To Cut a Long Story Short

Too Many Coincidences*

Whenever Ruth looked back on the past three years — and she often did — she came to the conclusion that Max must have planned everything right down to the last detail — yes, even before they’d met.

They first bumped into each other by accident — or that’s what Ruth assumed at the time — and to be fair to Max it wasn’t the two of them, but their boats, that had bumped into each other.

Sea Urchin was easing its way into the adjoining mooring in the half-light of the evening when the two bows touched. Both skippers quickly checked to see if there had been any damage to their boat, but as both had large inflatable buoys slung over their sides, neither had come to any harm. The owner of The Scottish Belle gave a mock salute and disappeared below deck.

Max poured himself a gin and tonic, picked up a paperback that he had meant to finish the previous summer, and settled down in the bow. He began to thumb through the pages, trying to recall the exact place he had reached, when the skipper of The Scottish Belle reappeared on the deck.

The older man gave the same mock salute, so Max lowered his book and said, ‘Good evening. Sorry about the bump.’

‘No harm done,’ the skipper replied, raising his glass of whisky.

Max rose from his place and, walking across to the side of the boat, thrust out a hand and said, ‘My name’s Max Bennett.’

‘Angus Henderson,’ the older man replied, with a slight Edinburgh burr.

‘You live in these parts, Angus?’ asked Max casually.

‘No,’ replied Angus. ‘My wife and I live on Jersey, but our twin boys are at school here on the south coast, so we sail across at the end of every term and take them back for their holidays. And you? Do you live in Brighton?’

‘No, London, but I come down whenever I can find the time to do a spot of sailing, which I fear isn’t often enough — as you’ve already discovered,’ he added with a chuckle, as a woman appeared from below the deck of The Scottish Belle.

Angus turned and smiled. ‘Ruth, this is Max Bennett. We literally bumped into each other.’

Max smiled across at a woman who could have passed as Henderson’s daughter, as she was at least twenty years younger than her husband. Although not beautiful, she was striking, and from her trim, athletic build she looked as if she might work out every day. She gave Max a shy smile.

‘Why don’t you join us for a drink?’ suggested Angus.

‘Thank you,’ said Max, and clambered across onto the larger boat. He leaned forward and shook Ruth’s hand. ‘How nice to meet you, Mrs Henderson.’

‘Ruth, please. Do you live in Brighton?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Max. ‘I was just telling your husband that I only come down for the odd weekend to do a little sailing. And what do you do on Jersey?’ he asked, turning his attention back to Angus. ‘You certainly weren’t born there.’

‘No, we moved there from Edinburgh after I retired seven years ago. I used to manage a small broking business. All I do nowadays is keep an eye on one or two of my family properties to make sure they’re showing a worthwhile return, sail a little and play the occasional round of golf. And you?’ he enquired.

‘Not unlike you, but with a difference.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’ asked Ruth.

‘I also look after property, but it belongs to other people. I’m a junior partner with a West End estate agent.’

‘How are property prices in London at the moment?’ asked Angus after another gulp of whisky.

‘It’s been a bad couple of years for most agents — no one wants to sell, and only foreigners can afford to buy. And anybody whose lease comes up for renewal demands that their rent should be lowered, while others are simply defaulting.’

Angus laughed. ‘Perhaps you should move to Jersey. At least that way you would avoid...’

‘We ought to think about getting changed, if we’re not going to be late for the boys’ concert,’ interrupted Ruth.

Henderson checked his watch. ‘Sorry, Max,’ he said. ‘Nice to talk to you, but Ruth’s right. Perhaps we’ll bump into each other again.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ replied Max. He smiled, placed his glass on a nearby table and clambered back onto his own boat as the Hendersons disappeared below deck.

Once again, Max picked up his much-thumbed novel, and although he finally found the right place, he discovered he couldn’t concentrate on the words. Thirty minutes later the Hendersons reappeared, suitably dressed for a concert. Max gave them a casual wave as they stepped onto the quay and into a waiting taxi.

When Ruth appeared on the deck the following morning, clutching a cup of tea, she was disappointed to find that Sea Urchin was no longer moored next to them. She was about to disappear back below deck when she thought she recognised a familiar boat entering the harbour.

She didn’t move as she watched the sail become larger and larger, hoping that Max would moor in the same spot as he had the previous evening. He waved when he saw her standing on the deck. She pretended not to notice.

Once he’d fixed the moorings, he called across, ‘So, where’s Angus?’

‘Gone to pick up the boys and take them off to a rugby match. I’m not expecting him back until this evening,’ she added unnecessarily.

Max tied a bowline to the jetty, looked up and said, ‘Then why don’t you join me for lunch, Ruth? I know a little Italian restaurant that the tourists haven’t come across yet.’

Ruth pretended to be considering his offer, and eventually said, ‘Yes, why not?’

‘Shall we meet up in half an hour?’ Max suggested.

‘Suits me,’ replied Ruth.

Ruth’s half-hour turned out to be nearer fifty minutes, so Max returned to his paperback, but once again made little progress.

When Ruth did eventually reappear, she had changed into a black leather mini-skirt, a white blouse and black stockings, and had put on a little too much make-up, even for Brighton.

Max looked down at her legs. Not bad for thirty-eight, he thought, even if the skirt was a little too tight and certainly too short.

‘You look great,’ he said, trying to sound convincing. ‘Shall we go?’

Ruth joined him on the quay, and they strolled towards the town, chatting inconsequentially until he turned down a side street, coming to a halt in front of a restaurant called Venitici. When he opened the door to let her in, Ruth couldn’t hide her disappointment at discovering how crowded the room was. ‘We’ll never get a table,’ she said.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Max, as the maître d’ headed towards them.

‘Your usual table, Mr Bennett?’

‘Thank you, Valerio,’ he said, as they were guided to a quiet table in the corner of the room.

Once they were seated, Max asked, ‘What would you like to drink, Ruth? A glass of champagne?’

‘That would be nice,’ she said, as if it were an everyday experience for her. In fact she rarely had a glass of champagne before lunch, as it would never have crossed Angus’s mind to indulge in such extravagance, except perhaps on her birthday.

