I am silent. I could have sworn he said he stayed in his hotel room both nights. I pray he isn’t lying to me. After all the lies Adam told, and possibly the lies that Ajay is still telling everyone, I need Patrick to be honourable.
He breaks the silence. ‘Look, Lydia, I get that you find it hard to trust me. Adam treated you like shit. He lied to you and cheated on you with your business partner’s wife. But I’m not Adam, darling. You can trust me.’
‘Oh,’ I say again. Perhaps Patrick is right. I am so bruised from the lies that Adam told me, I’m finding it hard to trust anyone else. But I can’t help thinking about the money. Fifty thousand pounds is a hell of a lot of money to lend to anyone, and it’s not helpful that I hear Adam’s voice in my head, chastising me for being too hasty and too trusting.
‘I’ll call you later, and I’ll come around to yours when I’m back from Maidstone,’ he says.
‘Um, I’m not sure if–’
But Patrick has already hung up.
I lock up the house and drive to work.
It’s mid-morning and I am studying some catalogues from a new supplier when there’s a knock on my office door and Ajay walks in.
‘Can I ask your opinion about something?’
‘Sure, take a seat.’ My nerves are on edge and I can’t work out why.
‘I think I have found a good candidate to take over Adam’s position, but would like your input. She’s coming for an interview at 2 p.m. and I was wondering if you’d like to sit in with me?’
He passes a CV across my desk. This is clearly Ajay holding out an olive branch. He never involves me in staffing decisions on the operational side of the business, but I suppose filling my dead husband’s position is a sensitive issue. And, of course, having an excellent accountant on the team is essential.
‘I trust your judgement,’ I say, handing the CV back to him after a cursory read. But when I look up, a scowl briefly passes over his face. I thought he would be pleased that I am happy to leave the decision to him, but perhaps I made the wrong call.
‘So be it,’ he says as he walks towards the door.
‘How are things with you and Marianne these days?’ I ask.
He freezes and answers with his back to me. ‘We are trying to put our marriage back on track. Why?’
‘No reason.’ But I do have a reason. I want Ajay to know about Patrick. In a weird sort of way, I think I want his approval.
Just a few minutes later, I get a text from Patrick.
Just to let you know that I’ve repaid the money you loaned me. Can’t thank you enough. Px
I check my online banking, and indeed, he has repaid me in full – both for the immunotherapy and the car rental. I groan. I feel terrible for having questioned him, for all that time I have been worrying whether he’s ripped me off, for being the eternal pessimist, the doubter. The thing is, when something bad has happened to you, rather than thinking I’ve had my dollop of bad luck, I’m in the clear now, you think, if it’s happened once, it can happen again.
And it’s the same for the kids. For instance, Oliver has developed a phobia of swimming. He used to be quite the little eel in the pool, but now he has asked to be excused from swimming lessons at school. I had to write a note and explain his unusual circumstances. I tried to explain to him that it was one-in-a-billion chance that something could happen to him in a swimming pool, but how can I expect him to believe that after how his dad died?
It’s the same for me. Adam lied to me. He cheated on me. Of course I’m going to be wary around other men. Of course I’m going to think that perhaps the fault lies in me. Perhaps I am too trusting or possibly I’m wanting in some way; that is why my husband sought out love elsewhere.
And then Patrick calls me.
‘Did you get the money?’
‘Yes, thank you. You didn’t need to repay me so quickly.’
‘Actually I did, Lydia. I get why you’re the way you are. I was like you for a long time after I discovered my ex had an affair, but in the end, all that resentment did was eat me up and make me sick. So I get it, darling, I really do. The thing is, I’m not like Adam. I’m single-minded, and both my head and heart are set on you.’
‘Thank you, Patrick.’
‘Also, I know you are wealthy, far richer than I am, but I hope I can prove myself worthy of you in other ways.’
‘I don’t care about money. It’s not important.’
‘Exactly. Sharing values is what matters. Having fun. Being compatible in bed. Talking of which, I would love to ravish you–’
‘I’m at work!’
‘Even more exciting!’ And then he groans.
‘It’s so frustrating, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to see you this weekend, Lydia. Work is crazy in the run-up to Christmas. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Ok,’ I say. But I am disappointed. I had hoped that Patrick and I could take advantage of Mia and Oliver’s absence.
‘I’ve got to go now. Will be in touch. Love you, Lydia.’
As it turns out, I enjoy having the evening to myself, going to bed early and not having to set an alarm clock for the next morning. I spend the day pottering around the house. I know I should be sorting through Adam’s office, which I still haven’t tackled. I just can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I am tackling a mountain of ironing when the doorbell rings.
I’m confused as to why no one is standing on the doorstep. I glance from left to right and am about to step back into the house when Patrick bounces out of a bush from the side of the house.
‘Surprise!’
I jump out of my skin.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, trying to control my racing heart. My nerves are still on edge. It takes me a few moments to realise he’s holding out a beautiful bouquet of red roses.
‘I’m whisking you away to London for the weekend.’
‘But–’
‘No buts. Go pack a bag.’
‘Where’s your car?’
‘I’ve left the car at the bottom of the drive. I wanted to surprise you.’
‘You certainly did that!’
An hour later, Patrick and I are in his hire car en route to London. Going against the traffic, we are in the centre of town by 5.30 p.m. Patrick pulls up in front of a beautiful hotel off The Strand, an opulent Edwardian building with curved corners, balustrade balconies and a copula dome. It has a distinctly Parisian feel. A uniformed attendant appears and removes our bags from the boot. Patrick hands him the car key.
The interior of the hotel is breathtaking with twenty-foot-high curved oak window frames, white marble columns and matching marble floor. In the centre of the atrium is an eight-foot-high floral arrangement of amaryllis and ferns, constructed to look like a vast pineapple. I follow Patrick, past dark red velvet banquettes and plush chairs to the curved reception area.
Here, he checks us both in, and we are led by a young porter dressed all in black with gold epaulettes and shining gold buttons to our magnificent room on the fourth floor. The room is furnished in the palest of pastels: muted blush pink armchairs and a baby blue cashmere blanket on the bed to match the blue headboard. The walls are lined with a cream silk wallpaper, and the paintings are equally delicate, abstract landscapes toned to match the rest of the soft furnishings. The marble bathroom has two sinks and a jacuzzi bath with a separate shower.