The New Beginnings Coffee Club: The feel-good, heartwarming read from bestselling author Samantha Tonge

‘This make-up is ace!’ she said and cooed over a palette of metallic colours. ‘I must go and show Dot. She’s always saying she never knows what colour eye shadow to wear. Then I’ll take a photo of it with all the other stuff.’ She pouted. ‘I wish you’d let me join Instagram, Mum.’

Whilst Zak was right – kids did grow up quickly nowadays – when it came to social media, I’d always been firm. ‘You know the rules – if you have to lie about your age to join, it’s a no-no.’

‘But it has amazing filters that make you look better and all my friends –’

I folded my arms.

‘Fine,’ she mumbled and scooped up all the items. She headed out of the room and pulled the door behind her.

I stood up and stared at the door. ‘You don’t think she’s getting a bit … thin, do you?’ I asked.

Zak looked up. ‘This again? Stop stressing, baby. She’s just aware of healthy eating. They teach it nowadays at school.’

His eyes crinkled deeply at the corners, hardly surprising with all the hours he was putting in. I’d keep my concerns to myself for the moment. He clearly had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to burden him. I dealt with our domestic life. He ran the business. Team work at its best, I’d always thought. Despite the age gap, we seemed remarkably well suited.

Business must have really been booming. Mind you, even if Zak had more time to think about anything but profit margins and chasing the edgiest designs, it would take a lot for him to admit April had a problem. Despite his modern appearance, my husband had some hardened, old-fashioned views – and not taking mental health issues seriously was one of them.

I sighed but quickly plastered a bright smile on my face. Zak got to his feet. Strode over to me. Took my hands. Gently his thumbs circled my palms. I looked up into his face. Wow, he’d aged well. At forty-three my husband looked hotter than ever and not much older than me at thirty-two.

His athletic body moved forwards and I breathed in his musky scent. It prompted images of us making love to fill my mind. How his strong frame would hold me prisoner in a sensual jail I never wanted to escape. How he’d become my world after making love to me for my very first time. My heart squeezed. He looked worn down. I’d hated the distance between us lately.

‘Let’s go out to dinner, tonight,’ he said. ‘How about The Rose Garden? I’ll book a table for eight o’clock. There’s … something we need to discuss.’

‘Are you sure you feel like it, darling?’ Please say yes!

My heart leapt. If our favourite Italian restaurant couldn’t relax him enough to enjoy a night of carnal pleasures, then nothing could. Also, time alone together would give me a chance to broach the subject of my return to college. He was right. We hadn’t talked properly for a while. His voice sounded flat but I ignored that. He was making an effort and perhaps it was time I made more of an effort too. I … I could book us a relaxing weekend away with restorative treatments galore and –

‘I’m fine. But first I’ve got some business associates to meet …’

‘On a Saturday? Zak! You deserve more rest. Cancel it.’ I stood on tiptoe and kissed him softly on the lips but he pulled back and I sensed an air of tension. It was weeks since we’d last made love. Zak always came home shattered and went straight to sleep. Then when we did get close – like right now – he found it difficult to unwind. Good red wine and a bowl of the finest pasta would serve as the perfect aphrodisiac. My pulse quickened.

At least, I hoped it would. This feeling of a gap between us had appeared once before – when his mum got cancer. She told him first and he kept it to himself. Shut off. Avoided my company. Became irritable. More often than usual, he lost his temper. He said afterwards it was because he couldn’t face talking about it. So was Zak hiding something this time around? Only yesterday he’d been sitting in the lounge and had suddenly thrown his pen to the floor. Frustration over work, he’d said. It just wasn’t like him at all.

‘No can do. I’ll shower and change before meeting them and see you there. Get a taxi,’ he said, brow knotted.

‘You really can’t put them off? It’s the weekend. I worry about you; I wish I could help ease the pressure.’

His face flushed. ‘They head back to France tonight. I need to get them to sign on the dotted line before they catch their plane home. I’ll get a lie-in tomorrow.’

He ran a hand across his forehead and I didn’t push further. I kissed him again and one of his hands slid up, underneath my blouse at the back. My pulse broke all speed limits as I waited for him to become more daring with his fingers and move forwards, impatiently exploring my skin. But instead, he let go and simply kissed me on the cheek. My heart eventually slowed to its usual rhythm, as regular as a clock’s tick.

