A Summer Fling (39 page)

Christie sighed. ‘I thought I’d been so short-changed when Peter died. You make me realize that I wasn’t after all,’ she said eventually.

‘Do you think you’d ever marry again?’

Christie shrugged. ‘Who knows what the future brings? But Peter Somers is a hell of a hard act to follow. I sometimes curse him for that.’

‘Were you very happy?’

Christie smiled, her eyes glassy with affection. ‘He was the most wonderful man: kind, passionate, funny. He was my heart. Funnily enough, I met Peter at work too. He was my married boss, older than me. He was living in a sexless, childless, unhappy marriage and I loved him away from his wife. Grace, do you remember that day in the pub when Anna said some thing about women who mess around with married men deserving all they got? For a long time I thought I was cursed because I broke up his marriage. But I would have done it all again to have him. And in a way I’m lucky because some people never find the love of their life but at least I can say I did. For a while. My punishment is that I’ll never find anyone like him again and I wouldn’t want to take a lesser man to my bed. We all pay for our sins in the end.’

‘Could you have children?’

‘I presume so, but I don’t know for sure. We thought we had all the time in the world. We planned to have them late on when we’d got our travelling bugs out of our system, but he died before then. We missed our chance.’

‘Oh, Christie.’

‘Life makes no guarantees – I accept that, I’ve had to. There are certain things, like children and longevity, that are privileges, not rights. All we can do is play the hand we are dealt. Another cognac, Grace?’ was Christie’s reply to that. ‘Let’s toast our health and our future happiness and a Malcolm-free existence in the office. My God, I know it’s evil but I hope the lazy bastard gets kicked out soon.’

Grace accepted the turn of conversation and poured them both another cognac which they drank together in comfortable silence. The way only good friends, close friends, can do.

Dawn burst into the office on Monday morning with the force of someone who has been rehearsing a speech for hours and cannot hang on to it any longer.

‘OK,’ she started her announcement to everyone. ‘I’m having a hen night but, and don’t take this the wrong way, I don’t want to look rude by not inviting you but I know it’s going to be awful and I wish I could get out of it but it’s my future sisters-in-law who are organizing it and they’ve got really rough mates and the big fat woman who’s making the bridesmaids’ dresses is going as well and it’s all going to be really awful and embarrassing and I don’t want—’

‘Will you chill!’ said Anna. ‘And you’d better take a few breaths because you’re turning blue around the gills.’

Dawn collapsed into her chair and her head fell into her hands. ‘They’ve organized it for a week on Saturday. Please tell me you’ve all got something on. If I’m going to have a hen night at all with you there, I’d prefer it just to be like Anna’s birthday – all of us having a meal at the Setting Sun together.’

‘Then we will, it’s sorted, so don’t get upset,’ said Christie, preparing to gee her up. ‘How did the bridesmaids’ fitting go?’

Dawn burst into tears and her work-mates immediately swarmed around her, which made her feel even more pathetic.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, preparing to lie as Raychel thrust the office box of tissues under her nose. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. They were fine; she’d done a good job.’

‘Oh well, that’s lovely then,’ said Grace. She noticed they were all exchanging worried glances above Dawn’s head. ‘Everything will come together soon, just you see.’
You must miss your parents so much at a time like this,
she thought, but didn’t say because she knew it would probably upset Dawn even more.

Dawn nodded, biting her top lip hard to stem the stupid tears. She was thinking about her parents too. What on earth would they have said, seeing her in this state about what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life?

She wasn’t the only one with a glum Monday-morning face. Anna was very quiet and her thoughts so preoccupied that Grace had to ask her four times if she wanted a coffee.

‘Earth calling Anna, can you read me?’ said Grace.

‘Sorry, yes, er, what did you say?’

‘Do you want a coffee? It’s my turn to get them.’

‘Yes – yes, please. Sorry.’

‘What’s up with you this morning?’ asked Christie. ‘You look as if you’ve come back to us after an out-of-body experience.’

They watched as Anna wrestled with something in her head that she obviously wasn’t sure if she should tell them or not. Then it flooded out of her.

‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’m confused. A couple of weeks ago it would have been mine and Tony’s anniversary, I think I mentioned it when I blew up that day in the pub, well, not a real anniversary ’cos we aren’t married, as I said, but when I got home from work I found a plate on my doorstep. One of those with a picture on it, do you know what I mean? A photo of me and Tony and underneath it just said,
Together.
And last week there was a red rose on the doorstep and this week a heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher.’

There was a silence as they waited for her to go on.

‘No, that’s it,’ said Anna. ‘Three presents over three weeks and nothing else. No phone calls, no guest appearance, nothing.’

‘Crikey, it’s like one of those Czechoslovakian fairy stories I used to watch on the box,’ said Christie. ‘
Three Gifts for Cinderella
, I think it was called.’

‘Aye, well, this Cinderella can’t work out what Prince Charming is up to. Am I supposed to drop my chuffing shoe outside the barber’s?’ Anna grunted.

‘What’s he playing at?’ asked Raychel.

‘You tell me. But there he was as normal as you like with
her
in his shop on Saturday morning when I did a sneaky drive past. Groping her arse. I can’t think what to make of it, I really can’t.’

Dawn stopped herself from saying that she would have bagged up the presents, burst into his shop with them and told the other woman to keep his lead on. But it was easy to advise on other people’s relationships, not so easy to take that advice and apply it to your own.

‘And how does it make you feel? Are you upset? Angry?’ asked Christie.

Anna made an attempt to self-analyze.

‘I don’t know. I suppose I felt all excited at first – full of anticipation. Now I just feel pissed off because I don’t know what’s happening.’ She didn’t say that Vladimir Darq’s tender hand on her heart had shifted something within her and made her rip off the rose-coloured specs about this so-called exciting development in her and Tony’s relationship.

‘It sounds to me as if he’s trying to assert his presence in your life again, just in case you had forgotten him,’ said Christie. ‘I could be wrong, but it’s very much as if he’s warming you up for his return.’

‘What, you mean he’s really thinking of coming back?’ said Anna. ‘And he’s not just mucking my head about?’

‘Be careful,’ warned Christie. ‘He’s sending you quite blatant love tokens. He’s definitely up to something.’

‘Would you have him back though?’ said Grace. ‘After all he’s done to you?’

‘You’ve come so far,’ said Dawn softly. ‘You’re a different person to the one you were when you collapsed in the toilets and were sick on Christie’s skirt. Would you really have him back?’

‘Would I hell,’ said Anna. But her voice had a definite waver in it.

Strangely enough, Anna’s mobile rang at lunchtime, interrupting her thoughts about Tony and his hand on Lynette Bottom’s bottom as she absently chewed on a beef and onion sandwich in the canteen. It was Vladimir Darq. Her hands were shaking as she answered it.

‘Anna, my car will call for you at eight p.m. on Saturday,’ he said. ‘I have something that I want to give you – it won’t take very long.’ Then he added pointedly, ‘It isn’t a plate.’ He put the phone down before she could say a single word in answer.

If that wasn’t enough mystery for one day, Christie was acting very oddly that afternoon as well.

‘Yes, I’ll make sure,’ she was saying quietly on the phone. ‘Secret squirrel.’ Then, when she saw Anna walk into the department, she switched to a bright and breezy voice. ‘Yes, absolutely,
Beryl.
We’ll be here,’ before slamming the phone down quickly.

‘Nice lunch?’ Christie asked.

‘Er . . . yeah . . . I suppose so,’ replied Anna.

‘Good, good.’ Christie’s mind appeared to be chewing on something. Anna could virtually hear her cogs turning. ‘Anna, you couldn’t do me a favour, could you? I wouldn’t ask but I’m a bit busy myself.’

‘Yeah, ’course, what is it?’ Anna presumed she was going to ask her to put the kettle on.

‘Will you call into Boots on your way home tonight and get me . . . get me a Boots magazine. I want to . . . look at their food offering. Sandwiches. You can leave an hour earlier so you don’t miss your train.’

‘I don’t need to leave an hour earlier—’

‘Yes, that’s fine. An hour earlier. I insist,’ said Christie definitely.

‘OK,’ said Anna, very puzzled. She accepted it, but felt that Christie wanted a Boots mag about as much as she wanted a Malcolm-type spray tan.

Dawn had a fitting at ‘White Wedding’ at seven o’clock that evening. She put the dress on and found that it gave her no thrill to do so. And Freya was reprimanding her because it appeared Dawn had lost quite a bit of weight.

