Wish You Were Here Read online

  ‘I decided to join you with the wine. You’re sure you’re OK for time?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine.’

  ‘You were telling me about how your dad’s getting on…’

  ‘Much better now. He’s still on crutches—on a good day—in a wheelchair on some. I had to leave Trailburners to help look after him and run the business, you see.’

  ‘Is that the cycle hire place in the village?’ said Jack. ‘Next to the post office, opposite the White Hart? “Wheels on Fire… burn up the territory.”’ He smiled. ‘That was it, wasn’t it? Your tag line?’

  Beth nodded, wondering if he was mocking her. Their silly slogan was way over the top for a family firm in a Lakeland village. But she studied his face and was sure he was sincere in this at least. A snare of emotion tightened around her chest that he had remembered her tales.

  ‘You must have worked hard to keep the place going,’ he went on. ‘Trying to run a business is no picnic for anyone these days and with the accident too, life must have got bloody impossible.’

  He was right. It had been hard. Her mum had died when she’d been barely in her teens, leaving her dad to care for two young girls. It had been a struggle but they’d managed until lately.

  ‘The business has suffered, of course it has. Some of the locals rallied round and they were fantastic. They all did shifts in the shop at first but it couldn’t go on forever. They have lives too. Dad was in hospital for four months and now he’s not so mobile. He gets a bit down at times and who can blame him? They needed me so I left my job and went home. That’s it. I should be grateful. He’s lucky to have got away with what he did. We didn’t even know if he’d ever wake up at one point.’

  ‘I’m truly sorry this has happened to you, Beth,’ said Jack.

  ‘It’s OK. It’s just—things are a bit tight.’

  ‘So basically, you wanted this job so badly because you need the money?’

  ‘Not for myself. Not even for Dad. We’re getting by, just, with the guided walks and the shop. It’s for Louisa. It’s her I really need the job for.’

  ‘Your sister? Don’t tell me she’s in trouble too?’

  Beth felt a smile tilting the corner of her mouth. All she’d done so far was pour out a tale of woe. Now, at last, she had something to be pleased about.

  ‘On the contrary. Louisa’s doing really well. That’s the problem, she’s been accepted by a top performing arts school,’ she said ruefully. ‘A really expensive one, but there’s no way Dad or I are going to let her pass up a chance like this. No way. I want her to have the chance, but I need to earn a decent amount.’

  His eyes were serious. ‘I can understand that. Opportunities like that don’t come along very often and you’re right to want to help Louisa. If it were my sister—or my daughter—I’d want to do the same. Who’s helping your dad out while you come down here?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, he’s on the mend, and he can do a bit of pottering around in the shop, but he has Louisa to help now. Her study leave starts at the end of the week and the course at the drama school doesn’t kick off until the autumn. So it’s the ideal time for me.’

  ‘What about accommodation? Where are you going to be staying when you’re working for us? Life down here can be pretty expensive.’

  She smiled. ‘A relative has said I can house-sit for her. She’s letting me have her flat in Camden Town while she visits her daughter in Australia.’

  ‘Camden Town, eh?’ said Jack, raising his eyebrows. ‘You shouldn’t be late for work, then. I was wondering how you were going to manage with your bike on the M6.’

  His joke wasn’t that good, and she knew it was probably nervousness, but they both thought it was so funny they laughed out loud.

  It was a while later, as Jack went outside to take a phone call, that a strange thing happened. The theme song from Titanic began to drift into Beth’s head above the buzz of the bar. She fumbled inside her bag. Louisa had been threatening for weeks to send a cheesy ringtone to her phone and now she’d obviously gone and done it, the little minx. She’d pulled out an envelope, an underground map, a free voucher to a new vodka bar, and a Juicy Tube lip gloss before she saw it, glowing and warbling in the depths.

  ‘Louisa!’

  ‘Hi, Beth. Are you OK? You sound a bit… weird.’

  ‘I’m fine. I’m in a bar! I just couldn’t find the mobile. Just what have you been doing with the ringtone?’

  ‘Beth. Chill. It’s only the phone.’

