Second Chance Under the Mistletoe, page 5
‘You invested in the mines themselves?’
‘That too. As well as getting involved in minimising their environmental impact—that’s important.’
‘Clever you,’ she said, not sure what else she could say. ‘Tell me, did you ever finish your degree?’
‘Yes, part-time at the University of Western Australia. You?’
She shook her head. It had always been a regret. ‘I wanted to. Thought I’d be able to study part-time once Clem was at school. But by then Hugo’s accountancy business had expanded. I ended up managing the practice for the partners. It was a full-time job.’ She’d managed to snatch hours here and there for her painting, always wishing she had more time.
But she’d never been able to have any interest of her own outside the family and the business. Hugo had had a way of gently discouraging her. Until she’d insisted on the local painting class.
‘Clever you,’ Jon said.
‘Managing an office wasn’t ever what I wanted to do. But I completed some business studies part-time that helped me with my job. I’m quite a dab hand with technology.’
‘What about your music? Your singing?’
She shrugged. ‘I sang in a church choir for a while. That’s all.’ Hugo hadn’t liked anything that took her away from home. ‘What about you?’
‘When I was younger, I always took my guitar along with me. Not so much once I got into management.’
She was about to blurt out that they should surprise Clem by singing carols for her on Christmas Day before she decided that would be a very bad idea.
They turned a bend in the path to a stretch of the river a couple of swans favoured. The two floated across the water, graceful and elegant. She always stopped to admire them, and Freddie stopped automatically to wait for her.
‘Aren’t they exquisite?’ she said to Jon.
Swans mated for life. A wave of sadness threatened and she swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. Back then she and Jon had loved each other so much. What had gone so wrong for them?
‘We have black swans in Australia,’ he said. ‘They’re slightly smaller but just as beautiful, just as majestic.’
It took her a moment to reply. ‘I’d like to see a black swan.’ She realised what she’d said and swiftly back-pedalled so he didn’t think she was angling for an invitation. ‘I mean one day. In a zoo here, perhaps.’
‘Perhaps,’ he echoed. ‘I hope Clem might want to come and visit me in Perth some time. Now she’s an adult and can make her own decisions.’ He paused and she wondered if he was thinking about her, about them, and all they’d lost. ‘Tell me more about your canine portraiture skills.’ It was an obvious ploy to change the subject and she welcomed it.
Thankfully her voice sounded near enough to normal to reply. ‘I like to paint people, too, although I’m not good enough yet. When I mentioned travelling before, I meant specifically painting classes in the south of France and in Florence.’
She would like to paint him. The more mature features over the youthful face she remembered. He had a compelling face. That was never going to happen. She actually didn’t think she’d be capable of holding a paintbrush steady, for fear of old feelings it might stir up.
‘I guess you didn’t get much chance to paint when you were managing an accountancy firm,’ he said.
‘I’ve retired from that.’ It would have been unendurable to continue without Hugo, although the other partners had asked her to stay on.
‘And Hugo didn’t encourage your painting?’
‘No, he didn’t, he—’ She stopped herself. She’d had to stage a mild rebellion to get that potting-shed studio happening. ‘I don’t want to discuss my marriage. Hugo was a good husband and father. I will always be loyal to him.’
‘Of course you will,’ Jon said.
Hugo had been thoughtful, kind, generous—all those things. He’d also been an uninspiring, unimaginative and plodding lover. Sex had been affectionate but infrequent. Only a rich fantasy life had got her through the years with Hugo—her fantasies always featuring her sexy, imaginative and energetic first husband. She’d been disloyal to Hugo for years in her thoughts. She’d never forgotten Jon. Not when it came to the memories of their sex life.
But she’d never expected to see him again. She felt a blush warming her face and hoped he didn’t notice. It would be wise not to see him again. They now knew enough about each other not to stumble around the conversation on Christmas Day. Clem wouldn’t care so long as she and Jon showed up. This was too difficult, too heart wrenching.
