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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Penny Lake
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Lara Perryman has spent her life carefully planning and saving for her future. She is looking forward to the prospect of spending the rest of her days in comfort in a leisure village in Wiltshire and the adventure that her new life will bring. But when long-standing arrangements crumble, her situation quickly becomes worrying. With her dreams in disarray, Lara makes friends with the other residents and finds herself entangled in the ups and downs, triumphs and tragedies of her new community, hoping against hope that her independence will one day be restored.
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Changing Lara
ANNA JACOBS
Contents
Chapter One
Lara looked her boss in the eye and said it slowly and firmly, hoping her feeling of relief didn’t show. ‘I’m afraid I can’t accept that posting. I’m about to retire.’
‘You! But you’re only fifty-two, in your prime.’
‘Gunther, I’m fed up of moving all over the world for the company, more than ready to settle down.’
He chuckled. ‘Good tactical move. OK, we’ll increase your salary.’
That was his answer to everything: throw money at it. ‘Sorry, but the answer is still no.’
He frowned. ‘I should have explained it better. Mal Porter has just dropped dead in Australia and we desperately need you to take over there.’
She was startled. ‘Mal? The fitness freak?’
‘The same. Just goes to show that nothing in this life is foolproof, eh?’
Nothing and no one, she thought, and that only made her more certain she was doing the right thing in retiring early.
‘Mal was in the middle of a big project and you’re the only one with the skills and experience to take over mid-stream. The financial penalties will be huge if we don’t bring it in on time.’
She felt more concerned about the people involved. ‘Poor Mal. His wife must be feeling gutted. They were such a close couple.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ With barely a pause, Gunther added, ‘So will you at least consider it?’
She spoke without thinking it through, wanting only to get out of this easily. ‘You’d have to double my salary to get me out to Australia. My family are all living in England now and my first grandchild is about to enter the world.’
‘Double it!’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t let him outstare her. ‘I’m not at all keen to do this, Gunther.’
‘I’ll, um, see what the powers that be say.’
She didn’t expect them to agree to that, but when they did offer to double her present salary, plus supply totally subsidised accommodation, if she’d take over the project, she had to rethink.
After doing some sums and deciding she could face a few more months of working, she agreed.
That meant she missed the birth of her granddaughter, which she regretted deeply, but she told her daughter about the amount of money involved and after the first stiff reaction, Darcie said she understood.
‘I won’t take on anything else after this.’
‘You said that last time, Mum.’
‘Well, this time I mean it with all my heart.’
She really did mean it. She’d changed in the past year or two, didn’t exactly understand what was going on inside her head now but she definitely felt different.
As for her son, well, Lara doubted she’d see much of Joel even if she was living in England because he sounded to be busier than ever. All he said when she told him about her new job was, ‘Good for you, Ma!’
‘It’s my last project.’
He chuckled. ‘Oh yeah? You said that last time. Hang on. Ah. Have to go. There’s someone I need to speak to on the other line. Keep in touch.’
And he was gone.
Joel was as bad as she used to be about work, Lara decided. No point in telling him to slow down and smell the roses. He liked the smell of money far more. It was no wonder he’d left several broken relationships behind him. Who’d want to settle down with a man who was never there, however personable he was?
Or with a woman who was never there.
Lara had moved on far enough from her divorce by now to acknowledge that Guy had been right about one thing: she had been away too often to maintain a worthwhile marriage. He was the sort of man who enjoyed company and he’d told her bluntly that he wanted a wife who shared his bed regularly.
It had been a relatively amicable split, compared to some, with regret on both sides but no quarrels over finances. Their relationship had been cooling for a while and she hadn’t been willing to give up her job just when she was on the cusp of a big step upwards.
She’d taken that step, but done it alone.
As for Guy, he’d soon started dating again and after a while he’d found someone else to share his life with.
Lara hadn’t. Who did you date when you were the boss? And when most of your staff were younger than you?
There were times when Lara regretted choosing what she now thought of ironically as her ‘brilliant career’; there were other times when she was very proud of what she’d achieved.
Had it all been worth it? Mostly she thought it had, but sometimes, in the middle of yet another dark, lonely night in a bland, beige hotel room, well, she couldn’t help wondering.
Lara had worked in Australia before and once again she enjoyed many things about living down under. Who wouldn’t? Great climate, friendly people, excellent food.
To her surprise, however, this time she didn’t enjoy the job itself. Been there, done that. She was bored by the minutiae of revamping the Australian branch. She couldn’t raise any enthusiasm for sales figures or customer communication programs, let alone selection procedures for new staff. She was missing her family more than she’d expected to, far more than she’d ever done before.
She had only ‘met’ her tiny granddaughter online and longed to hold her. She heard from Darcie regularly about how adorable little Minnie was and what a wonderful grandfather Guy was.
