Sign of the Times (5 page)

“And do you like spending time with them, in the same way you enjoyed spending time with me?”

“No,” replied Holly. “It’s different.”

Dario smiled, content that she felt more than just friendship for him.
 
He wanted to jump up and down with glee.
 
He changed the subject and they were soon talking about the merits of Dante’s Divina Commedia and whether Sciascia could be considered as the greatest Italian detective writer.
 
They paused only when they were summoned through to for dinner.

Three hours and seven courses later, the speeches started.
 
Dario and Holly had been placed at tables at opposite ends of the room. Their only occasion for conversation was when they bumped into each other returning from the toilet.

The speeches finally drew to a close.
 
Then the music started and the bride and groom rose to dance their first dance as husband and wife. They were joined by two elderly couples and gradually the other guests joined them.

Out of breath after dancing for what seemed like hours, Holly begged her current dance partner to show some mercy and let her get a drink. She hadn’t noticed Dario dancing. In fact she was sure he wasn’t on the dance floor.
 
Glancing over to where he’d been sitting during the meal, she saw his table was empty.
 
She got herself a glass of wine and sat for ten minutes before realising he wasn’t coming back any time soon. Where was he?

She asked herself this again at two thirty when she left to return to the villa with the Tagliaferri.
 
Dario hadn’t returned all evening.
 
What was with that man?
 
To leave her once without so much as a by-your-leave was charmless, twice was downright rude.
 
Maybe she was already with the right man after all.
 
Pushing Dario from her thoughts, she fell into step with the two brothers.

Chapter Six

Tom - CAPRICORN

Capricor
n -
responsible, disciplined, practical, methodical, cautious, serious, sometimes pessimistic.
 
Believe anything worth having is worth working hard for.
 
Shy and sometimes awkward.
 
Need security, especially financial
.

Tom plonked his half empty glass down on the table, missing the beer mat.
 
Frowning, he glanced at his watch and saw Mike was now forty-five minutes late.
 
Tom wouldn’t have minded, but it was Mike who had wanted to go for a drink.
 
Sighing, he leant forward in his seat, so the barmaid might have a chance of seeing him, buried in the darkest corner of the room.
 
Naturally shy, Tom always sat in the deepest recesses of the pub, behind the pool table and the fruit machines.

Annoyed with Mike for being late, especially when he’d had to rush off site to meet him, Tom checked his watch again and decided
to get another drink.
 
Mike could get his own.
 
Gesticulating to the barmaid to bring him the same again, he took out his mobile.
 
With everything else in his life not exactly going according to plan at the moment, it comforted him that at least he had Holly.
 
Or, rather he did, when she was here.
 
She was often away
,
doing research for her books.
 
He was immensely proud of her and never passed up an opportunity to let people know his fiancée was the renowned travel writer.
 
With these thoughts uppermost in his mind, he called Holly.
 
After ten rings, her voicemail kicked in.
 
Frustrated, he replaced his phone in the pocket of his yellow builder’s jacket and gratefully took his
Guinness
from the barmaid.

As he drank, he mulled over the day’s events.
 
He had lost another two tenders, big ones.
 
O’Reilly’s had managed to undercut him again.
 
He didn’t know how they did it.
 
He was beginning to suspect foul play.
 
No-one could quote such cheap prices.
 
He sketched some figures again on the notepad he always carried with him.
 
Even allowing ten percent less margin, he simply couldn’t get near O’Reilly’s price.
 
Stumped, Tom put his notepad away and was relieved to see Mike approaching.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mike sank into a chair.
 
“Been here long?”

Tom happily welcomed the distraction of talking to Mike about ice hockey, the Grand Prix and their upcoming hill walking expedition, rather than think about the continuing slide of his business.
 
He hoped his business would still be going months from now.
 
Last year he had expected the business to continue to thrive, but this year, there was nothing but failure.
 
He had his fingers crossed that things would turn themselves around, but he didn’t quite know how.
 
Fortunately Holly wasn’t around often enough to notice.