Max opened the menu. ‘The food here is always excellent, especially the gnocchi, which Valerio’s wife makes. Simply melts in your mouth.’

‘Sounds great,’ said Ruth, not bothering to open her menu.

‘And a mixed salad on the side, perhaps?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’

Max closed his menu and looked across the table. ‘The boys can’t be yours,’ he said. ‘Not if they’re at boarding school.’

‘Why not?’ asked Ruth coyly.

‘Why... because of Angus’s age. I suppose I just assumed they must be his by a previous marriage.’

‘No,’ said Ruth, laughing. ‘Angus didn’t marry until he was in his forties, and I was very flattered when he asked me to be his wife.’

Max made no comment.

‘And you?’ asked Ruth, as a waiter offered her a choice of four different types of bread.

‘Been married four times,’ Max said.

Ruth looked shocked, until he burst out laughing.

‘In truth, never,’ he said quietly. ‘I suppose I just haven’t bumped into the right girl.’

‘But you’re still young enough to have any woman you like,’ said Ruth.

‘I’m older than you,’ said Max gallantly.

‘It’s different for a man,’ said Ruth wistfully.

The maître d’ reappeared by their side, a little pad in his hand.

‘Two gnocchi and a bottle of your Barolo,’ said Max, handing back the menu. ‘And a side salad large enough for both of us: asparagus, avocado, lettuce heart — you know what I like.’

‘Of course, Mr Bennett,’ replied Valerio.

Max turned his attention back to his guest. ‘Doesn’t someone of your age find Jersey a little dull?’ he asked as he leaned across the table and pushed back a strand of blonde hair that had fallen across her forehead.

Ruth smiled shyly. ‘It has its advantages,’ she replied a little unconvincingly.

‘Like what?’ pressed Max.

‘Tax at 20 per cent.’

‘That sounds like a good reason for Angus being on Jersey — but not you. In any case, I’d still rather be in England and pay 40 per cent.’

‘Now that he’s retired and living on a fixed income, it suits us. If we’d stayed in Edinburgh, we couldn’t have maintained the same standard of living.’

‘So, Brighton’s as good as it gets,’ said Max, with a grin.

The maître d’ reappeared carrying two plates of gnocchi, which he placed in front of them, while another waiter deposited a large side salad in the centre of the table.

‘I’m not complaining,’ said Ruth, as she sipped her champagne. ‘Angus has always been very considerate. I want for nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Max repeated, as a hand disappeared under the table and rested on her knee.

Ruth knew that she should have removed it immediately, but she didn’t.

When Max eventually took his hand away and began to concentrate on the gnocchi, Ruth tried to act as if nothing had happened.

‘Anything worth seeing in the West End?’ she asked casually. ‘I’m told An Inspector Calls is good.’

‘It certainly is,’ replied Max. ‘I went to the opening night.’

‘Oh, when was that?’ asked Ruth innocently.

‘About five years ago,’ Max replied.

Ruth laughed. ‘So, now that you know just how out of date I am, you can tell me what I should be seeing.’

‘There’s a new Tom Stoppard opening next month.’ He paused. ‘If you were able to escape for a couple of days, we could go and see it together.’

‘It’s not that easy, Max. Angus expects me to stay with him on Jersey. We don’t come to the mainland all that often.’

Max stared down at her empty plate. ‘It looks as if the gnocchi lived up to my claims.’

Ruth nodded her agreement.

‘You should try the crême brulée, also made by the patron’s wife.’

‘Certainly not. This trip already means I’m going to be out of the gym for at least three days, so I’ll settle for a coffee,’ said Ruth, as another glass of champagne was placed by her side. She frowned.

‘Just pretend it’s your birthday,’ Max said, as the hand disappeared back under the table — this time resting a few inches higher up her thigh.

Looking back, that was the moment when she should have got up and walked out.

‘So, how long have you been an estate agent?’ she asked instead, still trying to pretend nothing was happening.

‘Since I left school. I started at the bottom of the firm, making the tea, and last year I became a partner.’

‘Congratulations. Where is your office?’

‘Right in the centre of Mayfair. Why don’t you drop in some time? Perhaps when you’re next in London.’

‘I don’t get to London all that often,’ Ruth said.

When Max spotted a waiter heading towards their table, he removed the hand from her leg. Once the waiter had placed two cappuccinos in front of them, Max smiled up at him and said, ‘And perhaps I could have the bill.’

‘Are you in a hurry?’ Ruth asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just remembered that I have a bottle of vintage brandy hidden away on board Sea Urchin, and this might be the ideal occasion to open it.’ He leaned across the table and took her hand. ‘You know, I’ve been saving this particular bottle for something or someone special.’

‘I don’t think that would be wise.’

‘Do you always do everything that is wise?’ asked Max, not letting go of her hand.

‘It’s just that I really ought to be getting back to The Scottish Belle.’

‘So you can hang around for three hours, waiting for Angus to return?’

‘No. It’s just that...’

‘You’re afraid I might try to seduce you.’

‘Is that what you had in mind?’ asked Ruth, releasing his hand.

‘Yes, but not before we sample the brandy,’ said Max, as he was passed the bill. He flicked over the little white slip, pulled out his wallet and placed four £10 notes on the silver tray.

Angus had once told her that anyone who pays cash in a restaurant either doesn’t need a credit card or earns too little to qualify for one.

Max rose from his place, thanked the head waiter a little too ostentatiously, and slipped him a £5 note when the door was held open for them. They didn’t speak as they crossed the road on the way back to the quay. Ruth thought she saw someone jumping off Sea Urchin, but when she looked again there was no one in sight. When they reached the boat, Ruth had planned to say goodbye, but she found herself following Max on board and down to the cabin below.

‘I hadn’t expected it to be so small,’ she said, when she reached the bottom step. She turned a complete circle and ended up in Max’s arms. She gently pushed him away.

‘It’s ideal for a bachelor,’ was his only comment, as he poured two large brandies. He passed over one of the goblets to Ruth, placing his other arm around her waist. He pulled her gently towards him, allowing their bodies to touch. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, before releasing her to take a sip of brandy.

