Mistakes We Make (13 page)

‘Couldn’t resist. You’re looking so beautiful.’

‘Flattery,’ she laughed, ‘might get you a long way. Here we are.’

Over toasted focaccia stuffed with goat’s cheese and rocket, the reason for her presence became clear.

‘My auntie,’ she announced, ‘is getting married. Will you come with me to the wedding?’

‘Sure. When is it?’

‘Oh, not till next April.’ She bit prettily into her sandwich, her creamy white teeth leaving a precise scalloped edge in the thick bread.

‘Fine. I’m sure I’ll be able to arrange time off.’

‘It’s in Kolkata.’

Adam, chewing, choked inelegantly, crumbs spraying onto the table and wedging themselves somewhere deep in his throat.

‘Are you all right?’

Kolkata! She’d sprung that one on him. Adam’s mind raced ahead. Popping down the road to Leith to attend a Hindu wedding was one thing. Travelling half way across the world to Kolkata was quite another. It was a statement. Her family would see him as a fixture in her life – the man she cared for enough to bring all that way, to introduce to her nearest and dearest. It was, if you thought about it that way, a kind of trap. And he had just walked right into it.

‘You will see my grandfather’s house,’ Sunita said when he had recovered. ‘He made money. He bought a house in Alipore. It’s a very beautiful place. Once it belonged to the British, of course – all the property in that part of the city belonged to the British. White Calcutta, they called it. But now everything has changed.’

Across the room a girl had just come in, tall and blonde, just Molly’s build, and his mind switched instantly. There’d been such anguish on her face during Logan’s speech and he couldn’t miss the subtle shifts in her expression as her cake was carried in, until at last he could see the pain ebb away. He loved that he could read her so well. Even at the lowest point of their relationship, that skill had never deserted him.

But it wasn’t difficult to read someone’s expression when you had your hand raised to strike her.

He winced.

‘Are you all right, Adam?’ Sunita asked, noticing.

‘Sure, sure.’ He picked up his focaccia but his appetite had deserted him and he dropped it back onto his plate.

He would never forget that night, not for as long as he lived. And nor, he guessed, would Molly. How could you forget the moment you discovered that your wife had been seeing someone else? Offering her body to someone else – her beautiful, familiar limbs entwined with his; her mouth shaping words of endearment that had always been murmured to
you
? How could you forget the writhing pangs of jealousy, or their lightning transformation into anger?

No, he would not forget, nor could he ever forgive himself. And even if Molly could find it in her heart to pardon his behaviour, he was sure that there was no way she could ever trust herself with him again. One moment, one terrible, uncontrolled moment, and he had messed up everything.

‘It’s big, and it’s white, and there are verandahs on two sides, towards the garden. You should see the garden, Adam! There are fire trees and mangoes, and a beautiful big tamarind. The mangoes are so sweet and juicy! They never taste the same over here. And there are figs and a jacaranda, and laburnum. And curry leaves, of course, for the cook.’

‘Sounds idyllic.’

‘It is.’

‘And very big.’

‘He is rich. He will love to meet you, Adam. I know he will.’

‘April, you said.’ Already his mind was racing. He knew he didn’t want to go, but how could he get out of it without hurting Sunita? Damn it, he wasn’t very good at this.

‘April. But we need to check some things. You must have at least six months on your passport, you know. Perhaps you should check this? And you must apply for a visa. We can combine the visit with a small tour, perhaps? Along the Hooghly river? That is very beautiful. Or perhaps to Rajasthan? To the famous palaces? To Agra. You must see the Taj Mahal, Adam. It’s so beautiful. So romantic.’

If he’d been in love with her, the smile that accompanied this statement would have been something to treasure.

James Blair sat in silence, his large frame hunched down into his jacket as though he could pretend he wasn’t really there at all, as Adam drove to Forgie End Farm. He kept his face averted from Adam, looking out of the side window. Every part of his body spoke of discomfort.

Adam knew better than to try to make conversation. What would they talk about, anyway? He’d had enough of work for the day, small talk was out of the question, and a discussion about what would meet them at the farm would be ill advised.

