Escape for Christmas (17 page)

All the time she was doing this her mobile phone rang endlessly. Gemma ignored it until she was finished and she’d lugged the suitcase onto the landing. She knew seeing Cal’s picture flashing up would only make her howl even more: it was a shot of him she’d taken on that perfect afternoon at Penmerryn Creek. In this shot Cal was forever frozen in time, a dragonfly in amber of a man balancing on the rotted pontoon and laughing down at her, deep creases fanning out from his twinkling eyes and the sky a perfect cloudless blue above his curly head. The happiness of that afternoon and the love he’d felt for her shone from the shot, worlds away from the harsh words and recriminations of earlier this evening.

Gemma returned to the bedroom and sat on their bed with her head in her hands. She needed to get a hold of herself. That warm sunny afternoon might as well have happened in another lifetime. The Cal who’d made love to her so tenderly, kissing every single freckle on her pale shoulders, wouldn’t have dreamed of sneaking off for sleazy weekends in London with his ex-girlfriend. That Cal had loved her, she knew he had, and she’d loved him too. How had things managed to go so wrong?

The slamming of the front door made her jump.
Cal!
cried that foolish, pathetic part of Gemma that was longing for nothing more than him to come striding into the house, sweep her into his arms and tell her that it was huge misunderstanding.

What was she thinking? How on earth could any of this be a misunderstanding? Gemma laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. Of course it wasn’t a
misunderstanding
. Mammy South had been perfectly clear that Cal was seeing Aoife – and she’d been thrilled about it too, the evil old boot. Cal hadn’t exactly denied it either.
Trust me
? Yeah, right.

Still, if this was Cal and he had an exceptionally good reason, she’d probably forgive him – although he’d have to really grovel first…

“Gemma! Are you upstairs?”

Oh. Angel. Another person who was seriously in Gemma’s bad books right now.

Thump. Thump. Thump. For such a slim fairylike creature Angel certainly stomped up the stairs like an elephant. When she appeared in the doorway the reason for this became clear: Angel was wearing a huge pair of Dubarry boots under her ball dress. With her long blonde hair tumbling down from her updo and her cheeks slapped pink by the cold, she looked like she was off to do a photo shoot for Mulberry. Cara Delevingne would probably rock up in a minute too.

“Blimey, your house is cold,” said Angel, rubbing her bare upper arms. “No wonder you and Cal never have sex. He’d freeze his bits off.”

When it came to the day God handed out diplomacy, Angel had been right at the back of the queue, or sleeping in.

“The reason Cal and I aren’t having sex, as you so tactfully just reminded me, is because he’s seeing Aoife,” Gemma told her. Saying it out loud made her stomach clench and a wave of nausea swept over her, because now this was real.

“Oh, Gemma, what a load of old bollocks,” Angel declared. She clomped into the room and hurled herself onto the bed. “Of course he isn’t. This is Cal we’re talking about. He’s not got a cheating bone in his body.”

“Of course he hasn’t. He’s just been secretly meeting his sexy lawyer ex behind my back for a coffee,” Gemma said sarcastically. “Silly me.”

“I know it doesn’t look good,” Angel was saying, putting herself right up there to win Understatement of the Year, “but I really think you ought to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. I know there’s bound to be a totally innocent explanation.”

“Angel, if there was, Cal would have told me.” Gemma was certain of this. Why else would Cal hold back? It didn’t make sense.

“Maybe he can’t tell you?”

“Of course he can’t: he’s having an affair!” Tired of this circular conversation, Gemma hauled herself onto her feet. “I don’t know why you’re so keen to stick up for him. You’re supposed to be on my side. If Laurence was cheating on you I’d want to throttle him.”

“If Loz dared to cheat on me he’d soon be wearing his willy as a new kind of dicky bow,” Angel said firmly, with a toss of her blonde mane. The look on her face said that she wasn’t kidding either. “Anyway, I’m not taking sides. I just think you should give Cal a chance to explain. Wait until the contract is over for the show.”

Arrah! If Gemma heard that phrase again she was going to explode. First Cal and now Angel.

“While the contract’s still binding anything Cal says and does is up for grabs,” Angel continued. “He’s got zero privacy, which means that your relationship with him is totally in the public eye. He knows how much you hate that, babes. Maybe he’s waiting until he can speak?”

It was a nice idea but with one fatal flaw.

“The cameras don’t follow us home,” Gemma reminded her friend. “That was why we moved here.”