  She could almost see her sister rolling her eyes in exasperation. She was supposed to be the uptight one. Louisa was, to use her favorite expression, chilled. So chilled she had a blithe confidence that the money would be found, somehow, to send her to drama school. Despite all that happened to their family, Louisa still had that glorious gift, the naïve optimism of youth, and Beth didn’t want to enlighten her.

  ‘Is anything wrong? How’s Dad?’ she asked.

  ‘Not too bad. A bit crotchety, but what’s new? I thought if you had some good stuff to report he might cheer up…’ she paused again. Beth could picture her, lying on her bed or a floor cushion, her iPod trailing. ‘Beth,’ she went on, ‘Marcus has been here again. Dad took him in the front room. I hung about outside the door but I couldn’t work out what they were saying. He seemed pissed off you weren’t here, though.’

  Beth didn’t blame him. Poor Marcus, he didn’t deserve her. ‘I know. I’ve already spoken to him, so don’t worry about it now, I’ll talk to him when I get home. I’ve got some news. I got the job.’

  ‘Yay! You rock, Beth!’

  ‘Thanks, Lou-lou.’

  ‘See you later, then?’ said Lou.

  ‘My interview overran a bit so I’m going to be really late back.’

  ‘Me too. I’m off out.’

  ‘On a date?’ asked Beth, repacking her bag as she talked.

  ‘Might be…’ said Louisa.

  ‘Going to tell me who?’ she asked, distracted by the envelope that had fluttered under the table.

  ‘Just some guy from the boat club. Hey, I have to go. Sarah’s coming round to do my hair. Love you lots. Mwah.’

  ‘You too, mwah,’ laughed Beth, turning off her phone. Reaching down, she picked up the envelope, pulled out the ticket inside, and closed her eyes in disbelief. When she opened them, Jack was pushing his way through the drinkers towards her.

  ‘Sorry about that. Robin Brinton’s office, important potential client,’ he said as he reached her and sat down. ‘Everything alright?’ he asked suddenly.

  She held out the ticket. ‘Not really. I think I’m about to miss my train.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘We can still make it if we get a move on,’ called Jack, pushing his way through the scrum of drinkers towards the door. Dragging her case behind him, he half ran with her towards the nearest underground station.

  ‘We might do it!’ he called from a few yards in front. Then he stopped suddenly and she found herself almost falling into the back of him. The entrance to the station was cordoned off with thick yellow tape. Dozens of people were milling about outside, talking frantically on their mobiles. Overhead, a police helicopter chopped through the sky.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said a policeman, hands outstretched as Jack made his way to the tape, still pulling her suitcase. ‘We have a major incident. You’ll have to move back.’

  ‘What about the mainline stations?’

  The policeman shook his head at her. ‘I wouldn’t bother. Nothing’s moving in London tonight.’

  ‘Come on. It’s no use,’ said Jack, steering her away from the underground station to a side street.

  She put a hand to her cheek. It was warm and glowing, and not only because of their dash through the streets. ‘Are you sorry you took me on now? I can’t even catch a train home,’ she said.

  ‘You won’t be the first or the last travel expert to miss a connection—but you know that,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Besides, who could have predicted this woul
d happen?’

  ‘I still feel like a total prat.’

  ‘Forget it. Let’s just get you sorted out for tonight. Can you stay with your relative in Camden? I’ll walk you there. It’s a bit of a hike, but we could do it,’ he offered as Beth took her case from him.

  She shook her head. ‘Not until next week. She has tenants in until the weekend. I can hardly descend on them. I’ll have to try and get a hotel room.’

  Her eyes took in the chaos around them as Jack checked his phone. ‘The network’s overloaded. What about yours?’

  ‘Same.’ She nodded, looking at her screen.

  He blew out a breath. ‘OK. Plan B. Let’s use the landline in my apartment. It’s only around the corner. I have a list of hotels back there too.’

  ‘We might be lucky to get a reservation if we get a move on,’ she said, still kicking herself.

  ‘Sure. We can try.’