‘We’re going to lose the light soon, so we should be heading back. When shall we meet up again?’ he said.
Had she agreed to another meeting? ‘I…er…’
Jon continued. ‘I haven’t been back in the UK at Christmas for a long time. How about we continue the getting-to-know-you process by exploring London at Christmas?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Lights, festivities, markets, ice skating maybe—you tell me. I’d like to catch up with what I’ve missed out on by living in a country where Christmas falls in summer. I think you’d be a great guide. Clem tells me you love all the Christmassy stuff.’
How could this be a good idea? ‘I do…but…’
Did she really want to say goodbye and not see him again until Christmas Day?
‘Day after tomorrow?’ he said.
She looked up at him. ‘Why not?’ she said.
CHAPTER FOUR
Two days later Natalie got off the train from Guildford at Waterloo, one of London’s busiest stations. She had arranged to meet Jon at eleven at his apartment on Waterloo Road, refusing his offer to drive to Guildford to pick her up. It would have been pointless and, besides, she wanted to keep the day under her control.
She smiled as she walked by the big Waterloo station clock, under which people famously met. It was all lit up in Christmas colours. A huge Christmas tree, festooned with multiple lights, stood nearby, fenced off from the rush of passengers. London really did Christmas well.
Although she liked living in the suburbs of Guildford, the buzz of London couldn’t be matched. She needed to come up to visit more often—which of course she would after Clem brought the baby home to the Kensington house. Kensington was very different from this part of London in that it was so affluent and posh it was home to royalty. Clem was very fortunate to be living there in Audrey’s beautiful house. But this diverse Waterloo area in south-east London had a vibrant charm of its own.
It had been a good idea of Jon’s to make their getting-to-know-you a Christmas exploration. It was true, she loved everything about the festive season. Also, it would give them something neutral to talk about.
She was still in two minds about the wisdom of spending more time with her ex-husband, but knew—deep down—she could never have refused his invitation. She had to be honest with herself. This—spending time with Jon—wasn’t just about Clem.
She had thought of nothing but her former husband since their meeting at the park. Her mind had wrestled with all sorts of what ifs and what might have beens. She wanted to see him, wanted to catch up with what he’d done with his life. Find out how he’d got from a teenager struggling to support his wife and baby, to a man wealthy enough to buy a pied-à-terre in central London that must be worth multiple millions. She knew from Clem that he’d married and divorced again, and she wanted to ask him what had happened to his second marriage. And why he hadn’t had another child. All without touching on their shared past. She decided it would be best if she didn’t.
She walked briskly away from the station. It was a cold, dull day, but she seemed to get an infusion of energy from being in London—especially at this time of the year where anything that could possibly be decorated was decorated. Was she imagining it or were there even more lights than usual this year? The streets were crowded, but not unbearably so, and she soon reached Jon’s building.
She admired the repurposed old factory with the vintage industrial exterior of bare brick and multi-paned windows—very handsome in its own way. She stood outside the large metallic external door for a long moment, before taking a deep breath and pressing the buzzer to Jon’s apartment. She noted it was for the fifth floor, the penthouse most likely. Why did that not surprise her?
Jon opened the external door. ‘Welcome. You found the place.’
‘I did,’ she said. ‘What a fabulous building.’
‘Wait until you see inside.’
He ushered her into the foyer, stark but for an interesting large sculptural piece of machinery mounted on the brick wall, a remnant of the building’s manufacturing history. Somehow it looked just right there. Stairs wound away from the back and there was a bank of elevators.
But it wasn’t the décor that was engaging her interest. In fact, she scarcely noticed it. It was Jon she couldn’t keep her gaze off. He looked so good. How well he wore those extra years. And the beard really suited him. He looked so hot in black trousers, a charcoal-grey cashmere sweater, black boots. A little shiver of appreciation ran through her. This was not Jay Jay, this was Jon. Mature, confident, successful. Strikingly handsome. He’d obviously developed a taste for good clothes in the years since she’d last seen him. Maybe he’d always had the taste but just needed the money to indulge it.