He watched as she raised the glass to her lips, and then once again took her in his arms. This time when they kissed, their lips parted, and she made little effort to stop him undoing the top button of her blouse.

Every time she tried to resist he would break off, waiting for her to take another sip before returning to his task. It took several more sips before he managed to remove the white blouse and locate the zip on the tight-fitting mini-skirt, but by then she was no longer even pretending to try to stop him.

‘You’re only the second man I’ve ever made love to,’ she said quietly as she lay on the floor afterwards.

‘You were a virgin when you met Angus?’ said Max in disbelief.

‘He wouldn’t have married me if I hadn’t been,’ she replied quite simply.

‘And there’s been no one else during the past twenty years?’ he said as he poured himself another brandy.

‘No,’ she replied, ‘although I have a feeling that Gerald Prescott, the boys’ housemaster at their old prep school, fancies me. But he’s never got beyond a peck on the cheek, and staring at me with forlorn eyes.’

‘But do you fancy him?’

‘Yes, I do actually. He’s rather nice,’ Ruth admitted for the first time in her life. ‘But he’s not the sort of man who would make the first move.’

‘More fool him,’ said Max, taking her into his arms again.

Ruth glanced at her watch. ‘Oh my God, is that really the time? Angus could be back at any moment.’

‘Don’t panic, my darling,’ said Max. ‘We still have enough time for another brandy, and perhaps even another orgasm — whichever you fancy most.’

‘Both, but I don’t want to risk him finding us together.’

‘Then we’ll have to save it for another time,’ said Max, putting the cork firmly back in the bottle.

‘Or for the next girl,’ said Ruth, as she began pulling her tights on.

Max picked up a biro from the side table and wrote on the label of the bottle, ‘To be drunk only when I’m with Ruth’.

‘Will I see you again?’ she asked.

‘That will be up to you, my darling,’ replied Max, before kissing her again. When he released her, she turned and climbed up the steps and onto the deck, quickly disappearing out of sight.

Once she was back on The Scottish Belle, she tried to erase the memory of the last two hours, but when Angus reappeared later that evening with the boys, she realised that forgetting Max wasn’t going to be quite that easy.

When she emerged on the deck the following morning, Sea Urchin was nowhere to be seen.

‘Were you looking for anything in particular?’ Angus asked when he joined her.

She turned and smiled at him. ‘No. It’s just that I can’t wait to get back to Jersey,’ she replied.

It must have been about a month later that she picked up the phone and found Max on the other end of the line. She felt the same breathless feeling she had experienced the first time they had made love.

‘I’m coming over to Jersey tomorrow, to look at a piece of property for a client. Any chance of seeing you?’

‘Why don’t you join us for dinner?’ Ruth heard herself saying.

‘Why don’t you join me at my hotel?’ he replied. ‘And don’t let’s bother with dinner.’

‘No, I think it might be wiser if you came over for dinner. On Jersey, even the letterboxes chatter.’

‘If that’s the only way I’m going to be able to see you, then I’ll settle for dinner.’

‘Eight o’clock?’

‘Eight o’clock will be just fine,’ he said, and put the phone down.

When Ruth heard the phone click she realised that she hadn’t given him their address, and she couldn’t phone him back, because she didn’t know his number.

When she warned Angus that they would have a guest for dinner the next night, he seemed pleased. ‘Couldn’t be better timing,’ he said. ‘There’s something I need Max to advise me on.’

Ruth spent the following morning shopping in St Helier, selecting only the finest cuts of meat, the freshest vegetables, and a bottle of claret that she knew Angus would have considered highly extravagant.

She spent the afternoon in the kitchen, explaining to the cook exactly how she wanted the meal prepared, and even longer that evening in the bedroom, choosing and then rejecting what she might wear that night. She was still naked when the doorbell rang a few minutes after eight.

Ruth opened the bedroom door and listened from the top of the stairs as her husband welcomed Max. How old Angus sounded, she thought, as she listened to the two men chatting. She still hadn’t discovered what he wanted to speak to Max about, as she didn’t wish to appear too interested.

She returned to the bedroom and settled on a dress that a friend had once described as seductive. ‘Then it will be wasted on this island,’ she remembered replying.

The two men rose from their places when Ruth walked into the drawing room, and Max stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks in the same way Gerald Prescott always did.

‘I’ve been telling Max about our cottage in the Ardennes,’ said Angus, even before they had sat down again, ‘and our plans to sell it, now that the twins will be going away to university.’

How typical of Angus, thought Ruth. Get the business out of the way before you even offer your guest a drink. She went over to the sideboard and poured Max a gin and tonic without thinking what she was doing.

‘I’ve asked Max if he would be kind enough to visit the cottage, value it, and advise when would be the best time to put it on the market.’

‘That sounds sensible enough,’ said Ruth. She avoided looking directly at Max, for fear that Angus might realise how she felt about their guest.

‘I could travel on to France tomorrow,’ said Max, ‘if you’d like me to. I’ve nothing else planned for the weekend,’ he added. ‘I could report back to you on Monday.’

‘That sounds good to me,’ Angus responded. He paused and sipped the malt whisky his wife had handed him. ‘I was thinking, my dear, it might expedite matters if you went along as well.’

‘No, I’m sure Max can handle...’

‘Oh no,’ said Angus. ‘It was he who suggested the idea. After all, you could show him round the place, and he wouldn’t have to keep calling back if he had any queries.’

‘Well, I’m rather busy at the moment, what with...’

‘The bridge society, the health club and... No, I think they’ll all somehow manage to survive without you for a few days,’ said Angus with a smile.

Ruth hated being made to sound so provincial in front of Max. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If you think it will help, I’ll accompany Max to the Ardennes.’ This time she did look up at him.

The Chinese would have been impressed by the inscrutability of Max’s expression.

The trip to the Ardennes took them three days and, more memorably, three nights. By the time they returned to Jersey, Ruth just hoped it wasn’t too obvious that they were lovers.

