Reversing Over Liberace (10 page)

I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but there was only a single rower hauling heftily on his oars, as if trying to pass by before anything more embarrassing happened. “Yes, all right” was my less-than-effusive answer.

“Good. I'm glad that's over.” Luke straightened up again. “Hard on the old Paul Smith, all that on-bended-knee stuff.” He tweaked at the leg of his trousers accordingly. “Well, then. Would the new future Mrs. Luke Fry like to see what I've been looking at?”

I walked with Luke back across the bridge, savouring the name. Mrs. Willow Fry. Willow Fry and her husband, Luke. Following Luke down a narrow strip of boardwalk, I had to stuff my knuckles into my mouth to avoid myself squeaking aloud. Mrs. Fry—oh my God, I was going to marry him! I admired the back view of my husband-to-be, his hair coiling into loose curls just over the collar of his jacket, a jacket which fitted to absolute perfection across his slim shoulders and tapered down to not quite cover his delicious buttocks. Not, of course, that these were visible to the naked eye, but
I knew they were there
, which is what counted.

We stepped out of a glass lift, which had carried us to the second floor of one of the blocks of apartments, and into a light, airy hallway. Luke opened the door to one of the flats with a key he had in his pocket. “I asked the agents for this, so that I could look around. Now. Do you want to see the kitchen first, or the bedroom?”

As proudly as if he was already the owner, Luke showed me around. The flat was small, one ensuite bedroom, another bathroom, kitchen and living room, but it had phenomenal views of the city, a balcony hanging over the river, bare wooden floors and pale painted walls like a colour supplement ad. “What do you think? I know it's probably not quite what you had in mind, but it's convenient for both of us for work and it's extremely prestigious.”

I was in a mental void, I literally did not know what to think. I had only just come to terms with the fact that this man wanted to marry me and now I had to get my head around the whole new life that this would entail. “It looks pricey,” I squeaked.

“Ah, yes. It's not really. Not that bad, at any rate, for what it is. And, of course, we don't have to decide anything here and now. That would be stupid. It's only that”—Luke looked a little crestfallen—“I fell in love with the place when I saw it advertised and, moron that I am, I kind of thought that you would love it as much as I did. But it's okay. I mean, we can look at places
you
like, too.” He gave a deep sigh.

“Oh, Luke, no. It's lovely, really it is. I hadn't considered…I mean…” I looked around at the flat again, seeing the nicely proportioned rooms, the superb fitted kitchen with top-of-the-range fixtures, the railed balcony which would catch the summer evening sun. “It took me by surprise, that's all.”

Luke put his hands on my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. “Are you sure? You're not just agreeing with me to keep me sweet, are you? Because, Willow, I don't sulk. You should know that about me by now. If I can't have what I want, I learn to live with it.”

“You don't have to,” I said. “I love the place, Luke, honestly. But how would we afford it?”

Luke massaged the base of my neck with his thumbs. He was breathing quickly, I noticed, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “For now we only need the deposit, that'll reserve it for us, until we can get a mortgage sorted out and that shouldn't be a problem at all.”

“How much is the deposit?”

“Twenty.” Luke leaned back against the immaculate wall, his eyes still fixed on mine. The sun slid over him. He looked like a David Hockney painting.

“Twenty thousand?”

“Yeah, but it's not so bad. I've got about four grand I can put down now, cash.”

“But.”

Luke stepped up to me again, cupped my chin in his hand and raised my face to his. Kissed my mouth softly. “It'll be worth it, Willow. In the end. You and me, here. Of course, if we decide to have children we'll have a place with a paddock, ponies for the kids, few chickens scratching around. For now, though, don't you think this will be the perfect start to married life? Imagine, waking up on a Sunday morning.” He turned me by the shoulders until I was gazing out of the porthole-shaped window. “Lying in bed and being able to see the raindrops falling in the river. Newspapers spread all over the floor, place smelling of fresh coffee.”

“And a sofa, here.” I pointed to the space next to the balcony. “So we can sit and people-watch.”