I bit my lip with frustration, wanting to feel his body against mine; wanting to satisfy the knot of desire in my belly that only Zak could unravel. My stomach tingled at the thought of us sharing food and an early bedtime together, tonight – at the thought of my showing him exactly how much he meant to me. A warmth rose through my body, up my thighs, and into my neck. For the hundredth time I ordered myself to count my blessings. I had more than some people could ever hope for. What had I done to deserve such a perfect existence?

Chapter Two

Little black dress. Up-do hair. Diamond earrings. Seeing as this was effectively a date, I’d made extra effort. My stomach tingled again, as the taxi pulled up outside The Rose Garden. I fumbled with my purse and recalled the steamy nights of our first years together. Limbs entwined, urgent kisses, Zak playing my body expertly as if he were its maestro. Yet for several weeks no music had been made between us and my perfect world had seemed a little less shiny. Tonight I was hoping for an orchestral performance that would infuse my life with atomic brightness.

Moustached Marco, The Rose Garden’s owner, opened the glass door on cue, just as I approached. Glad to remove my faux-fur coat, I went in. The May evening was surprisingly warm.

‘Buonasera, la signora Masters, come stai?’

‘Bene, grazie,’ I replied, voicing the extent of my Italian.

‘You meet Mr Masters?’

I nodded.

‘He no here yet. Perhaps you like a cocktail, first. Your usual?’

I beamed and followed him over to the gilt bar, put my handbag on it, and sat on one of the ornate gold and mahogany swings. I know – it was pure decadence, me hanging by two golden chains from the ceiling. This was the Great Gatsby lifestyle I’d become accustomed to.

I breathed in the aroma of tomato and basil and gazed around the restaurant, loving the red and cream walls and decorative, wicker wine-bottle holders. Each table bore a candle and a single red rose. Very gently, I swung to and fro as, over the next half an hour, the laughter and chat got louder.

I texted Zak for the second time as the hands on my Rolex showed half past eight and wished I’d brought my e-reader. I blamed Zak’s long hours and his empty side of the bed for my latest obsession with quality erotica. The fluttery lightness in my chest subsided a little and I was just about to press dial when a firm hand clasped my shoulder.

I glanced up. Eyes the exact colour of Marco’s amaretto brownies stared back. I scanned the decisive jawline and strong nose. Zak gave a half-smile, revealing bright white teeth that contrasted with golden tanned skin. I swallowed, half tempted to suggest we skip the meal and head straight back home, to our bedroom.

‘Sorry I’m not on time. I just needed thirty minutes extra to clinch the deal.’

I slipped my hand into his and squeezed his fingers as Marco escorted us to our favourite table, guaranteed by the large tip we always left. It was in the corner, away from the kitchens and intrusive windows. He pulled out the chairs and after we’d sat down, placed napkins on our laps. I squirmed, having never quite got used to such attention. My discomfort often made Zak laugh. Not tonight.

‘Your favourite red?’ said Marco.

Zak nodded and ran a hand through his unusually messy hair. ‘And breadsticks. Please.’ He loosened his scarlet tie. That was his signature fashion statement – a bright strip of colour against the understated grey and navy suits. Zak slipped off his jacket, which showed off his slim-fit shirt and the platinum golf-ball cufflinks I’d bought for his fortieth birthday. My husband was heading for middle age. How was that possible? When had I become so grown-up?

‘You look great,’ he said and then bit his top lip. ‘I haven’t always told you that. It’s just that recently … Elite Eleganz …’

‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I interrupted and wished I was close enough to kiss his dangerously seductive mouth. ‘So. Tell me all about this deal. Did you clinch it in the end?’ Admittedly, the financial minutiae of the business didn’t always grab my interest, but I’d made an effort over the years to quiz Zak and understand as much as I could. After all, he was the man I loved. The man I cared for. As his partner, it was my job to show him support.

Zak waited whilst the waiter poured our drinks and then left. He nodded and raised a glass. They clinked. The breadsticks arrived and he munched one down straightaway. Odd that he didn’t want to tell me about it, although he often said I served as a great distraction to business concerns.

I grinned. ‘Goodness, you have built up an appetite. So, what did you want to discuss?’ He could go first and then, totally relaxed, listen to my plans to take up my studies again. Whoop! Me designing again? Perhaps, one day, I’d develop my own range within Elite Eleganz or –

Ignoring my question, Zak cleared his throat. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. Chanelle rang. April left her cardigan behind.’

