Amy Perry's Assumptions, page 27
‘You’re sure?’ Meg said. ‘Not even a celebratory half?’
‘No.’ Sam shook his head. ‘I’ll leave you to it – I wouldn’t want to interrupt your afternoon.’
As he walked away, Meg and Nisha stared after him, then looked towards Amy.
‘OK, the sun’s still out but it feels to me like the temperature in the immediate vicinity of this table just dropped about ten degrees,’ Nisha said. ‘What’s happened? I know you two aren’t the best of friends, but that was chilly.’
‘We had a pretty major disagreement,’ Amy mumbled.
‘About what?’ Nisha demanded.
‘Work stuff.’
‘Right,’ Nisha said, rolling her eyes. ‘The tension zipping back and forth through the air just then was totally about which stand should go where on festival day, or where to direct cars for overflow parking.’
Amy ignored this and turned her attention to Meg. ‘I’m sorry, by the way. I know it must be weird for you that Sam and I are like this.’
Meg shrugged. ‘Not so much weird as frustrating,’ she said. ‘’Twas ever thus.’
There were layers of meaning here that Amy chose not to sift through. Then she remembered that Meg had said something about celebrating, when she’d urged Sam to join them. What was that all about?
Unable to prevent herself, she said: ‘What did you mean earlier, by the way? When you mentioned a celebratory drink?’
‘He’s been working with Jed to build a business plan for the pub and find investors,’ Meg explained, ‘and they’ve finally done it. The deal’s set to be signed and sealed tomorrow morning, so Jed will remain as landlord here. Nothing will have to change for him even though the estate will no longer own the place. It’s a huge relief.’
Amy felt the cogs and wheels of her brain stutter and seize. This news was the equivalent of a stick through spokes.
‘What … When?’ she asked, feeling her eyes begin to bulge and her throat tighten up. ‘How?’
‘You’d have to ask Sam,’ Meg said. ‘As I understand it, though, the plans have been in motion since the day Dad said he intended to sell.’
Amy swallowed hard and tried to work out how she felt.
She’d written off Sam’s regular presence at the Oak as indicative of nothing more than a fondness for craft beer, despite friends’ and neighbours’ insistence that he was trying to help Jed. She’d been wrong – and worse, she’d thrown that wrongness at him in anger during their row in the wood.
Why the fuck hadn’t he told her? Defended himself?
An irritating inner voice asked Amy why he should have had to. If he’d been so fundamentally mistaken in her, would she have felt it was her job to correct him? No. She’d have been offended. Disappointed. Hurt.
Amy shut her eyes and shook her head, like she was hoping the pieces of this kaleidoscope would arrange themselves differently if she gave them the chance. When she looked around her again, nothing had changed. She still felt awful – sad, stupid and to her horror, ashamed.
She needed to say something. The silence that had fallen demanded to be filled before it began sucking in speculation. Nisha was eyeing her suspiciously, clearly on the verge of saying something that would doubtless be unguarded and incisive.
‘I need another drink,’ Amy announced. She indicated Meg and Nisha’s glasses. ‘Same again? Final round, and some snacks to soak it up?’
Her friends indicated their approval and she dashed inside before anything further could be said.
Behind the bar, Jed was beaming, his round face lit with pleasure and relief. ‘Did you hear, Amy?’ he asked as he pulled Meg’s pint. ‘It’s all sorted with the pub sale. I’m investing, along with some partners – so there’ll be no need for Wetherspoons to swoop in and screw the place up after all.’
‘Meg’s just told me,’ Amy said. ‘It’s brilliant news.’
Jed loaded their drinks onto a tray, then added a bowl of chilli crackers, a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and a dish of salted cashews.
‘It’s a bloody feat, is what it is,’ he said as Amy tapped her debit card on the reader he’d presented to her. ‘Never thought we’d get it sorted. Sam’s been a diamond. From glass collector to business adviser! He’s a good man.’
Amy shoved her card back inside her purse, then shouldered her bag and picked up the tray with care.
