Part Seven

The next morning Orla called into the café. Isobel knew it wouldn’t be long until she did, the woman couldn’t cope with suspense.

                “So how did it go?”

Isobel bent down behind the counter to retrieve some trays and when she stood back up saw Orla standing there eyes agog. She gave a noncommittal grin and a shrug as she really didn’t know how to answer that. “Well, he forgave me! He’s a lovely guy…”

                “But?” Orla leaned onto the counter pushing her face close to hers.

Isobel sighed, “but I don’t think I’m ready for anything more than friendship, and I saw him canoodling with a woman he works with.”

                “Canoodling?” Orla gasped. “How old are you? You sound like my mother! You need to talk to him if you think there’s another woman around. And as for you not being ready…Taylor is nearly six. By your own admission you’ve not been near another man since you split with her dad...it’s hardly as though you’re rushing into things, being impulsive.” Reaching out she placed a hand on Isobel’s arm. “You’ve got nothing to lose really.”

                “Only my sanity! He’s dangerous. And it’s taken this long to be really happy…”

                “And are you truly happy? Do you want to spend every night in bed alone, no one to keep you warm in the winter, or hug you when you’re sad? No one to share the happy times with. I can’t believe you’d throw away the chance to spend more time with a stunning, rich and funny guy. Maybe you need a psychiatric appointment!”

Isobel handed her friend a coffee, “so you think I should throw caution to the wind?”

Orla took the mug, “I’m just hoping that if nothing comes of this it’s because you don’t like each other, not cos you’re scared. Je ne regrette rien and all that.”

Isobel cleaned the counter, deep in thought for a moment, then she finally looked at her friend, “Ok, ok. I’ll invite him out again, I’ll do something…I don’t know what. We’ve both got quite a lot of commitments.”

                “I can always help out, you know that.”

They hugged, “thanks chick, you’re a good friend!”

They chatted generally over the coffee before Orla had to dash back for her first client of the day. Then it was the preparation for Michael’s office run.  As soon as he left for the office run, she phoned Marc.

                “Hi,” he answered after a couple of rings, she could hear the smile in his voice at discovering it was her.

                “It’s me!”

                “So I see, I was just thinking about you.”

She felt herself smiling, “all good I hope?”

Marc chuckled, “of course! I really enjoyed last night. And is this you calling wanting more of me?”

She laughed out loud at the audacity of the man, “no you left something in my car.” Even she felt the quick excuse was weak but he always forced her to show her emotions, pushed her to answer questions she wasn’t ready to answer. Not yet.

                “That’s a shame as I was hoping to take you out for another lovely meal, as I crave your company.”

She smiled and relaxed a little, “I’m sure I can be tempted!”

                “Can you now?” she couldn’t mistake the suggestive tone in his voice. “I was thinking of a couple of beers and a curry.”

Her stomach groaned despite being in a room full of food, “I am very tempted!”

                “Really?” he exclaimed, “trust you to want something so simple! I presume that the Plough is out of the question?”

She sighed, “I’d rather not broadcast us having a night out there!” When he sighed she added quickly, “not yet anyway. I know a nice little pub just the other side of the cricket club?”

                “Perfect, can I pick you up tonight?” she could hear the apprehension in his voice. He wasn’t sure she’d agree.

                “I need to check if I can get a sitter. I’ll let you know in a bit if I can make it for definite.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, “if you can I’ll pick you up around half seven.”

When Michael came back from the office run, he found Isobel smiling quite smugly to herself.

                “What?” he asked instantly defensive, suspecting she had dropped into something unfavourable as was her usual trick, wrapping it all up with a smile.

                “I need to ask you a favour!”

He dumped his jacket and rolled his eyes, “what?”

                “I’ve been asked out tonight.”

Michael squealed, “What? When? Where? Who?”

She laughed, there was no use hiding this from Michael, he was like a dog with a bone when it came to romance or secrets, “um, dinner, tonight, pub somewhere local with ‘a fabulous, gorgeous entrepreneur’?” she mocked his previous admiration.

                “Shut UP! Him? Mr Coffee Shop? I don’t believe it!” His hands covered his mouth dramatically.

She laughed, “I’m serious, but I need a sitter.”

                “Yes, yes, yes, as long as I can meet him first,” with that he gave a lecherous wink.

At dead on half seven, there was a gentle knock at the door. Isobel was in the kitchen, finishing off her hair, and so lost the battle with the virtually sprinting Michael to reach the door.

By the time she got there, the two were engrossed in a very awkward, very one-sided conversation, with Marc, who never looked ruffled, leaning against the door-jamb listening to the rather energetic ramblings of an awe struck Michael. They both turned to her as she approached and the look of lust that flashed across Marc’s face thrilled her.

                “You look fantastic!” he offered taking her hand, before turning back to Michael. “Nice to meet you, hope to see you again in the future!”

With that he led her out to his car; tonight he was driving a low black two seater sporty car, elegant and expensive.

He handed her into the car, then slid into the driver seat next to her. With a smile, he kicked the car into gear then drove out of the village.

                “The cricket club is the other way,” she protested as he turned the opposite direction to the one she expected.

He nodded knowingly, “we’re not going there. I’ve borrowed a boat from a friend!”

Isobel looked up at him with a frown, “a boat?”