After Max had presented Angus with a detailed report and valuation, the old man accepted his advice that the property should be placed on the market a few weeks before the beginning of the summer season. The two men shook hands on the deal, and Max said he would be in touch the moment anyone showed some interest.

Ruth drove him to the airport, and her final words before he disappeared through Customs were, ‘Could you make it a little less than a month before I hear from you again?’

Max rang the following day to inform Angus that he had placed the property in the hands of two reputable agencies in Paris whom his company had dealt with for many years. ‘Before you ask,’ he added, ‘I’m splitting my fee, so there will be no extra charge.’

‘A man after my own heart,’ said Angus. He put the phone down before Ruth had a chance to have a word with Max.

Over the next few days, Ruth always picked up the phone before Angus could get to it, but Max didn’t call again that week. When he eventually phoned on the following Monday, Angus was sitting in the same room.

‘I can’t wait to tear your clothes off again, my darling,’ were Max’s opening words.

She replied, ‘I’m pleased to hear that, Max, but I’ll pass you straight over to Angus, so you can tell him the news.’ As she handed the phone across to her husband, she only hoped that Max did have some news to pass on.

‘So, what’s this news you’ve got for me?’ asked Angus.

‘We’ve had an offer of 900,000 francs for the property,’ said Max, ‘which is almost £100,000. But I’m not going to settle yet, as two other parties have also asked to view it. The French agents are recommending that we accept anything over a million francs.’

‘If that’s also your advice, I’m happy to go along with it,’ said Angus. ‘And if you close the deal, Max, I’ll fly over and sign the contract. I’ve been promising Ruth a trip to London for some time.’

‘Good. It would be nice to see you both again,’ said Max, before ringing off.

He phoned again at the end of the week, and although Ruth managed a whole sentence before Angus appeared at her side, she didn’t have time to respond to his sentiments.

‘£107,600?’ said Angus. ‘That’s far better than I’d expected. Well done, Max. Why don’t you draw up the contracts, and the moment you’ve got the deposit in the bank, I’ll fly over.’ Angus put the phone down and, turning to Ruth, said, ‘Well, it looks as if it might not be too long before we make that promised trip to London.’

After checking into a small hotel in Marble Arch, Ruth and Angus joined Max at a restaurant in South Audley Street that Angus had never heard of. And when he saw the prices on the menu, he knew he wouldn’t have selected it if he had. But the staff were very attentive, and seemed to know Max well.

Ruth found the dinner frustrating, because all Angus wanted to talk about was the deal, and once Max had satisfied him on that front, he went on to discuss his other properties in Scotland.

‘They seem to be showing a poor return on capital investment,’ Angus said. ‘Perhaps you could check them out, and advise me on what I should do?’

‘I’d be delighted,’ said Max, as Ruth looked up from her foie gras and stared at her husband. ‘Are you feeling all right, my dear?’ she asked. ‘You’ve turned quite white.’

‘I’ve got a pain down my right side,’ complained Angus. ‘It’s been a long day, and I’m not used to these swanky restaurants. I’m sure it’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t sort out.’

‘That may be the case, but I still think we should go straight back to the hotel,’ Ruth said, sounding concerned.

‘Yes, I agree with Ruth,’ chipped in Max. ‘I’ll settle the bill and ask the doorman to find us a taxi.’

Angus rose unsteadily to his feet and walked slowly across the restaurant, leaning heavily on Ruth’s arm. When Max joined them in the street a few moments later, Ruth and the doorman were helping Angus into a taxi.

‘Good night, Angus,’ said Max. ‘I hope you’re feeling better in the morning. Don’t hesitate to call me if I can be of any assistance.’ He smiled and closed the taxi door.

By the time Ruth had managed to get her husband into bed, he didn’t look any better. Although she knew he wouldn’t approve of the extra expense, she called for the hotel doctor.

The doctor arrived within the hour, and after a full examination he surprised Ruth by asking for the details of what Angus had eaten for dinner. She tried to recollect the courses he had chosen, but all she could remember was that he had fallen in with Max’s suggestions. The doctor advised that Mr Henderson should be visited by a specialist first thing in the morning.

‘Poppycock,’ said Angus weakly. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me that our local GP won’t sort out just as soon as we’re back on Jersey. We’ll get the first flight home.’

Ruth agreed with the doctor, but knew there was no point in arguing with her husband. When he eventually fell asleep, she went downstairs to phone Max and warn him that they would be returning to Jersey in the morning. He sounded concerned, and repeated his offer to do anything he could to help.

When they boarded the aircraft the following morning and the chief steward saw the state Angus was in, it took all Ruth’s powers of persuasion to convince him to allow her husband to remain on the flight. ‘I must get him back to his own doctor as quickly as possible,’ she pleaded. The steward reluctantly acquiesced.

Ruth had already phoned ahead to arrange for a car to meet them — something else Angus would not have approved of. But by the time the plane landed, Angus was no longer in any state to offer an opinion.

As soon as Ruth had got him back to the house and into his own bed, she immediately called their GP. Dr Sinclair carried out the same examination as the London doctor had put him through, and he too asked what Angus had eaten the night before. He came to the same conclusion: Angus must see a specialist immediately.

An ambulance came to pick him up later that afternoon and take him to the Cottage Hospital. When the specialist had completed his examination, he asked Ruth to join him in his room. ‘I’m afraid the news is not good, Mrs Henderson,’ he told her. ‘Your husband has suffered a heart attack, possibly aggravated by a long day and something he ate that didn’t agree with him. In the circumstances, I think it might be wise to bring the children back from school.’

Ruth returned home later that night, not knowing who she could turn to. The phone rang, and when she picked it up she recognised the voice immediately.

‘Max,’ she blurted out, ‘I’m so glad you called. The specialist says Angus hasn’t long to live, and that I ought to bring the boys back home.’ She paused. ‘I don’t think I’m up to telling them what’s happened. You see, they adore their father.’

‘Leave it to me,’ said Max quietly. ‘I’ll ring the headmaster, go down and pick them up tomorrow morning, and fly over to Jersey with them.’

