Chapter 33

The next morning, I called Hyacinth Place to book another visit. But Margaret's carer said she still had a cold and it would be better to wait until she'd fully recovered, hopefully the following week. I'd try calling again on Monday. And so instead I immersed myself in putting together a file for the Below Stairs exhibition in June. Although I still had a few months, the time would pass quickly enough, and there was still a lot to be done. The builders needed to finish renovating the below-stairs quarters and I still needed to find furniture and items to fill the rooms we planned to open. I'd look in the basement where they were stored. The best way to make these rooms look as genuine as possible was to look at old photographs.

That evening, I carried on reading Mrs Field's Diary. An interesting paragraph stood out to me, from December 1941.

Penelope is living with me after effectively being made redundant by her employer's sudden death. She was assigned another role for a short time but is no longer needed, poor thing. However, I am grateful for her assistance around the house as my health has been deteriorating lately. I bumped into Mrs M, the mother of one of the servants at a grand country house in the area, today and she alerted me to a scandal. It would be inappropriate to divulge anything more, but it was rather intriguing, I can tell you!

What an interesting paragraph. Could it refer to Gatley Hall? I took a photo and added it to the Margaret folder on my phone. When Helen and I next visited Hyacinth Place, I'd show this information to Margaret and ask if she knew anything about it.

When Friday came, Jim messaged to ask if I wanted to share a Chinese takeaway and a few drinks that evening and, pleased by his suggestion, I replied to say yes. When I got back to the cottage, I changed into Trackie Bs and a cosy jumper and filled a glass with red wine. My phone buzzed on the sofa next to me.

Hi, it was nice to meet you the other day. I wanted to invite you to an event tomorrow night. Officially, you'd be my photographer's assistant, but you'd be able to act as any other guest. It's at a new hotel bar, Swish, in Charlotte Street, London. Let me know and I'll send the address. Ed *smiley face emoji*

What should I say? Here was my chance to dress up like the old days and attend a fancy event. Hadn't I missed doing things like this?

I replied:

That sounds great, thanks. Put me on the list! Claire *smiley face emoji*

He answered straight away with the address and said to be there by 7.30 p.m. This was a chance to make use of my going-out wardrobe. I replied to thank him.

Jim came through the door, carrying a bag of logs and with a newspaper under his arm. He put it all in front of the fireplace.

‘You'll be pleased to hear my shower is fixed,' he said.

‘Oh, that's good,' I said, although it was sad that we might not see as much of each other. ‘What have you got there?'

‘I noticed you weren't using your fireplace and had a few logs to spare, so I thought you could have them.'

‘That's kind of you. Thank you.'

‘I bet you don't know how to make a fire, do you?' he said.

Smiling, I said, ‘Not really.'

He got down on his knees in front of the fireplace and started rolling up sheets of newspaper and making croissant shapes with them.

‘So, it helps if you make a few of these and pile them up with the logs, like this,' he said.

I joined him on the floor and made a couple of them with him.

He removed a few twigs from his pocket. ‘It's a good idea to use kindling to help get it started,' he said. ‘I'll bring some more over. Do you have any matches?'

‘Yes, in the kitchen.'

I went to get them, and handed him the box. He struck a match and lit the newspaper, and before long had a fire going.

‘That's lovely. Thank you, Jim.'

‘It's only a few logs, but I'll bring you some more another day,' he said, using the poker to encourage the flames. The room instantly felt warmer and cosier. He'd done a really nice thing for me.

‘Glass of wine?' I said.

‘Why not?' he said.

I went into the kitchen and poured us both glasses, and handed him one. My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a thumbs-up from Ed. I smiled to myself.

‘You look happy. What's going on?' he said, taking a sip of his wine.

‘I've just been invited to a thing in London, tomorrow night,' I said.

‘Where?'

‘Ed asked me to go to an event he's covering. It's at a new bar at a hotel in Charlotte Street, you know, near Oxford Circus.'

‘I know where Charlotte Street is, Claire,' he said in a huff.

‘What's up with you?' I said.

‘Nothing.'

‘I'm not sure I believe you.'

‘It's just, well…I'm not a massive fan of Ed,' he said.

I guessed this was understandable after what Helen had told me about Ed having a one-night stand with Samantha at her divorce party.

‘Where did this come from out of the blue, anyway?' he said.

‘Helen introduced us the other day. Ed will be taking photos of the Below Stairs exhibition for me.'

‘How nice of him.' His tone suggested it was anything but.

‘He is volunteering, unpaid, so he can't be that bad.'

‘In return for what will be lucrative work once the wedding season begins. You know that's the only reason he's doing it? To be on the recommended photographers' list?'

