The next morning, I knock on Annabel’s cubicle door and tell her that I’ll do it, provided that someone else comes with me. After a brief team meeting, Emily bravely volunteers and the three of us congregate in the meeting room to thrash out the details.
‘I’d like Emily to take the lead on this one,’ I say to Annabel. ‘I know James asked for me, and he’s still getting me, but I’d like to be more in the background until we know what his ulterior motive is.’
‘How do you feel about that, Emily?’ Annabel asks.
‘I’ll be honest and say this is a long way out of my comfort zone,’ Emily replies. ‘I don’t know anything about the countryside and, from what Sophie has told me about shooting weekends, it all sounds pretty barbaric. However, as long as she’s there to support me, I’ll give it my best shot.’
We all groan at her involuntary pun.
‘That’s settled then,’ Annabel states. ‘I’ll write back to the client and say that we will take the engagement, but I can only spare you, Sophie, in an advisory capacity. I’ll put in the usual flannel about all our personnel being extremely professional and that we have every confidence we can make his event a complete success. You can then follow up, Emily, and arrange the initial meeting. Okay?’
‘Just one more thing,’ I tell her. ‘Make sure you get the money up front.’
‘You really think he won’t pay?’
‘I think it’s a significant risk, yes.’
‘I don’t think I can ask for all the money in advance,’ she replies, after mulling it over for a while. ‘What I suggest is that we do an initial consultation with him, followed up by a detailed proposal. We’ll charge him a flat fee up front for the consultation, and I’ll explain that this is standard practice for new clients. Then, if he’s happy to go ahead with the event, we’ll expect fifty per cent in advance, and fifty per cent within thirty days of completion. It’s still a risk, but at least we won’t be completely out of pocket if he doesn’t pay.’
‘We’ll need an expense budget too,’ I tell her. ‘It’s too far to go there and back in a day. I suggest that Emily and I drive down the night before, stay overnight in a hotel somewhere, conduct the meeting in the morning and come back after that.’
‘Good point. Put together some numbers and let me have them by lunchtime if you can. Don’t forget to include mileage if you’re planning to drive down there.’
By the end of the day, Annabel has mailed the proposal to James, with costs included, and Emily has set up a meeting for early next week. Normally, it takes clients a few days to come back to us, but his reply was instant.
He’s definitely up to something, and whatever it is involves me somehow. Even though I’m not going down on my own, and Emily is taking the lead, I’m deeply uneasy.
25
It’s the day of our initial consultation with James. Any hopes I had that he would object to paying for it up front and thus get us off the hook proved unfounded when the money landed in the account the day after Annabel emailed him. Emily and I drove down yesterday afternoon and spent the night in a hotel in Exeter. Now that she seems to have got over her problem with me, she’s actually very good company, and we had a very enjoyable evening together. As we get closer to the farm, though, I’m feeling more and more nervous and there’s a nasty dragging sensation in the pit of my stomach. Emily is also silent this morning; she’s already told me she’s nervous about this event, so I guess she’s gearing herself up for it.
I don’t know what I’m more anxious about: seeing James again, seeing Becky (assuming they’re still together), or seeing Rosalind. I haven’t heard a peep out of Rosalind since blocking her number, and I have no desire to speak to her now. However, as I keep reminding myself, this is aprofessionalengagement, and I need to keep it at that level. If that means being polite to my ex-husband, the woman who wrecked my marriage, and the mother-in-law from hell, I’ll just have to grin and bear it. At least I’m not on my own.
I feel weirdly detached as we pass through the village. Everything is still the same as when I lived here and I see a number of people I recognise, but I’m also acutely aware that I don’t belong here any more. After another five minutes, the familiar sign comes into view and I silently apologise to my car for the ordeal I’m about to put it through on the farm track. However, when I turn in, I have to do a double take to check that I’m in the right place. Instead of the broken lumps of concrete, with potholes hidden by the tall grass, the track is now smooth tarmac. Off to the left, I can see that the stables have been extended, and a huge horsebox with ‘Lynton Farm Livery’ emblazoned on the side stands in the yard. There are also other new buildings I don’t recognise, and the whole place feels like it’s been smartened up. As I pass our old cottage, I’m forced to pull into the side as another enormous horsebox with Becky behind the wheel trundles out of the yard. Despite my suspicions that she might still be on the scene, it’s a surprise to see her in the flesh. I can’t help wondering what the current set-up with her and James is, and if she knows about his little trip to Sussex to try to persuade me to come back. It’s safe to say that she doesn’t look at all pleased to see me, but she wasn’t exactly welcoming the last time we met, so I’m not reading anything into that.
‘I thought you said it was a dump,’ Emily observes.
‘It was. It’s changed a lot since I was last here.’
I pull into a car park that has appeared where there used to be a bit of scrubland and some rusty bits of old farm machinery. Again, it’s all smooth tarmac with delineated spaces and smart wooden fences. The main house has also received some attention, or at least a lick of paint on the doors and window frames. I feel like I’ve stepped into some sort of parallel universe as we climb out of the car and I lock it. A sign directs us to the farm office, where we’ve agreed to meet James. This was just a corner of the workshop with a tatty old chair and a battered computer when I lived here, but now it’s a standalone wooden building that looks like one of those garden offices you see advertised in lifestyle magazines. My heart is thrashing with nerves as we push open the door and I come face to face with James for the first time since our confrontation at my parents’ house.
He doesn’t look any different. He’s still handsome, and he smiles widely as he greets us, giving me the briefest peck on the cheek.
‘Thank you both so much for coming,’ he begins, as he directs us towards a large, squishy, leather sofa. I sink much further into it than I was expecting and I have to grab my skirt to stop it riding up. The last thing I need is to begin the meeting by flashing my knickers at him. It may seem odd to be protective of my modesty in front of a man who has seen me naked plenty of times, but I need him to know that there are strict boundaries now. I’m conscious of Emily having the same struggle with her skirt beside me, and I silently curse him for putting us in this predicament.
‘We’ve made a few changes since you were last here, Sophie,’ he says, making it sound as if I’m an infrequent visitor rather than an ex-wife who used to live here.
‘I noticed,’ I reply. ‘The track is a huge improvement, and I see you’ve extended the stables. Are those your horseboxes too?’
‘They are, and what a massive success they’ve been for us. It was Monica who worked out that we could significantly undercut the competition by using our own ‘boxes.’
‘Who?’
‘Monica, Tony’s girlfriend. Did you meet her?’
‘Was she the woman who drove the milk lorry?’
‘That’s her. She came to us shortly after she got together with Tony. She’s just as good as Becky with horses and, although we don’t pay her anything like as much as she used to earn, she says the hours are much better. She’s living with Tony in his cottage, so she doesn’t exactly have a lot of outgoings. Anyway, she was the one who started us down the horsebox route.’