‘He is,’ she said, feeling utterly joyless but almost sure she meant it.
Chapter 24
Amy made her way to Rowton Hall on Thursday morning with a bilious, jittery stomach. Since Sunday afternoon, she’d carried the weight of her own misjudgement like an albatross around her neck; her own words kept coming back to torment her, each time bringing on painful, full-body winces.
It wasn’t lost on her that, having been wrong about Sam’s involvement with Jed and the pub, she might also have made other mistaken assumptions. She’d thrown accusations around like confetti that afternoon they’d argued in the rain – but what had they really been based on?
Tell me what’s on your mind, or ask me the question you want answered, he’d said to her that night at the theatre. I’d never lie to you. Back then, those words had felt like an empty challenge – hollow phrases designed to wrong-foot or manipulate her into revealing herself, overplaying her hand. Now she did Sam the courtesy of considering whether they might have been sincere.
Amy had no blueprint for apologising to him – mainly because she couldn’t recall ever having done it before. In itself, this suddenly struck her as problematic. It seemed unlikely that every single disagreement they’d ever had had been entirely his fault, mostly because there’d been so many of them.
Today, she was going to say sorry. She needed to admit to him that she’d misconstrued things and now knew better. She wanted to try and make amends.
Within seconds of arriving at the Hall, though, any thought of approaching Sam for a calm, honest heart-to-heart went up in smoke. From a distance, she could see he was deep in conversation with another man at the entrance to the walled garden – someone tall, dark and well dressed … Someone who, as Amy approached, she noticed looked remarkably like Hugh.
God in heaven, it was Hugh. What the hell was he doing here?
The closer Amy got, the more certain she became that their discussion was heated – and that Hugh was becoming increasingly aggressive. Sam was leaning back slightly with his arms folded across his chest: a posture that spoke of deliberate control, of deciding against all provocation not to square up to a fight. Several times he raised a defensive palm as though to try and calm Hugh’s ranting, but apparently to little effect.
When Amy reached them, Hugh was snarling. ‘You always were a snake in the grass – totally untrustworthy – never on the right side … I remember you informing on Henry Atkinson, doing your best to make sure he was suspended after that incident with the first-year’s textbooks …’
Sam looked like he was trying not to laugh, which seemed to infuriate Hugh all the more. ‘In what universe is that relevant?’ Sam said. ‘I’d forgotten Henry Atkinson even existed until you just brought him up – but for the record, he fully deserved a suspension. Drowning some kid’s books in the toilet just for the fun of it … He was a merciless bastard, which I assume is why you stayed close to him. What’s he doing with himself these days? No, don’t tell me – let me guess: he’s in prison for some white-collar crime he claims is victimless.’
‘I believe he’s a trader in the City,’ Hugh spat pompously.
‘The perfect springboard from which to leap for that custodial sentence,’ Sam said.
Before Hugh could hit back, Amy interrupted.
‘Er … What’s going on here?’ she asked tremulously. Part of her was amused by their exchange of old school resentments, but another part felt deeply unsettled. Hugh had no reason to be at Rowton Hall, and no professional pretext she could think of for verbally abusing Sam. Amy was no egotist, but it would have been stupid not to consider that she might have some unwitting role in this altercation.
‘I decided to stop by and make sure Ainsworth here was aware of some key facts,’ Hugh said, his ice-blue eyes flinty and dangerous.
‘About what? Why?’ Amy asked.
‘About you and me, Amy,’ said Hugh, ‘because from what I hear his attentions towards you have not been strictly professional these past few months. Apparently he’s been carrying a torch for you since he was sixteen – a rumour I’d have found touching if it weren’t so pathetic.’
Amy’s blood ran cold, oxygen replaced with fury.
‘How dare you?’ she said, her voice steady but sharp. ‘There is no you and me, Hugh – there hasn’t been for months. Who I see, in whatever capacity, is absolutely none of your business.’
‘So you admit you’re sleeping with him then?’ Hugh said, an almost maniacal triumph on his face. This unexpected crudeness took Amy’s breath away. She stared at him, appalled and humiliated.