The latter hurt more than Lara had expected.
She soon stopped showing baby photos to her colleagues, most of whom only pretended an interest, but in private she regularly studied the photos of the baby she’d never touched, the baby who was her flesh and blood. She even shed tears over them. She must be getting soft in her old age.
Old? She wasn’t old. Well, not very.
The day she turned fifty-three, she bought herself a bottle of champagne but didn’t open it. She scolded herself for getting upset. She should be used to having no one to celebrate her birthday with by now. But the tears took a while to stop.
A few weeks before she planned to retire for real, there was a business downturn and the company began shedding jobs, something it did periodically. Brilliant! She applied for voluntary redundancy.
Morris Turner, current CEO of the whole Australasian region, visited Sydney and called Lara into his office for a private meeting. ‘I’d like you to withdraw your application for redundancy, Lara. We need you to move to Singapore and—’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘We’ll make it up to you financially, of course.’
‘No, thank you.’
His voice became persuasive. ‘Just give us a few more months, Lara. Come on, you know you enjoy managing these projects. You’ve handled this last one brilliantly.’
She stared at his elegant figure: stylish business suit, modern hairstyle and all. What stood out to her were the gleaming white teeth parted in a slight smile. He’d spent a lot of money on having his teeth fixed. She was suddenly annoyed by the falseness of that smile, which he could don so easily. It was very different from the real smile he occasionally wore when he was with his wife.
‘Lara? Are you with me?’
‘What? Oh, sorry. You’re wrong, Morris. I no longer enjoy managing these projects.’
He continued to try to persuade her to accept and when she didn’t give in, the discussion turned nasty.
‘I’ll make sure you don’t get that redundancy,’ he said suddenly.
‘If you do that, I’ll make sure it tarnishes your reputation as a manager. It could even be seen as discrimination against a woman because Harley Black has been granted redundancy and he’s at my level.’
‘Be very careful that you can live on your savings, then, Lara, because if you don’t do this for me, I’ll make sure you never find work in the company again, possibly even in the industry.’
Her voice was as sharp as his. ‘I’ll never want to find work like this again, Morris. I have my next occupation all planned. It’s part-time and will be far more enjoyable.’
She started towards the door without waiting for him to say anything else. And he must have believed her because he let her go.
Back in her own office, she sat down, covering her face with her hands for a few moments and using a breathing exercise to calm herself down. She’d suspected for a while that she was in danger of burning out if she didn’t take care, but she hadn’t told anyone that.
Retirement day came at last, and to her amusement her last working day was 1st April. It seemed appropriate, she thought as she got ready for the obligatory party and fuss.
Inevitably, Morris Turner was there and at one stage, he cornered her. ‘I meant what I said, Lara. You won’t easily find another job. No one messes with me.’ His smile never faltered as he spoke.
‘For heaven’s sake, Morris. I didn’t do it to mess with you. I need some downtime.’
‘You’ve never needed it before. And smile, damn you. Do you want everyone to know we’re at odds?’
‘Doesn’t matter to me now.’
She turned and walked away from him, nodding and saying suitable goodbyes to people as she pushed steadily through the crowd.
Done, she thought as she left the ugly modern office building. Over and done with.
She didn’t look back.
It was a huge relief to board her flight to the UK that evening. The flight seemed to go on for ever but at last they landed at Heathrow.
After she’d retrieved her suitcases from the carousel, she joined the shorter queue of British citizens returning to the UK, passing quickly through the various checks to the airport exit. She was home to stay.
Only, was this her home now? She hadn’t lived in the UK continuously for years.
Yes, of course it was home! She’d grown up here, married here and her children were here. There was nowhere else she would want to go.
She’d even found herself somewhere to live, couldn’t wait to see the house she’d bought online. It was in a new housing development in Wiltshire, called Penny Lake. The name had caught her eye first, then the fact that it was a small development of the sort often called leisure villages, on the same campus as a golf club and hotel.
As long as she wasn’t extravagant, from today onwards she wouldn’t need to work at all unless she chose to.
Why wasn’t she bouncing with joy, then?
Why did she feel so off-balance?
It was mid-morning local time when she wheeled her luggage trolley towards the meeting point and looked for the driver of the limo her financial adviser, John Crichton, had volunteered to organise to take her to Wiltshire. She scanned the signs various drivers were holding up to collect their passengers but there was no ‘Lara Perryman’ on any of them. Strange, that. Perhaps her car had been held up by traffic.
She waited impatiently for a few minutes but no driver looking for her joined the group. Most of them collected their passengers and left within minutes.
