For Better for Worse

‘What does Dad think?’ Zoe asked her.

There was a small pause and Ben watched as the small frown between Zoe’s mother’s neatly defined eyebrows increased. ‘Well, I have discussed it with him, of course, but you know how busy he is. He’s in Zurich at the moment—something to do with the IMF, some kind of conference.

‘Of course, it is a big commitment to take on, but I will be doing something useful, something that’s of benefit to others…’

‘The Sixties teenager comes of age with a Nineties conscience,’ Zoe teased, and Ben, who had been thinking much along the same lines, saw the brief flicker of pain in the older woman’s eyes and said nothing.

Instead, as much to his own surprise as to hers, he went over to Heather and hugged her, telling her gruffly, ‘You go for it, Heather. You’ve got one hell of a lot to offer.’

He saw the surprise in her eyes, the quick sheen of tears which she covered, the gratitude mingling with pain. He also felt the small slight tremble of her body; a totally non-personal reflex action of female to male which told him that her body was unfamiliar with that kind of spontaneous show of affection.

And yet Zoe had often commented how as a teenager she would regularly inadvertently interrupt her parents sharing a kiss, and that it was partially this awareness of their sexuality and their enjoyment of it which had given rise to her own belief that physical intimacy was a natural expression of emotion.

As Heather stepped back from him, Ben glanced across at Zoe. She seemed oblivious to her mother’s tension, insisting instead on outlining to Heather all their plans for the future of the hotel.

‘Well, I’m thrilled for both of you,’ Heather announced when Zoe had finally run out of breath.

‘It’s all really thanks to you,’ Ben told her quietly. ‘After all, you were the one who recommended me to Clive Hargreaves in the first place, and if I hadn’t been invited to cater for his daughter’s wedding…’

‘Clive is a businessman, not a philanthropist. If he didn’t have faith in you, he would never have even contemplated backing you. So when are you going to see the house?’ Heather asked them.

‘This week,’ Zoe told her excitedly. ‘We’re meeting Clive down there. Ben and I are having a couple of days off so that we can scout around and test out the competition.

‘We’re staying at this hotel near Salisbury. It seems to be the only close competition we’re going to have, and of course the chef won’t be anywhere as good as Ben.’

‘Don’t be too sure,’ Ben advised her. ‘The restaurant does have a good star rating, remember.’

‘Oh, you. Why are you always such a pessimist?’ Zoe objected, laughing at him.

* * *

It was gone midnight when they finally left. Heather had insisted on opening a bottle of champagne to toast their success. The phone had rung while they were drinking it and she had hurried to answer it, her face flushing with colour, the anticipation draining from her voice, leaving it flat and tired when she responded to the caller.

‘I was hoping it might be your father,’ she told Zoe as she replaced the receiver. ‘He promised he’d try to call this evening, but obviously he’s got tied up with something.’

Later on while they were driving home, Zoe commented happily to Ben, ‘Ma seemed really pleased for us, didn’t she? Not that I thought she wouldn’t be. I was surprised about this extra work she’s talking about taking on, though.’

‘Perhaps she feels she needs something to fill her time with your father being away such a lot,’ Ben responded cautiously.

Zoe seemed to have no perception of the undercurrents he had sensed in her parents’ home, nor of the tension he had felt emanating from her mother, and he had no wish to distress her by outlining his own suspicions.

Was it because he didn’t want to upset her, or was it because, selfishly, he didn’t want her attention deflected from their own lives to her parents’?

What was the point in stirring up trouble? he asked himself, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat as he suppressed the sharpness of his silent self-questioning.

After all he could be wrong. Heather Clinton could genuinely simply wish to find something to fill in her spare time. He could quite easily be wrong in suspecting that Zoe’s parents’ marriage was not after all as idyllically happy and secure as Zoe had always seemed to think.

Or was he just being over-cynical in suspecting that a husband who spent so much time away from home, plus a wife who was plainly unhappy and feeling rejected, was a recipe for marital problems?

And had it already gone further than merely being a slight problem; was Zoe’s father… ?

‘Ben, come back,’ Zoe called out, demanding his attention. ‘You were miles away. Who were you thinking about? Sharon?’

‘No,’ he told her honestly as he smiled at her.

‘Well, you were worrying about something… someone…’ Zoe retorted.

Ben said nothing. Worrying? About her parents, her mother… ? Why should he? He had problems enough worrying about his own family without taking on the additional burden of Zoe’s parents as well.