‘That’s so kind of you, Max.’

‘It’s the least I could do in the circumstances,’ said Max. ‘Now try and get some rest. You sound exhausted. I’ll call back as soon as I know which flight we’re on.’

Ruth returned to the hospital and spent most of the night sitting by her husband’s bedside. The only other visitor, who Angus insisted on seeing, was the family solicitor. Ruth arranged for Mr Craddock to come the following morning, while she was at the airport picking up Max and the twins.

Max strode out of the customs hall, the two boys walking on either side of him. Ruth was relieved to find that they were far calmer than she was. Max drove the three of them to the hospital. She was disappointed that Max planned to return to England on the afternoon flight, but as he explained, he felt this was a time for her to be with her family.

Angus died peacefully in the St Helier Cottage Hospital the following Friday. Ruth and the twins were at his bedside.

Max flew over for the funeral, and the next day accompanied the twins back to school. When Ruth waved them goodbye she wondered if she would ever hear from Max again.

He phoned the next morning to ask how she was.

‘Lonely, and feeling a little guilty that I miss you more than I should.’ She paused. ‘When are you next planning to come to Jersey?’

‘Not for some time. Try not to forget that it was you who warned me that even the letterboxes chatter on Jersey.’

‘But what shall I do? The boys are away at school, and you’re stuck in London.’

‘Why don’t you join me in town? It will be a lot easier to lose ourselves over here, and frankly no one will recognise you in London.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. Let me think about it, and then I’ll call you.’

Ruth flew into Heathrow a week later, and Max was at the airport to greet her. She was touched by how thoughtful and gentle he was, never once complaining about her long silences, or the fact that she didn’t want to make love.

When he drove her back to the airport on Monday morning, she clung on to him.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘I didn’t even get to see your flat or your office.’

‘I think it was sensible that you booked into a hotel this time. You can always see my office next time you come over.’

She smiled for the first time since the funeral. When they parted at the airport, he took her in his arms and said, ‘I know it’s early days, my darling, but I want you to know how much I love you and hope that at some time in the future you might feel me worthy of taking Angus’s place.’

She returned to St Helier that evening continually repeating his words, as if they were the lyrics of a song she could not get out of her mind.

It must have been about a week later that she received a phone call from Mr Craddock, the family solicitor, who suggested that she drop into his office and discuss the implications of her late husband’s will. She made an appointment to see him the following morning.

Ruth had assumed that as she and Angus had always led a comfortable life, her standard of living would continue much as before. After all, Angus was not the sort of man who would leave his affairs unresolved. She recalled how insistent he had been that Mr Craddock should visit him at the hospital.

Ruth had never shown any interest in Angus’s business affairs. Although he was always careful with his money, if she had ever wanted something, he had never refused her. In any case, Max had just deposited a cheque for over £100,000 in Angus’s account, so she set off for the solicitor’s office the following morning confident that her late husband would have left quite enough for her to live on.

She arrived a few minutes early. Despite this, the receptionist accompanied her straight through to the senior partner’s room. When she walked in, she found three men seated around the boardroom table. They immediately rose from their places, and Mr Craddock introduced them as partners of the firm. Ruth assumed they must have come to pay their respects, but they resumed their seats and continued to study the thick files placed in front of them. For the first time, Ruth became anxious. Surely Angus’s estate was in order?

The senior partner took his seat at the top of the table, untied a bundle of documents and extracted a thick parchment, then looked up at his late client’s wife.

‘Firstly, may I express on behalf of the firm the sadness we all felt when we learned of Mr Henderson’s death,’ he began.

‘Thank you,’ said Ruth, bowing her head.

‘We asked you to come here this morning so that we could advise you of the details of your late husband’s will. Afterwards, we shall be happy to answer any questions you might have.’

Ruth went cold, and began trembling. Why hadn’t Angus warned her that there were likely to be problems?

The solicitor read through the preamble, finally coming to the bequests.

‘I leave all my worldly goods to my wife Ruth, with the exception of the following bequests:

‘a) £200 each to both of my sons Nicholas and Ben, which I would like them to spend on something in my memory.

‘b) £500 to the Scottish Royal Academy, to be used for the purchase of a picture of their choice, which must be by a Scottish artist.

‘c) £1,000 to George Watson College, my old school, and a further £2,000 to Edinburgh University.’

The solicitor continued with a list of smaller bequests, ending with a gift of £100 to the Cottage Hospital which had taken such good care of Angus during the last few days of his life.

The senior partner looked up at Ruth and asked, ‘Do you have any questions, Mrs Henderson, which we might advise you on? Or will you be happy for us to administer your affairs in the same way as we did your late husband’s?’

‘To be honest, Mr Craddock, Angus never discussed his affairs with me, so I’m not sure what all this means. As long as there’s enough for the boys and myself to go on living in the way we did when he was alive, I’m happy for you to continue to administer our affairs.’

The partner seated on Mr Craddock’s right said, ‘I had the privilege of advising Mr Henderson since he first arrived on the island some seven years ago, Mrs Henderson, and would be happy to answer any questions you may have.’

‘That’s extremely kind of you,’ said Ruth, ‘but I have no idea what questions to ask, other than perhaps to know roughly how much my husband was worth.’

‘That is not quite so easy to answer,’ Mr Craddock said, ‘because he left so little in cash. However, it has been my responsibility to calculate a figure for probate,’ he added, opening one of the files in front of him. ‘My initial judgement, which is perhaps on the conservative side, would suggest a sum of somewhere between eighteen and twenty million.’

‘Francs?’ said Ruth in a whisper.

‘No, pounds, madam,’ said Mr Craddock matter-of-factly.

After some considerable thought, Ruth decided that she would not let anyone know of her good fortune, including the children. When she flew into London the following weekend, she told Max that Angus’s solicitors had briefed her on the contents of Angus’s will and the value of his estate.

‘Any surprises?’ Max asked.

‘No, not really. He left the boys a couple of hundred pounds each, and with the £100,000 you managed to raise on the sale of our house in the Ardennes, there should be just about enough to keep the wolves from the door, as long as I’m not too extravagant. So I fear you’ll have to go on working if you still want me to be your wife.’

