OK Ch. 10-12

"How's Liam?" was Karen's first question. She had been out of circulation because of taking over, decorating and establishing the hotel, and did not know of the break up, or any details.

"I don't know how he is, we broke up. The engagement's off."

"Good God no! Why? You're so good together."

"I don't want to go into details, Karen. Let's just say that I realised that I couldn't marry him, and so I called off the engagement."

"I'm sorry, you seemed such a well matched couple. Are you sure you want to give him up?"

Carol sighed with frustration. "Yes. I'm sure."

Karen sighed in her turn and changed the subject. "Someone said your Ex. was back in town."

"Yes, and that's partly why I'm here."

Carol hesitated.

"Go on," urged Karen, wondering if Carol's Ex. was the reason for her change of heart concerning Liam, "I never did get the whole story."

"Well," she took a deep breath, "We divorced because I got some evidence that John was cheating on me, some explicit photo's, and I lost my temper. I do have a very bad temper and I was devastated.

"I wouldn't let him explain; he tried but my brothers warned him off. I was so sure he was guilty that I knew I couldn't go on with the marriage.

"But I wasn't content with divorcing him, I turned most of his friends, our friends and some you don't know, against him.

"Anyway, he's come back and I met him and he explained what really happened, and I believe him. I was wrong and he was innocent all along; I threw away a perfectly good marriage to a good man because I lost my temper and didn't let him explain. So the least I can do is to put the matter right with our friends and get him back into their good books. It's been quite exhausting.

"You want him back?" Karen's face betrayed her conclusion that Carol dumped Liam to get back with John.

"After three years apart and after talking to him, I don't hold much hope of that."

"But some hope? You want him?"

Carol nodded, looking glum.

"So you want me to invite him to the party?" Karen smiled. "Further his rehabilitation?"

Carol nodded. "It would really help. It would spread the word that he was innocent. You have no idea how humiliating this is for me, advertising my stupidity."

"No one will think badly of you for putting things right," Karen reassured her as she extracted an invitation from her bureau and put it in an envelope.

"Address?" she asked, wrote it down on the envelope and affixed a stamp. "You'll post it?" she asked Carol.

"Thank you Karen. What do I owe you?"

"Nothing, but you know Liam will be here, don't you?"

"That's OK," Carol smiled. "After all, it was Liam who introduced me to you and Ryan. I can manage him."

"We don't want any fights," said Karen with a laugh.

"There won't be any," grinned Carol. "We may end up talking but that's all."

--

On Friday Ryan returned.

"You did what?" Ryan asked, incredulous.

"Well, she asked," replied an unrepentant Karen. "She wants to rehabilitate him. Apparently she divorced him under a misunderstanding."

"Not what I heard from Liam," he said. "There wasn't a misunderstanding at all. He was fucking some bimbo at a conference. Apparently Carol's brothers got a private investigator to get some photos of the bastard in action, and make a report. Carol was bloody angry and kicked him to the kerb. Serves the bugger right. And you sent him an invitation?"

"Carol said-"

"Carol's nothing but a gold digger. When the ex-husband comes back as a big executive she dumps Liam and tries to get him back: more money, better life-style. Dermott's seen what she's up to. He's disgusted.

"And, this John," continued Ryan, "her ex, goes and sacks Liam, pure revenge for getting his ex-wife. The bloke's a real bastard, and she's made out it was all a mistake! The thing is, a lot of her friends have fallen for her lies."

"Well," she said with a shrug, "Too late now. The card's in the post."

"I'll see about that," Ryan growled. Karen sighed, she knew all about Ryan's temper. Carol wasn't the only one who could act intemperately.

--

Chapter Twelve

John did not in fact phone Carol on Monday evening, or any other evening that week.

There was a call from Paula Grantham, Sir Maurice Callaghan's PA, first thing on Monday morning.

"John," she said, "Sir Maurice wants to see you. Tomorrow would be good. You were going to send your half-yearly report, he says. He wants you to bring it, and be prepared to stay in town for a while. OK?"

"Pauline!" came John's strangled cry.