‘If you keep this up, this dress will slip off you down the aisle,’ said Freya, pinning some alterations. ‘You need some shape at least to carry this design off.’

‘Will you take a picture of me in it?’ asked Dawn. ‘My fiancé has an old auntie in a home and I promised to show her my dress. She won’t be able to come to the wedding itself.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Freya.

‘I hope she remembers me. She’s not been well the past couple of weeks apparently. I didn’t want to confuse her even more, seeing as I’ve only met her once and she might not recognize me. But I did promise to show her a picture.’

‘You should always keep those sorts of promises,’ said Freya. ‘My goodness, you’ve lost inches!’

‘Shame dresses aren’t magic, isn’t it? Shame they can’t alter themselves to your shape and choose you instead of the other way round.’

‘All my dresses are magic,’ said Freya. ‘I guarantee that wearing this dress will lead you to the happiest of lives.’

‘I wish you really could guarantee it,’ said Dawn.

‘Oh, I can,’ said Freya unequivocally, resting her hand on her heart and smiling a warm, strange smile. ‘I can most definitely promise a bride the happiest of wedding days when she wears one of my dresses. Especially this one.’

Dawn so wanted to trust Freya in that. She looked at the reflection of herself in the mirror, with the dress pinned to fit her exactly. It really was beautiful and she willed that she would feel wonderful in it, swishing down the aisle. Everyone would love her in this dress and all the niggling and nit-picking of the wedding arrangements would be over and she and the Crookes would be united in happiness. Everyone would enjoy the food and the karaoke, and the horrible orange dresses were something they would laugh about one day. The most important thing was that she and Calum would be joined in holy matrimony and have a solid foundation to build their future happiness on. And Al Holly would be gone and unable to cause any more upset to her feelings. His image would fade and she would think of him as just a nice guy who once crossed her path, a pleasant memory.

It was a little more difficult to be positive when she got home that night though, to find that Calum had moved all the chocolate favours that Dawn had so painstakingly wrapped up next to the radiator, where they had melted.

‘Sorry we’re late, I got held up at work,’ Raychel apologized as soon as the door opened.

‘No matter, just glad you could make it. Come in, come in.’

Elizabeth Silkstone warmly greeted Raychel and Ben, pulling them into her house and then escorting them out into the lovely garden at the back where John and a large, thick-set bloke with a smiley face were cooking meat on a barbecue. John instantly came over and gave Raychel a big hug.

‘Hello, Flower,’ he said. ‘George, Janey,’ he called to the big man and a buxom red-haired woman standing nearby. ‘This is Raychel.’

‘It’s so nice to meet you, love,’ said the big-bosomed Janey, bending to give Raychel a kiss on her cheek. ‘Elizabeth and I and Fatso over there have known each other since school. We were forced to do Latin together. I’m still having therapy.’

‘Don’t forget me,’ said a slim, pretty blonde with a pronounced bump, cutting in between Janey and George. ‘I’m Helen, or Fatso as they’ve no doubt called me. I’m the third member of the Latin triumvirate.’

‘She’s just got married,’ said Janey, pointing a thumb at her friend’s swollen stomach. ‘The brazen tart! Him a partner in a firm of solicitors as well. What is the world coming to?’

‘Come and get a drink,’ said Elizabeth, linking her arm through Raychel’s and leading her away. ‘We’re so glad you’re here.’ Ben was now standing with John and George by the barbecue. ‘I have been dying for my friends to meet you.’

‘Do they know?’ asked Raychel.

‘They know you are Bev’s daughter,’ said Elizabeth. ‘They’re so happy for me that I found you. Now, how are you settling into that lovely apartment of yours? Have you got it as you want it yet?’

‘No, that’ll take a while,’ said Raychel, cutting to the chase. ‘Elizabeth, I had a letter forwarded on to me this morning from our old address. From my mother.’

‘Do you have it with you?’

‘Yes,’ said Raychel, foraging in her handbag.

‘Let’s go inside,’ said Elizabeth. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she had drawn a total blank trying to trace her sister for years and here was Bev’s letter finding Raychel relatively easily.

In John’s office down the hallway, Raychel handed over the envelope.

*