‘Even more. I would have hated the idea of living off Angus’s money. In fact, I’ve got some good news for you. The firm has asked me to look into the possibility of opening a branch in St Helier early in the new year. I’ve told them that I’ll only consider the offer on one condition.’

‘And what’s that?’ asked Ruth.

‘That one of the locals agrees to be my wife.’

Ruth took him in her arms, never more confident that she had found the right man to spend the rest of her life with.

Max and Ruth were married at the Chelsea register office three months later, with only the twins as witnesses, and even they had been reluctant to attend. ‘He’ll never take the place of our father,’ Ben had told his mother with considerable feeling. Nicholas had nodded his agreement.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Max, as they drove to the airport. ‘Only time will sort out that problem.’

As they flew out of Heathrow to begin their honeymoon, Ruth mentioned that she had been a little disappointed that none of Max’s friends had attended the ceremony.

‘We don’t need to attract unpleasant comments so soon after Angus’s death,’ he told her. ‘It might be wise to let a little time go by before I launch you on London society.’ He smiled and took her hand. Ruth accepted his assurance, and put aside any anxieties she might have had.

The plane touched down at Venice airport three hours later, and they were whisked away on a motorboat to a hotel overlooking St Mark’s Square. Everything seemed so well organised, and Ruth was surprised at how willing her new husband was to spend hours in the fashion shops helping her select numerous outfits. He even chose a dress for her that she considered far too expensive. For a whole week of lazing about on gondolas, he never once left her side for a moment.

On the Friday, Max hired a car and drove his bride south to Florence, where they strolled back and forth over the bridges together, visiting the Uffizi, the Pitti Palace and the Accademia. In the evenings they ate too much pasta and joined in the dancing in the market square, often returning to their hotel just as the sun was rising. They reluctantly flew on to Rome for the third week, where the hotel bedroom, the Coliseum, the opera house and the Vatican occupied most of their spare moments. The three weeks passed so quickly that Ruth couldn’t recall the individual days.

She wrote to the boys every evening before going to bed, describing what a wonderful holiday she was having, always emphasising how kind Max was. She so much wanted them to accept him, but feared that might take more than time.

When she and Max returned to St Helier, he continued to be considerate and attentive. The only disappointment for Ruth was that he didn’t have much success in finding premises for the new branch of his company. He would disappear at around ten every morning, but seemed to spend more time at the golf club than he did in town. ‘Networking,’ he would explain, ‘because that’s what will matter once the branch is open.’

‘When do you think that will be?’ Ruth asked.

‘Not too much longer now,’ he assured her. ‘You have to remember that the most important thing in my business is to open in the right location. It’s much better to wait for a prime site than to settle for second best.’

But as the weeks passed, Ruth became anxious that Max didn’t seem to be getting any nearer to finding that prime site. Whenever she raised the subject he accused her of nagging, which meant that she didn’t feel able to bring it up again for at least another month.

When they had been married for six months, she suggested that they might take a weekend off and visit London. ‘It would give me a chance to meet some of your friends and catch up with the theatre, and you could report back to your company.’

Each time, Max found some new excuse for not falling in with her plans. But he did agree that they should return to Venice to celebrate their first wedding anniversary.

Ruth hoped the two-week break would revive the memories of their previous visit, and might even inspire Max, when he returned to Jersey, to finally settle on some premises. As it was, the anniversary couldn’t have been in greater contrast to the honeymoon they had shared the year before.

It was raining as the plane touched down at Venice airport, and they stood shivering in a long queue as they waited for a taxi. When they arrived at the hotel, Ruth discovered that Max thought she had organised the booking. He lost his temper with the innocent manager, and stormed out of the building. After they had trudged around in the rain with their luggage for over an hour, they ended up in a backstreet hotel that could only supply a small room with single beds, above the bar.

Over drinks that evening, Max confessed that he had left his credit cards in Jersey, so he hoped Ruth wouldn’t mind covering the bills until they got home. She seemed to have been covering most of the bills lately anyway, but decided now was not the time to raise the subject.

In Florence, Ruth hesitantly mentioned over breakfast that she hoped he would have more luck in finding premises for his company once they returned to Jersey, and enquired innocently if the firm was becoming at all anxious about his lack of progress.

Max immediately flew into a rage and walked out of the breakfast room, telling her to stop nagging him all the time. She didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

In Rome it continued to rain, and Max didn’t help matters by regularly going off without warning, sometimes arriving back at the hotel long after she had gone to bed.

Ruth was relieved when the plane took off for Jersey. Once they were back in St Helier she made every effort not to nag, and to try to be supportive and understanding about Max’s lack of progress. But however hard she tried, her efforts were met either with long sullen silences or bouts of temper.

As the months passed, they seemed to grow further and further apart, and Ruth no longer bothered to ask how the search for premises was going. She had long ago assumed that the whole idea had been abandoned, and could only wonder if Max had ever been given such an assignment in the first place.

It was over breakfast one morning that Max suddenly announced that the firm had decided against opening a branch in St Helier, and had written to tell him that if he wanted to remain as a partner, he would have to return to London and resume his old position.

‘And if you refuse?’ asked Ruth. ‘Is there an alternative?’

‘They’ve made it all too clear that they would expect me to hand in my resignation.’

‘I’d be quite happy to move to London,’ Ruth suggested, hoping that might solve their problems.

‘No, I don’t think that would help,’ said Max, who had obviously already decided what the solution was. ‘I think it would be better if I spent the week in London, and then flew back to be with you at weekends.’

Ruth did not think that was a good idea, but she knew that any protest would be pointless.

Max flew to London the following day.

Ruth couldn’t remember the last time they had made love, and when Max didn’t return to Jersey for their second wedding anniversary she accepted an invitation to join Gerald Prescott for dinner.

The twins’ old housemaster was, as always, kind and considerate, and when they were alone he did no more than kiss Ruth on the cheek. She decided to tell him about the problems she was having with Max, and he listened attentively, occasionally nodding his understanding. As Ruth looked across the table at her old friend, she felt the sad first thoughts of divorce. She dismissed them quickly from her mind.