‘Don’t speak to her like that,’ Sam said, his voice a low rumble that indicated his hold on his temper was slipping. ‘It’s completely uncalled for.’
‘And you’re her knight in shining armour, are you? Funny – she was always the independent woman with me. Apart from the fact that she let me pay for everything.’ He shot Amy a leer that made her insides lurch.
Had he been drinking? She didn’t think so. Perhaps this was just the natural end point – the most extreme manifestation she’d yet seen – of what Kit had called Hugh’s ‘possessive psycho streak’. Maybe it had always been in him to lose control like this, to become so entitled and erratic, once he felt like he was losing her. Why hadn’t she listened when Kit had warned her Hugh might not be the benign actor she’d always believed?
At the same time, it was almost alarming that it had taken him until now to go full bonkers ex-boyfriend on her. How had her move to the other side of the country, plus her rejection of his ‘I’m sorry’ gift and subsequent refusal to engage with him, not convinced Hugh their relationship was over? Then the truth dawned on her and she felt like throwing something at him: he had only believed his chances with her were completely dashed when he imagined she was seeing someone else. That implied a change of ownership, a transfer of assets. Unlike her fundamental right to spend time with whomever she pleased, this was something he actually understood.
‘This is outrageous, Hugh. You need to come with me. Now. I’m sorry, Sam, truly. I am mortified. As soon as we’ve said our goodbyes, I’ll be back to start the training session as planned.’
‘I can’t let you disappear off with him—’ Sam started to say. Amy exhaled loudly and felt surprised she hadn’t breathed out a jet of flame.
‘Neither of you is letting me do anything,’ she said. ‘I’m going to escort Hugh to his car on the basis that he’d rather that than I call the police, tell them about his threatening behaviour and ask them to move him on. Then he’s going to drive away.’
‘You wouldn’t do it,’ Hugh hissed, but she knew him well enough to see his confidence was shaky.
‘Try me,’ Amy said, staring up at him stonily.
After a moment’s hesitation, Hugh sloped away from Sam and walked around Amy so that he was leading the way. With evident reluctance, he moved in the direction of the Hall’s sweeping driveway. His silver Audi was there, polished to perfection and glinting in the sunshine.
When they reached the car, Amy folded her arms. She was going nowhere until he’d unlocked it, climbed inside and had disappeared entirely from view. She stared at him defiantly, daring him to change his mind about leaving.
Narrowing his eyes at her, he clicked a button on a high-tech key fob and the vehicle’s wing mirrors swung out into position. ‘This isn’t over, you know,’ he drawled. ‘I’m not losing you to him, of all people. I don’t care if he’s been lusting after you since you were teenagers.’
‘You. Are. Deluded,’ Amy said. ‘You and I are over, for good. Nothing you say or do is going to change that.’
‘You’ll be back in London before too long,’ Hugh said, appearing not to have heard her. ‘This little passion project of Carolyn’s is going to bite the dust before the end of the year – the second my arse hits the CEO’s chair. You’re sensible, not some sentimental fool. When the opportunity arises to head up the lit fic division of H-K, you’ll take it – and you’ll leave lover boy back here without so much as a second glance. The ice queen I know and love will return.’
Amy felt sick. ‘You don’t love me, Hugh – you never did. And I’m not an ice queen, as it turns out. I just didn’t love you, either.’
‘What’s that song?’ Hugh said, mock-frowning, clearly enjoying her discomfort – believing he had her number. ‘“What’s Love Got To Do With It”? It could have been written for us.’
‘Goodbye, Hugh,’ Amy said, slamming the driver’s side door on him the moment he’d clambered inside. Unperturbed, he rolled the window down.
‘And by the way,’ she yelled, his smug confidence finally fraying her temper, ‘you’re completely wrong about our theme song. Have a dig for the right one on Spotify, it’ll be the perfect listen on your drive back down south: “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”.’
Propelled by rage and mortification, Amy made her way back to the walled garden. She had no idea what she was going to say to Sam when she reached him, but she felt an irrepressible sense of urgency.
