Sleeping Arrangements (17 page)

'Ah,' said Philip, and took a swig of beer. 'I see.'

'I phoned her this morning just to see how things were getting on. I casually mentioned the spare bedroom—and she started talking about turquoise. Turquoise!' Amanda closed her eyes as though unable to contemplate the thought. 'When what I specified was a very pale aquamarine.' She opened her eyes and looked at Philip. 'Well, of course, now I can't be sure what she's slapping on our walls. It could be any old colour. I've been faxing her all afternoon, but she hasn't bothered to reply . . .'

'I'm sure it'll be fine,' said Philip. He thought for a moment. 'I expect she's using the right colour—but just describing it differently.'

Amanda gazed at him suspiciously.

'You think turquoise and aquamarine are the same colour?'

'Well,' said Philip. 'They are quite similar, aren't they? To the . . . the uninitiated eye.'

'Maybe.' Amanda exhaled sharply. 'Maybe you're right. But not even bothering to reply to my faxes. I mean, that's just plain discourteous. When I'm the one paying the money, I'm the customer . . .'

'I didn't even know there was a fax machine here,' said Philip, trying to change the subject.

'This villa's got everything, hasn't it?'

'It's in that study, off the hall,' said Amanda. 'There's a little office set up there.' She rolled her eyes. 'In fact, I'm surprised Hugh hasn't commandeered it already.' She lay back on her sun lounger and was silent for a minute. Then she gave a gusty sigh. 'God, I'm exhausted.

Beatrice was up half the night. She just wouldn't be left alone. And I've been on the phone all afternoon—'

'Is she all right now?' Philip sat up. 'I mean, do you want me to call a doctor or something?'

'Oh no,' said Amanda, and smiled faintly. 'Thanks. She just had a bit too much sun yesterday. And it was even hotter today . . .'

'Thirty-four degrees, apparently,' said Philip, 'They're calling it a heat wave. Although it should be cooler up here in the mountains . . .' He lifted an arm up through the hot, heavy air.

'Well, it was sweltering today,' said Amanda. 'I had to send the children inside.' She pushed a hand through her hair. 'Thank God for air conditioning. Otherwise I'd never have got Beatrice back to sleep.'

'Nat used to be tricky on holiday,' said Philip sympathetically. 'He could never settle in a new place.'

He looked over and saw that Amanda had closed her eyes. 'Maybe Hugh will take over tonight,' he said. 'Give you a rest.'

'Hugh?' Amanda opened one eye. 'Oh, please. Hugh doesn't go near the children.'

'Really?' Philip raised his eyebrows. 'Not at all?'

'He's a complete workaholic. Never comes home before eight. I'm the equivalent of a single mother.' On the ground beside her, her mobile phone began to bleep. 'Oh hell,' said Amanda, sitting up. 'What on earth do they want now?'

'Why not ignore it?' suggested Philip, but Amanda was already switching it on.

'Hi,' she said. 'Yup. Yup.' There was a pause. 'Well, that's all very well, but what does she mean by terracotta? Yes, I would like a word, if that's not too much trouble.'

There was silence and she rolled her eyes at Philip.

'Colour problems?' said Philip.

'I tell you, if I'd known I would have this much trouble, I would have stuck to wallpaper. At least you can see what you're . . . hello, Penny? Well, I don't care if she is going home. I want to talk to her!' She put her hand over the mouthpiece. 'God, these people! Completely hopeless. I mean, look at me. What kind of holiday am I having now?' Her attention jerked back to the phone. 'Hello, Penny? Yes, I can hold. Oh by the way,' Amanda added to Philip, 'there was a call for you earlier. While you were out.'

It took a few seconds for Philip to register what she'd said.

'A call for me?' he echoed stupidly.

'I picked it up in the study. Chris somebody?' Amanda frowned slightly. 'Can't remember the surname. He said there was some news. I left a number . . . Hi! Marguerite! It's Amanda Stratton here. Now, I just want to talk to you about these colours.'

Philip stared straight ahead, his heart thumping. His easy demeanour vanished. In a rush, all the perspective he'd gained over the day seemed to have concertinaed into nothing. He had no distance, no cushioning, no protection. Only hot, stabbing nerves.

He took a deep breath and looked up at Amanda, who was obliviously talking on the phone.

'Right,' he said, attempting a light tone; putting on a good show for the empty swimming pool. 'Thanks for letting me know. I might . . . I might as well go and call him back now.'