‘What do you have against him, exactly?' I said, testing Jim to see if he'd tell me the real reason.

He shrugged. ‘He seems like a bloke who mixes with the kind of people you're trying to get away from.'

‘What do you mean?'

He undid one of the buttons at the neck of his polo shirt. ‘You know, pretentious types who go out just to get their photos taken for tabloid magazines.'

‘I just miss going out in London. It's not that exciting round here, is it?'

‘Suit yourself.'

‘Okay. I was going to ask you to help me decide what to wear, but won't after all.'

‘That's more of a job for someone like Helen. Who do you think I am, Claire, your male best friend like in one of those cheesy romcoms?'

‘I'd like your opinion, that's all.'

This exchange made me feel uncomfortable, and I regretted telling him about the event.

Jim's phone rang. He lifted it from the pocket of his khakis and checked the screen.

‘Sorry, I have to take this, Claire.' He answered. ‘Hello, yes.' Glancing at his watch, he said, ‘Sure, see you in a bit.' He slid his phone back into his pocket.

‘Who was that?' I said.

‘Samantha's nanny can work tonight after all, and she's invited me over.'

‘I thought we were getting a takeaway?'

‘Another time. Sorry, I have to go.' He got up and headed for the front door.

‘Good job you've only had a sip of that wine so you can still drive.'

‘Yep. See you tomorrow, maybe?'

‘I'm out tomorrow, at the party.'

‘Oh yeah, bye then.'

As Jim walked through the door, closing it behind him, I felt lost. What had just happened? Would he have abandoned me for Samantha if I hadn't told him about going out with Ed?

The following afternoon while I was reading on the sofa, I heard Jim's front door open and shut as he returned from Samantha's. The pump from his newly fixed shower started humming shortly afterwards. I needed to think about getting ready for London. I had to wash and style my hair, paint my nails, select my outfit, apply full make-up. The whole routine could take ages, and I liked being able to take my time.

While I was running tongs through my hair, a knock came at the door. I went downstairs to open it, still in my dressing gown. Jim was standing there.

‘Oh, Claire, I was going to ask what you're doing tonight, but forgot you're going to London, aren't you?'

‘I am indeed.'

‘Well, I hope you have a good time.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Do you want me to drop and collect you from the station so you can have a few drinks?'

This was a kind gesture, especially after our exchange the day before.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yeah, of course. When shall I take you to the station?'

‘Five thirty?'

‘Okay, knock when you're ready.'

‘Thanks a lot, Jim.'

‘No problem.'

At five thirty, I got my wool coat off the hook as I was running late and knocked on Jim's door as agreed. I was wearing a little black dress and gold heels, a matching clutch under my arm containing essentials. When Jim opened the door, he raised his eyebrows.

‘Looking good, Miss Bell,' he said.

‘Thanks,' I said, my cheeks warming as I pushed my arms through the sleeves of my coat. While he locked up, I did my best to compose myself. Did he find me attractive or was he just being nice?

It was the first time I'd properly dressed up in a while and, although my body was squeezed into my dress so tightly that eating even one peanut might make it difficult to move, I felt good. As I walked alongside Jim through the rose garden, stepping around cracks between the paving stones in my heels, I couldn't help wishing he was my date. It was a bit chilly to be wearing a dress, even with my coat on, and my legs, in tan nylon tights, were cold. We reached Jim's pick-up truck and he drove me to the station.

When I got out of the car, he said, ‘Just message me when you're on the train home, and I'll wait here.'

He was being kind, and I appreciated it.

‘Okay, thanks a lot,' I said. ‘See you later.'

‘Bye,' he said out of the car window. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away from the car towards the ticket office.

As my heels were already rubbing my feet, I took a taxi from Waterloo station to Swish. Before Gatley Hall, I'd attended events like this one all the time, often arriving alone and that hadn't fazed me at all. Now, here I was, afraid to go inside. I took the stairs that twisted down to the floor below, the carpet thick and purple with yellow swirls, nerves engulfing me. What was my problem? Besides my confidence being knocked by all that happened in the run-up to Christmas, I'd forgotten what it was like to be all dressed up and walk into a room full of strangers.

A lady with a clipboard ticked my name off the list and waiters stood at the open doors with trays of champagne. Inhaling and lifting my chin, I took a flute and smiled, saying, ‘Thank you,' as I entered the room. It was dimly lit, with a bar circling the centre. Straight away, I spotted Ed photographing a group of women. He wore black trousers and matching polo-neck à la James Bond, and looked very cool, his thick dark hair slicked back. He was a catch, and the women giggled as he made jokes while directing them. When he'd finished, I approached him and said, ‘Hi,' and he said, ‘Claire, you made it.' We double-kissed, and he looked me up and down.

