Page 56 of The Night Before Christmas
Of course, cheating on people might still be in her genes. If that was the sort of thing that could be coded into them. Felicity wasn’t sure and made a mental note to do some googling later. Because she suddenly knew, and with frightening clarity, that Bertie hadn’t been the only man to visit the house. Her father was often away, travelling to the mainland for his work as a surveyor, and her mother had never let her social life suffer as a result. As children they had assumed these mysterious ‘visitors’ were just friends, had pictured them sitting around in the ‘smart dining room’ with their mother, elegantly dressed, playing cards or embroidering cushions or some other Austen-like activity.
Oh God.
Felicity felt uncomfortably hot and uneasy at the thought that those innocent soirees might have been something Other… but she had to admit there were a lot of men. A lot. A whole lot of single men. Visiting late. Leaving early. She could see some oftheir faces if she concentrated hard enough. Not that she wanted to.
Even in Derbyshire, there had been visitors. She remembered them coming now, knocking on the door for a late ‘supper’ with their mother. They were sent to bed early on those evenings, but it was such a small place they could always hear the murmurings from downstairs. And other sounds too, laughter, sometimes crying, the sound of glasses chinking and strange, animalistic noises coming from their mother’s bedroom on the other side of the rickety stairs. Funny, thought Felicity, how she had managed to block this all out until now. The metaphorical equivalent of sticking her fingers in her ears.
She had always found it a strange dance, the mystery of other people’s sex lives. How on earth did anyone ever know who was sharing a bed with whom? Or who had an ‘understanding’, as it were? And how did it come about? It was like a card game she had never learned the rules for. These nightly goings on always seemed so separate from the mundane day to day of living; ethereal, somehow, and yet so base at the same time. Was that a British thing? Perhaps. It seemed inconceivable, in particular, to think that Felicity’s incredibly beautiful and poised mother had ever been naked in the presence of a man. Blimey, no. Let alone multiple men. No wonder Felicity had blocked it out. She wondered if Tristan knew and had kept it from her all these years.
That night, her sleep was filled with lurid images of her mother in the arms of a succession of naked strangers, and even an elderly Bertie, complete with carpet slippers and a pipe. It was not a pretty picture. She woke up in the early hours in a cold sweat, her heart racing, and wrapped her arms around herself.Jocelyn, what a hot mess you were.
After a while, her heart slowed but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she lay in the dark, cocooned in luxurious sheets andthe complete darkness and silence of the hotel. Of the island, for that matter. And as she lay there, she wondered exactly how many other latent traumatic memories she had buried deep inside her. It was time, she thought, to get some help.
But Felicity still had two more days on Guernsey. And despite everything, she was determined to make it feel like a holiday.
It wasn’t that hard. The place was just so beautiful. On Monday morning she got up early and walked and walked and walked and, as she did so, she rolled all this new information around in her mind like savouring a new flavour of ice cream. And as she wandered, she found fields that would soon be drifting with rare orchids, watched birds of prey wheeling overhead and got deliciously lost exploring the ‘green lanes’, cliffs and footpaths that were supposed to be reminiscent of Devon and Cornwall. There were stunning coves and beaches and ancient architecture all over the island, it seemed, and all with a delightful French flavour, a little like the Bissons, in fact.
In the afternoon she finally managed to catch a boat to the nearby island of Herm. Her face nearly froze off during the short and deserted boat ride over, but she found peace and solitude on the tiny island rumoured to be a favourite of Cliff Richard, of all people, and she walked the entire circumference from high cliffs to low beaches in a couple of hours. Halfway round, she thought she saw a seal bobbing and disappearing amongst the waves. Puffins and dolphins could be seen here too, at the right time of year, and in the spring and summer it was awash with wildflowers. Perhaps old Cliff wasn’t so bad after all.
CHAPTER THIRTY
By Tuesday,she was even starting to feel a little bit relaxed.
After breakfast –smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, if you don’t mind, thank you very much– she decided to head to the north side of the island. Sexy barman – whose name, she had discovered, was Colin – had advised her there was a great walk to Fort Pembroke right in the far north east where you could sometimes see gannets diving into the English Channel and where, usually, you had a beautiful stretch of coastline to yourself, and she was feeling peculiarly excited about it. She had even contemplated asking Colin if he’d like to join her.
Okay, total disclosure, she had actually asked Colin if he wanted to join her, but he’d given a wry smile and flashed her his wedding ring. Felicity immediately resolved to pretend that never happened as she backed rapidly away from the bar, muttering something about a misunderstanding under her breath.
Cringe.
Moving on.
The morning was bright and fresh and she lingered in reception looking at all the leaflets for local attractions, pretending it wasn’t nearly time to go home, before heading toher hire car. Her heart was feeling light with possibility as she skipped down the entrance steps, and then something stopped her dead in her tracks.
Leaning against the car, looking for all the world as if he owned the whole bloody island, was Adam.
Felicity’s jaw clenched shut. She was rooted to the spot.
‘Hello, you,’ said Adam, pushing himself away from the car with one foot as if this was a perfectly normal scenario.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ said Felicity. Her voice had a definite wobble.
‘Well, would you believe it? I’ve been meaning to come over for ages. The firm has a very – shall we say “worthwhile” – client in St Peter Port – and when I found out you were here at the same time, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. What a coincidence, eh?’
When her face started working normally again, Felicity raised an eyebrow to the sky.
‘And you expect me to believe you’ve come all this way just for some property deal?’
‘Oh but this is not just any property. This is Guernsey property.’ Adam waved his arms around in the vague direction of the rest of the island, then grinned. ‘Fine. I wanted to see you.’
‘Yes, well, your timing couldn’t be better. I booked this trip specifically so I could bump into you.’
‘Ah. Sarcasm. There’s the Brooks I love.’
He took a couple of steps towards her and she pretended not to notice how good he was looking in his white shirt and jeans combo against the expansive blue Guernsey sky.
Her fists clenched.You’re mad with him, remember?
‘Seriously, why are you gate-crashing my lovely restful me-time? Don’t you remember what happened in the pub?’