When they drove through the copse and stopped at the gate, there was a pause. Adam was just thinking he would have to get out and open his father’s door himself when his father did so. At once, a chill wind blasted in, bringing a couple of papery beech leaves with it. Autumn was here, with a bleak message. Time was marching on, and his uncle might not live to see another year.

At least, Adam thought as he watched his father put a hand on the gate, he’d managed to get him here. What was he thinking? Was he nursing the smouldering embers of resentment, or battling with his darkest feelings? Adam held his breath. Don’t stop now, he thought, don’t do that to me, or to Geordie.

His father reached out and unhooked the chain.

Adam let out his breath. It was going to work.

He’d reckoned on an hour and had prepared himself for half that. What he’d never considered for a minute was that they would still be at Jean and Geordie’s farm almost two hours later – or that he would hear laughter coming from the room next to the kitchen, where Geordie’s bed had been set up.

He looked at his aunt, the small vertical line between his eyes the measure of his puzzlement.

‘Was that—?’

Her face, a mask of exhaustion, relaxed a fraction and a faint smile played at the corners of her mouth.

‘Oh Adam, lovey. It’s more than I hoped for. That’s a sound I haven’t heard in here for a long time.’

Adam rubbed his hands up and down the sides of his nose. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s good.’

Jean leaned forward, her gaze direct. Adam had an inkling he knew what was coming.

‘About Molly.’

He didn’t want to talk about Molly.

‘What happened?’ Jean Blair had never been less than challenging and old age hadn’t changed that.

‘It—’ Adam searched for a way to answer her. ‘It didn’t work.’

Jean’s look was scathing. ‘Don’t give me that. You two had been together for years. I’ve never seen anyone happier. You don’t just let a marriage go. Especially not someone like
you
, Adam.’

Adam shifted on his chair, leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, then uncrossed and re-crossed it. Restless was a normal state for him, but pressure of this kind exaggerated the feeling.

‘You two were perfect for each other. That wedding of yours was one of the best I can ever remember, and not just because you kept it simple. Molly could no doubt have called in a truckload of favours to have the most ostentatious wedding of the century, but she didn’t. I liked that. I felt it was right for you.
She
was right for you.’

Adam swallowed. He found it hard to think about the day he and Molly had married. ‘We’re getting married outside,’ they’d announced on the invitation, ‘whatever the weather does. So come prepared!’

The minister had agreed, the guests had arrived dressed in kilts, smart suits or sparkly or floaty dresses – and every one of them had worn walking boots.

He shuffled on the chair. However hard he tried to put that day out of his mind, he would never forget it.

They hadn’t been married ten minutes when Molly, surveying the assorted range of wellies, hiking boots, winter boots and hefty shoes, had said, ‘It’s great to see everyone listened to the instructions.’

‘Except the bride.’ Adam had smiled, looking down at the ground-length ivory silk of her wedding gown. Friends teased Molly that if her career in marketing ever stalled, she could always turn to being a model, and she had never looked more beautiful than she looked that day.

‘What do you mean, except the bride?’

‘Well – not under that, I imagine.’

‘I am so wearing boots!’

‘I don’t believe you. Lift up your skirt!’

‘Really Adam! In front of our guests?’ Long tendrils of blonde hair had escaped from her elaborate French braid and were wafting in the brisk breeze. Her face had been aglow with happiness.

Adam had captured a stray frond and tucked it behind her ear. He hadn’t been able to resist kissing her neck, just below where a fat pearl hung from her lobe, creamy and gleaming in the sunshine.

‘I don’t believe you’re wearing boots,’ he’d challenged. ‘Prove it.’

‘OK, I will!’

She’d grabbed fistfuls of silk and hoisted her dress upwards to reveal her hiking boots, scrubbed to look as good as new, specially polished to a high sheen and laced with scarlet ribbon.

Cameras snapped and flashed, and the laughter of the guests had echoed down the valley and startled a flock of crows.

‘That’s bad luck,’ someone had muttered, staring down river.

‘Rubbish. Stupid old superstition,’ another had retorted.

‘Six crows. They say it means a death.’

‘Shut up, Angus, don’t be such an old killjoy.’