‘Nice dress,' he said. ‘So, are you ready to be my assistant?'

‘Okay.'

He removed a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me along with a pen. ‘Here's a list of a few photos I need to get. Can you help me find everyone?'

I skimmed the names and, as someone who'd read Go You! magazine every week in my pre-Gatley days, I knew who everyone was. ‘Sure,' I said.

‘Okay, I can see Smiley Face over there,' I said, spotting the girl band who'd had several hits. I approached them and Ed followed and took photos while they posed, adjusting their faces and bodies to various angles until he was done.

While Ed talked to their manager, someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned round to see Toby's wife, Madeleine. Toby, Madeleine and Miles had all been part of the same friendship group at university.

‘Claire, I didn't expect to see you here,' she said.

‘Likewise.'

‘An old schoolfriend of mine is editor of Go You! and so she invites me to loads of events,' she said. ‘How did you get an invite?' she said, as though I wouldn't be worthy.

I'd never liked Madeleine much, as she liked to patronise me at every opportunity.

‘I'm here with a photographer friend.'

‘Between you and me, I am sorry to hear about the baby.' She gave my arm a squeeze. I stepped backwards.

The room was quite noisy, with music coming through the speakers and people talking loudly. Surely, I hadn't heard her correctly? I asked her to repeat herself.

‘You must be devastated to hear about the baby,' she shouted.

‘What are you talking about?' I said.

‘Oh…' She put a hand over her mouth. ‘Gosh, hasn't Miles told you yet?'

‘Told me what?'

‘Natasha is pregnant.'

Natasha, Miles's ex from university.

‘What do you mean? Are you saying it's…'

‘Miles's yes. Goodness, Claire, I have put my foot in it, haven't I?'

This news was shocking, and all I could do was try not to look bothered.

‘Didn't you know they'd been seeing each other again?' Madeleine said.

‘No, I didn't. How pregnant is she?' I said.

‘Just over three months.'

Counting back to the day I left Miles, it hit me.

‘Three months – but that's before…' I thought back to when Dad died in November and I'd stayed at Deborah's for a couple of nights. There had been a dinner party at Toby and Madeleine's, and I'd known Natasha would be there. Had something happened that night? While I was recovering from the shock of losing my father? How could he? And had they been sleeping together before that? ‘You held a dinner party that I didn't come to because my father had just died,' I said.

Nodding, Madeleine pulled a face and tried to squeeze my arm again, but this time I took a step backwards before she could.

‘I think there might have been what one would call "overlap",' she said.

She was loving this conversation and I needed to get away from her.

‘But…' she continued, ‘I always thought they'd end up together. You two weren't a good fit, were you?'

Here was my opportunity to put Madeleine in her place for once.

‘Well, now you can go on all the double dates you want with your best friend by your side, Madeleine. But just to let you know – and do feel free to pass this information on to Miles – I am living my best life. Breaking up with him was absolutely the smartest decision I've made in years.'

Before she could answer, I walked away, and approached the bar. I ordered a tequila slammer, and knocked it back, and then downed another one. After that, a double vodka and tonic. I needed to drink my way through how Madeleine had made me feel. How dare Miles tell me he didn't want children and then get his ex of all people pregnant? No doubt she'd already moved into the flat I'd spent years making special for what was supposed to be our future together. But what I'd said to Madeline happened to be true. I was living my best life in Gatley, and it had taken her delivering this news for me to realise it. The break-up should have happened sooner. Miles getting someone else pregnant was yet another blow, but I'd just have to get over it.

Once all the photos were taken, guests started to leave and Ed suggested we went to the bar upstairs. He ordered vodka and tonics for us both and we sat at a table in the corner with banquette seating. A man in a tuxedo played big band songs on a grand piano, and the bar filled up with couples and groups of friends out having fun on a Saturday night. We had a few more drinks and, when I looked at my watch, I saw the time was eleven thirty. The last train to Gatley left Waterloo at eleven forty-five. Fifteen minutes was nowhere near long enough to get there.

‘Damn, I've missed my last train,' I said.

‘I've got a room upstairs. You're welcome to stay, if you want?'

‘Really?' I said, studying him. He was handsome but I didn't want to sleep with him. Pulling a face, I said, ‘I can't…'

‘Look, it's a suite. You can sleep on the sofa. Why don't you think about it while I get you another drink?' he said, getting up and heading for the bar.

I got out my phone, but saw it had run out of battery. Damn, I needed to tell Jim not to pick me up from the station. I'd have to borrow a charger.

