Forget Me Knot (16 page)

“Toby—about yesterday… and that whole gay thing. You’re right, it was an ignorant, knee-jerk reaction, and I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I have. Actually, I’m more concerned about how I behaved in the restaurant. I upset you, and I’m sorry, too. Can you forgive me?”

“Well, I have to admit that I was pretty hurt, but, yes… of course I forgive you.” Her face broke into a smile.

“Great. So we’re OK again.” He bent down, kissed her on the lips and then headed into the kitchen.

“By the way,” he said, returning with a very large Scotch, “I picked up my new suit today—you know, the one that was being altered.”

“Oh, right.”

He tugged at the zipper on the suit carrier and walked over to the sofa. “Here, just feel the quality of the cloth.” He presented her with a charcoal-colored suit sleeve. “It’s pure cashmere.”

“Umm, really nice,” she said, running her hand over the fabric.

“Nice? Abby, this fabric is beyond ‘nice.’ It’s glorious. And I bought a Paul Smith shirt to go with it.” He put the suit carrier back over the chair, opened his briefcase and took out a yellow Selfridges bag. “It’s got a thread count of one hundred eighty. Feels like pure silk next to the skin. Just look at the lilac against the charcoal of the suit. Isn’t it
the
perfect combo?”

After Abby agreed that it most definitely was, Toby announced he was off to have a shower.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom—one of her giant bath towels tied round his waist, his damp hair all
ruffled and sexy—Abby had fried him a tuna steak and cooked a fresh batch of beans and potatoes.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, resecuring the towel round his waist.

“Yes, you do,” she grinned. “You’d order takeout every night and get acne and clogged arteries.”

He helped himself to cutlery from the kitchen drawer and took the plate of food from her. She joined him at the table and poured them both some wine.

“So, you feeling OK, after what happened in the lift?” Toby said. “I meant to phone you this morning to see how you were, but I left the flat at six and from then on it was pretty full on. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine.” She put her wineglass to her lips. “You’ll never guess who came into the shop today.”

“Who?”

“Well, first Christian came in and had a massive fight with Scozza.” Toby knew all about Christian and Martin and the custody battle over Debbie Harry. “Then Christian had another go at me. Apparently my pavement displays are a danger to pedestrians, and he’s threatening to report me to the council.” She paused. “I wish I knew what his problem was. Martin said he had a rotten childhood, but then, so do millions of people and they don’t all turn out to be jerks.”

“It’s odd,” Toby said, “because when I was introduced to him at that retailers’ association dinner we went to last month, he seemed pleasant enough.”

“Yeah, I saw him sucking up to you. Believe me, he did it only because he’s a snob and he knew you were a posh lawyer.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Toby tweezered a tiny bone from his tuna and deposited it on the side of his plate.

“So, anyway, you’ll never guess who else came in—only the guy I was trapped in the elevator with. I mean, can you believe a coincidence like that? I was totally knocked out. But it gets even more spooky. It turns out that he’s the film director I was telling you about the other day. You know, the one who wants to use Fabulous Flowers in his movie.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.”

“I agree that is pretty amazing. So, how much is this guy paying you for using the shop? I hope you managed to get a decent deal out of him.”

“Not much. This is his first feature film and the budget is tiny.”

“Yeah, right. That’s what he tells you.” Toby stabbed a new potato with his fork. “Oh, and speaking of money, we have to think about London Transport and how much we’re going to sue them for. I reckon we could get fifty grand out of them easy. Especially if we threaten to go to the press. Just leave the claim to me. I’ll handle it.”

Abby was shaking her head and smiling. “You know, you and Soph really should go into partnership together. When it comes to money, the pair of you think so much alike. I don’t want to sue. I wasn’t injured. With the best will in the world, machines break down. The woman from London Transport assured me I’d receive some compensation— enough to replace the clothes I was wearing and pay for a nice dinner. I want to leave it at that.”

Toby put down his knife and fork and sat back in his chair. “You are kidding, right? Have you any idea how much
you could get out of them for emotional distress alone? That’s before we get on to inconvenience and physical injury.”

“But I don’t have any injuries. I’d be lying if I said I had.”

Toby shrugged. “Oh, come on. After being yanked out of that elevator shaft, surely you pulled or twisted something.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I’m fine. In fact, I’m more than fine. What happened last night could well have cured my elevator phobia. If anything, I’m grateful, and I don’t want to sue.”

“You’re mad. Do you realize you could be turning down a great deal of money? Thinking about it, fifty grand is the bare minimum we’d get.”

“Maybe I am mad, but it’s how I feel and I’d like you to respect that.”

He shrugged. “I can’t force you to do anything against your will.”

“And you respect my decision?”

“Of course I don’t. It’s crass and you will live to regret it.”

“Well, at least you can accept it.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Good.” She reached across the table and kissed his cheek. “I may be bonkers in your book,” she giggled, “but I know that’s one of the reasons you love me.” She got up and started kissing the back of his neck.

“Please, Abs,” he said, shrugging her off. “Not now. I’m trying to eat.”

“OK, why don’t I have a shower and get ready for bed? I’ll meet you under the duvet.”

“Good idea,” he said. He picked the newspaper up off the table and began scanning the front page.

Ten minutes later she was lying in bed, wearing the same cream silk La Perla nightgown she’d taken on their trip to Paris, her skin positively marinated in Chanel No. 5 body lotion. “I’m way-ting,” she called out.

“Yep. Be with you in a bit. Just finishing this article.”

It was another fifteen minutes before he appeared.

“Take that towel off,” she whispered, holding out her hand toward him. “And come here.”

He let the towel drop and got into bed next to her.

“I love you,” she said, turning onto her side so that she was looking directly into his eyes.

“I love you, too.”