Taking out her phone, she rang John’s office to find out what was happening but there was no answer. His receptionist was usually there at this time of day, even if he was out. Lara had never really taken to Sandra, but the woman was super-efficient, you had to grant her that. However, there wasn’t even his usual ‘sorry to miss you’ answerphone message today.
Almost half an hour crawled past and still there was no sign of Lara’s vehicle – nor had she managed to get through to John’s office.
Feeling more than a little frustrated, she decided she’d waited long enough. What had gone wrong? Could he have mistaken the day? It seemed unlikely. And even if the car he’d hired for her had been in an accident, someone would have phoned John and he’d have got in touch with her. Only they’d have got no answer from the office either.
In the end she decided to hire a car and drive herself to Wiltshire. The delay made her wish she hadn’t given in to John’s insistence on arranging transport for her, but he was usually more efficient than this. He’d managed her finances ever since her divorce and done it well, too.
She intended to organise her own finances from now on and was looking forward to doing that.
She glanced round for car hire companies, not looking forward to driving along the crowded M4 motorway. It wasn’t pleasant at the best of times and today she was exhausted before she even began. However, needs must. She’d probably go straight to bed when she got to the hotel on the same site as her as yet unfurnished house.
After going through the necessary formalities, she was driven out to the depot where you picked up your vehicle.
They had coffee or tea available for customers. The tea was ghastly stuff but she downed a plastic cup of it quickly to help keep herself awake, then was taken outside and given a gabbled run-through of how the controls worked.
Once the young guy had gone back inside, she settled into the driver’s seat, following the signs to the M4 and easing into the heavy traffic. Thank goodness she was on the very last stage of her journey.
She didn’t bother with the radio because her mind was on her new house. It had been ready for several months now, but her diversion to the Australian project had stopped her even checking it out. She’d bought it while working in America from the online plans, an impulsive act very unlike her.
She’d only been half-heartedly looking through houses for sale in England at the time, just to start getting the feel of property prices in Wiltshire, where she’d decided to settle.
Of course she’d contacted the builder and asked a lot of questions before she signed up for a house. She wasn’t that rash.
A sign read ‘Slough’. She nodded at it, then went back to her thoughts.
John Crichton had counselled her against buying a house like that but for once she’d ignored his advice. She was good at reading house plans and could use them to mentally walk through the place. The design she’d chosen would suit her needs perfectly and the fact that it was in a leisure village would bring her a way of life as well as a home. There would be neighbours to meet, things to do. She might even take up golf. No, perhaps not. She’d never been in to sport. But walking, yes. She would enjoy walking in the English countryside.
Her daughter, Darcie, and her son-in-law had gone to check out the development and later checked her finished house. They’d said it had been well built.
In spite of that, her accountant had said it would be risky to make the final payment till she’d seen it herself. She’d ignored that advice too. Her daughter wasn’t a fool, nor was her son-in-law.
Besides, this developer wasn’t a big, faceless international company but one where you were in direct contact with the people who owned the business. She didn’t know why but she instinctively liked and trusted Molly Santiago, who took care of sales and customer relations at Penny Lake while her husband supervised the building side of things.
It was like that sometimes, even online: you felt an instant rapport with some people and not with others.
The redundancy payment Lara had received added a nice extra chunk to her savings. It was sitting in her personal bank account right now. It would more than cover furnishing her new home and buying a car.
John had also said he could get a better day rate than she could for placing the money temporarily, but she’d wanted to have it to hand so she’d refused his offer.
When she stopped at a motorway services near Reading for a comfort break, she tried again to reach John with the same result: no answer.
She was beginning to feel uneasy about this. He hadn’t had a heart attack or something, had he? But even if he had, the answering service would still be operating, surely?
She’d soon be passing Swindon. Living round there would be convenient for visits to her daughter and her son, because Joel worked in Bristol and Darcie lived in nearby Gloucestershire. Lara’s mother had died a few years ago and her father had found a new partner and moved to live with her in Portugal. Lara would drop him an email once she was settled in, maybe go and spend a few days with him and whatshername, as he’d invited her to do. Or maybe not.
She’d felt a tinge of envy at the thought of how quickly both her ex and her father had found new partners, though Guy’s second marriage hadn’t lasted, had it?
She’d have liked to find someone too but it just hadn’t happened. So all right, she would remain Ms Independent and cope on her own with whatever life threw at her. She was used to that.
Not long now to her turn-off. She couldn’t wait to get there.
Chapter Two
Ross Welby stared across the table at his soon-to-be ex, who was putting on a ‘poor me’ act and doing it brilliantly, as usual. He hoped the arbitrator wasn’t easily fooled by pretty women like her and that his own feelings of annoyance hadn’t shown too clearly in his face.
He and Nonie Jayne were here to decide the fairest way to settle matters financially so that they could finalise their divorce. Arbitration was the only thing they’d agreed about so far, because neither of them wanted to spend a fortune on lawyers and court cases.
