catch his breath for a moment. And as he does so, he sees a familiar duo walking towards him from theother direction. As they draw near he recognises them as the couple who run the B & B. Jeff and Barbara Cummings. They too are looking up at the blackened remains of the property, shaking their heads and tutting under their breath. These bloody locals, thinks Tobias, they really are the limit.
‘Afternoon,’ he calls to them. ‘Nice day for a walk,’ he adds with loaded sarcasm. He knows they are just here to gawk and gloat.
‘What a shame,’ says Barbara, continuing to cluck her tongue as they approach.
‘Yes, damned shame,’ says Tobias, as though he is talking about a cracked window or a flat tyre rather than the charred timbers of his entire fortune. ‘Still, I expect it will be a job for the insurance bods and all will turn out well in the end.’
‘I was talking about the couple involved,’ she retorts. ‘That poor man and his wife. Always the innocent ones …’ she says, theatrically.
‘Innocent?’ says Tobias. ‘Need I remind you, madam, they were technically trespassing on private property? They might even have caused the fire, albeit inadvertently, I grant you.’
