Summer at Tiffany's (51 page)

‘Oh no, we don't have anything
now
. You destroyed that when you kissed him! Wrong tense. Past tense. What we
had
.'

She stared at him, trying to stay calm. One of them had to be calm. The cliffs were crumbling beneath their feet.

‘OK, then – the life we had, that was the one I trusted. The one I had chosen to lead. I didn't want to go back to something that I had
already failed at
. Why can't you see that?'

‘Because it's not about going back to your past; it's about stepping into
our
future. I'm not Gil; you're not even the Cassie that he married. Why can't you see
that
?'

She swallowed. They couldn't keep going round in circles. They had to move forward. One of them had to break. ‘Well, I think I do now.'

‘Oh, really? So it took you kissing your ex before you could decide you do want to marry me after all?' he asked sarcastically. ‘Well, don't do me any favours.'

‘Henr—'

‘Don't!' The word was like a bullet, stopping her in her tracks, his eyes wild, his warning finger in the air as deadly as a gun.

He paced the room in silence, his shoulders rising and falling heavily as his breath came short and fast, his jaw clenched.

Cassie waited, more scared than she'd ever been.

‘What's the fucking point, huh, can you tell me that?' he asked finally with a defeated shake of his head. ‘I mean, what really connects us? You don't trust me. You won't place your faith in me. You want to keep your options open, just in case.'

‘That's not true,' she pushed back. ‘I thought I did. I thought I—'

‘Look at yourself, Cassie! I've been gone three weeks and you were straight back to
him.
' Jealousy swelled the words, the whites of his eyes bared like a warrior's.

‘It wasn't like that,' she said, her voice beginning to waver.

‘It was
exactly
like that,' he seethed, jabbing his finger towards her, continuing to jab the air even as the words ran out. His hand dropped down to his side, his mouth flattening into a bitter line as another silence filled the space between them. It was the silences she dreaded most – the narrative in his head hidden away from her, locking her out of the argument, giving her no space to defend, debate, fight back . . .

She felt despair rush in. Despair and worse, defeat.

‘I don't know where we go from here,' he said finally. ‘Well, I do, but . . .' His voice cracked and he looked away.

‘Henry, please,
look
at me,' she begged. ‘Please.'

It was a moment before he complied and she could see his Adam's apple bob in his throat, his jaw thrust forward defiantly. He looked at her and for a moment, when their eyes locked and it was just them again, she felt the sense of home settle around them like a shared aura. Why had it taken her so long to realize that marriage wouldn't trap her? It couldn't. She had worried about losing her freedom, but it was life
without
him that made her a prisoner. He was where her soul resided; he set her mind, body and heart free; she was the opposite of shackled when she was with him.

He could feel it too. She knew it. She saw the softening in his eyes, the give in his cheeks as their eyes explored each other like green shoots reaching into the sky; but outside, the sun slipped out from behind a cloud and the shaft of light that streamed through the window caught the gold bangle – off her wrist now and in her hands – so that it glinted like a flaming wheel.

The brightness made him squint and his gaze fell to it, his expression changing before her eyes.

‘You'd better put that back on. It looks expensive,' he said flatly, turning and heading for the door. He stopped, his hand on the frame, his back to her. ‘Just do what you want, Cass. I'm done.'

‘Listen, I'll speak to him,' Suzy said. ‘I saw it all, remember? It's not like you were looking for it to happen. Luke manipulated you from the off. I mean, the very fact that he followed you down here tells you what you were up against.'

Cassie wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, even though the tears were still coming. ‘It won't do any good. The damage has been done, Suze.'

‘It was just a kiss, for God's sake. He'll get over it.'

Cassie shook her head. ‘It was worse than that. In my head, I . . . I went too far. There's just been too many things recently. We had something that used to be so good and now it's just t-toxic.'

‘Nonsense. It's just a rough patch,' Suzy said peremptorily.

‘That's what I keep telling her,' Kelly said, cushions plumped around her like she was the Queen of Sheba as the girls insisted she rest.