He’d refused to give her what she wanted because she’d been ridiculously greedy in her demands. He couldn’t afford to pay that much and keep the home that had been in his family for nearly two hundred years, could he?
And why should he anyway? They’d only been married a short time and she wasn’t dependent on him for living expenses.
Talk about a mismatch. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, but once they’d married and started living together full-time, he’d found out that they had nothing whatsoever in common except for physical attraction.
There was a tap on the door and a young man peered in. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Smyth, but there’s an urgent message for Mr Welby and the caller said it was some last-minute information relevant to this meeting.’
Smyth waved one hand in a gesture of permission to pass on the message.
Nonie Jayne folded her arms and let out a huff of annoyance.
‘Mrs Morgan says please could you phone her ASAP, Mr Welby.’
Ross looked sideways at Smyth. ‘She’s my cousin and she’s keeping an eye on my house. I could phone her from the corridor outside, if that’s all right with you? I’ll be quick, I promise.’
Smyth looked at his watch. ‘Why don’t you take it in here, then I can decide immediately whether it’s relevant to our meeting or not? We do need to get on with this.’
So Ross took out his phone and switched it back on. Fiona wouldn’t be phoning him for no reason.
She answered immediately. ‘Ah, Ross. Thank goodness I caught you. There’s been another incident here today, as you suspected there might be, but we repelled the would-be invaders.’
‘Thanks, Fiona. I owe you for that.’
‘There’s more. The private investigator phoned. He said your ex was definitely behind the other attempt to get into your house and he found out something else. I’ve sent you an email with a summary and an attachment containing the details.’
‘Good.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Slowly.’
He ended the call and switched over to his emails, reading the summary and attachment. Surely this would make a difference to the final payment? He didn’t want to lose his long-time family home. He turned to the arbitrator. ‘This is definitely relevant to our conversation today, Mr Smyth. See for yourself.’
Nonie Jayne cast a suspicious glance across the table and said in a sharp voice, which was in great contrast to her usual soft tone, ‘Surely what we’re doing is more important than him picking up his emails!’
Ross ignored her and held out the phone to the arbitrator. ‘Here.’
Smyth glanced quickly at the summary, then looked at Ross. ‘May I see the attachment as well?’
‘Yes, of course.’
A couple of minutes later, Smyth asked, ‘Why is your cousin involved?’
‘I asked her to look after my house while I was at this hearing because there has already been an attempt to enter it unlawfully. I also hired a security guard to stay with her, not only for her protection but as an independent witness.’
Nonie Jayne pushed her chair back and stood up, her American accent stronger than usual. ‘This is not why we’re here today. I won’t stay to—’
The arbitrator looked at her. ‘I think you’d better stay, Ms Larson. Unless you’re not interested in having any input into my final decision.’
All hung in the balance for a moment, then she sat down, scowling at them. ‘I should have been allowed my own attorney today.’
She’d said that several times and Smyth ignored her remark. ‘This appears to be proof that you’ve been married four times, not two.’
‘That isn’t a crime!’
‘But you stated in your deposition that Ross was your second husband.’
She shrugged.
‘And you apparently received large settlements when your former marriages broke up, so you’re not as short of money as you claimed.’
Another shrug and a scowl in Ross’s direction.
He was still trying to get his head round the idea that he’d been her fourth husband.
‘Finally, you seem to have hired people to remove certain objects from Mr Welby’s house. You gave them front door keys, so they must have assumed that you had right of entry.’
Nonie Jayne’s face twisted with anger and the glance she threw at Ross would have curdled milk. ‘Well, it’s my house too and I had possessions to retrieve. He wouldn’t let me in.’
‘What possessions?’
‘Some ornaments that I’m particularly fond of.’
Ross leant forward. ‘Every single item of yours has been returned to you, Nonie Jayne, as you well know. You not only signed a statement to that effect but gave me back the house keys. Which means you must have kept a set.’
She smirked at him briefly, then turned back to the arbitrator and put on her big-eyed, mournful face. ‘I hadn’t remembered everything when I made the first list, Mr Smyth, I was so upset about him throwing me out. These sentimental items are still missing and he won’t let me in to find them.’
Smyth spoke again and this time his voice sounded much more forceful. ‘Let me remind you once again that it isn’t your house any longer, Ms Larson. We established that at the beginning of today’s session and you should take it on board. Mr Welby has offered you a sum of money in full quittance of any further financial obligations, to help you reorganise your life. Since The Gatehouse has been his family’s home for over two hundred years, it’s perfectly reasonable for him to keep it and for you to move on.’
She blinked her eyes and a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks. Ross knew she could do that at the drop of a hat.
