Chapter Text
Caroline tossed the Cosmopolitan magazine onto the coffee table in her new flat. “You need a shag, Demelza.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Demelza groaned, exasperated. Her cheeks blazed at the suggestion. They were celebrating Caroline’s move into the new, upscale, modern complex in Truro for their monthly girl’s night.
“I mean it!” Her best friend in the universe sprang to her feet. “You’ve been wallowing around in a sea of self-pity ever since the divorce. One would think you missed the philandering son of a bi---”
Demelza narrowed her eyes, and Caroline’s mouth snapped shut. “Never.”
Demelza Carne had met her ex-husband, Hugh Armitage, whilst in uni working on her undergraduate degree in music performance and history. He was two years older than her twenty-two years and heir to his uncle, George Falmouth, Lord De Dunstanville. With the face of an angel and the heart of a poet, he’d plied his talent on Demelza the first night they’d met at a party celebrating the Cambridge crew team’s win over Oxford on the Thames. Dazzled by his looks and charm, she’d relented when he’d asked for her number. They’d fallen head over heels in a matter of days, discovering shared interests in music, ballet, art and film in no time. Caroline had cautioned her about Hugh’s reputation as a partying player, to no avail. They’d married young, impetuously, hiding their intentions from their parents until it was too late, the matter a fait accompli and consummated.
From Demelza’s perspective, they’d been happy, lost in one another for five years, until she’d begun her doctoral studies in music history and theory at Truro College. To earn the Doctor of Philosophy in Music, she desired required long hours of study, working on research projects, and developing her thesis, all requiring concert and workshop performances, which had the added benefit of furthering her name, reputation and skills. Hugh, who had finished his master’s degree in business, had joined his uncle’s company, which had offices in Cornwall and London. Hugh had praised her for her commitment to her gifts and encouraged her to direct her attention to her studies. Once distracted, he’d begun to pursue his own forms of entertainment: partying, wielding his family name and connections like a seasoned politician, and womanising.
She began to hear rumours about Hugh’s philandering and waved it off. But then, signs started to become clearer: their sex life, once vibrant, had become non-existent. He spent more and more time at the London office “on business”. Efforts to reach him on his mobile had become difficult. Ultimately, it wasn’t until he returned for the weekend and the evidence -- the proverbial lipstick on his collar -- stared her in the face. Their confrontation later that night was epic, filled with tears, fury, and begging. “Uncle George will be furious,” Hugh said. “There’s never been a divorce in the history of the Falmouth family, Demelza. Please give me another chance, I’ll do whatever you want!” She acquiesced to a second chance, but ordered him from their master bedroom, her trust in him in tatters.
He was contrite in the days and weeks that followed, attentive and willing to meet with a counsellor. She wondered if her hectic schedule had contributed to his need to find companionship elsewhere. She cut back on her studies, and he made a point of staying in town. The more time they spent together, the more she remembered the man she’d married, the man she still loved despite his infidelity. A month after the separation, pleased with his commitment, she let him back into her bed.
It lasted a fortnight. Demelza was collecting the clothes to go to the dry cleaners and picked up his jumper. It smelled of jasmine perfume, and she pulled several long, inky-black hairs from its hemline. Her tears blinded her for hours.
They made an agreement: as long as she didn’t see it or hear about it, she would stay to keep up appearances for his family. He was, unsurprisingly, ejected from her bedroom once again, any thought of intimacy with him a thing of the past.
And yet, the second chance soon became a third chance until they were barely going through the motions. Three months into their charade, she arrived home from a performance late one night to find a note:
Had a business meeting in town. H
She stumbled into her bedroom, slipped into her nightgown and collapsed in their bed, snuggling her head against her pillow, only to discover an earring under its soft comfort. The only problem was it didn’t belong to her.
