‘Okay,’ Laurence says, relaxing slightly. ‘I thought he moved away, didn’t he?’
‘Last I heard he was living in Wales,’ I confirm.
‘Good. So it probably wasn’t him. But I’ll check it out anyway. Make sure he isn’t back on the scene.’
We both exhale at the same time. It was Laurence who gave me the courage to leave Damian in the first place. He made me see what my ex was doing – gaslighting me into believing I was a bad girlfriend, making out that I was neglecting him in favour of my friends and family when, in reality, Damian just wanted to keep me all to himself so that he could control me. Limiting when I could go out and who I could see by guilt-tripping me. Saying that Ididn’t care about him. That I was a thoughtless, selfish person who did what I wanted without thinking about how it made him feel.
Every time I planned to do anything without him – attend a works do, go to a family gathering or meet up with friends – Damian would sulk. I would make the mistake of asking what was wrong and, all the while, I’d have this dread in the pit of my stomach, knowing how the conversation would end: in a huge blow-up with me apologising, reassuring him that of course I wouldn’t go to whatever event had got him so insecure, soothing his rage until he forgave me.
Laurence helped me to see that this was how my ex manipulated me. Making me think I was in the wrong for simply wanting to live a normal life that didn’t revolve completely around him. It was a horrible, horrible time and the thought of Damian coming back on the scene again brings me out in a cold sweat.
‘Don’t worry,’ Laurence says, pulling me in for another hug. ‘I doubt it was him you saw. And even if it was, it’s all ancient history. You’re not with him any more. He doesn’t have any hold over you or bearing on your life.’
I step back and nod. ‘You’re right. Of course you are. I’m just being silly.’
So why do I still have that prickle of unease crawling over my skin?
Chapter Sixteen
THEN
Seth opens the passenger door to his blue BMW Z4 Roadster and I step out on to the carriage drive in front of the Manor House Hotel. The drive here was fun. Seth and I haven’t stopped laughing since he arrived at Brook Cottage this morning. I’m so full to the brim with love for this man. I absolutely cannot wait for us to get married.
It’s one of those rare crisp December days where the sun is lemon bright and the sky is at its cleanest freshest blue. An icy snap in the air catches in my throat and clears my head of all thoughts other than how lucky I am to be alive on such a beautiful day.
Seth hands the keys and a hefty tip to the valet and we stand in front of the building gazing back down the tree-lined avenue.
‘I can see why you brought me here,’ he says, shading his eyes and taking in the sweeping drive, the manicured lawns and the herd of deer grazing in the meadow beyond. The stag raises his head and stares in our direction, as though he knows he’s being admired.
‘I knew you’d like it,’ I reply. ‘We’re so lucky they had a cancellation. Otherwise, the waiting list is two years.’
‘I’m not waiting two years to marry you,’ he says, leaning down to kiss me.
I decided not to bring up Seth’s absence at Elizabeth and Graham’s anniversary dinner. The two of us have had enough miscommunications and mini fallouts since our engagement; I don’t want any more. I’m treating today as a clean slate.
‘Let’s take a photo in front of the hotel,’ I say, pulling my phone out of my handbag.
‘You and your photos,’ he teases, poking me in the ribs.
I laugh. ‘Stop! I’m ticklish there.’
‘I know.’ He grins and tries to do it again while I squeal and dodge out of the way.
We’re both dressed smart-casual for this visit – me in black jeans, stiletto-heeled black boots, a cream cashmere polo neck and a short faux-fur jacket. Seth in dark-wash jeans, Adidas trainers, white shirt, grey sweater and a black wool jacket. We position ourselves a short way in front of the arched entranceway, lean into each other and smile at the screen. I’ll probably post it on Instagram later with a retro filter and a well-thought-out caption. Seth isn’t one for social media. Too busy for all that shit, he likes to say with a smile.
‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ he says, rubbing his hands together impatiently.
We walk up to the polished wooden desk and tell the receptionist we’re here to have a wedding tour. I feel like the luckiest person in the world. Here I am with this gorgeous, funny, kind man. We’re at this stunning venue, on the verge of being together for the rest of our lives. I ignore the little niggles in my head – the fact that he still hasn’t met my friends and family, that his work often means he can’t honour commitments, that, so far, he’s been the one to make all the major decisions in our relationship. The thing is, we’re pretty much on the same page about everything, so I guess there’s no real problem there.
Moments later, a stunning woman walks into the foyer, her heels clip-clipping across the marble floor. As she draws closer I frown in partial recognition.
She thrusts out a hand. ‘Hello! I’m Sienna Doyle, the Manor House wedding coordinator.’
‘Alice Porter.’ I shake her slim hand. A no-nonsense handshake, firm and brief.
‘Do I know you?’ I ask Sienna. She looks and sounds oddly familiar with her flame-red hair and raspy voice.
She stares at me critically for a couple of seconds, and then recognition dawns. ‘Yes! You were here last weekend with your family,’ she says. ‘I was your waitress.’