‘That’s sooo unfair! I loved living there and it quickly became my home as well! We don’t have such beautiful old places in the States.’
Ross snorted in disgust. ‘If you loved it so much, why were you looking into selling it just before we split up?’
‘I didn’t!’
He pulled some papers out of his document case. ‘I have statements here from two estate agents about being invited to look round and value the house. I was away on business on the dates they gave me, Mr Smyth. Luckily for me, one of the agents was a friend’s son, who asked me why I was selling, or I might not have known about that.’
‘I only wanted to know how much it was worth.’
There was a pregnant silence, then she began to sob, doing it as prettily as she did everything when she was on display. She looked very different when indulging in a private quarrel, not nearly as pretty then.
Ross leant forward, raising his voice. ‘And the people you sent to the house to retrieve things were trying to take away my most valuable silver, Nonie Jayne. Family treasures.’
‘You gave them to me after we got married.’
‘I’d never do that. They’re family heirlooms to be passed on to the next generation.’ Ross turned to Smyth. ‘The items she’s talking about are described and listed in the prenuptial agreement.’ He pulled out his copy of it from his folder and showed them, highlighted in bright yellow, offering it to the arbitrator.
‘I have a copy, Mr Welby, thank you.’ Smyth turned back to Nonie Jayne. ‘Ms Larson, you both signed this to say that in case of a break-up you’d each keep what you brought to the marriage.’
The sobs stopped abruptly. ‘A prenup isn’t legally binding in the UK. Everyone knows that.’
Smyth leant forward, speaking slowly and clearly. ‘As I said earlier, it may not be legally binding, but most people consider it morally binding these days. You should view the one you signed in that way, especially given the brevity of your marriage, Ms Larson. And actually, the British courts have been increasingly taking note of prenups during the past few years, as long as they’ve been drawn up and signed in a proper legal fashion. Which yours was. The contents of The Gatehouse were checked and the valuable items photographed by an independent valuer as part of that process.’
Ross didn’t say anything. His cousin Fiona was the one who’d nudged him to make a prenuptial agreement and he was extremely grateful to her for that.
When Nonie Jayne moved out, after only a few months of marriage, she’d taken a valuable figurine and several pieces of family silver with her. The latter had been traced by the police to London and CCTV had shown the seller to be his ex. He’d threatened to accuse her of theft if she didn’t return the rest of the things she’d taken and he’d found them one day on his doorstep. He hadn’t had her charged because he’d got the items back.
All he wanted now was to get his divorce finalised and never speak to her again.
Unfortunately, around the time they broke up, his health had begun to deteriorate and then his great aunt Iris had fallen ill. He’d had to supervise the old lady being moved into a hospice until she’d died, which had distracted him more than a little.
After one very stiff visit, Nonie Jayne hadn’t gone near his aunt – he could see now that she’d been making sure Iris wasn’t wealthy and had lost interest at the mere sight of the small house. He doubted she’d even remember now where his aunt had lived.
He missed Iris greatly and was finding it hard to get down to clearing her house. He would inherit everything from her once they got probate, and it might be mercenary, but thank goodness Iris had died after he and Nonie Jayne had separated, so that his ex had no claim to a share of the inheritance.
His aunt hadn’t been rich but she’d left him a small house, which would bring in enough to more than make up for this expensive mess.
The arbitrator looked at Ross. ‘All right if I download this document from your private investigator? It’ll be relevant to keep a copy of it in our records.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll send it to you as an email attachment, shall I? No, how about you do that yourself? Then you’ll be certain that what you get won’t have been tampered with.’
‘Thank you. I will, if you don’t mind. But please watch me do it. I don’t want to make a mistake or for there to be any doubt in your mind – or Ms Larson’s – about exactly what I’ve done.’
Ross leant closer, nodding as the correct file was forwarded.
Nonie Jayne didn’t attempt to check, just drummed her fingers on the tabletop and muttered something to herself.
When he’d finished forwarding the files, Smyth stood up. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’
After he’d left the room, Nonie Jayne said in a low voice, ‘You’ll regret cheating me like this, Ross Welby.’
‘No, I won’t, because I’m not cheating you. You should let your attempt to get more money out of me drop right now. You’re leaving our farce of a marriage with a good profit, far more than you could have earned in a year working as a model. Be content with that.’
‘You could’ve afforded to be a lot more generous, you cheapskate. My other husbands were.’
‘You must have way overestimated my wealth or I doubt you’d have married me in the first place. I think you were also dazzled by the idea of living in a historical house, however small. I’ve had to make serious economies to buy you off and you’re not getting another penny beyond that if I can help it.’
‘Just watch me!’
He’d never seen her so angry or heard her talk so wildly.