When Max returned home the following weekend, Ruth decided to make a special effort. She spent the morning shopping in the market, selecting fresh ingredients for his favourite dish, coq au vin, and picking out a vintage claret to complement it. She wore the dress he had chosen for her in Venice, and drove to the airport to meet him off the plane. He didn’t arrive on his usual flight, but strolled through the barrier two hours later, explaining that he had been held up at Heathrow. He didn’t apologise for the hours she had spent pacing around the airport lounge, and when they eventually arrived back home and sat down for dinner, he made no comment on the meal, the wine or her dress.

When Ruth had finished clearing away after dinner, she hurried up to the bedroom to find he was pretending to be fast asleep.

Max spent most of Saturday at the golf club, and on Sunday he took the afternoon flight back to London. His last words before departing for the airport were that he couldn’t be sure when he would be returning.

Second thoughts of divorce.

As the weeks passed, with only the occasional phone call from London and the odd snatched weekend together, Ruth started seeing more and more of Gerald. Although he never attempted to do anything more than kiss her on the cheek at the beginning and end of their clandestine meetings, and certainly never placed a hand on her thigh, it was she who finally decided ‘the time had come’ to seduce him.

‘Will you marry me?’ she asked, as she watched him getting dressed at six the next morning.

‘But you’re already married,’ Gerald gently reminded her.

‘You know perfectly well that it’s a sham, and has been for months. I was swept off my feet by Max’s charm, and behaved like a schoolgirl. Heaven knows I’d read enough novels about marrying on the rebound.’

‘I’d marry you tomorrow, old girl, given half the chance,’ Gerald said, smiling. ‘You know I’ve adored you from the first day we met.’

‘Although you’re not down on one knee, Gerald, I shall consider that an acceptance,’ said Ruth, laughing. She paused and looked at her lover, standing in the half-light. ‘When I next see Max I’ll ask him for a divorce,’ she added quietly.

Gerald took off his clothes and climbed back into bed.

It was to be another month before Max returned to the island, and although he took the late flight, Ruth was waiting for him when he walked in the front door. When he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, she turned away.

‘I want a divorce,’ she said matter-of-factly.

Max followed her into the drawing room without saying a word. He slumped down into a chair and remained silent for some time. Ruth sat patiently waiting for his response.

‘Is there another man?’ he eventually asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘Do I know him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gerald?’ he asked, looking up at her.

‘Yes.’

Once again Max fell into a morose silence.

‘I’ll be only too happy to make it easy for you,’ said Ruth. ‘You can sue me for divorce on the grounds of my adultery with Gerald, and I won’t put up a fight.’

She was surprised by Max’s response. ‘I’d like a little time to think about it,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be sensible for us not to do anything until the boys come home at Christmas.’

Ruth reluctantly agreed, but was puzzled, because she couldn’t remember when he had last mentioned the boys in her presence.

Max spent the night in the spare room, and flew back to London the following morning, accompanied by two packed suitcases.

He didn’t return to Jersey for several weeks, during which time Ruth and Gerald began to plan their future together.

When the twins returned from university for the Christmas holidays, they sounded neither surprised nor disappointed that their mother would be getting a divorce.

Max made no attempt to join the family for the festive season, but flew over to Jersey the day after the boys had returned to university. He took a taxi straight to the house, but stayed for only an hour.

‘I am willing to agree to a divorce,’ he told Ruth, ‘and I intend to start proceedings just as soon as I return to London.’

Ruth simply nodded her agreement.

‘If you want things to go through quickly and smoothly, I suggest you appoint a London solicitor. That way I won’t have to keep flying back and forth to Jersey, which will only hold things up.’

Ruth put up no objection to the idea, as she had reached the stage where she didn’t want to place any obstacles in Max’s way.

A few days after Max had returned to the mainland, Ruth was served with divorce papers from a London law firm she had never heard of. She instructed Angus’s old solicitors in Chancery Lane to handle the proceedings, explaining over the phone to a junior partner that she wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

‘Are you hoping for a maintenance settlement of any kind?’ the solicitor asked.

‘No,’ said Ruth, trying not to laugh. ‘I don’t want anything other than for the whole matter to be settled quickly, on the grounds of my adultery.’

‘If those are your instructions, madam, I’ll draw up the necessary papers and have them ready for you to sign within the next few days.’

When the decree nisi was served, Gerald suggested they celebrate by taking a holiday. Ruth agreed to the idea, just as long as they didn’t have to go anywhere near Italy.

‘Let’s sail around the Greek islands,’ said Gerald. ‘That way there will be less chance of bumping into any of my pupils, not to mention their parents.’ They flew to Athens the next day.

When they sailed into the harbour at Skyros, Ruth said, ‘I’d never thought I would spend my third wedding anniversary with another man.’

Gerald took her in his arms. ‘Try to forget Max,’ he said. ‘He’s history.’

‘Well, nearly,’ Ruth said. ‘I was rather hoping that the divorce would have been absolute before we left Jersey.’

‘Have you any idea what’s caused the hold-up?’ Gerald asked.

‘Heaven knows,’ Ruth replied, ‘but whatever it is, Max will have his reasons.’ She paused. ‘You know, I never did get to see his office in Mayfair, or meet any of his colleagues or friends. It’s almost as if it was all a figment of my imagination.’

‘Or his,’ said Gerald, putting an arm around her waist. ‘But don’t let’s waste any more time talking about Max. Let’s think about Greeks, and bacchanalian orgies.’

‘Is that what you teach those innocent little children in their formative years?’

‘No, it’s what they teach me,’ Gerald replied.

For the next three weeks the two of them sailed around the Greek islands, eating too much moussaka, drinking too much wine, and hoping that too much sex would keep their weight down. By the end of their holiday Gerald was a little too red, and Ruth was dreading being reintroduced to her bathroom scales. The holiday could not have been more fun; not only because Gerald was such a good sailor, but because, as Ruth discovered, even during a storm he could make her laugh.