Over the ensuing hours, they downed their fill of beer and
shorts
.
 
Tom managed to convince Mike it really was time to hit the road.
 
After a few failed attempts to pour Mike into the cab, they shared a taxi as far as Tom’s farmhouse.
 
Swaying slightly, as, although he was over six feet and built like an ox, he had downed a fair amount, Tom weaved his way up the path.
 
After much ado, he found the right key and slotted it into the lock.

Walking through to the bedroom he’d converted into an office, he flicked on his computer to check his email.
 
He hadn’t had much chance today, as he’d spent the day troubleshooting.
 
It was high time he promoted one of his assistant managers, as he couldn’t oversee everything.

Even if they were losing more and more tenders, that didn’t mean he had any less work, au contraire.
 
There were two major tenders, a new build site they were in for and a government bid, a new secondary school.
 
If he got those, he’d be laughing.

As the blurb came up on screen, Tom helped himself to a
Glenmorangie
.
 
He tapped in his password and as his email started downloading, raised his glass to his lips, letting the malt glide down his throat.
 
It burned slightly.
 
He checked his work email; a few new enquiries, but nothing of note; a memo from his bank manager.
  
He then logged onto Hotmail.
 
That should cheer him up.
 
Maybe Holly would have emailed.
 
She was in Arezzo.
 
He had never been to Italy.
 
Strange, that, Tom mused, as he poured another glass.
 
Here was his fiancée, a highly successful travel writer writing her third book about Italy and he’d never set foot in the place.
 
Then again, it’s not as if Holly had ever invited him to accompany her.
 
Slightly miffed by this thought, Tom reflected that it wasn’t Holly’s fault if he never showed any interest in visiting new places.
  
That was her department.
 
Tom was happier with a two week beach holiday.
 
He worked so hard that on the rare occasion he did take a holiday, all he wanted to do was lounge around, do a bit of swimming and have a few drinks.

Tom stared at the screen.
 
His eyes were tired.
 
There was an email from Simon giving him the details of the ridge walk they planned to do in a few weeks.
 
Tom loved the outdoors.
 
It would be nice to kick back for a bit.

He was just about to close down his Hotmail, when he saw a familiar banner, MSN Chat.
 
Still pretty awake, he decided to have a quick look to see what this chat room nonsense was all about and go to bed.
 
Rubbing his hands in glee, like a naughty schoolboy, he started tapping a few keys.
 
It was more complicated than he thought. First of all, he had to register.
 
He hated that, felt as if Big Brother really was always watching.
 
Not that he had anything to hide, but it annoyed him.
 
However, he decided to throw caution to the wind and input his data.

After what seemed an eternity of inputting his preferences in magazines, travel and sports, Tom was able to access the site.
 
Wishing to remain anonymous, he called himself farmboy35, as would you believe it, but farmboy up until 34 had been taken. Initially, navigating the site was rather daunting.
 
Eventually he stumbled across something useful.
 
A menu.

By this time, totally game, Tom went into the 31-40 section, where Sarah36, said “Hi Farmboy, how r u 2day?”

He typed back, “Fine thanks. You?”

“Gr8. Wot u do?”
 
Expressing himself in text messaging lingo was something he’d never bought into.
 
He wasn’t capable of differentiating between real jargon and what he’d be making up as he went along, so decided the best option was to steer clear of it altogether.
 
But, what to say to this woman?
 
Unless, she was really a man.
 
You could be chatting to anyone on the internet.
 
He’d read enough articles, to know you had to be wary, so simply put, “Own business.
 
You?”

The answer came back swiftly
.

“H/dresser, p/t.
 
Wer u from?”

At least he could understand her abbreviations so far.
 
Not wanting to divulge too much, he simply typed “the North”.

Several smiley faces appeared on screen, followed by “me 2.
 
Leeds.
 
U married?”

Slightly taken aback by such a personal question
,
Tom replied frankly
,
“No.”
 
It didn’t occur to him to explain he had a
fiancée.
  
They exchanged pleasantries for a while, Tom even becoming accustomed to the strange language Sarah used.
 
