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Across the street she saw the sign for a pub and decided to enjoy a quick glass of wine before calling for a taxi. After all, she still had one last conundrum to mentally unravel – Kenneth’s unexpected gift, and what had caused such a turnaround.
Her solicitor had mentioned during recent discussions that men often changed their minds about divorce once they realised the financial implications and the detriment to their lavish lifestyles. Suddenly, they weren’t quite so keen to be ‘free’ and often returned home, tail between their legs, begging forgiveness.
But as a family lawyer, wouldn’t Kenneth have already been aware of the cost of divorcing? Or was he banking on the fact that his experience in the field would enable him to come out of any settlement quids in?
Making a run for it, Connie exited the salon and splashed across the road to the pub.
The Bell Inn was a traditional English pub with ornate brass fittings, a solid wooden bar and a low-beamed ceiling. The frosted stained-glass windows dimmed the light, casting the space in a flickering glow. It wasn’t busy, just a few local patrons propping up the bar or playing pool. It was therefore unsurprising that the lone figure of a woman seated at one of the tables, sipping a pint of Guinness, caught Connie’s eye.
She recognised her as Susan Hardy, grandmother of the groom and mother of Matt Hardy – the man Connie had attempted to seduce last night.
Shame almost made her turn tail and exit the pub in a flurry, sod the rain. But there was something about the woman’s slumped demeanour that radiated misery. Why else would she be drinking alone in a pub on the eve of a family wedding?
Connie ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio and headed over. ‘Would you like some company?’ she asked, gesturing to an empty wooden chair.
Susan Hardy didn’t immediately respond, almost as if she hadn’t realised the question had been directed at her. When she eventually glanced up, she flinched, as though she’d been caught doing something illegal.
Connie offered the woman an appeasing smile. ‘If you’d rather be alone, I can sit somewhere else. I won’t be offended.’
Susan seemed hesitant. ‘I’m not much company, I’m afraid.’
Connie shrugged off her wet coat and sat down. ‘Me neither, I only came into town to escape my family.’
Susan raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly, but it’s not exactly relaxing back at the hotel. If I’m honest, I can only stand so much of watching my ex-husband canoodling with a younger woman.’ It was the first time she’d used the phrase ‘ex-husband’, and she wondered if it was a significant development, or merely her subconscious trying it out to see how it sounded.
Susan stared down at her beer. ‘I imagine that would be hard. You hide it very well.’
‘Not really, although I am getting better with practice. You should’ve seen me a few months ago, I was a raving banshee.’
Susan smiled. ‘I doubt that.’
‘Trust me, I was positively unhinged. Anyway, my face was aching from faking a smile, so I used the excuse of visiting the hairdresser as a way of escaping. Not that this blow-dry will last in this weather. It’s already wilting.’
Susan looked up. ‘It looks gorgeous.’
‘Thank you, let’s hope it still looks that way tomorrow.’
Susan tentatively touched her own hair, lank and lifeless, seemingly self-conscious about her appearance.
Connie spotted a set of badly bitten fingernails, along with bruised eye sockets and sallow complexion. She imagined the woman was both devoid of sleep and burdened by stress. It was a look Connie recognised, she’d looked the exact same way just a few weeks ago. ‘Is there any reason why you’re drinking alone? It’s none of my business, I know, but I’d be happy to listen if you need to unload.’
Susan looked apprehensive.
‘Completely confidentially, of course. Us women need to stick together. It seems to me that we’re expected to look good, raise our kids, keep our husbands happy and never complain about our lot. It’s rather unfair, if you ask me.’
Susan gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘It’s certainly hard work pretending all the time.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Connie rolled her eyes. ‘And if you dare criticise, or point out the unfairness of the situation, you’re accused of nagging, or being too demanding. Well, sod that, I say.’ Connie took a swig of wine. ‘I’m done indulging my ex-husband’s philandering ways. It’s time he made a decision. Shit or get off the pan, as my old dad used to say.’
Susan laughed.
Connie leant closer. ‘Do you know he left me a gift at the hotel this morning?’
Susan looked intrigued. ‘What kind of gift?’
‘Expensive French perfume. I had to google it – I’d never heard of it before. Maison Francis Kurkdjian. According to the Harrods website, it boasts a musky almond scent with a sweet jasmine top note. I wasn’t sure whether I was dousing myself in perfume or ordering lunch. It retails at over two hundred quid a bottle.’
