Original Cyn (25 page)

“I thought something waisted that just skims the tummy and hips,” Hugh said.

“I agree, and an extralong sleeve to add length to the arms. Maybe with a slight flare.”

“My thoughts exactly.” They were an unlikely pairing, but they seemed to have hit it off in an instant.

Ten minutes went by. Then: “OK, everybody,” Bernice said, “we have found
the
most perfect dress.” The dress draped over one arm, she made her way over to where the women were sitting on little gilt chairs. “Flick, prepare to be amazed.” She started to pull up the plastic. “Now, it may need a bit of pinning and tucking, but don’t worry about that . . . So, what do you think? Isn’t this just perfect?”

“Oh,” Flick gasped, putting her hands to her cheeks. “Omigod, it’s gorgeous. I would never have chosen something so elegant on my own.” In front of them was a simple ivory silk gown—its only embellishment tiny diamonds and drop pearls edging the sleeves, wide V-neck and hem. “And just look at the back.” Bernice turned the dress round. The wide V was repeated, and from it came a short, diamond-and-pearl-encrusted train. “Isn’t it fabulous? And I’ve got the perfect veil and tiara.”

When Flick came out of the fitting room in the dress, everybody’s eyes filled up. Faye spoke for everyone when she declared that Flick looked like a princess.

Of course, then the inevitable happened and it was decided unanimously that it would be a mistake for Flick to buy the first dress she tried on. The upshot was, she tried on half a dozen more, only to come back to the first.

“So, you all really like it?” Flick said, back in the original dress. “Really, really?”

Everybody assured her they adored it, that Jonny would adore it, her mother would adore it and that all the guests would adore it.

To celebrate, Bernice made them all tea, which she served in pink and gold bone china cups. “Right,” she said, offering round the box of M&S Belgian chocolate biscuits. “Time to turn our attention to the maid of honor.”

“Again,” Hugh said, pincering a finger of dark chocolate from the box, “I think we’re looking at sophisticated, understated chic.”

While Hugh and Bernice adjourned to one of the racks of bridesmaids’ dresses, Flick began looking along another one on the other side of the shop. “Oooh, look at this,” she cried. “Now, this is stunning.”

Cradling the dress, she came tearing over to Cyn, Barbara and Grandma Faye. She held it up in front of them. Cyn’s stomach performed a series of horrified flips.

“I think what with my dress being so simple,” Flick went on, “we can afford to go to town a bit with the maid of honor’s dress.”

Cyn prayed the dismay she felt wasn’t showing on her face. She stood there taking in the satin bows around the hem, the frills, the net underskirts, the pale peachness of it all.

“Oh, Cyn, isn’t it just to die for?”

“No doubt about it,” Cyn said, aware that even Barbara and Faye, who were by no means gifted in matters sartorial, were exchanging pained glances.

By now Hugh had made a mercy dash to Cyn’s side. “Hmm,” he said to Flick. “I can see where you’re coming from, but I have to say that I’m not altogether convinced.”

Cyn watched Flick’s face fall. “Oh, right. Well, if you say so.”

“You see, with Cyn’s complexion I think we should be looking at something a bit more—”

Cyn couldn’t listen to any more. “Flick,” she broke in, “take no notice of Hugh. I adore it. It’s absolutely perfect. If it fits, we’ll take it.”

“We will?” Flick said.

“We will?” Hugh said.

“We will?” Barbara and Grandma Faye said in unison.

“Absolutely,” Cyn said.

“An excellent choice, if I may say so,” Bernice said, obviously not one to sabotage a sale.

Cyn put on the dress and stood looking at herself in the fitting room mirror. She was in no doubt that the design had been a collaborative effort of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters and Elton John.

When she came out of the fitting room, Flick clapped her hands and pronounced it perfect. “Utterly perfect.”

And as far as Cyn was concerned, that was the only thing that mattered.

Chapter 20

It took another two hours to choose outfits for Barbara and Grandma Faye. In the end, Hugh and Bernice persuaded Barbara to go for a sleeveless full-length silk dress and matching coat. Everybody agreed that the soft champagne color looked wonderful with her dark skin and auburn hair. Grandma Faye chose a lavender suit with a Peter Pan collar and buttons made of tiny clusters of slightly darker lavender crystals. “You’re absolutely sure this color doesn’t make me look like the Queen Mother?” she said.