‘Excuse me.’ Smyth had returned and was standing in the doorway listening unashamedly. ‘I wonder if you could confirm that you have a copy of the settlement suggested by Mr Welby, Ms Larson?’
‘Of course I do.’ She tapped the papers in front of her. ‘It’s pitiful. How can he cry poverty with all those valuable items in the house?’
He came in and closed the door, sitting down before he continued. ‘Please listen carefully: my finding, in view of what has happened today at The Gatehouse and your previous marital situation, and also in view of the very specific prenuptial agreement, is that this list be applied to your situation.’
Nonie Jayne looked older and not nearly as pretty when she gave in to her temper, Ross thought as she stood up and thumped the table.
‘He’s cheating me!’
‘No, he isn’t.’
‘I shall definitely appeal!’ She grabbed her papers and stamped out of the room like a child throwing a tantrum.
Smyth switched off the recording device and looked at Ross. ‘You expected something like this to happen today, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. As far as I can work out, she’s been using her beauty to make serial marriages and build herself a fortune and she’s furious that I’m not as rich as she thought.’
‘Worried about her making an appeal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Off the record, I doubt she’ll succeed, though of course I can’t guarantee anything. But this is England and she seems to be judging everything by American precedents. I think you’ve been very reasonable, given the circumstances.’ He paused and frowned. ‘Have you any idea of what she is worth financially?’
‘I know what she says she’s worth.’
He grinned. ‘Maybe if your PI can find that out, you could ask her for financial support.’
Ross rolled his eyes. He didn’t want anything from her.
Picking up his document case, he stuffed the papers back into it. This mess was his own fault. If he hadn’t stupidly rushed into marriage, it would never have got to this stage. Only, his first marriage had been so happy he’d somehow expected a second one to be the same. He rubbed his forehead, which had started to ache again.
‘Are you all right, Mr Welby? You’ve gone rather pale.’
‘I think I’m coming down with the flu.’ He didn’t tell people he had been diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome. Some folk still thought it was an imaginary illness. He wished! Perhaps he should take a holiday or something.
And leave his house unoccupied? No way! He wouldn’t feel safe until Nonie Jayne found another fool to marry, hopefully one who lived in Timbuktu!
Chapter Three
Lara slowed down as she left the motorway and drove through the village of Marlbury, which was the closest place to her destination. It was as picturesque as its online photos. She’d take the time to explore it one day.
With the satnav guiding her, she easily found Penny Lake, just to the south. Pushing her tiredness aside, she parked and went into the hotel before she did anything else, smiling at the woman in reception. ‘I’d like a room for a night or two, please.’
‘I’m so sorry but we’re fully booked tonight. We have a big wedding on, you see. They’ve taken every single room and even so, some of their guests have had to stay elsewhere.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘We’ve rooms free from tomorrow onwards, if that’s any use, and I can direct you to somewhere nearby for tonight.’
‘Thank you. That’d be helpful. I’d better book a room for tomorrow while I can.’
She took the business card of a B&B and walked out to her car, feeling leaden with fatigue and disappointment. As she glanced to her right she could see the village, looking just like its most recent online photos. She drove the couple of hundred yards to the sales office, which was still open, thank goodness.
A woman of about her own age looked up from the desk.
‘I’m Lara Perryman. I’m supposed to be taking possession of my house today.’
‘Ah, yes! Welcome back to England! I’m Molly Santiago. We’ve been emailing each other for months, so I feel I know you. It’s great to meet in person.’
They shook hands.
‘Want to look round your house?’
‘I’d love to. I can’t do an inspection or anything today, though. I’ve just got back from Australia and I haven’t slept for about thirty hours.’
‘You must be exhausted!’
‘Way beyond that but I’d still like a quick peek at the house.’
Molly pulled out a sign that indicated she’d be back soon, took some keys out of a drawer and stood up. ‘Let’s go.’
They walked down a gentle slope and past a few neat houses at various stages of being built. There was a large, completed house beyond the short terrace of houses, with a car in the parking bay. One of the ‘detached residences’, as the brochure had called them, but it was the small terrace of six houses that Molly headed for.
She flourished one hand at the left-hand house. ‘This one is yours.’
As if Lara hadn’t devoured the online photos till she knew every pixel by heart!
Unlocking the door, Molly gestured to Lara to go inside first. ‘I’ll have to come round with you until we officially hand it over and sign the forms. Sorry to intrude on this special moment but we have to be so careful with insurance requirements.’
Lara had been walking round the house mentally for months and as she did it for real, she was thrilled to find it had turned out just as she’d hoped: clean, bright spaces and polished wooden floors. Not a big house, but with decent-sized rooms – there was only her to live in it, after all. A quick look round thrilled her. Her daughter was right. It had been beautifully finished.