My brow knotted. ‘When did she call? You went out before me.’

He loosened his tie further. ‘She rang my mobile, to pick my brains about some bookkeeping course she’s thinking of doing.’

I grinned again. Zak couldn’t usually stomach much more than five minutes of her chat about fish pedicures or the Kardashians – although he and Chanelle did share a love of travel. Before meeting me, Zak had skied, sunbathed, and eaten his way around most of Europe.

I sat more upright. A bookkeeping course? Why didn’t that surprise me? Glamorous Chanelle was an odd mix. On the surface, she was your stereotypical trophy wife, loving the high life, the lunches, the spa trips, and manicures. Yet simmering beneath was a dogged determination to be more than arm candy – to make her own mark.

And perhaps this information was a perfect cue from the universe to talk about my prospective studies. Not that Zak would stop me. There’d been a shift in our relationship over the last few years. I’d matured. No longer saw him as the wise old man. Still loved and respected him, but was no longer so much … in awe.

‘I don’t know how Chanelle balances work with looking after the kids. I count my blessings that I’ve been able to be a stay-at-home mum,’ I said. ‘A choice that I’ve loved – looking after you two and running Elite Eleganz’s charity projects. But now April’s older, I was –’

‘Yes, and it’s made my work life easy,’ interrupted Zak, ‘us not having to both juggle professional commitments.’

I brushed the tip of my shoe up his muscular leg, under the table. ‘I’m so proud of how you’ve built up your parents’ business.’

He moved his leg away and shrugged again, before sipping his wine. Hmm. It wasn’t like Zak to play down a compliment.

‘So, Chanelle wants to do a course as well as working and looking after Skye? She’s superwoman. Although I was thinking –’

‘It’s strange that you two are such good friends. In some ways you’re so different.’ He stared at me for a moment and then studied the menu.

This was true. I gazed at him across the flickering candle. ‘I’ve changed since you and me first met though, don’t you think?’ I thought back to the younger me. ‘But then I was just nineteen, still worried about expectations, and your life seemed so daunting. I didn’t want to let you down; be an embarrassment. All your friends were so much older and spoke a language full of words like private jets, penthouse suites, and Michelin-starred restaurants … It took a while to get used to that.’

‘Yeah, well, circumstances force us to evolve,’ he muttered in a flat voice. ‘Come on. Let’s choose our starters.’

Knots formed in my stomach as the evening progressed. Not even the best tiramisu this side of the Channel put a smile on his face or a joke in his chat. Still, his sullen expression didn’t stop young female diners and waitresses shooting admiring glances his way – something I’d become accustomed to, over the years.

‘Zak – talk to me!’ I eventually said after the waiter delivered our coffees. ‘What’s on your mind?’

He glanced down at his cup.

‘Fine, then. I’ll start.’ Anything to break this strained silence. I took a deep breath. ‘I want to pick up my studies again. Lately, what with April being older, I … I need to design again, Zak. I’m going to get my old sketches down from the loft and –’

‘You? Go back to uni?’

I waited for him to ask why. Instead his face flushed and slowly he shook his head. He ran a hand through his untidy hair, lips firmly closed, eyes staring harder at his drink. An icy shard pierced my chest. What was going on? Zak didn’t do silence. He either agreed or disagreed vociferously, whether it was brainstorming a new charity idea or suggesting what we had for dinner. Did he really want a Stepford wife whose life consisted of being the perfect hostess and doing housework? He was in for a shock if he did.

‘Zak? I’m worried,’ I said gently and reached across the table. I squeezed his hand.

He pulled away and looked up. ‘You’re worried? About what? Which shoes to wear to your next lunch out? Well try living in my shoes for twenty-four hours.’

I gasped.

He held his head in his hands. ‘Sorry, baby,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘It’s just …’

‘Tell me,’ I almost whispered. ‘It’ll be okay.’

‘Perhaps you should get a job instead of going back to college,’ he blurted out.

I leant back in my chair. Zak had always loved our traditional set-up – him out to work and me at home. Both his parents had worked full-time when he was little, and I got the feeling that Fifties-style family life was a fantasy he’d held for a long time. So why would he suddenly want me to earn?

