“Your water, Madam.” A discreet waiter in a sleek gray uniform places a glass at my side.
“Thanks.” I smile at him, and he nods. This hotel is very hip, with stylish furnishings and staff who look like supermodels. It’s exactly the kind of place that Zoose would go for a conference—and the exact opposite of the Rilston. The receptionist isn’t embroidering thongs, or gossiping about the other guests, or flogging antiques. Nor could I imagine any of them playing the French horn.
To be honest, it’s more fun at the Rilston, and I feel a pang of longing. I want to be back there, with Cassidy and Simon and Nikolai and Herbert. With the creaky floors and the rickety beach lodges and the waves. And Finn.
Finn.
I feel a surge of pain and shut my eyes for a moment. Then I deliberately turn my thoughts away. I can’t let myself dwell. I’ll see him when I get back. I know exactly what I’m going to say, I’ve planned it. And then … we’ll see.
I get up to check on my taxi—then jump as I see Joanne striding into the hotel, talking loudly on the phone. Shit. Shit. I immediately want to run in the opposite direction—but I can’t. Not this time.
She’s wearing one of her relaxed luxe trouser suits and designer trainers, and is flicking back her hair.
“No, kindness,” she’s snapping crossly at someone on her phone. “I told you, the kindness project—” She breaks off and stares at me.
“Call you back.” She puts her phone away very slowly, and I can see her mind spinning.
“Sasha,” she says at last. “What the hell are you doing here?”
For a moment I hesitate. How much do I say? But Joanne’s expression has already cleared.
“Oh my God,” she says scathingly. “Don’t tell me you want your job back.”
“I was just … thinking about it,” I say truthfully.
Joanne’s eyes snap in triumph.
“I knew it! I said, ‘She’ll be back.’ I suppose that’s why you’re here.” Her disdainful gaze flicks over me. “What were you planning to do, ambush Lev again?”
“No! Actually—”
“And what, we’re all supposed to overlook the way you behaved?” Joanne cuts across me. “You think you can just turn up and we’ll put aside your unprofessional conduct? I heard you typed a load of gibberish on your exit form. I gather my name was mentioned several times. Were you drunk?”
“No.” I glare at her.
“Well.” I can see Joanne getting into her stride. “If you want any chance of working for Zoose again, Sasha, I’m afraid we’re going to have a few stipulations. I’m going to need an apology for your behavior. I’m also going to need some evidence of your commitment to the company well-being philosophy,” she adds menacingly. “I might devise a special program for you. And don’t expect that you can speak to Lev whenever the mood takes you. He’s a very busy and important man. He doesn’t have time for—”
“Sasha!” Lev’s voice interrupts us and I turn to see him hurrying into the lobby, along with Arjun. “So glad I caught you, I thought you might have left. I just wanted to thank you again for your time. We’re hugely grateful to you, aren’t we, Arjun?”
“Absolutely,” says Arjun. “Very good to meet you, Sasha.”
“And we do hope we can lure you back to Zoose,” says Lev, grasping my hand tightly. “Whatever it takes. Whatever you need. Spending time with you has been …” He seems to cast around for a word. “Profound. Yes. Profound. Ah, Joanne,” he adds, seeing her. “You know Sasha. Sasha is the secret to our future success. If we can persuade her.”
Joanne is speechless. Her eyes are bulging. She opens her mouth, makes an indistinct sound, then closes it again.
“We know each other,” I say. “I’d better go.”
“Well, I’ll see you soon, I hope,” continues Lev, apparently oblivious to Joanne’s discomfort. “Let me know when you’re back in London and we’ll have lunch. And give my best regards to Finn. And of course Terry! The meister. You have to meet this man,” he enthuses to Arjun. “Surfing teacher. Genius. Philosopher. We should get him to give a motivational talk. Oh, your taxi’s here, Sasha. Safe travels.”
“Bye, Lev,” I say. “And thanks for your offer. Bye, Arjun. Bye, Joanne,” I add politely.
But Joanne doesn’t reply. She still seems dumbstruck. In fact, she looks a bit green. Ha.
I make a mental note of her expression, to cheer myself up with later. And then I make another mental note: Talk to Lev about Joanne. The prospect of her as a colleague again is nearly enough to make me turn down his offer, so we’ll need to discuss that. And lots of other things, I should think. I’ll start a list.
On the train, my phone lights up with Mum’s name, and I answer at once.
“Mum!”
“Sasha! Darling, how are you? Kirsten says you’ve left your job. Well, now, that’s tremendous news. Tremendous. What a good idea. Fabulous.”
Mum sounds so ridiculously upbeat, I want to giggle. I just know Kirsten’s given her a pep talk about not sounding negative.
“Yes, I’ve left.” I hesitate. “For now.”
“Marvelous. Very good. And how’s the Rilston? How’s the sea view?”
“It’s great,” I say, thinking of the moonlight on the waves I was gazing at last night. “It’s a magical place. I feel like I’ve transformed.”
“Sweetheart.” Mum’s voice softens. “I’m so glad. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Thinking about us. Remembering.” She pauses. “Maybe we should go to Rilston Bay as a family one of these summers. All of us.”
“I’d like that.”
“Kirsten says she’s found some old photos. She said they brought it all back. She wants to bring Chris and the children, rent a cottage. Carry on the tradition.”
I have an image of Ben and Coco toddling in the shallows, smooshing ice creams into their faces, maybe even having surf lessons one day … and feel a swell of joy.
“Yes! Let’s do it.”
“So, what are your plans now? Are you staying there much longer?”
“No,” I say, after a moment’s thought. “I’m coming back soon.”
“Now, Sasha,” says Mum at once. “Don’t rush yourself. You’re always a one for rushing.”
I’m a one for rushing?
“I’m not. Really. It’s been great, but I need to … reengage. See some friends, hang out with Kirsten, tidy my place up.”
“Well,” says Mum. “If you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.” I nod, staring out of the train window, watching fields go by. “I’ve done everything I came to do.”
After we’ve said goodbye and rung off, I hesitate, my phone in my hand. Then, on impulse, I open the Tesco website and log into my account, barely used over the past two years. I’m going to do a shop. A proper supermarket shop. I’m going to buy ingredients.
I click on onions. Stock. Carrots. Turkey mince. Come on. I can do this. I can run my life.
When my basket’s full, I survey it with a kind of pride. Not many people would call a Tesco online basket a thing of beauty, but right now this is all part of my new life. Where I look after myself. Where I value myself. And it looks beautiful to me.
Twenty-Five
After twenty minutes of the Mavis Adler art event, I’ve honed my line, which is, Stunning, isn’t it?
To be fair, the art is stunning, in a metal girders kind of way. The pieces are strewn around the massive ballroom, looking pretty incongruous against the peeling damask wallpaper and tattered curtains. They’ve all got titles, but I couldn’t say what any of them is supposed to mean.
But so far I’ve held my own in conversations with a lady from Sotheby’s, a man from some Cork Street gallery, and a local journalist. It seems most art experts are happy to spout on endlessly about their own opinion. So my method is: Let them do that while I get on with drinking the free champagne. And when they pause, say, Stunning, isn’t it?