A smile spread over Luke's face like butter on a crumpet. “I
knew
you'd go for it.” The hand around my shoulders tightened into a hug. “Things are going to be great, Willow. I can feel it. You'll forgive me if I don't buy a ring straightaway, won't you? I think all the money we have should go into the business and this place.”

I pulled free of his embrace and walked in what I hoped looked like a taking-in-the-view way to the balcony, where I projectile-vomited over the rail, narrowly missing the solitary rower who was making his way back downstream again.

 

 

 

“You only went out for bloody milk!” Katie shrieked, when I enlightened her on the reason for my prolonged absence from the office. “And you come back with a fiancé and a flat. You only took a pound, for God's sake. It's a good job we didn't send you with the whole petty-cash tin. You'd probably have come back with Prince William and the Taj Mahal.”

The speed of it all had overwhelmed me, too. “It was incredible. He did it all properly, down on one knee and everything, and he'd already got the flat lined up for me to look at. It's just…
amazing
, Katie, the whole thing.”

Katie shook her head. “So, when's the big day? And what are you going to wear? Oh, please, can I be matron of honour? I've never been one before. I'll do anything, I'll wear purple, I'll have visible tan lines, anything.”

I shrugged again. “We haven't really talked about the actual wedding yet.”

“Will you get one of your brothers to give you away? Ash could do it. He looks great in a suit.”

“Look, Katie, right now you know as much as I do about the whole thing. As soon as there's any breaking news, you will be the first to know. But at the moment, can I get on with these ads?”

As soon as Katie went out, I hugged my arms around myself in a tight circle of glee. That had been the performance of my life, trying to be cool and not scream with delight and head for the Yellow Pages to discover the whereabouts of the nearest bridal-wear shop. Let me calm down, have another therapeutic flick through the bridal magazines, and then I'd invite Katie over for an evening of wine, chocolate and detailed planning. For now, life consisted of me and Luke, our home-to-be and enchanting daydreams about our future children.

Chapter Twelve

Clay was on the sofa, hugging a cushion and watching
The Simpsons
when I got home. “Good day?” he asked, leaping up to make me a cup of tea.

“Pretty good, yes.” I glanced around the living room. It was scattered with scraps of paper, all bearing pencil drawings. “What have you been up to?”

“Ah, nothing. Just fiddling. Designing my perfect house, actually. Do you want a biscuit?”

“No, I'll do myself something on toast in a bit. Have you eaten?”

“I had some scrambled egg earlier. Ash rang, by the way. Said he'll call you back later.”

“Fine.” I sat back and took the mug Clay offered me. It struck me then, suddenly and horribly, that this was probably what married life would be like, and I had to sit very still until the palpitations went away. Surely Luke and I would never descend to this level. Clay and I had known each other all our lives. We were entitled, indeed
expected
, to have conversations like this. I was hardly likely to come home to be greeted by him suggesting sex in the garden before dinner. Urgh, nasty thought, nasty thought. It took ten minutes with a furtively bought copy of
Young Bride
(yes, all right, I
know
, but some of those brides weren't
that
young) in my room before I got rid of that image.

“I'm going out in a bit, Clay,” I called over the banister. “If Ash rings back, tell him I'll be around tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Clay came halfway up the stairs. “Are you meeting up with Katie and Jazz then?”

“No. Well, yes, maybe.” I certainly wasn't about to tell my brother, in his fragile, midlife-crisis state, that I was going out for a frenzied evening of passion with my new fiancé. Clay had begun to recover, slowly, from the shambling, questioning heap that had got off the plane a few days ago, swearing never to go nearer to any financial institution than the local ATM. I didn't want to rub his nose in anything by pointing my own good fortune at him.

“Great. Enjoy.” He went back down to sample early-evening TV a little further, while I changed into a stunning little asymmetrical tea dress and pink heels to celebrate my first ever outing as an affianced woman.

Luke turned up driving a huge black car which looked like the Batmobile. “What
is
this?” I climbed into the passenger seat, wide enough to accommodate even the bottom of Vivienne Parry.