As Philip walked into the villa, the golden glow of outside receded sharply, giving way to a chill gloom. He opened the door into the tiny study—a room he han't been in before—and was greeted by the disconcerting sight of Gerard's face replicated over and over again around the room. It was there in a large portrait over the desk, in photographs arranged on a small side table, on a poster advertising a wine festival, and adorning several framed wine columns.

Philip paused by a picture of Gerard standing next to some famous chef or other, holding a wine glass up to the camera.

'Smug git,' he said aloud. He stared at the picture for a few seconds, then made his way to the phone. He passed the fax machine as he went, and glimpsed several sheets of paper covered in what he assumed was Amanda's handwriting.

EXCUSE ME, began one. DID SOMEONE JUST HANG UP ON ME? KINDLY REMEMBER, YOU ARE IN MY HOUSE, PAINTING MY WALLS.

Despite his nerves, Philip found himself smiling faintly. He sat down at the desk, took a few deep breaths, then reached for the phone. He dialled Chris's home number from memory and after a few rings it was answered.

'Hi, Chris?' he said, forcing himself to sound relaxed. 'Philip here.'

'Philip. Hi, good to hear from you!' said Chris. Philip imagined his deputy manager standing in his kitchen, a beer in his hand. 'Listen, I didn't want to alarm you. I just thought since you asked to be kept up to speed, you'd want to hear the latest.'

'Sure,' said Philip, feeling a tiny edge of relief. 'So—what's the news?'

'Apparently the recommendations from Mackenzie's are in,' said Chris.

'Right,' said Philip, trying to suppress the fear flooding his body. Everybody had been talking about these bloody recommendations for so long, they'd taken on the aura of some myth-ical beast. Medusa, the Minotaur, the Mackenzie recommendations. After three missed dead-lines, he'd almost stopped believing they would ever appear.

'So—do we know what they say?'

'No,' said Chris. 'We don't have a clue. And the guy who deals with them is on holiday until next week.'

'Great,' said Philip. He looked at a picture of Gerard kissing the hand of some minor royal, and looked away again. 'So we're still waiting.'

'Looks like it. But I suppose we're one stage nearer knowing.'

'I guess so,' said Philip. His hand, he suddenly realized, was sweaty round the receiver.

'Well, thanks for keeping me posted, Chris. Do the others know?'

'Oh, everybody knows,' said Chris. 'There's quite a good spirit here. Angela's got five hundred signatures on her petition.'

Philip smiled. PBL might try and get rid of them—but they wouldn't do so without a struggle. Chris was almost more outraged about the whole affair than he was. It was he who had thought of the petition, he who had encouraged customers to write to PBL showing their support for the branch.

'Excellent!' said Philip. 'Well, keep going.'

'Oh, we will,' said Chris. 'And I hope you enjoy the rest of the break. At least you know now that nothing's going to happen while you're away.'

'Good point,' said Philip. 'Cheers, Chris.'

'Bye, Philip. Have a good time.'

Philip put the phone down and stared silently at the expensive wood grain of Gerard's desk. It was bloody torture. Edging slowly towards a decision which meant nothing to those fuckers at PBL. Which meant everything to him, to his staff, to their families.

The sound of a car alerted his attention and he looked up. Through the window he could see Hugh's people-carrier pulling up in front of the door. There was a pause, then the passenger door opened and, to his surprise, Chloe got out. A moment later, Hugh got out on the other side, and spoke to her. She muttered something in reply, and the two turned towards the door.

Quickly, Philip got up and headed towards the door of the study. God forbid Chloe should see him on the phone to England again.

'Hi!' he said cheerfully as he reached the hall. 'What have you been up to?'

Chloe, standing just inside the door, gave a startled jump. She looked glowing, thought Philip. A day alone, away from family pressures, had obviously done her some good.

'Philip!' she said. 'You . . . you startled me.' She pushed her hair off her face with a trembling hand. 'When did you get back?'

'I've been back for a while,' said Philip. 'We went down to Puerto Banus. Admired the yachts. Where've you been?'

'San Luis,' said Chloe after a pause. 'It's very pretty.'

'I bumped into Chloe, sitting at a café,' said Hugh easily. 'She'd walked all the way there.

Madness!'

'I just wanted to stretch my legs,' said Chloe, and cleared her throat. 'I didn't really mean to walk to San Luis. But that's where I ended up. And . . . and Hugh insisted on driving me back.'

'I should think so!' said Philip. 'You were supposed to be taking it easy today, remember?'