Ed brought over another couple of vodka and tonics.

‘So?' he said.

‘Okay, I'll stay. Thank you,' I said.

‘Great, now we can relax.'

The next morning, I woke up on the sofa in Ed's room fully clothed, relieved that nothing had happened. I recalled him asking to kiss me, and I'd said, ‘I'm getting over a break-up, sorry.' He'd said, ‘Okay, you have the sofa then,' and gone into the bathroom. Ed clearly hadn't understood when I implied this in the bar.

Now, looking over at the bed, I saw he was asleep, his breathing heavy, and my head was throbbing from far too much alcohol for my own good. There was a bottle of water on a table by the window, and I poured myself a glass and downed it. I got my phone out of my bag and only then recalled the battery had run out the night before. Spotting a charger, I plugged my phone in. Instantly, several text messages from Jim popped up on the screen.

I presume you'll be on last train and will be at the station to pick you up as agreed

I'm at the station. See you shortly

You weren't on the train. Where are you?

Are you okay? Do you want me to come and get you from somewhere?

I can't sleep, am worried you might not be okay. Please let me know you're all right

And the messages went on and on, up until four in the morning. My stomach lurched. How could I behave so badly? What a terrible person I'd been, allowing him to think something was wrong. I tapped a message into my phone, squirming as I did so. He'd be furious with me.

Jim, I'm so sorry. My phone ran out of battery. I stayed at the hotel where the event was held as missed last train. So sorry, hope you aren't too angry with me?

The three dots danced straight away. Clearly, he'd been waiting to hear from me.

Glad you're all right.

The full stop – the latest way to snub by text – said it all. He was fuming. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the desk. My mascara had run, and I looked really awful. I went into the bathroom and swigged some mouthwash and did my best to remove the make-up from under my eyes with a cotton bud and some of the hotel cleanser. While I was applying fresh foundation from my clutch, Ed tapped on the bathroom door.

‘Are you in there, Claire?'

I opened the door, and he stood there in a pair of boxers, looking rather fit, his six-pack showing how much time he spent at the gym. He smiled, clearly aware of what a great body he had.

‘Morning, Ed. Thanks for letting me stay on your sofa. I have to go now, though,' I said.

He sighed. Yes, he was a catch, but I didn't think much of him as a person. Jim would have offered me the bed and slept on the sofa himself.

‘Don't you want breakfast? We can get room service.'

Perhaps he was hoping I'd sleep with him now, but that wasn't going to happen.

‘I need to get back.' I put on my shoes and ouch my feet hurt.

‘Okay. See you at work then,' he said, going into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind him.

‘Bye,' I said, through the door. ‘And thanks again for letting me stay.'

He probably felt I'd led him on in some way, but I hadn't meant to. If Madeleine hadn't told me about Natasha's pregnancy, I wouldn't have drunk so much and would be at home now.

I put on my coat, went to the lift and made my way down to the lobby.

As I left through the swing doors, I spotted a coffee shop opposite. I got myself a large cappuccino, a bottle of water and a cinnamon bun, and consumed everything as I walked to Oxford Circus tube station. There was a chill in the air, and once again my legs were cold, and I could have kicked myself for not bringing blister plasters for my feet. Before long I was at Waterloo, quiet before Sunday visitors descended on London, and I took the next train to Gatley. I nodded off a couple of times on the journey and when I reached the station, my only option was to walk home in my heels. There were no cabs in Gatley and I couldn't exactly ask Jim to pick me up. My feet were so sore by now and I winced with every single step, feeling I deserved it for treating Jim so very badly.

When I reached Rose Cottage, all I wanted to do was climb into bed. As I unlocked the front door, Jim came out of his cottage. His eyes were unusually cold, and they were puffy underneath. I bit my lip, not knowing what to say.

‘So, you're back,' he said.

There was no sign of his usual cheeky grin, and I felt miserable, worsened by my hangover and the state of my feet.

‘I'm really sorry, Jim,' I said, stepping out of my shoes. I couldn't bear to stand in them any longer.

‘You've already apologised, so no need to do it again,' he said with a sigh.

‘All right, well I am truly sorry.'

‘It will take a bit of time before I can forget about what you put me through last night. I haven't had any sleep. Next time you go up to London for one of your fancy parties, don't ask for my help,' he said.

It had been his idea to pick me up from the station, but that didn't excuse my appalling behaviour.

‘I won't.'

He turned his back on me and walked down the path towards the rose garden.

‘Jim, I will find a way to make this up to you,' I called after him.

He didn't turn round. I went inside, devastated by what I'd done to one of the few people who seemed to care about me.