Natalie had shown no interest in men since Hugo died. Yet if she saw this man walking down the street, not knowing who he was, her head would swivel.
She realised Jon was taking in how she looked too, and she had to stop herself from self-consciously smoothing her hair into place. She was wearing her warmest wool coat in a shade of deepest violet that reached almost to her ankles, over a lavender knit dress and knee-high suede boots. In the street, she’d stood out in a sea of people wearing winter black and grey brightened only by splashes of colour from scarves and hats.
She herself had worn nothing but black in the months after Hugo had died, until Clem had gently told her he wouldn’t have expected her to. She could scarcely admit it to herself, but part of the intense grief that had engulfed her after Hugo’s death was guilt. Guilt that she had never loved him the way he had loved her. And the knowledge that perhaps he had been so possessive of her because he had sensed that. She had never wanted to hurt him.
Now, she dropped her gaze at the same time Jon did, and she realised she’d been holding her breath. She let it out on a silent sigh. Of regret? For what had been? Or for what could have been?
Like at the park, neither she nor Jon made a move to socially touch. It did make for a moment’s awkwardness, but it was safer to keep a distance. Her mother thought kissing and hugging people in greeting was very un-English. Natalie liked it; she appreciated warmth and spontaneity. But she was glad not to have to touch Jon, even in the most formal and polite manner. She didn’t know how she would react. Not with her secret history of fantasising about him.
Maybe she could deal better with his sudden reappearance in her life by putting their past right to the back of her mind. Pretend, perhaps, that he was an incredibly attractive forty-four-year-old stranger she’d just met. But as soon as the thought formed, she realised it could never work. They did have a past. They had a daughter. And, on her side at least, a whole burden of rejection and resentment being booted back into life by his presence.
The lift took them directly to Jon’s apartment. Natalie turned around in a circle to admire it. ‘Wow,’ she said as she took in the vastness of it. The living area was open and spacious with towering ceilings, and architectural details wherever she looked. An open staircase led to the bedrooms on a mezzanine level. The tops of winter-bare trees were visible, swaying in a breeze past the multi-paned windows.
The apartment was all brick walls, timber, exposed pipes, outsized bare light bulbs with bright filaments, metallic finishes in a monochromatic neutral colour scheme. The carefully placed furniture was contemporary and minimalist.
‘This place is amazing. Did you commission a designer to do all this?’
‘You know how Freddie came to you already trained? This was already like this. I bought new beds and that leather sofa—everything else came with the apartment.’
‘Even these wonderful old wooden hat stands?’ She picked one up from a display, running her hand over the smooth surface.
‘Those too, from when the building was a factory.’ He paused. ‘As soon as the estate agent showed the place to me, I knew I had to have it.’
She walked over to the window. ‘And a view of the Thames as well. I’ve come through Waterloo station so many times, but I never thought of Waterloo as a place to live. But wow!’
‘I like it. It’s close to the city, and transport, of course. The Tate Modern is nearby, and the South Bank with theatres and events is only a fifteen-minute walk. You could eat at a different restaurant every day. It’s very lively.’
‘Borough Market is nearby too, where I’d like to go first today, if that’s okay with you.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ he said. ‘I haven’t explored it properly.’
‘The market is a favourite place of mine, but particularly wonderful at Christmas with all the specialty seasonal foods on offer. It’s a good place to start our tour of festive London.’
* * *
Who would have thought he would be walking so companionably with Natalie from his apartment to Borough Market? Jon had wanted to see the open-air artisan food market, now geared up for Christmas, and welcomed her suggestion to visit. It had been a good idea on his part to suggest some Christmas meet-ups. Somehow the very festiveness softened the edges from the inevitable tension between two people so long estranged.