"Sorry, sorry, so touchy! Is that all right with you babe?" and she giggled. "Phew, some people are so picky!"

John smiled, unrepentant, "That's fine," he replied. "Any idea what's in his mind?"

"He did say to get Tom Forstone to deputise for you, so it could be for some time, but he wants to put it to you himself."

"His right, I suppose," he said, and disconnected.

The rest of the day was taken by getting Tom sorted out and perfecting the report with Julie. Then off on the early train the next day.

Paula nodded him through to Maurice Callaghan's office.

"Two things," Maurice got to the point after their greetings. "You've livened up your end in a very short time.

"Now I've got a group from the Dutch division the day after. You remember pointing up some potentially serious personnel problems with that division when you were with them? Well, it's really blown up and it's now affecting performance. I want you to get involved with that. You saw the problem before anyone else; you may end up going over there to try to sort it. How do you feel about that?"

John thought for a moment. "If I have to go over there, I need to get back to Tom before I go."

"Agreed."

The meeting with the Dutch visitors showed John that he would need to go to Holland and stay for at least a fortnight if not longer. There were some deeply endemic problems with some staff, and some of their systems were at still seriously at odds with those of the parent company long after the take-over.

He took a train back on the Thursday night and was in the office with Tom at seven the next morning. Julie said the earliest flight to Schiphol was early Sunday morning, so there was intense activity to sort everything out in time.

When John returned home from his office at nearly midnight on Friday, he found a pile of post. With a sigh he settled to sort it out and work his way through it.

Half way through he came across the invitation to the Midsummer's party. It was impersonal, really just an advertisement for the party. The envelope was hand written, but he did not recognise the writing.

He wondered whether he should bother. He thought of phoning the hotel but it was nearly one in the morning, so he decided against it. He would ask Tom the next day.

On Saturday their hopes of an early finish dwindled as they found more areas that needed covering. John had never organised the appointment of a deputy before, and he cursed himself for not taking that precaution, though he never thought it would be necessary so soon. Tom shrugged it off; after all, he said, it was never envisaged that John would turn into a trouble-shooter, and an international one at that.

They had lunch at the Griffin, which took longer than usual because it was a weekend and the staff were stretched, and on returning, they finished everything to their satisfaction shortly after three.

"I got an invite to that Mid-summer's party. No idea who sent it. You going to the party?" asked John.

"I was," Tom replied, "but I'm bushed. Anne's not that keen, so I think we'll stay at home."

"Me too," added John, "I've a very early start tomorrow."

When he got home, He had a shower, and packed a large suitcase and a cabin bag before taking his briefcase to the study. There he saw the answer-phone light blinking. He pressed 'playback'.

"Hey, John, sorry I missed you. Just to remind you about the party. Carol is very keen you come, see you there. Bye."

To his discomfort, he could not place the male owner of the voice, or the phone number, but the person obviously knew him well enough, and must have forgotten to give his name. He thought it might be Leo.

He sighed. If Carol was wanting him there, it was a chance to tell her of his feelings. He cursed himself that he had not phoned her earlier. He noted with a grin that it was his second curse of the day. He picked up his mobile and found her number. There was no reply. When it went to voicemail he said he would be at the party, and wanted to see her.

He felt a frisson of excitement at the prospect of seeing her and telling her that she had proved everything and he wanted to try again with her, slowly and gently. He could envisage her expression as she learned they would be an item again. He couldn't help envisaging her in bed with him either. which excited him further.

He was glad he had packed for the next day, now he only had to dress appropriately and drive over. He would not be drinking and he would not be staying long. He would explain why.

The evening was fine and warm when at eight forty-two John arrived at the hotel. As he entered he noticed the public bar to his right, and the noise of a party to his left the other side of some impressive oak doors. He was about to turn to his left, when the receptionist, a large man in a waistcoat and while shirt, called to him.

"Can I help you sir?"

"Oh, good evening. I'm here for the Midsummer party."

"I'm afraid it's by invitation only, sir, but you're welcome to use the public bar."

"I have an invitation."

"In that case, sir, you'll be on the list. May I have your name?"

