Magda lingered another moment, then stepped close and kissed Julia on the cheek. Her hands were warm. ‘Call me. Anything happens. Day or night.’
Julia nodded. She watched her go, listened to the door close behind her. Now the kitchen felt cavernous. She drained the glass in a single gulp, set it down, and reached for the bottle again. One large refill and another couple of glugs later, she felt the alcohol going to her head so left both glass and bottle on the counter. A bath. That’s what she needed. Heat and silence and maybe later, another glass, and by the time she came out of her room, perhaps Shane would be gone.
She wandered barefoot across the tiles, the slap of her own footsteps unnerving in the hush. She paused at the bottom of the floating glass staircase, staring up. The air felt cooler, as if the temperature dipped the higher she went. It was always like that when he was in one of his moods, the ones he saved for whenthe girls were out. It was part of his power play, a threatening silence ramped up by heavy drinking and cocky stares. Which was why Julia was glad he was going to Glasgow even if there was a chance he’d be meeting his bit on the side there.
She climbed slowly. Each step felt deliberate.
She turned right and made her way to the end of the corridor where two doors led to her private suite and the roof terrace. She passed the gallery of photographs lining the way. Smiles, holidays, birthdays, a family in still life. The images had started to look unfamiliar now. Like someone else’s story. A bygone time she could barely remember, so clouded by the present that it distorted her memories. She hated that and it made her even more determined to regain control of her life.
For a moment she considered going up to the terrace where she could breathe in the fresh air and look out over the Cheshire hills. But she was too weary to make the climb and the lure of a warm soak in bubbles won the day. She opened the door to her suite, climbed the steep stairs and at the top, stepped into her sanctuary. Breathed in the place where his voice never reached.
The space, a sitting room, bedroom with double dressing room and his and hers bathrooms ran the length of the top floor. Julia looked around the perfect place, designed by her and Ronnie to be their hidey-hole. There was a small balcony accessed by French doors, totally private from the roof terrace above.
Moving across the sitting room that held two russet velvet sofas and armchairs arranged around a low coffee table, Julia flung open the doors to allow in the balmy afternoon air. The bathroom called to her, the thought of running water and L’Occitane already soothing her tense body and mind.
Chapter Sixteen
Julia emerged from the bathroom to collect her robe and nightdress. She was tempted by her bed, the crisp white linen made up tight, the soft lavender scent of pillow spray lingering in the air. Maybe after her bath she’d take a nap until Dee returned. She’d need the energy for whatever entertainment her youngest had planned.
As she passed the dresser she glanced at her reflection and noted it was tired, but she would still pass as younger than her years, thanks to the needles, her hair stylist who kept her blonde looking natural, and the most expensive lotions Selfridges had to offer. Each night and morning, Julia applied moisturiser and potions to her face, slowly, with the kind of care and attention she’d hoped to get from Shane. Her mother always said Julia was ageing well. And so she should – it bloody cost enough!
Julia raised her chin. High cheekbones, defiant blue eyes set against the faintest of laughter lines. That made her sad, because maybe that told her she hadn’t laughed enough. Remembering her bath she raced into the bathroom, turned off the taps and realising the water was far too hot, moved back into the loungearea and leaned against the frame of the French doors, inhaling the gentle summer breeze that stirred the trees. The sway of their branches rhythmic and insistent, mesmerising away her troubles if only for a second.
She was about to go and turn down the sheets when the suite door below opened, then soft slow footsteps. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. Shane.
‘I thought you and I could have a quick drink together and a chat,’ he said, voice casual as he held up a bottle of sauvignon and two glasses.
She stayed still. ‘I’m fine, thanks. And I’d prefer it if you knocked before you came in here. Manners maketh the man and all that.’
There was a pause. She could almost feel his gaze as it pressed against her back and heard the clink of glasses as he put them on the table with the wine.
‘If you say so… but, Julia, I do think we need to talk,’ he said softly.
‘Now? I’m about to take a bath and you need to be off, so can’t it wait?’ Julia swallowed down nerves.
‘Yes. Now. And I have plenty of time.’
She turned. Her eyes found his. Her hands didn’t shake, but they were on their way. He walked over to the French doors and leaned against the opposite door frame; arms folded.
‘Talk about what?’ Julia dared to ask, dreading the reply.
‘You know what.’ He smiled but his face was tight. ‘That email from Nancy. I read it.’
What? How?Thoughts raced.When did he see?She was always so careful when he was around. Julia trembled inside but said nothing, wishing Dee was home and she’d not told Magda to go.
‘I should have said something sooner. I suspected you were up to something but I needed to be sure.’ He stared, locking her into place with his eyes.
She took a breath. ‘Sure of what, exactly? And how dare you look at my emails. You had no right!’
He completely ignored her protest, huffed loudly, then answered, ‘That you were planning to end things.’
Her heart stalled just for a moment and then she realised there was no point in denying it. ‘We can’t go on like this, Shane. It’s unbearable.’
‘Yes you’re right, it is. For the past couple of years you’ve sucked the life out of our marriage and made me feel unloved and like one of your employees. Managed. Controlled. Beholden.’
Julia laughed, surprised by the sound but it was a natural response to his ludicrous comment. ‘Please. Don’t start talking rubbish and gaslighting me. It’s been a long day and I really haven’t got the time or patience to listen to your spoilt petulance. Just go. We can discuss this after the party or when I get back from America.’
‘And there you go, telling me what to do, just like I’m one of your minions.’
