A Riviera Retreat. Jennifer Bohnet
went. How many people could honestly say that? The life Vicky was currently living certainly wasn’t the one she’d envisaged as a teenager. Back then she’d planned to go to university, obtain a good degree and then travel the world, possibly as a travel writer, earn enough money to buy her own home and be independent, marry in her early thirties and settle down to family life with two children. In her mind, it had all been mapped out.
Only family life with two children had come to fruition. Meeting Anthony when she was eighteen, falling pregnant with Tom within weeks of starting her first job, had derailed the rest of her life plans. She certainly didn’t regret having the children. Or marrying Anthony. She’d loved him from the beginning and she still did. Only she hadn’t reckoned on him changing course from IT consultancy and becoming a politician. Of course, they’d discussed it, but with hindsight Vicky realised neither of them had really anticipated the changes it would bring into their lives. The biggest for Vicky being the loss of privacy.
As far as other regrets went, although she didn’t regret any of the past twenty-odd years, she knew that if she wasn’t careful, didn’t do something with her own life from here on in… well, that she would regret. But standing up to Anthony was hard. Not because he was unkind or difficult but simply because she felt guilty for wanting to do other things. Winning this holiday had caused the first major row they’d had for years.
She had been on Facebook looking at the holiday details and starting to make a list of all the things she’d need. List making was in her DNA and for a long time Vicky had tried to fight the habit, but in the end, realising how satisfying it was ticking things off as they were accomplished, she gave in. As she’d made a note to check her passport, find a suitable case in the attic and look out some summer clothes, Anthony had walked in and looked at the computer screen.
‘Facebook? Surely you’ve got better things to do than waste time with that? I could certainly do with some more help in the office.’
Vicky had bitten her tongue to stop herself protesting that she’d only been on there five minutes, saying instead, ‘Guess what? I’ve won a holiday to the South of France.’
‘When for? I can’t see me getting away until the recess,’ Anthony had replied. ‘And even then, anything longer than a week will be difficult.’
Vicky had taken a deep breath. ‘It’s only for one person.’
‘You mean you’re going on your own?’
Vicky had nodded. ‘It’ll be some me time and give me a chance to work out what I’m going to do for the next few years. I was thinking of asking your mum to come and stay?’
Anthony had stared at her, ignoring the question about his mother. ‘It is a legitimate competition, isn’t it? It’s not some sort of backhander from someone hoping you can influence me in some way?’
Vicky had gazed at him, exasperated, wondering when he’d become so selfish. ‘There are three winners and I’m one of them. I do not know the person who has organised the competition or any of the other people. Okay?’
‘You’ll have to give me the details and I’ll register it with the Members’ Interests committee. I don’t want any backlash over my wife accepting freebies.’ Anthony had looked at her. ‘And you should know that I’d really rather you didn’t accept this holiday.’
‘And you should know, I need this holiday. I want some me time,’ Vicky had said. ‘Ten days where someone else does the work not me. Days to relax, read a book, go for a walk, think about the future, all without an agenda or having to watch the clock.’
‘D’you think I don’t often long for that too?’
Vicky had shaken her head. ‘It’s not the same,’ she’d said. ‘You’re doing what you love to do in life. For years, all I’ve done is kept house, cooked, cared for the children and supported you whenever you’ve needed me to. I need space to find the real Vicky Lewis again.’
‘You’re talking about empty-nest syndrome.’
‘No, I’m not. I just feel that the real me has been swallowed up by other people’s lives and now I have to rediscover me and my own dreams. You know I’ve always wanted to write, well, going on this retreat will give me the time and space to see if I can.’
‘You’ve never said any of this before.’
‘Well, I’m saying it now. I just want to be me as well as your wife, a daughter and a mother. Vicky Lewis deserves another crack at living her own life.’
Anthony had sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I had no idea you felt like this. I thought you were happy?’
‘But you never thought to actually ask me if I was happy,’ Vicky had snapped. ‘Anyway, I was and still am, basically. But you’ve become more and more involved with politics, the children are starting to live independent lives, I need to find something for me.’
Later that same evening in bed, Anthony had pulled her close, sighing. ‘I’m sorry I was such a grump earlier. You’re right. You need some time to do whatever makes you happy. Enjoy your retreat – I’ll take you to the airport by the way. Maybe we can snatch a long weekend away, just the two of us, when you get back? I’ve always fancied a naughty weekend in Brighton.’
Vicky had slept in his arms that night, feeling more hopeful that the two of them could work things out. That maybe things weren’t starting to fall apart after twenty-three years of marriage.
And now she was here in this glorious villa looking forward to the next ten days. Amy was really lovely and Matilda and Chelsea seemed nice. It would be fun getting to know everyone, making new friends. Vicky stretched a leg out and turned on the hot water tap with her toe. This was truly blissful. Vicky Lewis was on her way back to her lost world.
Chelsea, at the other end of the house in the ‘Elizabeth David’ room, dropped her backpack on the floor and flung herself down on the bed and lay staring up at the ceiling. She and her guilty conscience were in the South of France. She felt dreadful about leaving Elsie to cope, but Elsie had insisted, saying business was quiet for a week or two and she was quite capable of managing on her own. ‘Unless you don’t trust me?’ she’d said, stunning Chelsea into silence with the animosity in her voice.
She’d call her later and apologise again for her part in ‘Kit-gate’. Hopefully it was becoming old news now – surely overtaken by another nine-days’ wonder scandal – and the business would survive the calamity of that Friday booking.
Kit-gate. How stupid had she been? Why and how had she allowed herself to become something she despised – a mistress to a sleazy, cheating, married man. She was so angry with herself over the whole thing, not least because it could destroy their reputation in the food business despite all their hard work over the past couple of years. Elsie insisted she shouldn’t blame herself but, truly, who else could she blame? The signs had all been there from the moment Kit had locked eyes with her. Kit who was as false as his name.
Away a lot during the week, never around at weekends, could never stay overnight. She’d been just plain dumb. If she were honest, believing she and Kit were an item had suited her. The last thing she wanted was too cloying or demanding a relationship – she enjoyed her freedom, her independence and the prospect of buying her own place. But as much as she told herself she hadn’t known he was married, she also knew she hadn’t dug beneath the surface of his life very deeply. She’d taken the things Kit had told her at face value.
Chelsea could only pray that Marcia would be satisfied with the humiliating public showdown she’d staged and not punish Chelsea or the business further by telling associates not to use them. It had been a very public and expensive humiliation all round. Chelsea felt she’d had no alternative but to promise Elsie she’d pick up the costs of that fateful lunch. She winced at the memory of just how much the two cases of very upmarket champagne alone had cost her before totting up the price of the actual