He glanced at her smiling, “a motor cruiser, it’s moored up a couple of miles away, just up from the estuary. I’ve arranged for a restaurant I know to deliver food to us in about an hour. Time to look around first.”

She contemplated this for a while, trying not to feel nervous, scared about being alone with him, she felt safe in busy places, alone she had no idea how she’d handle it, then there was the fact that their date involved a motor boat, a delivered meal from a restaurant. It was all too scary.

But nothing prepared her for arriving at the jetty that moored the boat, only it wasn’t a boat as much as a floating mansion, the lounge he showed her into was bigger than the ground floor of her house. Two sides were completely glass, floor to ceiling. There were comfy looking leather sofas scattered around glass topped coffee tables. A large bar dominated the one end of the room, and a huge plasma TV screen the other.

                “Wow!” she was looking around in wonder. “This place is fantastic!”

He headed to the bar and opened a fridge, “I know, and the thought that it gives you so much freedom too, you’ve just got to fire up the engine. Wine?”

She nodded, “thanks.”

                “Then I’ll show you around.” There was a small spiral staircase that led up to the hub of the boat, the “cab” he called it. Another door led to a flight of stairs down to three large double rooms, two huge bathrooms and a kitchen.

                “I can’t believe this, this is bigger, better and much more updated than my home, and this is just a hobby, no one lives her permanently?”

He laughed, “This is not as big as some, but you’re right it is plush, and no, the owner uses it for occasional weekends, parties...”

They headed back to the lounge and he found the stereo, there were a few reasonable albums, so he put one on and sat the opposite end of the sofa to her.

                “So how was your day?” she asked.

He shrugged, “for the first time in my life I’m finding work a chore. I’ve always loved what I do, but I moved out of London to spend more time with the kids...and now I find I can’t fit everything in.”

Isobel could share that sentiment, “so what are you going to do?”

He shrugged, “I don’t want to give up completely, but maybe I need to delegate, shift things I don’t HAVE to deal with. Prioritise, you know?”

                “But I bet that’s not exactly practical.”

He nodded in agreement, “you’ve got it. The management books seem to think it’s easy, but it’s not. I could sell a lot of things...but it’s a difficult decision to make.”

She sipped at her wine, “I suppose you’ve built your work up over such a long period of time, to sell will make you feel stripped of all you’ve worked for.”

Marc nodded enthusiastically, “that’s exactly how it feels, I’ve worked all my life to get to this position...but I won’t have another chance to see Sophie and Lucas grow up again, and it my work was detrimental in the demise of my marriage. I suppose I can increase things later on. Anyway enough of me, why did you start in this field? Catering?”

                “I went to a catering college, but dropped out in my second year because of Taylor, after she was born, this café came up...so I managed to get some money together, and bought ‘Taylor made’. It’s been hard, but the last eighteen months we’ve done really well. Finally feel like things are settled, working out for me...”

She was about to pass comment that all bets were off now that he was traumatising her business world. But the words stayed on her lips as at that moment they were disturbed by the food delivery.

Soon they were sat at a table, warm bread, pasta and salad between them to share. Marc sat back in his chair and watched her buttering some bread, “so what about your family? I presume Orla is a good mate, but you don’t mention anyone else. “

She froze in her task, and he realised that he’d crossed into a taboo zone, “it’s not a great story.”

                “I’m interested because it’s part of you, but if you don’t want to tell me, don’t you know by now that I understand?”

He was right, Orla was right, at some point she had to lower her defences, and maybe tonight was that time? She took a deep breath, as her mind drifted back ten or fifteen years, and told him about her father, the gambling, prison, her mother, them both dying.

Marc was silent as she finally looked up at him, and he could see the fight to control the tears in her eyes, even all these years later she was still distraught at losing her parents so dramatically.

                “Wow, didn’t spot that coming. But it does make me realise why you were so angry when we were gambling in the pub before.”

She nodded, “that careless streak, the live for the moment. It was so hard to cope after all he did to us. My mother was a shadow of herself. I hate him for what he did to us, but I hate him more for dying and not coming out and making things right. He was my father,” she offered sadly, “he was always supposed to make things good.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand, “that was really tough Isobel, but you’ve got through it.”

She nodded, “which is why I devote all my time to making Taylor’s life loving and happy.”

He took a deep breath, “doesn’t her father help out? Shouldn’t he make things easier, make things better for her?” he saw her visibly pale at that. He hated that he made her relive what was obviously a horrible time.

Isobel shook her head vehemently, “no. He’d be of no benefit to her. He was a mistake, and she doesn’t need him and he doesn’t deserve her.”  He was shocked at the anger and determination in her voice.

                “Will you tell me about him?”

She got up from the table and walked to the window, and looked out across the water at the setting sun glinting on the ripples. His hands slid around her waist as he came to stand behind her, taking in the same view.

                “You don’t have to. I shouldn’t have asked.” His chin rested on her shoulder and he appreciated the same view as her.

She shrugged, “it’s just that no one knows, I’ve never told Orla, my Aunt. No one.”

                “I don’t want you to feel threatened by this.”

She turned in his arms and looked up at him, “just answer me one question?” He nodded, so she asked, “What’s going on between you and the woman from your coffee shop? The one who spoke at the launch.”