Adam, still laughing at Molly’s boots, had fleetingly thought the comment macabre and then forgotten it. Oddly, the words came back to him now. There had been a death. Jamie Gordon had died, and with his death any chance of saving Adam’s marriage seemed to have died as well.

He said to his aunt, ‘I thought she was right for me too. Sadly, Molly thought otherwise.’

It was boorish to blame her and he regretted his words immediately.

A door somewhere opened, creaking on old hinges.

Jean put a hand over his and said, before his father could arrive and interrupt their conversation, ‘Fight for her, Adam. She’s worth it.’

––––––––

‘Y
ou’re on.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s Molly. I said “you’re on”.’

There was a whoop at the other end of the line.

‘I’m delighted, Molly, really I am,’ Barnaby Fletcher crowed. ‘This is the beginning of something great!’

‘Me too. I can’t
tell
you how excited I am!’

The job at Fleming House had been a godsend, but it wasn’t what Molly wanted to do indefinitely. She had so much more to offer than pandering to bridezillas or sweet-talking low-level corporate types who thought their booking was God’s gift. And with Adam having a new woman in his life ...

Well, that was it. The end of a marriage she should probably have insisted on winding up some time ago, and the beginning of a new life on her own. At last she’d started along the motorway of arrangements and rearrangements that would end in London.

‘Your timing was impeccable,’ she told Barnaby. ‘I’m ready for a new challenge.’

‘And Fletcher Keir is ready for you.’

‘Keir Fletcher.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It sounds better. Say it, Barnaby. Keir Fletcher. Keir Fletcher. Keir Fletcher. It has a fantastic ring to it.’

‘But it—’ There was a silence at the other end of the line.

‘Oh God,’ Molly said, ‘I know what you’re thinking. It gives me more prominence. But that wasn’t it at all. It was just ... Forget it. It’s your business.’

‘Actually,’ Barnaby said, ‘once your money goes in, we’ll be equal owners.’

‘Well, whatever. We could call it Peach. Or Indigo Peach. We could call it Random Feather. Or Jubilee Monday. We can call it anything we want!’

This was heady stuff. A business to play with! No, not ‘a’ business – 
her
business.

Barnaby laughed, the whole-body chuckle that never failed to lift her spirits. ‘You’ve just underlined exactly why you’re the best person to join me, Molly. You’re so sparky and creative. I love it. Now – to the nitty gritty. Can you fly down to London? Even just a day would do. We should meet and talk everything over. I’ll get the legal papers drafted, you need to get them checked and, of course, you need to get the capital lined up. How soon can that be organised?’

Molly’s heart sank. She’d considered every possible alternative, gone down every avenue, and all exploration led back to the same inescapable conclusion – the sale of the house was the only way of financing her new venture.

‘I’ll call Adam today. It might take a month or two to get the cash through. I suppose I could talk to the bank and see if they’ll give me a bridging loan.’

‘Bridging loan? You’ll be lucky, these days. Listen, I’ll talk to my people and see what they say. A legally binding promissory note might be enough in the short term, but it would have to be short term. The business needs the capital injection.’

‘Got it. Don’t worry, Barnaby – I bet the house sells within a week.’

An hour later, she put the phone down and scanned the list she’d been making as they talked.

Amazingly short for such a big step, but she’d already told her father and Lexie knew, and those two people were the most important in her life. She didn’t suppose Logan would miss her much and the only impact on Adam would be the sale of the house. As for friends, she’d hidden away here for so long that most of them had given up on her, apart from Lexie. Still, London was going to be a new start, and she was ready for it.

Her mobile rang. Lexie – perfect timing.

‘Hi. I was just thinking about you. I’ve accepted the job in Lon—’

‘Molly! Help me!’

Molly corkscrewed round in her chair and sat bolt upright. ‘What is it? Have you fallen? What’s wrong?’

Lexie groaned. The sound started low and built in volume until it was more of a howl than a moan.

Molly shot to her feet. ‘Christ Almighty, what’s happened?’

The scream subsided into ragged panting. ‘I’ve gone into labour!’

‘But you’re not due for another month.’

‘Tell the baby!’

‘Where are you? Where’s Patrick? Have you called the hospital?’