The market, of around one hundred stalls, was on the site of a much older wholesale fruit and vegetable market. Jon had been told various markets had been held on the site, dating back a thousand years. That sense of history was something he’d missed since living for so much of his time in Australia. It was one of the reasons he’d bought the apartment two years ago. He had a home here to return to whenever he wanted. To see whomever he wanted.
The market was decorated with Christmas trees, glittering wreaths and garlands with swathes of fairy lights twinkling all round, right up to the soaring ceilings overhead. As they approached the entrance, Jon was greeted by delicious aromas wafting from the various stalls. ‘This place is making me feel hungry,’ he said.
‘There are always fabulous smells here but more so at Christmas,’ said Natalie from where she stood beside him. She closed her eyes and sniffed. ‘Roasting chestnuts, gingerbread, mulled wine, mince pies…can I smell mince pies?’ She opened her eyes. ‘Ah, yes, a stall nearby and with plum puddings as well. And there’s the scent of pine from the Christmas trees and wreaths wafting through.’
Her cheeks were flushed with cold, or perhaps enthusiasm, which made her blue eyes shine brighter. She was gorgeous, tall and elegant in that striking purple coat. His charcoal wool overcoat seemed subdued in comparison. All the better to let her shine.
‘Are we looking or shopping?’ Jon asked.
‘Both, I hope. What’s the point of coming to a market if we don’t buy something?’
‘Understood,’ he said with a smile. ‘What do you intend to buy?’
‘Surely it won’t be just me shopping. Don’t you want to stock up on Christmas goodies for your kitchen?’
He shrugged. ‘Not much point. I usually either eat out or order in.’
His refrigerator held only the basics. Breakfast was the only meal he catered for himself. It was different back in Perth where his mansion on the Swan River was managed by a housekeeper. The house was always kept ready for his return from his travels, the fridge and freezer stocked. That the cold efficiency of it all sometimes made him feel lonely, he wouldn’t admit to anyone.
‘I’m limited to how much I can carry home on the train,’ she said. ‘I’ll see what catches my eye. I don’t want to go empty-handed to Clem on Christmas Day. Let’s have a look at the puddings on that stall, the one with the little teddy bears wearing Santa hats. I doubt I could make one better.’
‘You don’t make your own Christmas pudding?’
She laughed. ‘I like cooking, but why go to all the fuss that it involves—the weighing of the dried fruit, the soaking, the steaming of the pudding—when I can buy one as good as these?’
‘My mother always makes hers in October, steeping it in brandy until Christmas Day,’ he said. ‘It’s like a cannonball.’
‘Your mother. Is she…is she still around?’
‘Alive and kicking. After my father died five years ago, I flew her out to Perth. She spent six months with me.’
‘She didn’t want to stay?’
‘She loved Perth. But she got homesick and came back to her village.’
‘Were you disappointed?’
‘She had to live her own life. But it was a good move for her, as a year or so later she met Pete, a widower, and was soon very happily remarried.’
‘That’s a nice story, I’m glad.’ She paused. ‘Is she upset you’re not spending Christmas Day with her?’
‘She knows I’m seeing Clem and is happy for me.’
He could see Natalie’s discomfort as she shifted from foot to foot and didn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry Clem lost touch with your parents.’
‘Inevitable, I suppose. The distance, the—’
‘The fact Hugo didn’t exactly encourage any relationship with your family.’ She paused. ‘And I didn’t push for it.’
In fact she’d actively made it difficult for Clem’s paternal grandparents to keep up the contact.
Jon shrugged. ‘Divorce. It splits up more than a husband and wife.’ He paused. ‘Mum was upset about Clem, but she understood and accepted it. Now she has step-grandchildren and even step-great-grandchildren to dote on.’ And Clem had missed out on a close family contact, thanks to the anger Natalie had held for so long against Jon.
‘I’m glad for her,’ Natalie said. ‘Perhaps…well, it will be up to Clem if she wants to reconnect.’