"John Colshaw."

"Colshaw, Colshaw," murmured the man, tracing his finger down a list of names. Eventually he looked up.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said with an ingratiating smile, as if he were expecting trouble from this guest, "Your name doesn't appear on the list, so I can't admit you."

Up to this moment, John had felt relatively peaceful. Now he began to be annoyed.

"Look, I was sent this invitation through the post," he said showing the card, "and this evening there was a message on my answer-phone looking forward to seeing me."

"May I ask who left the message?" the imperturbable receptionist requested.

"He did not leave his name."

The man sighed, and John knew he was not believed and it irked him.

"The man also said that Carol Irwin was looking forward to talking with me. I take it she's here?"

"Oh, yes sir, she's booked into one of our rooms with her friend."

"So could you perhaps find her and ask her to come out here and join me in the public bar, since I'm barred from the party?"

At that moment someone John took to be a waiter passed by on his way to the bar.

"The receptionist called to the man, "Mr Frinton, is Miss Irwin in the ballroom?"

The man stopped and looked puzzled. "Er, no. Mr Jones, I don't think they've come down yet."

"It seems Miss Irwin is still getting ready." he stood and looked at John.

"So d'you think you could ring her room and tell her I'm here?"

"Of course." He ran his finger down another list. "Ah, yes. Mr Ronson and Miss Irwin, Room 104."

John started. Mr Ronson and Miss Irwin? She was sharing a room with a man?

The man keyed in the room number. He waited. Eventually he put the phone down.

"I'm afraid they are not answering sir."

"This Ronson, you know him?" he asked.

"Seems he is an old flame of Miss Irwin's from high school or university. He and Miss Irwin were apparently close at that time for quite a while, sir. He's a very nice man; Miss Irwin seems very taken with him."

Now John was angry and resentful, and felt betrayed. He took out a notebook and scribbled a note.

Carol,

I came to the party and was not admitted. I asked for you but you were not to be found. Your room was rung and there was no answer. I've gone home. John.

He tore out the note, folded it and gave it to the receptionist.

"Perhaps you could give this to Miss Irwin when she eventually emerges?" he asked belligerently.

"Certainly sir."

John turned and left the building. He did not see the receptionist screw up the note and throw it into the waste paper basket.

Once in his car he sat and thought. Was it possible that she was now with someone else? Did she send the message she wanted to see him to laugh at him and say she was in love with this Ronson man and had given up waiting? It surely wasn't possible for her to go through all that charade of repentance, bringing her brothers to apologise and explain, and then dump him?

Now her sending Jessica to him began to make sense. She had moved on and wanted him distracted, then on second thoughts that simply did not make sense either; Jessica had told him Carol was concerned he was without female companionship, but then she would give Jessica some such tale.

Perhaps this Ronson had a magnetism that turned her on back then, and since John did not react to her efforts to get back to him, he had come on the scene again.

So John had lost her again, at the very moment he was asking her to tentatively start again with him. It made him angry. All her loving words, all her resolve, just so much hot air.

He had an idea and phoned her mobile. Again it went to voice-mail.

"I'm in the car park of the hotel. They won't let me into the party. I asked them to contact you.

"The receptionist tried to ring Ronson's room. No answer. I assume you were in bed with him or in the shower. Hasn't taken you long to forget your eagerness to revive our marriage has it?

"You've taken up with an old lover instead? Why ask me to the party to rub my nose in your new lover? What have I done to deserve that?

"I don't understand you Carol. At least I've not got involved with you this time. I wanted to ask you something tonight, but you can forget that. I've had enough of you and your deceitful ways. I'm disgusted with you.

"Don't try ringing me, I'm out of the country for the foreseeable future, and in any case I don't want to hear from you after this. I won't return your calls. Good bye Carol. Leave me alone."

His anger and resentment at least partly satisfied, he drove home and went to bed with a triple whisky and the radio, carefully turning off his phone. His spirits were as low as they had ever been since that day in the Griffin when she had thrown the rings at him.

On Sunday morning early he left the house and went to the airport. He was gone four weeks.

to be continued