It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Not only had he waved his indiscretion in her face, he’d had the gall to do so in her bed! Devastated, Demelza packed most of her clothes before he returned to their home. He begged her not to leave him, but she swept from the house, throwing her bags in the back of her Land Rover and drove straight to Caroline’s, where her tears finally fell. She began divorce proceedings within days of the separation but knew it would take many months before she was finally free of him, for, despite the rock-solid grounds she’d had when she filed, Hugh had made it clear he intended to fight. It became much easier when Hugh and his latest conquest were splashed across the tabloids when they were caught shagging in an alleyway off Dean Street in London. Charges of public indecency inflamed his uncle, who demanded Hugh get the matter sorted at once. One year, an excellent solicitor and several court appearances later, she received the decree absolute, freeing her from her union with Hugh and awarding her their home in Cornwall as well as a very handsome financial settlement.
Yet all the money and property in the world could not heal the shattered heart that ached in her breast. She took a year-long leave from her studies, where she’d travelled throughout Europe, escaping the painful familiar to seize upon the anonymous new. It was while she was in Venice that she’d begun to find a glimmer of the joy that had been a part of her life since childhood. By the time she’d returned to Cornwall, the comforts of home and hearth, the sea and sand of her youth were all she wished for. She was ready to start again. Now, she was focused on being a success in her new role as an associate professor of music history and theory at Truro College.
“My days of self-pity are done, and you know it, Caroline,” Demelza clarified as tipped what was left of the bottle of pinot gris into her wine glass. Should have bought two bottles, she thought to herself. “But the last thing I need in my life right now is some mindless hook-up.”
“I think that’s precisely what you need,” Caroline chuckled. “Darling,” her tone shifting from one of humour to deep affection, “Hugh treated you abominably, gadding about Cornwall and London, fucking everything that moved.”
“Well,” Demelza interrupted, “not everything.”
Caroline looked at her in sympathy. “All I’m saying is just because you’ve a week before you start your prestigious new job doesn’t mean you can’t get a little freaky beforehand.” She took Demelza’s hand. “Look. Your birthday is this weekend.” She paused for effect. “The big 3-0.”
“I know,” Demelza moaned. The thought of it made her stomach lurch. “I was there for it, you know.”
Caroline poked her in the side with a perfectly manicured nail. “Well, such a milestone calls for a celebration. Let’s go to Newquay for the weekend!”
“What?” Demelza blurted. Newquay was like the Vegas of Cornwall, where stag and hen nights reigned, and dodgy pubs flourished.
“I mean it,” Caroline said, whipping her mobile off the coffee table and tapped in something on the browser. “A friend of mine told me about a beautiful hotel they stayed at last month that would be perfect.” She clicked on a link and, when it finished loading, turned the screen so they both could see. The web page for the Headland Hotel splashed upon the little screen, the images lush and so very inviting. “And they have a spa…” Caroline said in a sing-song voice that trailed off into nothingness.
“A spa?” Demelza whispered. She was a sucker for a spa, and Caroline knew it. She got up, nibbling on her bottom lip and paced the room. Was there any reason not to go? Demelza had planned to lock herself in the house with some wine and Rosekilly Caramel Crunch Ice Cream to watch a marathon of Game of Thrones, but that was sounding more and more pathetic as the seconds ticked by her. When was the last time she’d done something this impetuous or spur of the moment? And then the prospect of Caroline’s suggestion snaked its way through her mind, and she bit back a moan. Her sex drive hadn’t dried up in the divorce. On the contrary, when she and Hugh had been happy, the sex had been out of this world. The truth was she’d missed it, so very much. But enough to pick up some stranger in a pub? No, that was not for her.
But the spa? Demezla stopped in the kitchen and faced her friend. “You cow,” she teased. Caroline squealed with happiness, racing to join Demelza near the stove. Demelza snatched the mobile from her friend’s hands, navigated to the spa’s section and groaned. “Alright! Alright! What are you thinking?” They booked a suite for Thursday evening and a Friday spa day of beauty before they dined in the hotel’s two-rosette awarded restaurant. Then they would put on their pub crawling gear and go out on the town. Finally, they go back to the hotel, lie abed with their hangovers until noon and return home. “And no promises about meeting some bloke in a bar and dragging him back to my room, understood?”
Caroline’s index finger made a cross over her heart. “I promise. No pressure at all.” She arched a brow. “Even though you might find it fun.”
Demelza rolled her eyes. Fuck it, she thought to herself, tossing back her wine and rooting around in Caroline’s fridge for what she knew would be there: champagne. “Let’s do it!”