‘But he said he's
d-done
,' Cassie said, beginning to sob again. How many times had she cried in the past twenty-four hours? She felt emotionally wrecked.

‘Yeah, right. Like Henry's ever going to get over you. You're the love of his life, doll.'

‘You didn't see him,' she protested.

‘No, but I heard him – they could have heard him in Padstow, frankly – and that, my dear, is what jealousy sounds like. You kissed your ex? He's probably plotting to murder him right now.'

‘Where is he?' she hiccuped.

‘Arch has taken him off to calm down. Translation: lunch and a few beers at the Mariner's.'

There was a pause as Cassie brought her hands to her throat. The first aromas of roast lamb were beginning to drift up the stairs, Hattie and Edie having fallen into maternal cooking mode now that the worst of the trials – Henry's disappearance, Gem's wedding – had been dispensed with. ‘Oh God, I feel sick.'

‘You always feel sick,' Anouk said. ‘You're just upset. Try to . . .' She blew out through her cheeks, her lips in a perfect pout; she looked like she was in a Lancôme ad. ‘Try to be calm.'

But Cassie's hands had suddenly flown up to her mouth and she scooted off the bed, eyes wide as she ran for the en suite, kicking the door shut behind her.

‘God, she's really in a state,' she heard Suzy say, just before she threw up brunch. ‘D'you think we should get Edie?'

Cassie slumped against the loo, her eyes closed as the girls consulted in the next room: she wasn't a child . . . what could she do anyway? . . . needed to get Henry back here . . . had to talk calmly . . . would all get sorted out . . .

She heard the bedroom door open and a male voice drifted in under the bathroom door. Cassie stiffened, ever hopeful, but the accent was American – ‘Leave it to me . . .' – and a moment later Bas's voice was calling softly through the door to her.

‘Cass? Can I come in?'

‘If . . . if you want,' she hiccuped, pulling herself up to standing and staggering across to the basin, running cold water over her pulse points and splashing her face. It helped a little.

Bas came in, his head almost brushing the ceiling. His red-toned tan clashed with the 1980s orange pine of the bathroom cabinets, and the pink shagpile carpet didn't do either of them any favours.

‘Oh, honey. What a pickle.' He put down the loo seat and sat on it, looking up at her with his hangdog eyes.

She nodded. It was a pickle. Technically, it was way worse than that, actually. But still a pickle.

‘The irony is, I'd finally come round to it all, Bas. I'd got my head fixed at last.'

‘There was never anything wrong with your head. You were entitled to take your time after what you'd been through,' he said loyally. ‘Talking of your head, when did you last wash your hair?'

She shrugged desolately. ‘Don't know. Too many other things to worry about.'

He sighed. ‘Neglect, neglect, neglect. And you wonder why you get split ends! Come on, I'll give you a double condition, my treat, and maybe some Indian magic too,' he smiled, waggling his fingers. ‘You know it always calms you down.' He walked over to the bath and picked up the hand-held shower attachment.

She took off her T-shirt, not in the least bit concerned about him seeing her in her bra, wrapped a towel round her shoulders and positioned herself at the edge of the bath, her hair hanging over.

‘What?' she asked, noticing that he'd seemingly frozen at the sight of her. ‘What?
Bas?
Why are you looking at me like that? Oh my God, Bas, you're not . . . you're not
bi
, are you?'

Ten minutes later she opened the door and three curious faces peered back at her.

‘Jeez,
what
was going on in there?' Kelly asked, open-mouthed.

‘You OK, hon?' Suzy said, looking past her to Bas, who was standing watching them, chewing on his thumbnail. ‘What's happened? You look . . . Christ, sit down. What on earth can have happened in a small contained room with a gay hairdresser and us on the other side of the door to make you look like that?'

Cassie swallowed. Where to begin this time? ‘I think I've maybe just had the maddest idea.
Ever.
'

‘This is the worst idea
ever
,' Cassie wavered, as Kelly handed her another glass of water. ‘What if he won't come?'

‘Drink.'