Once they were back on Jersey, Gerald drove Ruth to the house. When she opened the front door she was greeted by a pile of letters. She sighed. They could all wait until tomorrow, she decided.

Ruth spent a restless night tossing and turning. After snatching a few hours’ sleep, she decided that she might as well get up and make herself a cup of tea. She began to thumb through the post, only stopping when she came to a long buff envelope marked ‘Urgent’ and bearing a London postmark.

She tore it open and extracted a document that brought a smile to her face: ‘A decree absolute has been granted between the aforesaid parties: Max Donald Bennett and Ruth Ethel Bennett.’

‘That settles that once and for all,’ she said out loud, and immediately phoned Gerald to tell him the good news.

‘Disappointing,’ he said.

‘Disappointing?’ she repeated.

‘Yes, my darling. You have no idea how much my street cred has risen since the boys at school discovered I’ve been on holiday with a married woman.’

Ruth laughed. ‘Behave yourself, Gerald, and try to get used to the idea of being a respectable married man.’

‘Can’t wait,’ he said. ‘But must dash. It’s one thing to be living in sin; it’s quite another to be late for morning prayers.’

Ruth went up to the bathroom and stood gingerly on the scales. She groaned when she saw where the little indicator finally stopped. She decided she would have to spend at least an hour in the gym that morning. The phone rang just as she was stepping into the bath. She got back out and grabbed a towel, thinking it must be Gerald again.

‘Good morning, Mrs Bennett,’ said a rather formal voice. How she hated even the sound of that name.

‘Good morning,’ she replied.

‘It’s Mr Craddock, madam. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past three weeks.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Ruth, ‘but I only returned from a holiday in Greece last night.’

‘Yes, I see. Well, perhaps we could meet as soon as it’s convenient?’ he said, showing no interest in her holiday.

‘Yes, of course, Mr Craddock. I could pop into your office around twelve, if that would suit you.’

‘Any time you decide will suit us, Mrs Bennett,’ said the formal voice.

Ruth worked hard in the gym that morning, determined to lose the surplus pounds she had put on in Greece — respectable married woman or not, she still wanted to be slim. By the time she’d come off the running machine, the gym clock was chiming twelve. Despite hurrying through to the locker room and showering and changing as quickly as possible, she was still thirty-five minutes late for Mr Craddock.

Once again the receptionist ushered her through to the senior partner’s office, without her having to see the inside of a waiting room. As she entered, she found Mr Craddock pacing around the room.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you,’ she said, feeling a little guilty, as two of the partners rose from their places at the boardroom table.

This time Mr Craddock did not suggest a cup of tea, but simply ushered her into a chair at the other end of the table. Once she was seated, he resumed his place, glanced down at a pile of papers lying in front of him and extracted a single sheet.

‘Mrs Bennett, we have received a summons from your husband’s solicitors demanding a full settlement following your divorce.’

‘But we never discussed a settlement at any time,’ said Ruth in disbelief. ‘It was never part of the deal.’

‘That may well be the case,’ said the senior partner, looking down at the papers. ‘But unfortunately, you agreed to the divorce being granted on the grounds of your adultery with a Mr Gerald’ — he checked the name — ‘Prescott, at a time when your husband was working in London.’

‘That’s true, but we only agreed to that in order to speed matters up. You see, we both wanted the divorce to go through as quickly as possible.’

‘I’m sure that was the case, Mrs Bennett.’

She would always hate that name.

‘However, by agreeing to Mr Bennett’s terms, he became the innocent party in this action.’

‘But that is no longer relevant,’ said Ruth, ‘because this morning I received confirmation from my London solicitors that I have been granted a decree absolute.’

The partner seated on Mr Craddock’s right turned and looked directly at her.

‘May I be permitted to ask if it was at Mr Bennett’s suggestion that you instructed a solicitor from the mainland to handle your divorce proceedings?’

Ah, so that’s what’s behind all this, thought Ruth. They’re just annoyed that I didn’t consult them. ‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘It was simply a matter of convenience, as Max was living in London at the time, and didn’t want to have to keep flying back and forth to the island.’

‘It certainly turned out to be most convenient for Mr Bennett,’ said the senior partner. ‘Did your husband ever discuss a financial settlement with you?’

‘Never,’ said Ruth even more firmly. ‘He had no idea what I was worth.’

‘I have a feeling,’ continued the partner seated on Mr Craddock’s left, ‘that Mr Bennett knew only too well how much you were worth.’

‘But that’s not possible,’ insisted Ruth. ‘You see, I never once discussed my finances with him.’

‘Nevertheless, he has presented a claim against you, and seems to have made a remarkably accurate assessment of the value of your late husband’s estate.’

‘Then you must refuse to pay a penny, because it was never part of our agreement.’

‘I accept that what you are telling us is correct, Mrs Bennett. But I fear that as you were the guilty party, we have no defence to offer.’

‘How can that be possible?’ demanded Ruth.

‘The law of divorce on Jersey is unequivocal on the subject,’ said Mr Craddock. ‘As we would have been happy to advise you, had you consulted us.’

‘What law?’ asked Ruth, ignoring the barbed comment.

‘Under the law of Jersey, once it has been accepted that one of the parties is innocent in divorce proceedings, that person — whatever their sex — is automatically entitled to one third of the other’s estate.’

Ruth began trembling. ‘Are there no exceptions?’ she asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ replied Mr Craddock.

Ruth looked up hopefully.

‘If you have been married for less than three years, the law does not apply. You were, however, Mrs Bennett, married for three years and eight days.’ He paused, readjusted his spectacles and added, ‘I have a feeling that Mr Bennett was not only aware of exactly how much you were worth, but also knew the laws of divorce as they apply on Jersey.’

Three months later, after both sides of solicitors had agreed on the value of Ruth Ethel Bennett’s estate, Max Donald Bennett received a cheque for £6,270,000 in full and final settlement.

Whenever Ruth looked back on the past three years — and she often did — she came to the conclusion that Max must have planned everything right down to the last detail. Yes, even before they had bumped into each other.