  Horns hooted and sirens screamed as he led her along the pavements, still buzzing with office workers, shoppers, and early evening diners. A few yards on, he stopped outside an entrance door and, minutes later, they were walking into Jack Thornfield’s apartment, and then she was sitting on his sofa, waiting while he phoned round the hotels. Any minute now, she’d wake up in hospital and be told she’d been in a coma for the past eight years. Or that they had finally invented a transporter beam and she was the first guinea pig, and the coordinates had gone wrong and landed her in her ex’s bachelor pad by mistake.

  Sadly, her eyes told her the situation was all too real. To the left, a bank of windows overlooked the streets, the sirens muffled by triple glazing. At one end of the huge open-plan space was a funky chrome kitchen, as clinical as an operating theatre. Opposite her hung a vast Ansel Adams print of Yosemite National Park, the only sign of the natural world.

  ‘Well, I’ve tried a total of nine hotels but there was nothing doing, I’m afraid,’ said Jack, returning from his study with a rueful expression on his face.

  She sighed. ‘It’s not surprising, I suppose. Half of London will be hunting down a room tonight. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘Do you want to try any more?’ he asked flicking on the TV. ‘Though looking at that lot, I shouldn’t hold out any hope.’

  Sky News flashed into life on the plasma screen. Early reports were hinting that the incident might have been a sick and elaborate hoax. No one seemed to have been injured, but the whole transport network was in chaos, roads gridlocked. It looked like nothing much would move until the early hours.

  ‘I don’t think there’s a lot of point, but thanks for trying anyway.’ The situation was beginning to crystallize in her mind. She had nowhere to stay, no prospect of transport until the early hours.

  ‘Look, I know this might not be an attractive proposition, but, in the circumstances…’

  She already knew what he was going to say but it still came as a shock.

  ‘You could always stay here.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure. I wouldn’t want to put you out…’

  ‘You wouldn’t be. I’ll make up a bed on the sofa,’ he said hastily. ‘In the morning, we could get some of the induction out of the way so you can hit the ground running when you start next Monday.’

  Beth felt fate had taken a particularly cruel twist of late. ‘It does sound like a practical solution,’ she said, trying desperately to make the arrangement seem like a sound business proposition. ‘But I don’t like to put you out. Maybe I should head for the station…’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You’re right. Bad idea. Sleeping at Euston. Can I borrow your phone to ring home? They’ll be worried that I might be caught up in the travel chaos—or worse, knowing dad.’

  ‘The phone’s on my desk in the study.’

  Beth thought it best to tell her father she was staying in a hotel at the company’s expense rather than explain how she’d ended up in her new boss’s apartment. She also asked him to tell Marcus she’d been delayed, and then turned off her mobile, in case he called. The thought of being forced to pretend she was in a hotel in front of Jack made her blood run cold. When she walked back into the sitting room, the smell of coffee and the burbling of an espresso machine was drifting in from the kitchen.

  ‘Do you want a drink and something to eat?’ called Jack.

  ‘Yes. Yes, please.’ She hovered halfway to the sofa. It was bizarre, this polite conversation. It was like she’d come to tea with an old acquaintance she hadn’t seen for years. Jack emerged from behind the counter, wearing battered old combats and clutching a T-shirt she assumed he’d just pulled from the washing machine. He stretched up his arms to pull it on. Her eyes were drawn to his abs; as he reached up, they tightened, leaving a provocative hollow. The waistband of his trousers parted a little from his stomach. No way was he an acquaintance, old or otherwise.

  ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll get us something to eat,’ he said, then quickly, as if he’d felt the irony as sharply as she had, he turned away.

  His idea of food turned out to be a packet of Mars bars, tortilla chips, and a jar of salsa. Plus coffee and two glasses with what looked like brandy.

  ‘It’s not hemlock or anything mind-bending,’ he said, catching her wary expression. ‘Just a coffee and a drop of Armagnac. You look like you need it.’

  ‘Maybe I do,’ she said, accepting the glass and a chocolate bar.