When, twenty minutes later, Sarah wrote “got 2 go.
 
Hope 2 c u soon x,” he was disappointed.
 
Mechanically, he switched everything off and went to bed.

*

“What’s your problem?” a voice yelled.

“You just ran into my car!”

Tom groaned, pulling the covers tighter around him.
  
His head was thumping.
 
It felt as if it had been hit full on by a wrecking ball.
 
He should never have drunk so much.
 
Whisky really didn’t agree with him.
 
He curled his body into the foetal position, wanting to die.

OK, he’d got the message.
 
He wasn’t going to get any more sleep.
 
Sitting up, he shielded his eyes against the sunlight spilling into his bedroom.
 
Bloody motorists.
 
What time of day was this to be having a confrontation?
 
He looked at the clock.
 
Shit. It’s half nine
.
 
He’d overslept.
 
Jumping out of bed and then quickly sitting back down, as he felt sick, Tom’s brain started to kick into action.
 
He was meant to be seeing the executives about the new build deal this morning.

Just managing to avoid knocking over the leafy arrangement positioned outside the lift, Tom sprinted along to his office.
 
His secretary told him the executives were already waiting for him.
 
Tom tensed.
 
Shit
.
 
He was late.
 
That was
not
going to look good.
 
Sweeping into the boardroom, Tom firmly shook the hands of the two executives.

“Would you like some coffee?” Tom enquired, feeling a little abashed when they looked pointedly at the table to show they’d already been taken care of.
 
Trying not to appear flustered, he set up his charts and handed out copies of his calculations.
 
He really was rough today.
 
He had better get a grip on himself.

Fortunately, Tom was excellent at presenting.
 
Favouring the more personal approach, he never adopted airs and graces and many companies liked that.
 
He was very well thought of and it was known that the standard of work from Matthews Construction was second to none.
 
They always used the best of materials and left an excellent job.
 
They also had a no quibble guarantee, which mattered a lot to customers, particularly when there were so many cowboys around.
 
Slipping comfortably into his presentation giving persona, Tom rattled through the details, asking at intervals if they had any questions.
 
In concluding, he felt confident he had given as good a presentation as possible.
 
He only hoped it didn’t go against him that he hadn’t been there when they arrived.
 
Hopefully his secretary had said he was busy elsewhere and he would come across as, in demand, as opposed to, late and hung-over.
 
Certainly when he was showing them out, they appeared enthusiastic, even volunteering that they would let Tom know within the next six weeks.

His guests gone, Tom slipped off his tie, picked up a bottle of water and drank it in one go.
 
He’d needed something to slake his thirst.
 
Whether that was from the strain and pressure he felt, or if it was down to his hangover, he couldn’t be sure.
 
Buzzing his secretary, he asked if she could get him a bacon sandwich from somewhere.

By the afternoon Tom felt more human.
 
He was due to visit two sites shortly and was glad he’d perked up, as the men would wind him up and say he couldn’t handle his drink.
  
Although he was the boss, he didn’t rule with an iron rod.
 
Starting off as a brickie’s apprentice not quite two decades ago, years of hard graft and sheer determination had got him where he was now.
  
He craved the security that financial success could give him, something his family hadn’t had, when he was growing up.

His business had started off small, just him, but his reputation had grown, as people were impressed with the job he did, so he had taken on a few labourers.
 
Six months later he’d needed to employ four more men and the success story continued.
 
Thinking back to those halcyon days, he wondered where it had all gone wrong.
  
Was there less competition then?
  
He quoted a fair price for a good job and liked to pay his labourers fairly, so they wouldn’t want to move on.
 
Shaking his large, blond head in despair, he wondered how his fiercest competitor was able to quote such killer prices.

Donning a hard hat as he arrived at the site, Tom flipped open his notepad to check what should have been done since his last visit.
 
He liked to be involved, to still get his hands dirty, but he really must talk to Jamie about becoming Assistant Manager.
 
They’d also have to look at doing some advertising, to try and drum up more business.