An Unwanted Guest(3)
‘You have any bags?’ Lauren asks.
‘Yes, in the back.’ The driver gets out of the car and struggles through the deep snow to the back of the vehicle. Her passenger now seems to snap out of her trance and gets out on the other side. The driver opens the boot as the woman appears beside her. They each grab an overnight bag.
Ian reaches down and offers all three women a hand up to the road. Even with help, it’s an awkward climb.
‘Thanks so much,’ the driver says. ‘My name is Gwen, and this is Riley.’
‘I’m Lauren and this is Ian,’ she says. ‘Let’s get in the car. It’s so cold.’ She casts a furtive glance at the woman named Riley, who hasn’t said a word. She wonders what’s up with her. Something about her definitely seems off.
Chapter Two
Friday, 5:00 PM
BEVERLY SULLIVAN DROPS her overnight bag at her feet and lets her eyes sweep around the room. It’s perfect. Just like the one in the brochure. There’s an old-fashioned luxury here that she’s not accustomed to, and she moves about the room, touching things. The antique, king-size bed is heaped with pillows. The carved wardrobe is gorgeous, and the thick Oriental carpet must have cost a fortune. She steps up to the windows, which face out over the front of the hotel. The snowfall has made everything indescribably beautiful. New-fallen snow always makes her feel hopeful.
She turns away from the windows and peeks into the en suite bathroom – a spotless oasis of white marble and fluffy white towels. She checks her appearance briefly in the elaborate mirror over the vanity unit and turns away. Sitting down on the bed, testing it, she begins to wonder what’s taking her husband so long. Henry had stayed down at the front desk to inquire about cross-country skis and God knows what else, and she’d come up to the room herself. He insisted that she not wait for him, although she’d been perfectly willing to sit in one of the deep-blue velvet chairs or sofas around the stone fireplace in the lobby while he fussed over the equipment. But she didn’t want to make an issue of it. She tries not to feel disappointed. It will take time for him to begin to relax. But he seems to be looking for ways to fill their weekend with activities, when all she wants is to slow down and simply be together. It’s almost as if he’s avoiding being with her, as if he doesn’t want to be here at all.
She knows her marriage is in … disrepair. She wouldn’t say it’s in trouble, exactly. But it needs work. They have drifted apart, begun to take each other for granted. She’s guilty of it, too. How does a modern marriage survive all the forces that converge to tear it apart? Too much familiarity, the dreariness of domesticity, of paying bills, raising children. Of having full-time jobs and always too much to do. She doesn’t know if a weekend away at a lovely and remote place in the country will make that much of a difference, but it could be a start. A start they certainly wouldn’t get if they stayed at home. They desperately need a chance to reconnect, to remember what they like about each other. Away from squabbling, sullen teenagers who demand their attention and drain their energies. She sighs and slumps inwardly; she wishes they didn’t argue so much about the kids. She’s hoping that here they’ll be able to talk about things without being interrupted, without that constant, wearying, underlying tension.
She wonders with a vague unease how the weekend will unfold, and if anything will be different by the time they return home.
Henry Sullivan lingers near the reception desk in the lobby to the left of the grand staircase. The smell of logs burning in the fireplace reminds him of Christmases as a boy. He looks at some glossy flyers advertising local restaurants and attractions. Although ‘local’ may be stretching it a bit. They’re pretty far away from things up here. Unfortunately, with all the snow, it looks like it might be too difficult to go anywhere anyway, but the young man at the desk said the snowploughs would be running tomorrow, and the roads should be fine. Henry fingers the mobile phone in his trouser pocket. There’s no reception up here, which is something he hadn’t been expecting. Beverly hadn’t mentioned that. He feels a twinge of annoyance.
He’s not sure why he agreed to this weekend away, except perhaps out of guilt. He already regrets it; he just wants to go home. He fantasizes harmlessly for a moment about getting back in his car and leaving his wife here. How long would it be before she noticed he was gone? What would she do? Quickly, he squashes the fantasy.
His wife has been looking increasingly unhappy lately, but, he tells himself, it’s not just because of him. It’s the kids, too. Her job. Encroaching middle age. Her thickening waistline. It’s everything. But one person can’t be responsible for another person’s happiness. She is responsible for her own. He can’t make her happy.
Yet, he’s not a complete heel. He knows it’s not that simple. He loved her once. She’s the mother of his children. He simply doesn’t love her any more. And he has no idea what to do about it.
Dana Hart stamps the snow off her Stuart Weitzman boots at the front doorstep and looks around the lobby approvingly. The first thing that strikes her is the grand central staircase. The newel post and banisters are elaborately carved out of a burnished, dark wood. The stairs are wide, with a thick runner in a dark floral pattern. She can see the glint of the brass carpet rods holding the runner in place. It’s very impressive, and these days Dana isn’t easily impressed. The staircase makes her think of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind, or perhaps Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. It’s the kind of staircase you put on your best long dress for, and make an entrance, she thinks. I’m ready for my close-up. Unfortunately, she didn’t bring any evening gowns. What a shame for such a glorious staircase to go to waste, she thinks. Next she notices the large stone fireplace on the left side of the lobby; around it are arranged a lot of comfortable-looking sofas and chairs for lounging in, some in deep-blue velvet, others in dark brown leather, accompanied by little tables with lamps on them. The walls are panelled halfway up from the floor with dark wooden wainscoting. A gorgeous Persian carpet covers part of the dark wood floors and makes everything feel cosy but expensive, which is just what she likes. A chandelier sparkles overhead. The smell of the wood fire reminds her of blissful days spent at Matthew’s family cottage. She breathes deeply and smiles. She’s a very happy woman. Recently engaged, on a weekend tryst with the man she is going to marry. Everything is glorious, including this lovely hotel that Matthew has found for them.