As he began stroking her hair, she snuggled into him. “You know, we really do need to start spending more time together.”

Toby instantly pulled away and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Abby, it’s late and I’ve had a long day. Please don’t nag.”

His response startled her. “I wasn’t meaning to nag. I was trying to be loving.”

“Well, it didn’t sound like it.”

She could swear he was trying to pick a fight to get out of having sex. “You’re just tense,” she said softly. “Come on, how’s about I give you a back massage?”

“No, I’m too tired.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll enjoy it.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He rolled onto his front.

She sat straddling his torso and began digging her thumbs deep into the knots in his shoulders.

“Ooh, that’s good. More. More.”

“See, all you needed was some help unwinding.” She kept working on his back. After a while her hands moved to his buttocks and then to his thighs. When he finally turned over to kiss her, she ran her hand over his stomach. But as her fingers began walking farther south, she encountered no throbbing, rigid yearning, just the limp flopperly-dopperlyness with which she had become so familiar. He took hold of her wrist.

“Abby, I’m really sorry. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”

She did her best to hide her disappointment. “OK, not to worry. You know, you really ought to see the doctor. Just to check your testosterone level.”

“Abby, I promised and I will. But God only knows when I’m going to find the time. And then you want me to see some shrink. Christ this feels like so much pressure.”

They lay in bed with their backs to each other. After about ten minutes Toby rolled over toward Abby.

“Abs, you asleep yet?”

“No.”

“Me, neither.” He asked her if she minded him putting on the TV for a few minutes. “Might relax me.” She told him to go ahead. Toby reached for the remote and switched on the small, elderly TV that lived on a table at the end of the bed.

He began channel surfing. “By the way, I forgot to mention some of the chaps and their girlfriends are getting together for dinner Friday night at Feng Wei. We’re invited. I said yes. Hope that’s OK.”

She explained that she’d already arranged for them to meet Soph, Scozza and Soph’s new boyfriend for dinner late on Friday evening.

“Can’t they come to Feng Wei instead?” Toby said. “I’m sure nobody would mind if they arrived late.”

She thought for a moment. “When you say ‘chaps,’ I presume you mean Guy and the rest?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, Toby, you know how they get when they’ve had a few. I don’t want them telling homophobic jokes in front of Scozza. And what if they upset Lamar?”

“Who’s Lamar?”

“Soph’s boyfriend. Lamar Silverman. He’s half black, half Jewish.”

Lamar’s ethnicity seemed to bypass Toby. “God, Soph’s going out with Lamar Silverman?”

“You know him?”

“I know
of
him. I’m pretty sure I read a profile on him in the
Times
a few weeks ago. Isn’t he that doctor who’s been attacking baby-formula manufacturers for pushing powdered milk in parts of the Third World where there’s no clean water?”

“That’s him. He’s a real crusader, apparently.”

Toby carried on channel surfing until he found a late-night arts program.

“If this doesn’t send me to sleep,” he said, “nothing will.” He looked at Abby. “Now, come here and let me hold you.”

She snuggled into him again. “So, will you try to make sure Guy and the others are polite to Scozza and Lamar?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll have a word with them. Promise.”

WHEN THE ALARM WENT
off at seven-thirty, Toby rolled over in bed and mumbled something to Abby about an early meeting having been canceled and so he was going to have a sleep-in. “Bugger what anybody at the office thinks.”

“Good for you,” Abby said, leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek. “It’s about time they realized you are not a machine. You go back to sleep.”

“Reset the alarm for ten,” Toby instructed her from under the duvet. She did as he asked. Then, so as not to disturb him, she quickly gathered up her clothes for the day and got dressed in the living room.

Abby and Martin were in the shop, enjoying their second cup of coffee, when Toby appeared, wearing his new suit and shirt and carrying his briefcase.

“Right, I’m off,” he said to Abby.

“Really?” she said, grinning. “You smell fine from here.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha,” he said, turning to Martin. “Hi, Scoredaisy.”

By now Martin was leaning over the counter, peering at Toby. “And yabba dabba doo to you, too. Wow, fabulous suit. Is that cashmere I see before me?”

“Actually, it is.” Toby beamed, clearly relishing that Martin had noticed.

Martin moved in on one of Toby’s lapels and pincered it between his thumb and forefinger. “Siberian?”

“Mongolian.”

“Damn! I knew it! This is far too soft to be Siberian. I wasn’t listening to my inner voice.”

“OK, for a hundred bonus points, do you want to have a go at guessing the designer?”

Martin leaned back and began stroking his chin. “Hmm. The classic cut screams Armani. But he doesn’t usually go in for covered buttons. Do the trousers have a single or double pleat?”

“Single.”

“OK, I’m going out on a limb here. I’m going to guess Valentino.”

“Right nationality. Wrong designer. It’s Fendi.”

“Fendi. Of course. The single pleat. The covered buttons. I’m losing my touch.”

Toby opened his jacket to reveal his new Paul Smith shirt. “OK, you can redeem yourself by guessing the thread count.”

More pincering.

“Easy. Hundred eighty,” Martin declared. “You couldn’t create that silky texture with less.”

“Spot on,” Toby cried.

“Am I a genius or am I a genius?”

Abby watched in amused disbelief as the two men high-fived.

Afterward, Martin took a couple of paces back—all the better to peruse Toby’s attire. “You know,” he said, hand on hip, “you could carry off a hand-kerchief in the breast pocket.”

“Really? You don’t think it’s aging?”

“I would say yes if you were over forty. But in your early thirties people can see it’s an ironic statement.”

“OK, maybe I’ll take a trawl round Liberty this weekend. I was planning to go tie shopping anyway.”

“Look for the Bo Brummel line. It’s totally to die for. Not that I can begin to afford it on what your fiancée pays me.”