“It certainly wasn’t for the heating,” Angel said. Her slender arms were covered in goosebumps and her nose was starting to turn blue. “Can’t we go back to the Hall and warm up? I’m starting to feel like Jack in
Titanic.
”

Gemma ignored her moaning and, abandoning the bedroom for the landing, began to thump her suitcase down the stairs. “Cal and I can talk in private any time we like when we’re at home. If he wanted to talk he’d be here now – but no, he’s far too busy filming.”

“Filming is his job! It’s what he gets paid stupidly big amounts of money to do! Here, let me help with that, for heaven’s sake, before you hurt yourself.” Angel grabbed the end of the suitcase and together the girls manhandled it down the rest of the narrow stairs. Once they were in the hallway, Angel added, “And FYI, when I left he was having the most almighty row with his harridan of a mother. You should have seen him, Gem! He’s furious with her.”

Gemma laughed bitterly. “Of course he is. She really dropped him in it.” She dragged her case to the door. “He nearly got away with it.”

“Not because of that! Because she’s been such a bitch to you!” Angel grabbed Gemma’s arm and swung her friend round to face her. “You should have heard him; he was wonderful. He told her that he loves you and that if she carries on being so unpleasant and disrespectful she can get straight back on the plane. You’re making a big mistake if you walk out on him! Cal loves you. I know he does.”

For once Gemma’s best friend was serious. The pouty, hair-twirling, designer-crazed Angel was gone and in her place was the razor-sharp and determined woman who ran a successful TV company and who’d managed to convince one of the richest and toughest Russian oligarchs on the planet to help her. For a moment her vehemence made Gemma hesitate. Was Angel right? Ought she to give Cal a chance to explain?

Then again, how many chances did he need? He’d lied about meeting Aoife. What else had he lied about? Where was all the cash from the show going? If Cal’s share was “stupidly big”, as Angel had said (and with the high ratings the show had enjoyed this year, Gemma had no reason to think this wasn’t true), then why was there never any money? What or who was he working so hard for? Why wouldn’t Cal level with her about this? And then there were the mysterious phone calls and the wiped browsing history. Gemma’s head was spinning from thinking about it all.

It wasn’t just this business with Aoife. There was something much deeper going on and Gemma was tired, just so bone tired, of it all. She needed a break to clear her head.

“I need some space,” she said wearily. “I can’t go on like this. It’s impossible.”

“You’re really leaving him?” Angel asked. Her blue eyes were wide with horror. “Gem, you can’t! You mustn’t! You love Cal and he loves you! This is mad!”

“If Cal loves me so much, why isn’t he here?” Gemma said quietly. There was still a treacherous little part of her that was longing for Cal to stride through the door and put everything right, although with every second that passed this was looking less and less likely.

“Because I said I’d come and talk to you!” Angel cried. “Gem, he doesn’t think you’re leaving. He was sorting out his mum and then finishing the final shots. He asked me to make sure you were all right.”

Typical, Gemma thought. She was second as usual and Cal had farmed out checking on his betrayed and heartbroken girlfriend to somebody else. Enough really was enough.

“I need to get away,” she repeated. “I’m not asking anyone’s permission, Angel. I’m doing this for my own sanity. If Cal wants to put things right he can tell me the truth. Until that happens I really don’t think I want to see him.”

“Where are you going?” Angel asked. Her voice trembled.

“Cornwall,” Gemma told her. Until that moment she hadn’t given any thought to where she was going, but now a plan was taking shape. “I’ve got that cottage in Rock booked, remember? The one I was hoping to go to with Cal? I may as well make the most of it.”

Angel glanced outside. While they’d been talking the snow had started settling, a talcum-powder dusting on the hard earth. The B road beyond the estate was bound to be icy already.

“I’m not going to change your mind, am I?” she said sadly, and Gemma shook her head.

“Only Cal telling the truth could do that.”

“And you really can’t trust him and wait?” As Angel said this it seemed to Gemma that her best friend couldn’t quite look her in the eye. Was she hiding something? Gemma wondered, before giving herself a sharp mental kick. All this business with Aoife was making her paranoid and suspicious – two very unattractive qualities and not ones that she wanted to become a permanent part of her psyche. This was why she had to get away.

“Trust works both ways,” Gemma told her. “Cal knows where I’ll be if he wants to talk.”

Angel nodded. “I’ll tell him, Gem, but please…” She paused, looking as though she was about to add something further, before shrugging. “Just give him a chance to explain. I really don’t think Cal is the type to cheat.”