It was embarrassing beyond endurance that Hugh had accosted him in his own home on her account. She could hardly bear to wonder what had been said before she arrived, though it was clear that – via some mysterious means – Hugh had got wind of the fact that she and Sam had once been more to one another than colleagues or argument-prone neighbours. Unable to fathom where he might be getting his information from, she tucked the question away for further investigation later.
Now, her priority was apologising to Sam. It struck her that the list of things she needed to say sorry for kept getting longer.
She ran through an aged red-brick archway and into a pretty, well-ordered space that consisted of a central lawn bordered by shrubs, rose bushes and multicoloured dahlias. It had been agreed that this was the ideal spot for learning and practising the dance she and Sam were to perform; there was plenty of open space, and they’d be shielded from prying eyes while they endeavoured to get the steps right. It would also facilitate a fairly realistic dry run for festival day, when they’d be dancing out of doors – probably in warm sunshine and with a hum of ambient, distracting noise floating through the air.
She scanned all four corners of the garden and felt her heart sink as she realised Sam had disappeared. Had he gone back to the house? Should she follow him? Maybe he’d decided to call Carolyn’s bluff after all and tell her this was a mad idea – that he wouldn’t partake in it.
Just as Amy had made up her mind to head back to the Hall and look for him, she heard footsteps crunching up the gravel path outside. Then Sam’s voice: ‘Thanks for agreeing to come along and help us today. I think I speak for my partner, as well as myself, when I say we’re both a little nervous – neither of us has ever done anything like this before.’
His partner. She knew he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, but the word still made her insides twinge. It seemed she was going to have to put her apology on hold for now; Sam – sounding as calm and courteous as ever – was clearly showing their dance instructor to the appointed spot for the day’s lesson.
Sam started when he and the man he was with strolled into the garden to discover Amy already there. She felt flustered – almost like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be. This was ironic, she realised, since she’d spent plenty of evenings on Rowton Hall land without permission in her youth, never once worrying that her presence might be illegitimate.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I just came straight back here … I thought that made sense?’
‘Of course,’ Sam replied. His voice was taut and strained. She realised that, for the first time since their reacquaintance, he was properly angry with her – not just feigning outrage for the sake of their usual banter.
‘Walter, this is Amy,’ he said to the man on his right. ‘My colleague and dance partner.’
‘Delighted to meet you,’ Walter said, bobbing at her politely and offering her his hand. His accent was Northern, but softly so; Amy imagined he might come from Derbyshire or thereabouts.
He was a solidly built man of late middle age with a thatch of thick, longish salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore round glasses and a pair of slim, smart trousers, topped with a shirt and waistcoat. The aesthetic struck Amy as an unusual combination of modern hipster and nineteenth-century dandy, but it suited him. She shook his hand and said, ‘You, too.’
‘Well,’ Walter said thoughtfully, looking from Amy back to Sam. ‘You’re a bit of an odd couple, but I’m sure we’ll soon have you in sync.’
Amy accidentally barked a laugh at this. An odd couple? It was almost like Walter knew them.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, slightly pink. ‘I meant nothing untoward by that – it was really a reference to your height difference. Ordinarily I’d try to partner a petite lady such as yourself with someone less tall and broad. But it’s not a problem, as such.’
‘Of course,’ Amy said, ‘please don’t worry, I shouldn’t have laughed. And what you’re saying makes a lot of sense, I suppose – though I guess finding a suitable partner for someone as short as I am might be difficult at the best of times.’
‘Not at all,’ Walter said gallantly. ‘I could happily partner you myself, if I weren’t tasked with teaching you both.’ This was probably true; he was maybe only about five feet seven or eight, so far closer in height to Amy than Sam at six feet and then some. Walter winked at her and she caught Sam rolling his eyes in frustration.
‘Should we … make a start?’ Amy suggested, tentative. It was abundantly clear to her that, having been the more relaxed of the two of them up to now, Sam was fervently wishing they didn’t have to do this.