They were still trying to convince her it didn’t when Cyn’s mobile started ringing. She could see from the caller display that it was Joe. She flipped the lid and began moving away so that she was well out of earshot.

“Hi, it’s me.” He sounded nervous and tentative, she thought. “I don’t know if you got it, but I left a message on your machine.”

“Yes, I got it.”

“So do you think we could get together and talk?”

“OK, but not now. I’m with my mum and my gran. We’re buying outfits for my brother’s wedding.”

“Oh, right. The thing is, tonight I’m off on this Glasgow trip I told you about the other day.” She felt relieved. His going away would leave her with more thinking time. “This Scottish director I know wants to spend a few days brainstorming some ideas for a new project,” he went on. “I can’t get out of it because he’s taken time out specially. I’m back on Wednesday, though. I thought if you’re not doing anything, maybe we could get together in the evening.”

“Why not?” she said, not exactly brimming with enthusiasm.

“Look, before I go, I want to tell you again that I didn’t join the group to
steal
anybody’s life. Like I said, I only lied because I panicked when no other groups would have me. Along with telling the group about us, I fully intend to come clean about the film and the way I’ve deceived everybody. I’ll take the reprimands I deserve and then I’ll leave. At least that’ll make our relationship easier—if we still have a relationship. But you know, the funny thing is that since I’ve been in the group I’ve realized I actually do need therapy. The whole thing has become much more than just a research project. It became about me.”

“Joe, I really will think about everything you’ve said. I promise. But I can’t talk here. I have to get back to Mum and everybody.”

“OK. But please don’t let one act of gross stupidity get in the way of us.”

“I’ll see you on Wednesday,” was all she said. She was still angry, but she also knew she still loved him.

Cyn closed her phone and went over to the counter, where Faye was insisting on paying for Flick’s wedding dress. “I want it to be my present,” she said.

“But you’ve already bought us all that dinner service we wanted. This is too much.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure.”

Flick threw her arms around Grandma Faye and said she didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to say anything, sweetie. Just have a wonderful wedding.”

Cyn felt Barbara’s hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, you OK?” Her mother’s face was frowning with concern. “You seem a bit tense. Who was on the phone?”

Cyn guessed the hurt must be showing on her face. Being in the bridal shop, seeing all the joy and excitement on Flick’s face, had made her realize just how high her hopes for her relationship with Joe had been. She had allowed herself to think they might have a future together. But that was before she’d found out he’d deceived her. Now, since she wasn’t sure if she could forgive him, she had no idea what the future held.

“I’m fine,” she said to Barbara. “It was just somebody calling me from work with some ridiculous query that could easily have waited until Monday.”

“It’s the same with my nephew,” Bernice piped up. “He’s in advertising as well. His mother says his phone goes twenty-four-seven. He’s so stressed he’s got an irritable bowel. I said to him the other day, ‘Bradley, if you carry on like this, your bowel won’t be just irritable, it’ll be bloody furious.’ But you can’t tell him. He thinks he knows it all.”

“He’s young. What can you do?” Barbara shrugged. Then she turned back to Cyn. “You sure it was just work?”

“Positive.” She turned her smile on to full beam, but she could tell her mother wasn’t entirely buying it.

Hugh shot off home because he was anxious to see if there was an e-mail from Ted Wiener. Flick said she would come back to Barbara’s to pick up Jonny, who was there keeping Mal company. Cyn said she’d pop in, too, as she hadn’t seen her dad for a few days.

She arrived behind everybody else because she’d stopped off to get gas.

Barbara answered the door and said Jonny and Mal were in the living room watching the soccer game. “I’ll be in with tea in a minute. You go and see your dad.”

“Where are Flick and Grandma?” She said Faye had gone for a lie down and Flick was on the phone to her mum, telling her about her dress.

Cyn went into the living room. Mal was sitting on the sofa in his dressing gown. He still looked tired. It was the first time she’d noticed how thin he looked. He must have lost at least a stone.

“Hi, Dad,” she said, kissing his cheek. “How are you doing?” She sat down next to him.

“Not too bad. I just wish I could get my appetite back. I’m desperate to put some fat back on.”