“They’re all the type to cheat,” Gemma said despondently. She picked up her mobile. “Don’t look so excited – I’m not calling Call: I’m calling a cab to take me to the station. I’ll catch the last train and get Dee to pick me up from Bodmin.”

“Don’t be daft. You’ll freeze to death. Look, if you’re really sure you want to do this you’d better take the Defender. You’re still insured to drive it, so you might as well use it. The keys are in it,” Angel said quietly. “I’ll borrow a coat and walk back.”

That might be a better solution, Gemma reflected. Rather than disturbing Dee so late, perhaps for tonight she could find a budget room somewhere en route; then she could check in to the cottage tomorrow. Together Angel and Gemma carried the suitcase out of the Lion Lodge and to the car. The world was silent and still, except for the whirling snowflakes spinning down to earth in a giddy dance, and when Gemma started the engine the throaty diesel roar made both girls jump.

“My sister’s in Rock for Christmas,” Angel told Gemma. “I’m going to text her and let her know you’ll be there. Talk to Andi about this, Gem. She’s always got a solution.”

Andi Evans was brilliant and brainy but Gemma knew that even she couldn’t solve this problem. Cal was the only person who could do that – by telling her the truth.

As she drove away into the darkness, her heart breaking all over again with every mile that took her further from Cal, Gemma had a dreadful suspicion that Cal wasn’t going to do this. That meant only one thing: Gemma Pengelley and Callum South were over for good.

Chapter 16

Seagull Cottage was everything that Gemma had hoped for. It was set just above the slipway, the last dwelling in a picturesque crumpled terrace of fishermen’s cottages, and gazed out across the ever-changing waters of the Camel Estuary. Thick walls kept the chill winter wind at bay when it whipped the Atlantic into a stampede of galloping white horses, and clever double glazing meant that you could easily curl up in a window seat and watch the view, your toes toasty thanks to a cute pot-bellied wood burner and state-of-the-art heating. The bespoke kitchen was small but beautifully designed, with glowing walnut work surfaces and an electric Aga that looked the part yet was easier to use than her microwave. The giant sleigh bed nestled under the eaves, a perfect place to snuggle up when the storms rolled in. The roll-top bath just called out to be filled to the brim with Floris bubbles, and wallowed in while sipping champagne from one of the elegant flutes generously supplied by the owners.

Yes, Seagull Cottage really was everything that Gemma had dreamed of – apart from one vital detail: she’d never envisaged being here without Cal. The whole point of this peaceful haven had been that they could spend time together and find themselves again. The reality was, Gemma thought sadly as she pulled on her boots and prepared to wander into the town, they’d never been further apart.

Just as Gemma had predicted, the small seaside town had come to life for Christmas. As she strolled along Rock Road she played a little game for her own amusement, which involved counting how many Range Rovers, Porsche Cayennes and BMW X5s she could see. When she reached double figures before she’d even got to the beach, Gemma gave up. The festive season was certainly here now. The cafés were filled with glossy new arrivals, snugly wrapped in Boden and Hermès scarves and wearing pristine Dubarry boots. The shop tills rang as pasties, local cheeses and organic vegetables filled Cath Kidston cloth shopping bags. Although the snow had melted away the further west Gemma had travelled, it was still bitterly cold – the coldest winter in a decade, according to the weather forecasters – and walking along the beach now, Gemma wondered how Cal was managing at the Lion Lodge. Had he figured out how to coax the asthmatic fan heaters into life? Was he cold in bed without her? Did he miss her as much as she missed him?

She checked her phone for what had to be the millionth time in the past hour, but apart from one text when she’d arrived – a simple message saying that he loved her and wanted her to trust him – there had been nothing. Gemma had fired a quick text back saying that she loved him too but wouldn’t be lied to, and since then there had been silence.

Gemma felt sick, so sick that she’d hardly been able to eat a thing since she’d arrived in Rock. The misery diet had to be her most effective yet, she thought glumly. The luxury hamper sat forlorn and unloved on the kitchen table in Seagull Cottage, all the goodies that she’d looked forward to sharing with Cal still wrapped up in red ribbons and glossy paper. He’d have loved that goose-liver pâté, spread on crusty lightly toasted bread, and they would have made a mini picnic in front of the wood burner. Or perhaps they’d just have stayed tucked up in bed with the champagne truffles and mugs of hot chocolate. Even through her sadness Gemma couldn’t help smiling; far too much of their spare time was spent enjoying food, and a great part of their working life was spent creating it! No wonder they were both always battling the bulge.