Mistakes We Make Page 26

  ‘Have you been married?’ she asked, thinking of Adam.

  He looked startled. ‘Haven’t we all?’ He took her hand across the table before she could withdraw it. ‘We all carry baggage, at our age.’

  It was an insight, at least. And honest. She prepared to soften.

  ‘All the more important, don’t you think, to understand what we each want before we embark into our little boat on the storm-tossed waters of life?’

  Oh God, such a cliché. Molly swallowed, thinking longingly of Julian’s gentle perception and Evan’s straightforwardness. Where were they now? Enjoying a very unpretentious drink in a fun-filled gay bar somewhere, no doubt. She reclaimed her hand.

  ‘You’re right, of course. We all have baggage.’

  She tried. She sidestepped questions about her work, quizzed him on travel, on hobbies, on sport, on reading (exotic resorts, no time, squash and trade journals), but by the time the waiter arrived bearing the dessert menu, she had had enough.

  ‘Not for me, thank you. Listen, David, it’s been fun,’ she lied, glancing ostentatiously at her watch, ‘but I have a seriously early start tomorrow. Would you mind very much if we—?’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll see you home.’

  ‘If you could just find me a taxi, that would be great.’

  He didn’t launch into more clichés. There was no ‘I’ll call you’ or ‘we must do this again soon’. They hadn’t clicked, and at least he had enough perception to know it.

  ‘Thank you for supper. I hope you find the right sailing companion.’

  ‘You’re a very delightful lady.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and she squirmed at the gesture, before realising she preferred that gesture of farewell to some of the other possibilities he might have chosen.

  ‘It was awful,’ she giggled with Julian over a late nightcap at the flat.

  ‘He seemed perfectly pleasant. Nice looking guy,’ Julian said.

  ‘Oh yes, at least I had something worth looking at all evening.’

  ‘So what was wrong with him? He’s mega rich, Evan tells me. The techno geeky whatever it is he does is rolling in huge bucks.’

  ‘That was part of the problem. He was so focused on making money that everything else was unimportant to him.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like being human.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘There was one glimpse of genuine feeling, when he talked about his sister, who has Down’s. I actually rather liked him for a few minutes. Then he brought down the curtain and it was all ambition, success and money making.’ She stopped, appalled at a sudden thought. ‘My God, Julian, do you think that was how he saw me?’

  ‘You’re not like that.’

  ‘Really not?’ She sighed, missing Lexie and the old times of laughter, and friendship and silly fun. ‘I liked Evan,’ she said, not wanting to think about herself for a moment longer.

  ‘Isn’t he just perfect?’

  ‘Yes. For you. Are you a couple yet, do you think? Will I have to move out?’

  ‘Oh darling, not yet.’ His smile was mischievous. ‘But it’s all very promising—’

  They won the health campaign contract. So it was, ironically, the best day in Fletcher Keir Mason’s short history when Molly told Barnaby that she wanted out.

  ‘It’s so brilliant!’ Ken Mason was jubilant and hugged Molly ferociously.

  ‘What a team,’ Barnaby said, over and over again. ‘What a team.’

  She waited until after the champagne had been popped open and the cupcakes demolished, until the smiles and the chatter had subsided and everyone had returned to their desks to get on with the day’s business, then said quietly, ‘Barnaby? Can I have a word?’

  She almost bottled it. He was a good man and a great colleague. She’d thought that this career path was what she’d always wanted. The glittering successes, the challenging but rewarding contracts, the buzz of being at the heart of all these new ideas and testing her skills to their utmost and beyond. In some ways, it still was – but she couldn’t help thinking about David and how his ambition had shaped him into something rather distasteful. Or, at least, into the kind of person she very much did not want to be.

  ‘Isn’t is wonderful?’ Barnaby said, letting the glass door into his office swing closed.

  They were in a bubble of silence. Molly inhaled deeply. This was it.

  ‘It is wonderful. You’ve achieved miracles, and in a very short time.’

  He looked at her, puzzled by her tone. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I want out, Barnaby.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s not for me. I thought it was, but I’ve realised I was wrong.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m resigning from the company.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I can. I am.’

  ‘Sorry, Molly.’ Barnaby’s puzzlement was changing into anger. ‘It’s a pity that you are feeling that way, and I’ll work with you to turn your feelings around, but you are financially and contractually committed to this company. You can’t simply resign.’

  She’d known this side of Barnaby must exist – it’s not possible to build a business with such single-minded determination unless you have a core of steel – but she hadn’t run up against it before. The problem was, she could be determined too, and having made up her mind, she was fixed on her resolution. Barnaby’s opposition only made her more tenacious.

  ‘Trying to hold me here against my will would be extremely ill advised,’ she said icily. ‘I might adhere to the letter of my contract, but my enthusiasm would be nil. And that would show.’

  ‘You’re threatening me?’

  ‘I’m telling you like it is.’

  ‘You’re a key part of our success, Molly.’

  ‘I’m flattered you think so. But I’m not irreplaceable.’

  ‘You are. People like you. You bring in business. You are top rate at what you do.’

