began Ben.
Alan, impatient as always, interrupted. ‘Well, you don’t need to. It’s all taken care of. I picked up a flat last time I was down here,’ he said, the way someone might comment that they’d picked up a loaf of bread on the way home. Looking very pleased with himself he added, ‘You’ll need to get it furnished but I’m assuming you can organise that yourself.’
When he saw the look on Ben’s face he added, ‘You’ve enough on your plate just now with splitting your time between The Lemon Tree and this place. I knew you wouldn’t have time to go house-hunting. This way, it’s one less thing for you to worry about.’
‘You rented a flat without consulting me?’ said Ben, infuriated but not taken by surprise. Was there anything his father trusted him to do?
‘Of course it’s not rented,’ he snorted. ‘Rent is a waste of money. When you’re done with it, we’ll lease it out. Ballyfergus has a strong rental market.’
‘I’ll just be off then,’ said Jennifer’s voice and Ben swung round to find her standing by the door with her things in her arms. ‘Can I take the mood board?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ Ben went to get it and Jennifer said evenly, and without moving from her position at the door, ‘Goodbye, Mr Crawford. It was interesting meeting you.’
‘Yes, goodbye, Mrs Murray. It is missus, isn’t it?’
‘Actually no. It’s Ms. Murray’s my maiden name. I’m divorced.’
Ben, reaching down to grasp the mood board, felt his heart leap. He had to remind himself that, divorced or not, she might yet have a partner.
By contrast, Alan received this news impassively with a vacant nod, his face utterly still. When it mattered, he knew how to keep his thoughts to himself.
Jennifer walked out the door Ben held open for her, the mood board wedged under his left arm. Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving great puddles on the tarmac. Wordlessly they walked past Alan’s bright red Porsche, carelessly abandoned across two parking spaces, to her car. She opened the boot and he flung the board in on top of a jumble of wallpaper books, fabric samples and a pair of muddy green wellies.
‘Any chance I could get copies of those Calico plans?’ she said.
‘Sure. I’ll send them over.’
‘Oh. I haven’t given you my card. You’ll need the address.’ She put a hand inside her jacket, pulled out a small sheaf of business cards and handed one to him.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about my father.’
She paused for some long moments as if wrestling with something inside and then said, diplomatically, ‘You don’t have to apologise for your father. Ever.’ Clever, because it could mean two different things, if you thought about it. Then she opened the driver’s door, and regarded him thoughtfully, her eyes the colour of the chocolate velvet on the mood board. ‘I’ll be in touch early next week,’ she said brightly. ‘Have a good weekend, Ben.’
He went back inside where Alan, never one to quit until he knew he’d well and truly won, picked up the conversation where they’d left off. ‘The estate agent happened to mention the flat to me when I was down looking at this place,’ he explained. ‘It’s a high-quality new build and a good location within walking distance of here – and I got a good price. Nobody can resist a cash buyer in this climate.’ He grinned, delighted with himself.
Ben folded his arms. ‘It’s one thing overruling me on the bar area in the restaurant. I accept that you’re right about that. But the flat will be my home, not yours. I am capable of finding somewhere to live by myself.’
Alan shrugged, utterly indifferent to Ben’s objections.
‘Don’t you see my point, Dad? I’m a grown man and you bought my home without consulting me.’
‘Ach, stop moaning, Ben. I don’t see what I’ve done wrong. I didn’t buy it, the business did. And it’s not your permanent home – just somewhere to kip for a year or so,’ shrugged Alan. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about the flat if I was you, son. You’re hardly going to see the inside of the place. If you’re going to make a success of this restaurant, you’ll be working day and night down here.’ He paused, picked something off the sleeve of his jacket and fixed his eyes on Ben. ‘You’ll not have time for much else.’
Ben swallowed and said nothing, his heart filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. He looked around the dilapidated room and tried to dredge up some enthusiasm. But the prospect of running this place left his heart cold. He could not spend the rest of his life working for his father. But how could he tell that to him? He’d given him hope, a reason to go on, after all their hopes were lost that night.
Something bleeped in Alan’s coat pocket and he pulled out his mobile. ‘Ach, shite, that’ll be Cassie,’ he said referring to his new wife who, at forty-one, was twenty years his junior. He read the text message, and diamond cufflinks sparkled as he consulted the flashy Rolex on his wrist. ‘Bloody woman doesn’t give me a moment’s peace.’ Ben smiled and Alan said, grimly, ‘Wait till you’re married. You’ll know all about it.’
‘That’s not likely to happen any day soon,’ said Ben cheerfully, who’d come to see his break-up with Rebecca as a lucky escape.
‘Pity,’ said Alan.
Ben laughed outright at this. From what he could see, matrimonial bliss had eluded Alan. He was on to his third beautiful wife and, from where he was standing, none of his marriages had delivered up their promise of happiness.
‘What’re you laughing at?’ growled Alan.
‘Dad, come on. You’re hardly one to be dishing out advice about marriage.’
Alan speared him with his gaze, his eyes like lasers. ‘Maybe not. But you don’t want to leave it too late. Your mother tells me that you and Rebecca have split up.’
‘That’s right.’
He shook his head, sadly. ‘You need your head examined, Ben. You’ll not find a better looking girl anywhere. And what was wrong with the one before that? Emma, wasn’t it? She was a stunner too.’
Ben looked at his father in astonishment. If appearance was his criterion for a happy marriage, no wonder he’d gone so far wrong in its pursuit. ‘We weren’t suited, Dad.’
‘Well, they both seemed like very nice girls to me,’ he insisted obstinately. ‘By the time I was your age, you know, I was married. And by the time I was thirty, I had a kid on the way.’ At this, they both looked at the dust on the floor. The kid, safe then in his mother’s womb, was Ricky. The child that had broken all their hearts.
‘Steady on, Dad,’ said Ben, forcing a hollow laugh. He held up the palm of his hand to his father. ‘Marriage. Babies. What’s brought all this on?’
Hell bent on his own agenda, it seemed Alan didn’t even hear the question. ‘You’ve got to find the girl and get married before you even think about having children. You don’t want one of these high-flying career women. And don’t be getting some wee girl up the spout.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Ben.