Luke grinned. “An investment is what this is. There's people queuing up to buy this honey, so I thought we'd be the first ones to take her out for a spin.”

I felt a tremble of excitement start somewhere near the base of my stomach. “It does look pretty sleek.”

“Yeah. And there's plenty of room in the back, too, for any extra-showroom activities, if you see what I mean.”

The tremble turned to something of a sinking feeling. I had hoped that our first sex as a proper couple might have been somewhere more salubrious than the backseat of a car. “We could always go back to mine,” I said. “If you want. I mean, why don't you move in for a bit? It'd save on all those hotel bills, until we can get the flat sorted out.”

Luke put his foot down and the car sleekly responded, growling its way out of town. “Well, you've already got your brother staying, haven't you. Besides”—he turned the car so we were heading north—“the hotel is a tax-deductible expense. Patience, Willow, things will come together soon enough. Anyway I'm really looking forward to christening this gorgeous hunk of metal somewhere quiet. There's a spot above Pickering, looking out over the moors. There'll be no one there this time of evening. How about it?” He grinned manically.

The tremble was back, this time an unmistakeable craving. “Mmmmm.” I slid down in the leather seat so that the dress rode up and showed my thighs. “Definitely.”

“And after that”—almost without looking, Luke reached across and put his hand on the smooth skin above my knee—“there's a great restaurant out that way. Been meaning to try it.”

I wriggled again, aware of his gaze leaving the road to play hotly over my exposed legs. Slowly and deliberately I bent one knee and rested a high heel on the edge of the seat so that the dress fell away to reveal the tiny thong I'd chosen purposefully to go under it. “Sounds delicious.”

We broke the speed limit all the way to Pickering.

Chapter Thirteen

When Luke dropped me back at the house, it was past midnight, and Clay had gone to bed, which was just as well. My asymmetric dress was now far more asymmetric than it had been when I left, more creased and crumpled, too. My knickers were in my bag and one of the pink heels was decidedly wonky. But it had, all in all, been a very satisfactory experience.

As I turned to push the door closed behind me my foot slipped across the doormat and I sprawled untidily into an attack of the splits. Hauling myself to my feet, I found that I had stepped onto an envelope, the resulting lack of friction being the cause of my skid.

It was plain brown, no name or address, the sort of envelope pushed through unwary letterboxes by door-to-door double-glazing hitmen, or those selling unspecified insurance, although those missives were usually unsealed and addressed to The Householder. The absence of any identifying name made me wonder, so I slid a finger under the flap and tore it open.

“You don't deserve it.”

That was all the sheet of paper said, the words written in large, curly letters, like the handwriting of a fifteen-year-old girl who has only recently stopped dotting her i's with little love-hearts and forming the lower loops of g's and y's into spirals.

Paranoia bit deep. What didn't I deserve? Yeah, I'd got the money, but that was properly mine. The only other thing I had was my job, but not even the very bitterest of disillusioned hacks would hold that against me. Managing ads for the local free press is a bit like pole-dancing, but without the healthy exercise.

My hand shook. I felt a kind of shame at receiving such an obvious and tangible form of someone's hatred, and I had the urge to tear the paper into tiny pieces and flush them down the toilet. Then, as I became numb to fear, it was replaced by a curious elation. Why, exactly, did I assume this note was for me? But then, that begged the question, who was it for? Had Clay's sudden urge to throw up his extremely lucrative Beijing post and replace it with skulking under a skylight and playing The Smiths been the result of a misplaced love affair? The script was feminine, but that didn't rule out any of Ash's scorned exes. A little voice in my head whispered that I'd never seen Cal's handwriting, although I couldn't imagine anyone less the type to send anonymous letters than Cal.

No, I decided. No one could be harmed by a note they hadn't even seen and I became surer by the second that it wasn't aimed at me. In fact, I thought as I lurched up to bed in my one-and-a-half stilettos, maybe it wasn't even aimed at this house. Neither we, nor next door, where three young science teachers lived in a hotbed of physics intrigue, had conspicuous numbers. By the time I'd showered and fallen into bed, I was absolutely convinced that the whole thing was a complete mistake.