  ‘There’s a dozen more like me out there. Women who have the hunger for success as well as the expertise. If it’s a woman you feel you need.’

  ‘You can’t leave. What’s brought this on, anyway? We’ve just won our biggest contract, for heaven’s sake. We’re on course for some serious profits. We’re making our mark.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘It’s what you wanted. What we both dreamed of.’

  She waited until he released her.

  ‘I thought I did. I’ve realised I was wrong.’ She changed her tone. ‘I miss my family, Barnaby. My father needs me. My brother’s facing jail. I want to help his kids keep sane. I want to be part of their lives.’

  She could see him soften. Family was important to Barnaby.

  ‘Bloody hell, Molly.’ He sank down onto his chair, a look of devastation on his face.

  It almost made her change her mind, before she remembered Lexie and the wedding, and the fact that she was losing the friendships that really mattered to her.

  ‘I can’t release the money. It’s completely tied up.’

  ‘You could find someone to buy me out.’

  ‘That’s not so easy.’

  ‘It’s a successful business. You said so yourself.’

  ‘Banks aren’t lending. It would have to be someone who could pay cash. People are up to their necks in vast mortgages – the kind of people I’d be hoping to catch, anyway.’

  She stood her ground. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘I can’t release the money.’

  They stared at each other, locked in an impasse.

  At last, Barnaby relented. ‘I’ll tell you what. I can see that you need some time to sort yourself out. Why don’t you take a sabbatical? I can’t pay you because it’ll cost us a packet to hire someone in to do your job, but you’ll still get dividends, if there are any. And your name will still be on our letterhead as a director. That’s really important, Molly, you do see that, don’t you? I can’t have a principal walking out at this point, it would send out so many wrong signals.�
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  Molly wavered. ‘It’s not ideal.’

  ‘Certainly not from my point of view, but it’s the best I can come up with.’

  ‘Can I work? I’ll need money.’

  ‘That’s a problem.’ He drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘Maybe small freelance jobs. Event stuff, like you were doing at that place before you joined us. Not big projects. Nothing high profile.’ He gazed at her searchingly. ‘I’ll need your word on that.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you, Barnaby.’

  ‘Bugger thanks. I still want you back.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Molly arrived back in Edinburgh in a car that was stuffed to the roof with bags and boxes and the detritus of everyday life she hadn’t had the heart to junk – the paperweight her mother had given her years ago; an orchid Julian had presented to her when she’d first moved into the flat in Battersea; the heavy brass Buddha that Adam had bought for her on their honeymoon. There was no room in Billy’s house and she had nowhere else to stay. Lexie’s home was out of the question and she had little more than a month’s wages in her bank account.

  ‘You don’t expect the nestlings back when you get to my age,’ Billy had said good-humouredly. ‘Look at me – quietly hobbling down the final staircase of life, minding my own business, when everything changes.’

  ‘You don’t get my sympathy, Dad,’ Molly laughed. ‘You know you love having everyone around. Besides, you don’t even have a staircase.’

  ‘And just what are we meant to do with all this stuff?’

  She could see the pleasure under the gruffness, and smiled.

  They set to and cleared a corner of the garage. As Billy no longer drove, it was a garage in name only because Adrienne had already colonised the space with most of the contents of her former large house.

  ‘It won’t be for long,’ Molly said. ‘Barnaby will find someone to buy me out then I can get a place of my own.’

  Billy hugged her. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘I missed you too, Dad.’

  She gave herself three days, then started a round of calls. She’d have to find work, and soon.

  Her first call was to Sharon, Lady Fleming.

  ‘I was wondering,’ she said without any real hope, ‘if you might need a hand now and again. I’m back and I’m working for myself.’

  ‘Molly! How unexpected.’

  ‘It’s a long shot. I imagine you’re well taken care of. I just thought it might be worth a try.’

  She was preparing her platitudes when Lady Fleming said, ‘As it happens, we’re more than usually busy in the next few weeks. Hugh – your replacement – has been on his knees begging me for more help.’ She laughed. ‘To be candid, Molly, I don’t think he has your stamina, or gift for organisation. Why don’t you come in and we can talk about it. Three o’clock?’

  A few years ago, Sharon Eddy had been chief reporter on the now-defunct Hailesbank Herald. Then she’d fallen in love with Sir Cosmo Fleming, married him after a whirlwind romance, and transformed herself – to the astonishment of the entire town – from bossy journalist to twin-set-and-pearls landed gentry with remarkable ease. More to the point, she had taken the rambling, crumbling, money-leaking Fleming House firmly in hand and started its transformation from near ruin to money-making machine with ruthless efficiency. The appointment of Molly as the estate’s first events manager had been a key brick in her business plan.

  ‘There is work,’ she said over a cup of coffee in her functional office, ‘but it’s all short term.’ She glanced at Molly and said, ‘I’m sorry to say that Hugh hasn’t been as astute as you were at the marketing side of things.’

  ‘What kind of work?’ Molly asked, her heart sinking at the thought of having to come in to teach her successor how to do the job. She could foresee all sorts of resentments and grievances, and besides, she didn’t want the responsibility.