‘Oh, he will! Arch is under strict instructions,' Suzy said confidently.

Cassie stared out of the window again, her heart banging against her chest like a caged nightingale. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. If someone had told her this morning that she'd be doing this, she'd have had them committed. Even the girls – her most stalwart allies – had looked at her like she was completely crackers for a full thirty seconds before getting on board and swinging into action.

‘I can see them!' Anouk gasped from her perch on the window ledge.

‘He's coming?' Cassie croaked. ‘He's actually . . . ?'

‘Yes!' Anouk squealed, hopping down.

‘Oh God, I feel—'

‘Don't be sick!' the three of them chorused together.

‘I'm fine. I'm fine,' Cassie repeated, taking deep breaths. She could do this.

‘You OK?' Suzy was squeezing her hand.

Cassie nodded.

‘Come on, then. You don't want him to miss you.'

‘Yeah, like there's any chance of that happening,' Kelly laughed, holding the door open.

‘I can't believe we're doing this,' Anouk laughed, shaking her head and leading the way.

They got into position, Cassie standing staring at the door, hands trembling, her eyes shining with apprehension and hope. This was it. Her last chance to get it right.

A minute passed. Two. She couldn't stop the shakes. She willed her feet to move, to run – this was a terrible idea; idiotic – but they were rooted to the stone floor.

After the fourth minute, just when she was beginning to think the sight of the two men had been a bad case of wishful thinking, the door opened, a blast of light bursting through like the heavens were shining in. It took her eyes a moment to adjust before she could see him, silhouetted and still in the doorway, as the organ suddenly started up.

She saw the question in his body language as he turned to Archie for explanation. She watched as Archie leaned in and whispered something, as Henry stiffened, looking back.

He could see her now. The avalanche of light had settled, only a light misting of dust particles hovering in the air between them as he took in the sight of her in the dress – powder-pink rosebuds at her hips, the silk tulle veil pinned in her hair,
their
roses in her hands . . .

It felt like an eternity as she waited for him to understand, to decide. But his feet did finally begin to tread the stone flags – very, very slowly – his eyes wary and disbelieving as he came down the aisle, past the wild flowers pinned so prettily to the pew ends, followed by his best man in every sense of the word; his eyes meeting first her mother's, then his own, sitting together, hands held, the three bridesmaids beaming with unrestrained joy in the matching blue silk dresses Paula had hurriedly swept up in her frantic dash over. Velvet, in a white Monsoon dress with flowers from the hedgerows woven into her hair, made the most enchanting flower girl as she sat on her mother's hip, waving a Sleeping Beauty wand, and Henry stopped to kiss her cheek as he passed.

And then he was in front of her, looking somehow even more heroic in his morning suit – the one Archie had picked up, ready and waiting at Moss Bros, thanks to a call from Paula – than he had in his exploring kit. He hadn't shaved. The call that Archie had taken from his wife, declaring that the wedding was back on and Gem supposedly needed walking down the aisle, meant he hadn't had time. But then Cassie preferred him like that, anyway. That was who he was – her adventurer, rough and ready, still salty from the sea.

His eyes travelled down the length of her, overawed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat again as he took in the sight of her, the nerve of her to be doing
this
. ‘You look . . .' His voice was hoarse, his eyes reddened and slightly wild. ‘So beautiful.'

She smiled, relieved to have passed that test at least.

He glanced across, as if noticing the vicar for the first time. He remembered himself, remembered his manners, starting slightly as he extended a hand. ‘Father Williams, good to see you.'

‘Good to see
you
, Henry,' the old vicar smiled. ‘Are you ready to make this brave young woman your lawful, wedded wife?'

There was a silence as Henry looked back at her, then at the vicar again. ‘But how is it . . . ? I mean, would it be lawful? Don't the banns have to be read?'

‘We have submitted a common licence. You were baptised here, Henry, by me, no less. That means you have what we call a “special connection” with this church. If you choose to go ahead, then this young lady will be your wife in both the eyes of God and the law for the rest of your life.'