“Dad, stop worrying,” Jonny said from his armchair, where he was staring into the TV screen. “It’s just a matter of time . . . Ooh, penalty! Come on, that has to be a penalty!”

“That’s what the doctor keeps telling me,” Mal said.

“And he’s right,” Cyn said. “I know it’s frustrating, but you just have to go with it.”

Just then Harmony poked her head round the door. She waved at Cyn.

“I just popped over to pick Laurent up. We’re off. Your mum said it all went well at the bridal shop.”

“Really great. You should see Flick’s dress. It’s gorgeous. I shouldn’t say too much in front of the bridegroom, but it’s got—” Suddenly Jonny and Mal were shushing them.

“Listen to this,” Mal said. Cyn turned toward the TV. The soccer game had finished and the news was on. Harmony came properly into the room and stood behind the sofa.

“. . . just received confirmation of a second uprising in the West African republic of Tagine. After three days of civil unrest, the military dictatorship of Colonel Moses Papaya has been deposed. The tiny paradise island, which witnessed the deaths of hundreds of its people eleven months ago . . .”

“My God, this is brilliant news,” Harmony cried. “Now he’s free to go back and see his family whenever he wants. I can’t believe it.”

She ran back to the door and yelled to Laurent to come down. As she waited for him to appear, her face started to fall. “God, I hope that doesn’t mean he’s going to run off and leave me.”

“Don’t be daft. Laurent loves you,” Cyn assured her. “Of course he isn’t going to run off.” Cyn was doing her best to smile. So were Jonny and Mal, but it wasn’t easy for any of them. They weren’t thinking about Laurent choosing to leave Harmony. What had occurred to them was that after this news, he might be forced to.

A couple of moments later, Laurent came in. “I was listening on ze radio, upstairs.”

Harmony ignored his shocked expression and threw her arms round him. “I am so happy for you. This means you can go home to visit. Your mother will be over the moon.” She stepped back to look at him. Her face became a frown. “I don’t understand. Why the long face?”

“Eet ees wonderful for my country,” Laurent said. “Eet ees ze best possible news. Eet ees everysing we fought for, but . . .”

“But what?” Harmony said.

“Don’t you see? Eet means I cannot stay ’ere. My country ees at peace. I ’ave no reason to be ’ere. My asylum claim ees bound to be refused. Zey will send me back.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course they won’t. I mean, you still have enemies over there. The people you fought still want to kill you.”

“I imagine that by now zey are either dead or een prison.”

Harmony turned to Jonny. “Is that true? Will the government deport him?”

“I think you have to be prepared for that.”

She asked Mal if he agreed. He looked grim-faced and said he was afraid he did.

The color had drained from her cheeks. “But Laurent was going to move in with me. It’s all sorted. He was going to get a teaching job. We had a future planned. OK, what if we got married? Then the Home Office would have to let him stay.”

“They’d assume it was a marriage of convenience,” Jonny said. “Laurent would be deported instantly and you could face prosecution. Look, try not to panic. Nothing is going to happen overnight. I am going to carry on with Laurent’s claim, but I’d be lying if I said I thought it was going to be successful.”

“So what are you saying? Does he have some chance of being granted asylum or are you just going through the motions?”

“Let’s just wait and see,” Jonny said.

“But we can’t just sit here and do nothing. Surely there’s something more we can do. I mean, aren’t there politicians we can lobby?”

Laurent put his arm round her. “ ’Armony,” he said gently, “we ’ave no choice. Jonny will do his best.”

“I know he will. I don’t doubt that for a minute, but—”

Laurent shushed her. “Come on. Let’s drive to ze Heath and go for a walk.”

Eventually Mal said he was feeling tired and went upstairs for a lie down. Flick and Barbara were in the kitchen getting started on the seating plan for the wedding. Cyn and Jonny were on their own in the living room.

“You look as unhappy about all this as Harmony and Laurent,” she said to him.

“I am. Apart from anything else, I hate losing.”

She couldn’t help smiling. When they were children, Jonny always played to win. Once, when he was about eight or nine, he was playing Monopoly with her and lost. Afterward he had an almighty tantrum. This involved bending the board and jumping up and down on it until it was completely destroyed. Mal caught him, went uncharacteristically berserk and made him pay for a new board out of his pocket money.