  Sharon Fleming was not stupid. ‘The best thing would simply be to hand over a few events to you in their entirety, don’t you think?’

  ‘Sounds good. I could do that.’

  ‘Good.’ She started looking through her large desk diary. ‘Ah. The first thing could be the Mulgrew-Gordon wedding.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Sorry?’ Sharon looked at her over the top of her spectacles.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll do anything else, but I can’t do that one. Lexie Gordon is a great friend of mine and I’m a guest. I would hate to—’

  ‘Of course. I forgot. It was you who persuaded her to rent the garden cottage, wasn’t it? And rushed her to hospital to have her baby. You’re quite right, it wouldn’t be appropriate. All right.’ She scanned the diary again. ‘There’re a couple of corporate dinner evenings in the Barn, two more weddings, a few family parties – I’ll tell you what, why don’t you and Hugh agree the diary between you? Take no notice if he grumbles, I’m sure he’ll be very relieved.’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  Lady Fleming took off her glasses and laid them on the desk. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘Short term, with my father, but his house is really cramped and I’ll have to—’

  ‘Your apartment is still empty.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your old apartment. Hugh deemed it unsuitable. He has a wife and children and prefers to live in Hailesbank.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I could let you have it for a nominal rent. To be frank, I’d prefer someone in it. I always think it’s best to keep these rooms warm and aired.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you, but I don’t know how much I could—’

  ‘Let’s do it on a month-by-month basis, shall we?’

  There comes a time when life is at such a low ebb that things have to turn around and start to go well. Or maybe it’s about grabbing problems by the scruff of the neck and dealing with them.

  That was how it seemed to Molly. She had faced up to her situation and made a decision that to many would appear bizarre – but to her felt so absolutely right that it seemed inevitable.

  She woke up on the morning of Lexie’s wedding in her old apartment, smiling at these thoughts. This place had been her bolt-hole before. Was she merely running away again? It didn’t feel like that this time, but she did welcome the familiarity of the flat. It felt safe.

  The wedding was not until two. It was to take place in the room that had once been the billiard room and which she and Lady Sharon had converted into ‘The Wedding Room’ – a calm, beautiful space with a fine aspect down towards the river and excellent natural light. They had purposely kept the decor simple. This was a space that was to be suitable for ceremonies of any denomination. After the photographs, they’d have dinner in the supper room. There was plenty of space around the great hall and staircase for guests to disperse and chat while the room was prepared for dancing later.

  The format was so familiar that Molly could have run the wedding in her sleep, but there was a delicious pleasure in knowing she didn’t have to.

  She took a leisurely shower, enjoying, as she did each time she went through this ritual, the feel of her short hair.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and breakfasted on coffee and toast, feeling delightfully decadent. It was a gloriously sunny day; Lexie’s photos would be fabulous.

  At ten, her doorbell rang and Hugh appeared, looking apologetic. ‘Don’t panic,’ he said, ‘but there are a couple of small problems—’

  The caterer had called in. They were three staff short and none of the agencies had been able to supply replacements. The woman who played the piano for the service was sick. And the wine that had been delivered was not what had been ordered.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Molly, but can you handle these issues? I’ll be back well before the ceremony, but my youngest, Betty, has taken a tumble out of the tree in our garden and I think she may have broken something. She’s downstairs in the car. I can’t leave her for much longer; I’m going to have to drive her to A&E to get her X-rayed because my wife
has taken our son to his judo in Dunbar and she doesn’t have her phone with her—’

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Molly said, holding out her hand for the information and trying not to sigh audibly. ‘Don’t worry about it, these things happen. I hope your little girl’s all right.’

  ‘Sally will be back by midday,’ Hugh said, heading for the door. ‘I’ll come straight back in, I promise. Oh,’ he delved into his pocket, ‘I brought up your post. I nearly forgot.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  It took an hour, and her old contact book as well as Hugh’s meagre one, to sort everything out, but it could have been worse. She glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. She still had a comfortable two and a half hours to get ready for the wedding. There would even be time to read a couple of chapters of her latest book.

  She made another coffee and settled on her favourite armchair. Seeing the letters Hugh had left, she picked them up. They had all been redirected by Julian. They must be a week or more old. She sifted through them. Some junk, an alumnus magazine, a letter from the Sheriff Court ...

  She seized the brown envelope and ripped it open.

  It was her decree absolute.

  She and Adam were finally divorced.

  She would cope. Everything she had gone through had made her stronger. Molly held her head high and threw her shoulders back and led with her chin into the wedding ceremony. She saw Lexie drift down the aisle in a confection of ivory lace that might have been 1920s or 1930s, but most certainly was vintage. Wrist-length sleeves, a fish tail that puddled on the floor at the back – she would have noted every exquisite detail of the dress, except that she could not keep her eyes off Adam Blair.

  Her ex-husband.

  She wrested her attention back to the ceremony.

  Lexie did nothing conventionally. She carried no bouquet; instead she carried her baby. Keira Mulgrew Gordon, aged eight months, in fuchsia pink satin to match her mother’s hair, sat bolt upright and mute with the strangeness of it all – until Lexie tried to hand her over to Cora, at which point she started to scream.