  She didn’t really want more alcohol. Bawling like a girl, a restless night, and alcohol on an empty stomach had finally caught up with her and given her a killer headache. Luckily she’d found some pills at the bottom of her bag and popped three while she was in Jack’s study. They seemed to have started working and by the time she’d finished her Mars bar, Jack had got down half his brandy.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked as she massaged her forehead.

  ‘Fine… I did have a bit of a headache, but that’s going off.’

  He poured himself another drink. Beth dipped a tortilla in the salsa and cast her eyes around the room.

  ‘This is some apartment. Very trendy and minimalist. Must have cost you a bit.’

  He chose an armchair opposite her. ‘I’m only renting it temporarily, but you’re right, it’s not half bad. Just right for a bloke on his own, definitely.’

  She’d already noticed the lack of feminine touches in the flat. Then again, there could always be a pink toothbrush in the bathroom or a lacy thong stuffed down the sofa. Just because he didn’t actually have a live-in partner, didn’t mean there wasn’t someone willing to curl up on the leather sofa with him or share a stir-fry in his kitchen. She raised her glass in the direction of the windows. ‘It’s a spectacular view. Really amazing.’

  ‘Like I said, it’s perfect for one. I’ve got all the bars and restaurants I can handle on the doorstep—not to mention the fact that it’s a short walk from the office, which is a huge bonus—it means I can work even longer hours.’

  ‘How did you find it? Did the company help you?’

  ‘They arranged everything as part of the relocation package and I figured it was a good idea to take it. I guess I’ll have to buy something soon or I’ll be out of the property market for good. That’s what everyone keeps telling me. So I suppose it’s a good job I kept my old place in Windsor and rented it out. There’s a tenant there now and, besides, it’s too far to commute.’

  ‘How long were you in the U.S.?’ she asked, beginning to think she might get through the evening after all. ‘Awhile, I guess? Long enough to get a transatlantic twang.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Only a little. I don’t expect it’s terminal.’

  He grinned, the kind of boyish grin that, she recalled, had got her into trouble in the first place. Then he swirled the brandy round in his glass. ‘To answer your question, I’d been over there about five years—maybe a bit more. I started as Operations Manager then worked my way up to being Vice President.’

  ‘That sounds impressive.’

  He pulled a face.
‘Oh God, no—the title’s much grander than it sounds. But Big Outdoors were obviously fooled, so they headhunted me. I’ve been over here awhile but nothing was made official which is why,’ he added carefully, ‘you didn’t know I was at the helm.’

  She was telling herself not to be fooled by his self-deprecation. He must have climbed the ladder pretty fast to end up as a CEO this quickly.

  ‘You’re the boss. You’re entitled to recruit in whatever way you want, as long as it’s legal. You could say,’ she murmured, returning his gaze at last, ‘that you wanted to see how I handled the unexpected.’

  ‘I guess I deserved that,’ he replied, pouring more coffee and keeping his eyes on her in a way that made her shift a little in her seat. The leather squeaked as she moved. He took a swift gulp of his brandy. She matched him and coughed as a trail of fire flowed down her throat.

  ‘Sorry, it’s the real McCoy, just a bit in-your-face,’ he said.

  ‘You can say that again.’

  They both laughed out loud and she noticed that her head had stopped throbbing. She wrinkled her toes and realized just why it felt so nice. She’d kicked off her shoes and had her feet stretched out under Jack’s table.

  ***

  An hour later, or maybe it was two, Beth found herself lying full-length on the black sofa. She was stuffed with tortilla chips, her lips were tingling with chili salsa, and the neck of the Armagnac bottle was clutched between her fingers.

  ‘Beth. It’s getting late.’

  Her eyes focused slowly. Jack—she was pretty certain it was him—was standing next to her and, for some reason, was trying to steal a bottle from her. Why he was there at all was a mystery to her. It had been such a long time… ah… she began to recall. He’d given her a job. She clutched at the bottle again, but he prised it from her fingertips.

  ‘Let me have this. You’ve had enough,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. One little drink won’t hurt me.’

  ‘It will on top of these,’ he said, holding up a white packet. ‘They fell out of your bag. These are prescription painkillers. Your dad’s name is on the label. How many have you had?’