Alice Ross - An Autumn Affair

‘Julia?’ Paul’s voice bowled up the stairs. ‘Are you going to be much longer? I need to leave in a few minutes.’

Julia swiped the tears from her cheeks, leaped off the bed and began rummaging through the pile of laundry for her husband’s blue striped shirt. ‘Nearly finished,’ she called back.

*****

Half an hour later, Paul Blakelaw’s heart sank as his gaze landed on the clock on the Jag’s walnut dashboard. Shit! Of all the days to be late, it had to be today. The day of the dreaded Board meeting. With his presentation first on the agenda. And now he’d hit the worst of the traffic, he’d be at least ten minutes late. Damn. If only Julia hadn’t taken so long to iron his shirt … Paul grimaced. God! That made him sound like a completely chauvinistic pig. Which he wasn’t. He was actually perfectly capable of ironing his own shirt – which, ideally, he would have done the evening before, if he hadn’t arrived home so late. But with him working such ridiculous hours, he’d come to rely on Julia for those kinds of things. Which didn’t make him a bad person, did it? He was, after all, doing his best to provide for his family. And he didn’t think he was making too bad a job of it. But Julia …

Paul slammed on the brakes as a bus pulled out in front of him.

… Julia had been acting really strangely over the last few days. Of course he’d asked her what was wrong, but the uninformative ‘nothing’ hurled back had made it perfectly clear she didn’t want to discuss the matter.

Crunching the gears as he slowed down at a junction, Paul shook his head and heaved a weary sigh. Until recently, he’d never much thought about his marriage. He and Julia just kind of drifted along. Like most couples, he assumed. Especially when there were children involved. But ever since turning forty – or, to be more precise, ever since his new assistant had started at the office just after Paul’s fortieth birthday – he’d begun to look at things a little … differently.

Which is why he really hoped Julia acting strangely didn’t mean she suspected anything.

Not that there was anything to suspect.

Not really, anyway.

*****

The best thing about college, Faye concluded, was that you had heaps of spare time. Spare time which could be utilised for studying, of course. But Faye had discovered it was much more fun lying – albeit fully clothed – on a sunlounger by the pool at Buttersley Hall, observing Josie’s tennis lesson.

Or, to be more precise, observing Eduardo during Josie’s tennis lesson.

Faye would have been the first to admit that her experience with the opposite sex could be deftly placed in the ‘limited’ category. In Bristol, she and Luke Molloy had been ‘going out’. Which, roughly translated, meant they were mates who occasionally engaged in a snog. But that was because, Faye suddenly realised, Luke was a mere boy. Eduardo, on the other hand, was a man. One hundred per cent testosterone – of the sexy Mediterranean variety.

From behind her aviator sunglasses, Faye watched as Eduardo’s muscular frame – clad in knee-length, baggy white shorts and a red T-shirt which looked three sizes too small for his broad chest, bounded around the tennis court. In addition to being a real live Adonis, the man was spectacularly fit. Although Faye supposed he’d have to be, to keep up with Lydia Pembleton – the scary lady with big boobs who’d apparently found him in Spain, packaged him up, and brought him back to Buttersley with her. Lucky cow.

Faye heaved an almighty sigh and folded her arms over her chest. Her chances of meeting any guy as hunky as Eduardo were as likely as her mum serving up a brand of American fast food for dinner in a sequinned mini skirt. Faye hadn’t come across any boys her age at all in Buttersley. And the ones she’d met at college were as dishy as a lump of corned beef. All of which could mean she was destined to life as a spinster. Like one of those sad old bats in those Jane Austen novels.

At the thought of Jane Austen, Faye experienced a stab of guilt. She had an English literature assignment to hand in tomorrow and she hadn’t even started it yet. She reached for her bag and pulled out a copy of Hamlet . Flicking through a few pages, she wondered how anyone could possibly find the Bard the least bit interesting. Maybe she should have chosen French instead of English lit. But that would only mean more boring stuff – in a boring foreign language. And what, frankly, was the point anyway? No matter how much work she did, her grades at A-level would still be rubbish. Especially compared to Leo’s inevitable bagful of A-stars. So she might as well not bother. At least if she didn’t try, she couldn’t be disappointed again. And there would be no humiliation like with her GCSEs. She tossed down the book and reached into her bag again, this time pulling out a copy of the latest Hello! magazine.

‘ Hola , Faye.’

Faye whipped up her head to find Eduardo striding over the grass towards her.

‘You wait for me?’ he asked with a cheeky wink.

Faye felt her cheeks reddening. ‘No. I’m waiting for Josie.’

‘Ah, what a shame,’ he said, his sexy Spanish accent and the loaded look he shot her before carrying on towards the house causing Faye’s stomach to somersault and the flush in her cheeks to deepen.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Josie, suddenly appearing at her side. ‘I’d knocked a ball out of the court and couldn’t find it. You all right?’

Faye cleared her throat and shook back her long dark hair in what she hoped was a blasé manner. ‘Fine, thanks. How was your lesson?’

‘Great,’ replied Josie, plopping down onto the next sunlounger. ‘Eduardo’s an excellent coach.’

‘And pretty ripped too,’ added Faye. ‘How old do you think he is?’

Josie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she muttered uninterestedly, picking up the copy of Hamlet Faye had discarded earlier. ‘Twenty-six. Twenty-seven, maybe.’

Faye shook her head disbelievingly. That was another thing she couldn’t understand about Josie. The girl had minimal interest in the opposite sex. ‘He’s still pretty gorgeous, even if he is a bit old,’ she pointed out.

Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘I suppose so. If you like that kind of thing.’ She thrust herself to her feet. ‘I’m going to have a quick shower. You can stay here if you like, or wait for me in the kitchen.’

Faye needed only a millisecond to consider her options. Waiting in the kitchen would greatly increase her chances of seeing Miranda. ‘I’ll come up to the house with you,’ she said, grappling around for her possessions.

In the house, Faye sat at the kitchen island while Josie went upstairs. Disappointed to discover no sign of Miranda, she turned her attention back to her copy of Hello! Flicking through the pages, she did a double take. The woman in the photographs, draped over an ex-footballer in his flashy Spanish villa, looked familiar. In fact, she looked exactly like Lydia Pembleton – Eduardo’s lover. But why on earth would Lydia Pembleton be featured in Hello! magazine? And with some ageing footballer? Before she could start reading the blurb, Josie entered the kitchen, hair dripping wet from her shower.

‘Oh no,’ she groaned, peeping over Faye’s shoulder. ‘I see Lydia Pembleton’s ugly mug is in that hideous magazine again.’

Faye’s eyes grew wide. ‘So it is her? But what’s she doing in Marbella with an ex-footballer? I thought she lived with Eduardo.’

Heading towards the huge American fridge, Josie shook her head despairingly. ‘She does live with Eduardo – but only when her ex has no need of her. The woman is a good friend of Mum’s and a total headcase. She used to be married to the guy in the photos – Darren Pembleton. Then he dumped her for some other bimbo, but still gives Lydia loads of cash. And whenever he’s feeling a bit lonely, he picks up the phone and she goes running. Her and Mum are forever flitting over to Marbella. They’re going again at the end of this week.’