She was so looking forward to moving in and furnishing it to her exact taste after the years of rented, characterless ‘executive accommodation’, mostly in serviced apartments.
She went outside onto the back patio, from which she could see part of the lake itself to the right. It was only about three hundred yards away and she could see herself strolling round it regularly.
Then a huge yawn caught her unawares. ‘Sorry. I’d better go and find somewhere to stay. I gather there are a couple of bed and breakfasts nearby.’
‘Aren’t you staying at the hotel?’
‘Unfortunately they’ve no vacancies.’
‘Oh yes, it’s the Callander wedding tonight. Big affair.’ Molly stopped walking to frown, then said, ‘You look exhausted.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Another yawn fought its way out.
‘Um, should you be driving?’
‘I shall drive like a careful snail.’
‘Look, you’re welcome to say no, but you could stay in that caravan for tonight, if you like.’ She pointed to a small, rather battered-looking caravan next to the sales office. ‘There’d be no charge. It’s very basic, but it’s clean and has an attached bathroom. I stayed there myself for a while when I first came to work here.’
Lara didn’t have to think twice. ‘That’d be lovely and I accept happily. I’ll still have to drive out to buy some food so perhaps you can tell me the closest place to do that?’
‘You could get a full meal or bar snack tonight at the hotel, or buy something to take away from them. You can also get breakfast there tomorrow, however full the hotel is.’
Lara had to struggle not to weep in sheer relief. ‘That’s wonderful! I’m so grateful for your help, Molly.’
‘Better come and look inside the caravan first. You may hate the feel of it. It’s very small.’
‘I doubt I’ll pay much attention to my surroundings. I’ll be asleep within minutes, I’m sure, because I never sleep much on planes.’
‘Let me get the key, then.’ She hurried back to the estate office.
Lara walked across to the caravan to wait.
Molly joined her and opened the door. ‘Voilà!’
Lara peered inside. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘You don’t want to check out the amenities?’
‘Not as long as you guarantee there is a bathroom, Molly.’
‘You poor thing. You really are beyond exhaustion.’
‘Yes. Not to mention jetlagged. You’re being very kind.’
‘I arrived here on my own a few months ago and people were kind to me. I’m just passing it on. You can do the same one day, pass it forward.’
Lara had heard other people say that sort of thing and thought it, well, a bit New Age, even soppy, but something about Molly said she was being sincere and really meant it. That was a charming attitude to the world.
With her companion’s help, Lara took everything she’d brought with her out of the car and into the caravan, then listened to instructions on how the various mechanisms worked. All she really wanted was to be alone so that she could fall into bed and sleep for a million years.
But Molly was frowning at her. ‘Don’t go to sleep quite yet. I’ll bring you some tea-making stuff and a packet of biscuits. You really should have something to eat and drink before you sleep. We keep a supply of that sort of thing in the sales office, so it won’t take me a minute.’
It would have been rude to reject this further kindness and now Lara came to think of it, she was rather hungry. She opened her case and got out her nightdress and dressing gown, then her toiletries. The bathroom was tiny but hey, it had everything she needed.
She considered making one last attempt to contact John, but Molly returned just then and the sight of food made Lara set her phone aside.
After consuming a fruit juice and two biscuits, Lara visited the bathroom, kicked off her shoes and wriggled out of her clothes as fast as she could. She couldn’t be bothered to set up the double bed, so slipped into the lower of the two bunk beds.
Groaning in delight, she let the world fade away.
When Lara woke, it was daylight and for a few moments she couldn’t figure out where she was. Then she remembered and eased herself out of the bunk to visit the amenities, which were in a sort of annexe to which the caravan was connected by a narrow tunnel. She hadn’t noticed such details last night.
Staring at her face and tousled hair in the mirror, she grimaced. She still looked deep-down weary.
‘Jetlag rules,’ she said aloud and took a wonderfully hot shower.
Holding a cup of coffee in her hand, she sat on the steps of the caravan, turning up her face to let the morning light bathe her skin. That always helped banish jetlag, people said, though she wasn’t the sort to waste time sunbathing otherwise.
She wondered briefly what had happened to the car that was supposed to pick her up, then shrugged. Water under the bridge. No doubt there would be someone in John Crichton’s office today and they’d explain what had happened.
It was still only just after six o’clock and she wondered whether the hotel coffee shop would be open yet. She was absolutely ravenous and no wonder. She’d hardly eaten a thing for the past twenty hours.
On that thought she drained her coffee and went inside, grabbing her shoulder bag and locking up the caravan before following the path across to the hotel.
To her relief, the coffee shop was open and, better still, she was able to go through into the hotel dining room and order a full English breakfast, even this early.