A shiver slowly descended my spine. My voice wavered. ‘Is Elite Eleganz in trouble? Is that why you’ve been working so late? I assumed business was booming, but –’

Zak opened his mouth but nothing came out. Finally he nodded. ‘We’ll have to get rid of the Porsche. Forget holidays for a while. Cancel our tennis club membership. And April … I just don’t think we can afford the fees for Oakwood Towers any more. I’ve tried so hard to avoid this, but she’ll have to move to a state school.’

‘But April’s settled there!’ Was he mad? My throat went dry. Forget the material things and journeys abroad. April would hate moving. Leaving her friends. Being the new girl. ‘Surely we can work something out? Why didn’t you tell me before? And it’s mid-term … none of this makes sense.’

‘Sorry, Jenny,’ he mumbled. ‘I … I’ve let you down.’

‘You have.’ My eyes watered. ‘By not confiding in me all these weeks. Didn’t you imagine I could have helped, or at least shouldered the burden? I’m not just some piece of fluff who’s going to disintegrate if she can no longer afford Louboutins.’ My voice shook. ‘Look …’ I breathed in and out for a few moments. ‘Zak. Let’s think about this. There must be a way we can sort this out …’

‘I … I can’t do this. Not now,’ he mumbled and stood up, scraping his chair. Without a word he left the restaurant. My jaw dropped.

I scrabbled for my purse but Marco came over to my table, carrying my coat, and muttered something about paying next time we were in. I shot him a grateful look before navigating tables as I made my way to the glass door and hurried outside. Deeply I inhaled as the evening air hit my face.

Squinting through the darkness, I saw Zak’s suited silhouette pass The Coffee Club, with its jars of beans and glass-domed plates of cake. His hunched gait made him look unusually vulnerable, as he ended up at a small park. Not long after, I caught him up but he didn’t stop walking. And a creeping, dull sensation didn’t stop slithering across my body. What had stopped him from opening up, all these months?

‘Zak! Hold up! My shoes are killing me,’ I said, but he cut right, into the children’s playground and then stood still for a second, shoulders scrunched. From behind, I wrapped my arms around his waist, but vigorously he shook them off. With a shiver – despite my faux-fur coat – I sat down on a swing. A part of my brain noticed how different this swing was from the one in Marco’s restaurant, the one I’d been blissfully enjoying only an hour before.

I waited in the darkness. Gave Zak the time he clearly needed. Kicked off my stilettos. Eventually he sat on the swing next to me. Side by side – it was the closest we’d been all evening, and the breeze carried over a familiar smell, but I couldn’t quite identify it. I rubbed my nose and waited for him to speak.

‘I’ve messed up, Jen. Big time. Risked everything my parents worked for. And …’

A solitary orange street lamp lit up his strong features. I took a deep breath and smelt the damp, earthy evening air. ‘We’ll sort it out,’ I said firmly, determined to show him that all the support he needed was right here, in a little black dress. ‘Together. I promise. We’ll move somewhere smaller. Holiday in Britain. And don’t worry about Oakwood Towers. I’m sure they won’t expect April to leave immediately. That’ll give us time to –’

Eyes drooping at the corners, Zak suddenly looked every one of his forty-three years. ‘You don’t understand – we’re on the brink of bankruptcy. I’ve ploughed so much money into the new store we opened in Manchester. As it turns out, the location isn’t quite as dynamic as I’d predicted. Plus, our latest lines haven’t sold well.’

Bankruptcy? I almost laughed. No. He had to be wrong. He really must have blown his worries out of all proportion. That’s what happened when you didn’t share your concerns. Irrationality took over. ‘Oh, darling, the company has hit hard times before,’ I said, calmly. ‘This will just be a blip.’

‘It’s no blip,’ he snapped.

But Elite Eleganz couldn’t be broke. It didn’t make sense. ‘Okay. So why has everything fallen apart now?’

He turned away. ‘Bad luck, a big new competitor, and investing capital in a project someone pitched me when I should have ploughed it back into the business. I’ve had to let some staff go to cut costs. That’s why my work hours have been crazy lately, me covering for them. And I’ve asked around, tried to find investors, but they lose interest as soon as they see the books.’ He swallowed. ‘And … there’s something else, Jenny.’ Zak jumped off the swing and paced up and down.