“Mum told me the two of you talked about her cancer and the way it affected you. She and I had a similar talk.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as close to her as I do now.”

“Me, too.”

“I realize now how Mum’s illness made me frightened of taking risks. All my life I’ve assumed that being brave can only end in disaster. I think I’m starting to change, though. Getting involved with Laurent’s case has helped.”

“In what way?”

“I suddenly found something I felt passionate about. I think it’s time for me to move on professionally. I’ve decided to take on more asylum cases. Just one or two to start with, just to see how I get on. Then we’ll see. I know some people come to this country and try to cheat the system, but I believe everybody has the right to the best possible life, free of persecution, and if that means wealthy countries taking them in, so be it. If this country hadn’t taken in our great-grandfather, we probably wouldn’t be here now . . . God, help me down from my soapbox.”

“No. It’s important you’ve found something that inspires you and gives you satisfaction. In thirty years’ time you won’t look back and say ‘if only.’ ”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

“What does Flick say?”

“I thought she’d be scared about me trying something new, but she’s all for it. I think she’s really proud of me.”

Cyn took his hand. “So am I, and I know Mum and Dad will be, too.”

On her way home Cyn phoned Hugh to tell him the news about Laurent. “Christ, first bloody Justin lets her down and now this. How did she take it?”

“Not good.”

“You know, I think my dad’s got a couple of contacts at the Home Office. I’ll give him a ring and see if he can put in a good word.”

“I know she’d appreciate that. So, anything from Ted Wiener?”

“No, but I’m hanging on in there.”

“Good for you. By the law of averages something’s got to start going right for one of us.”

He gave a small laugh. “So, have you made a decision about Joe?”

“Not yet,” she said, “but he explained a bit more about why he did what he did, and I’m starting to understand.”

“Sounds like you’re moving in the right direction,” Hugh said.

When she got in, she hung up her coat and went to check her messages. There was only one. It was from Keith Geary saying he would be back from Korea late Sunday night. Although he wasn’t involved, his call was a sudden and unpleasant reminder of work and the Chelsea affair.

Keith thanked her for looking after Morris and asked if she could bring him into the office on Monday.

“I’m going to miss you, Mo,” she said a little later as she sat at the kitchen table, toying with a tuna salad and feeding Morris bits of tomato through the bars of his cage. Morris’s head made little jerky movements as he demolished the tomato.

“Miss you. Miss you. Miss gorgeous Joe.” She knew perfectly well that Morris had no idea what he was saying and that his last comment was simply a random statement made up of sounds that meant nothing to him. Nevertheless, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“You know what, Mo, I really would miss him like crazy if we split up.” The bird was sitting on his perch, his head listing appealingly to one side. She poked her fingers through the bars and gently stroked his beak.

She didn’t sleep well that night, but her wakefulness had little to do with Joe. There was something more immediate and urgent playing on her mind. Sometime during the next week Chelsea was coming into the office. When she did, Cyn would confront her about stealing her proposal. The problem was that she still had no irrefutable proof that the idea hadn’t been Chelsea’s idea all along.

She lay in bed, gazing up at the ceiling. “Hi, God, it’s me, Cynthia Fishbein. Look, I appreciate how busy you are, what with all the violence and famine in the world, and I know we haven’t been in touch since Brad married Jennifer, but I was wondering if you could see your way clear to helping me prove that Chelsea really did steal my proposal.”

She tossed and turned for twenty minutes. When sleep refused to come, she turned on the bedside light. She reached down onto the floor and picked up one of the Sunday newspaper magazines that had lain there for a week, unread. As she opened it, two or three bits of junk advertising fell out onto the duvet. She began picking them up. One of the leaflets was a Gadget Shop promotion, advertising digital recorders that could be used to tape phone conversations. As she sat looking at it, an idea started to form in her mind. Suppose she phoned Charlie Taylor in L.A. Was there even the faintest chance that she could get him to admit he was responsible for coming up with Chelsea’s advertising campaigns? She knew it was a long shot. Charlie had close links to the Roggenfelder family and whatever his true feelings toward Chelsea were, he was bound to remain loyal. He would also want to protect his own reputation. If the advertising world found out how he had been helping Chelsea deceive PCW it wouldn’t do his career much good. It might even destroy it.