When she came out, full of good food, she paused to watch a group of women making their way past the hotel to the golf course. She’d never been able to understand why people chased little white balls so avidly, but there you were; it took all sorts.
She glanced at her watch again. Still too early to phone John. Too early to do anything really. As she’d found out after her first stint of working in Australia, English people were much later starters in the mornings and it took time to adjust. Down under, her local supermarket had opened at seven and done good business at that time too.
No use trying to do anything till she could sort out her house.
She’d take a brisk walk round the lake, then.
The sales office had a sign in the window saying it opened at ten o’clock. At nine o’clock Lara was on the point of phoning her accountant’s office when she saw Molly’s car draw up. She put the phone away and went across to say good morning.
Molly waited for her. ‘Did you sleep well, Lara?’
‘Brilliantly. I was too tired to do otherwise. I’d better return the caravan key.’
‘What about your luggage? You won’t be able to get into your hotel room until two o’clock. You won’t want to cart it around with you all day. Why don’t you keep the key and the caravan till then?’
‘Thanks. But if we can do the inspection of my house, I can leave everything there.’
‘All right. I’ll just get the checklist.’
This time Lara felt as if her brain had come alive as she walked round. She checked every single cupboard door and drawer, every tap, everything she could think about which might not function properly, even though Darcie and Carter had come and done the same thing. It was all in working order, thank goodness.
Molly smiled tolerantly. ‘I don’t blame you for checking but my husband is very particular that his houses are built properly and finished in every detail. Shall we go back to the office and sign off, then the house will really belong to you? There will be a chance to do some snagging later on, of course, if you find anything not working properly.’
‘Yes, good.’ Lara beamed round, reluctant to leave. She absolutely loved the feel of her new home.
By the time they’d finished the paperwork of the handover, it was ten-thirty in the morning. Lara transferred her suitcases into her new home and took out her phone, sitting down on the stairs for lack of any furniture.
When she clicked on John’s name, the number appeared on her phone screen but it didn’t ring. There was just a message saying that this number was no longer in service. That message hadn’t been there yesterday, so she’d just thought the answerphone had been switched off.
She tried to email him but the message bounced.
One possible explanation crept into her mind and she tried hard to push it away. No, it couldn’t be! Surely not? She tried his website, with the same result. The web page had vanished.
Then she sat and stared at her phone, her stomach churning as she faced the worst-case scenario.
Could John have run off with his clients’ money?
Surely not? He had come highly recommended, had been helping her with her investment portfolio for years, building its value up steadily, had always seemed such a kind, charming man.
But why else would his office and email have stopped working, when last week everything had been normal? There had definitely been no notification of any changes about to be made.
It suddenly occurred to her to ring the concierge’s office in the same building. They’d got her a taxi two years ago and given her a card in case she needed their help in future. She’d entered their number into her phone automatically. Frantically she searched through the list, trying to remember what name she’d used for it, sighing with relief when she found it under ‘John’s concierge’.
The man who answered the phone was very polite. ‘I’m afraid Mr Crichton closed down his office the day before yesterday, or rather his secretary did. He left last week. I don’t know where she is now. She said she had another job to go to.’
Oh no!
‘Do you have any forwarding address or number?’
‘No, sorry. I’m afraid not. Mr Crichton said he was retiring and everyone who needed to know about it had already been sent the necessary information.’
‘He didn’t tell me he was retiring and I’m one of his clients.’ She closed her eyes, couldn’t believe what the concierge had just said.
‘Oh dear. You’re the third client to say that.’
Her heart sank. She didn’t know what to say.
‘We could take your number and if he gets in touch, we’ll tell him you called.’
‘Yes. Thanks.’ She reeled it off.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, madam?’
She tried to pull herself together. ‘No. No, thank you.’
She sat there, phone in hand, seeking frantically for another explanation, but could only return to her earlier conclusion, the only one that made sense now.
John Crichton must have run off with his clients’ money.
What other explanation could there be for his sudden disappearance? Businesses didn’t simply close their doors when they had clients still listed with them.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t think what to do.
Chapter Four
Nonie Jayne stormed out of the building where the arbitration conference had been held and went round the corner towards the car park. She was so angry she didn’t look where she was going and bumped into someone just inside its entrance. When the man kept hold of her arm, she opened her mouth to scream for help.
He let go quickly. ‘I’m not a mugger.’
She took a step backwards, still sizzling with fury, more angry than she could ever remember since she’d been a helpless child.
‘Would you like a drink? You look so upset I don’t like to leave you. You might walk under a bus next.’
So she looked at him more carefully. Not a wealthy man but strong-looking, and the admiration in his eyes as he stared at her was comforting.
‘There’s a nice bar just round the corner.’
‘Very well.’ She didn’t drink but he was right: she was too angry to drive safely, especially when she had to do it on the