I stood up too but without my stilettos had to stare upwards more than usual to see the expression on his face. ‘Whatever it is, I’m here for you,’ I said, gently. ‘You should have confided in me earlier, Zak. I’m your wife. It’s my job to be there for you when times get tough.’ My hair fell down to my shoulders. Zak tilted back my head, bent down, and brushed his lips against mine, before trailing his soft mouth down my neck. But his lips didn’t press hard like they used to and he drew back as if he, too, had been hoping for something that wasn’t delivered. My nose twitched … that smell again … I sneezed.

‘Oh, Jenny …’

I scrunched up my face as a sudden realisation washed over me. ‘Why are you covered in Chanelle’s perfume?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘April came home wearing it after the party. It made me sneeze then too.’

He opened his arms. ‘Um … it must have rubbed off on me when I hugged my little princess.’

‘No. You showered and changed before you went out. I hung up your towel and clothes, which you left on the floor,’ I said, my voice gathering strength. I snorted. ‘For God’s sake, Zak. Have you been around to Chanelle’s first, to discuss your – our – problems? I may not be a businesswoman like her, but I like to think I’ve some degree of common sense and perspective that might have helped.’

Zak bit his top lip. ‘I just called around to pick up April’s cardigan.’

‘No you didn’t. You only said you spoke to her on the phone before, about her course.’

A strange expression crossed his face, kind of twisted, tortured. ‘Okay,’ he said in a strangulated voice. ‘She said it was for the best that I came clean; that’s why I suggested this meal … She insisted, you see …’

‘Come clean about our finance problems? Damn right! I couldn’t agree with her more.’

‘No … you don’t understand …’ His voice cracked, for some reason making my body shiver.

‘You’re not ill, are you?’ I whispered, hardly daring to voice those words. ‘Oh, Zak. What is it? Honestly. I can handle it. I’m here for you.’

He threw his hands in the air. ‘No, I’m not. Oh, God, Jenny, this is hard.‘ He swallowed. ‘You see, it’s helped … talking to Chanelle …’

‘Chanelle? Help?’ I shrugged. ‘But how? Granted, she runs a small beauty salon, but she has no experience of big business.’

‘It’s difficult for you to understand, Jen. You aren’t an entrepreneur. But the principles of profit and loss are the same however big or small your company –’

‘But she irritates the hell out of you with her celebrity crushes and happy-go-lucky attitude.’

He held his head in his hands again and then pulled those long fingers away.

‘I’m sorry, Jenny. Chanelle and I – we’ve wanted to tell you for a long time but my mind’s been on other things. Her business was on its knees so I helped her out with a loan, and then this season’s lines failed to make an impact so we had a common bond. Reproducing high-end catwalk designs for the bottom end of the market has always been our unique selling point but it just isn’t hitting the mark lately. All I’ve been able to think of these last weeks is how to save our livelihood and Chanelle’s had some ideas –’

I gritted my teeth and held up my hand, a ball of heat scorching the inside of my chest. ‘Whoa! You invested in Chanelle’s business? It was you? Why did no one tell me? Why keep it a secret?’

He shifted from foot to foot as my mind suddenly focused on various bits of information. Like freshly divorced Chanelle’s unrefined joy on first meeting me in the school playground, when she found out I was married to ‘sexy millionaire Zachary Masters’ (her words not mine). How she pursued our unlikely friendship. Zak’s late nights ‘working’ over recent months. How his hair had looked uncharacteristically messy when he turned up at the restaurant tonight. How recently our sex life had waned …

A shard of realisation sliced through my body. My legs buckled. My hand rose to my throat and within seconds I was vomiting into a nearby bush. No. No! This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be possible. He came near to rub my back but I gave a muffled sob and jumped away.

‘How could I have been so stupid?’ I stuttered and gazed at leaves splattered with half-digested tiramisu, as the truth sank in. My chest squeezed tight as if my torso were wrapped in Spanx. Chanelle and I weren’t female soul mates, but hadn’t all those laughs, hugs, and lunches together counted for anything? Bit by bit my perfect life was crumbling – jagged chunks of it smashing through my ignorance.

As for Zachary … I felt as if I’d been held upside down and had all my insides shaken out. Then a blinding white light swept across my eyes as I pictured April’s broken face finding out what I’d just deducted. My jaw clenched and I span one hundred and eighty degrees. ‘No wonder you were starving for breadsticks.’ My throat felt thick. ‘So much for meeting with a French client – although I suppose you did get a leg over the Chanelle …’