'I know,' said Chloe. 'But I just . . . I felt like a walk, OK?'

She sounded suddenly defensive and scratchy, and Philip shrugged.

'Fair enough,' he said. 'Anyone want a drink?'

As Philip walked off towards the kitchen, Chloe and Hugh looked at each other.

'I can't believe he can't tell,' Chloe said in a voice so low it was barely audible. 'I can't believe he—' She broke off, then said slowly, 'We've been together for thirteen years. You'd think he'd notice something . . .'

'You sound like you want him to find out,' said Hugh.

'Don't be stupid,' said Chloe sharply. 'I just . . . I'm surprised. That's all.'

'Well, don't think about it,' said Hugh. 'Don't think about anything. Except us.' He stretched a hand towards her and Chloe jerked away.

'Stop it!' Her eyes darted around the staircase. 'Are you mad?' She took a few paces across the hall, away from him. 'I . . . I'll see you later.'

'When?' said Hugh at once. 'Tonight?'

Chloe turned to look at him. She saw how intently his eyes were fixed on her, how deadly serious he looked—and felt a small lurch in her stomach.

'I don't know,' she said. 'I don't know, Hugh.'

And she walked quickly away, towards the marble galleried staircase, without looking back.

For predinner drinks, Jenna had prepared a wine tasting by the swimming pool. She had dragged a wrought-iron table to the water's edge and had lined up five bottles of wine with pieces of paper taped over the labels and marked A to E. There was a row of neatly arranged glasses, pads of paper and pencils, and a basket of bread.

Chloe neared the pool area, where all the others were already assembled, listening to Jenna. Her footsteps were silent on the grass but Hugh looked up, as though he'd felt her coming. Philip followed his gaze and then Amanda, so that all of them were staring at her like a welcoming committee. Like a jury about to give its verdict. In spite of herself, Chloe's step faltered slightly. She felt like running back inside, running away. Onto a plane, somewhere else.

'Hi there, Chloe,' said Jenna, looking up with a smile. 'Want to taste some wine? I thought, since we're in a wine reviewer's house and all . . .'

'Hello, darling,' said Philip, and gestured to the wine table. 'Isn't this an impressive array?'

'Wonderful,' said Chloe, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. 'Sorry I'm late.'

'Well, you're here now,' said Hugh. 'That's what counts.'

'Yes,' said Chloe after a pause. 'Yes, I suppose so.' She darted a glance at Hugh and as she met his dark eyes, felt a spasm in her stomach. Three hours ago, she found herself thinking. Only three hours ago. His arms, his mouth.

A wave of longing swept over her, so strong it nearly made her cry out. Quickly she turned her head away, took a deep breath, forced herself to cauterize that train of thought. She would stay calm and focused, she told herself firmly. She would behave normally, despite the nerves jumping in her stomach. With enough self-control, she could just block out what had happened this afternoon. Block it from her mind completely. 'So . . . so what are we doing?'

she asked, keeping her voice as even as possible.

'I thought we could give each wine a mark out of ten and write any comments,' said Jenna.

'We'll amalgamate the results and declare an overall winner. The bread's to cleanse the pal-ate, and to make sure we don't all get too pissed.' She grinned. 'The bread's optional, I should add.'

'Right,' said Chloe. 'That sounds clear enough.' She glanced at Philip, who raised his eyebrows comically at her.

'All boned up on wine vocabulary?' he said. 'No fewer than six adjectives allowed per bottle.'

'Are the wines from a particular region?' asked Amanda, frowning slightly. 'Or a particular grape?'

'Who knows?' said Jenna. 'Just grabbed the first five I saw.' She took a swig from her glass and staggered slightly. 'Oh jeepers,' she spluttered as she finished the mouthful. 'I can't even put that one into words.' She shook her head. 'Let's try again.' There was an astonished silence as she drained the entire glass in one, then looked up and wiped her mouth. 'You know what? It's tricky even knowing where to begin.'

'Let's have a taste,' said Amanda knowledgeably. 'It can be quite difficult to separate out the flavours if you're a novice.' She poured a small amount of the wine into a glass, swilled it round and took a deep sniff. 'Mmm. Pungent bouquet. Quite a mature wine, I should say.' She took a sip and closed her eyes as the others watched in silence. 'A challenging wine,' she pro-nounced at last. 'Deep and fruity, black curranty . . . a hint of leather . . . Is that the kind of de-scription you were searching for, Jenna?'