True Colours (16 page)

Travelling home on the train I felt relieved. I’d unburdened myself to Sophie and Adam had agreed to giving me an advance on my salary. My future looked a little brighter – until I remembered that Harry was returning to school in two days’ time, back to school and his bullies and there wasn’t a thing I could do to help him. I could hardly bear the thought.

After I left the girls I went and bought myself a new dress for my dinner date with Drew. It cost a bomb but it was gorgeous and I reckoned that I owed it to myself, and him – especially if we had something to celebrate. I also invested in some straigheners for my hair, then went home and experimented with them. The effect was quite dramatic.

While I was getting ready I thought about what the girls had said at lunch. It had been a big shock, hearing about Fran’s teenage pregnancy and her birth mother turning up like that, but I told myself that it couldn’t be as bad as she’d painted it. Everything would work out in the end. She’d always been so lucky. As for Sophie, she’d always been used to having things her own way. Maybe it was time for the tables to turn. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting,’ I told myself as I took a final look in the mirror. ‘That next time we meet everything will be fine again.’

Drew arrived dead on time and I showed him round my flat, which didn’t take long. One bedroom with a tiny en-suite shower, a cupboard sized kitchen and my living room which doubled as a work space. He admired the computerized sewing machine I’m buying on the never-never and he took some time looking at my work in progress on the drawing board I’d set up in the window.

‘You mean you live in here too?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I can’t imagine how cramped you must feel. Where do you relax?’

I laughed. ‘I don’t have time to relax so that doesn’t really bother
me,’ I told him. ‘And as for “cramped” I’ve never lived any other way.’

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes in a way that I found a bit disturbing. ‘You’re worth so much more than this, Katie. And I’m going to see that you get it. Get your coat. We’re going to hit the town.’

I gasped when I saw his car. The long champagne coloured Mercedes stood at the kerb and had already attracted a group of local kids. As we emerged from the flat I saw one of them reach forward, a rusty nail clutched in his grubby little fist. I yelled at him.

‘Oi! Clear off, you little buggers, before I call the police!’ They scattered immediately.

Drew grinned at me. ‘Wow! The voice of authority.’

I blushed. ‘Sorry, but when you live in an area like this you have to show your muscles sometimes otherwise you’d get walked all over.’

He slipped an arm round my shoulders, the broad grin still on his face. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Katie. It’s dog-eat-dog in our business so I’m relieved that you know how to be feisty.’

At the restaurant the maître d’ took our coats and ushered us to our table. Drew immediately ordered a bottle of champagne. I looked at him. ‘I didn’t know you were pushing the boat out.’

‘I certainly am.’ He smiled. ‘And with good reason. My confidence in your work was well justified. I showed the designs you gave me to the owner of one of the houses I work with. She was impressed and there’ll be a job waiting for you with her if you’re interested.’

My heart missed a beat. ‘A job – doing what?’

He laughed. ‘Designing, of course. All the top design houses have a team of junior designers working for them. Your work would bear the house label of course but it’s a step on the ladder towards creating a label of your own.’

I digested this. ‘I see. What designer would this be?’

‘Rosie Sams.’

I gasped. ‘Oh, Drew! I’ve loved Rosie Sams’s designs for ages,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Your style is perfect for her, which is why I showed
your drawings to her first.’ He looked at me, his head on one side. ‘So, are you ready to take that first step to fame? I can fix it for you.’

‘Shouldn’t I see if I get through the interview first?’

‘No. I told you, it’s a done deal. All you need to do is drop by and have a word with Rosie about when you start.’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t see how I’d fit in the time to work for anyone else at the moment.’

‘Katie, you don’t understand. If you took the job at Rosie Sams you’d have to give up your present job. You’d be working full time at her studio and your work would belong exclusively to the Sams label.’

I stared at him. ‘But Imogene and I have only just got the hire business off the ground,’ I told him. ‘I’m a partner, in the hire side of the business that is. The plan is to open another outlet near to me later if we do well. I’ll be running that on my own and….’

‘Have you put money into the business?’ he interrupted.

‘No, but my contributions are the designs and the ideas.’

‘Which are yours and yours alone. It means that as she doesn’t have to agree to buy you out you can leave whenever you like.’

I felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of me. ‘I couldn’t let Imogene down like that.’

‘She’ll still have the business, won’t she?’

‘I suppose….’

‘Not to mention the stock that you’ve already supplied?’

‘Well, yes….’

‘Any legal contract between you?’

‘We haven’t got around to that yet,’ I admitted.

‘Then you’re home and dry.’ He spread his hands. ‘Nothing to stop you. Just take the plunge; give in your notice and take the first step to fame!’

But I couldn’t help feeing guilty. ‘It would be an awful shock for her, just when business has started to pick up.’

‘No sentiment in business, Katie. This is your future we’re talking about.’ He reached across the table to take my hand. ‘After all, it’s thanks to you that she didn’t go under, isn’t it?’ He looked at me, one well-shaped eyebrow raised. ‘Don’t tell me opening up a hire service in the East End is the height of your ambition.’

‘Well, no, but….’

‘Well, the offer is there. Just take some time out to think about it.’ The waiter brought the champagne and uncorked it with a loud pop. Drew looked at me as he passed me the first bubbling glass. ‘But don’t spend too much valuable time thinking about it, my darling. There are dozens of other highly qualified, talented young hopefuls out there dreaming of a chance like this.’ He held up his glass to me. ‘Here’s to a dazzling career for Katie MacEvoy. May she fizz and sparkle like this champagne.’

I touched my glass to his. His offer was irresistibly tempting and I couldn’t help feeling excited as I took my first sip of champagne and gasped as the bubbles danced down my nose.

But what would Imogene’s reaction be? My heart plummeted at the prospect of breaking the news to her.

I travelled home thoughtfully from my lunch date with the girls. Fran’s revelation about her teenage pregnancy had shocked me. How could she have kept it secret, especially from Katie and me? The three of us were so close back then. Poor Fran. She must have been frantic with worry. We may have been close school friends but I’m beginning to realize that we didn’t really know much about one another at all.

I was grateful that she hadn’t asked me to go into details about my split with Rex. There was very little to report anyhow. Ever since he’d answered the telephone at my parents’ house I’d stopped trying to get in touch with him, or them. They were obviously in agreement about me. That much was clear. They all think I’m spoilt and selfish. But if that’s what I am, my parents have to take the blame for it. As for my marriage, all that remained now, I told myself bleakly, was to wait for the divorce papers to drop on to the mat. Clearly Rex had stopped loving me and maybe in some ways I deserved that.

Had I stopped loving him?

I’ve tried hard to come to terms stoically with our break-up but the truth, however much I might try to deny it, is that the more time that goes by, the more I miss him. I can’t help remembering the time when we were first married, the fun and the love we shared. The way we’d laughed at the same stupid jokes and how we loved the same music and films; the secret code we shared when other people
were present, certain looks and words that only he and I knew the meaning of.

I refuse to allow myself to dwell on things like that for too long now, telling myself that in time all that would have passed anyhow. We’d have become an old married couple, bored and jaded with nothing to say to each other any more. The trouble is that somehow I can never quite make myself believe it. It’s when I wake in the small hours that the waste and futility washes over me in a tidal wave of regret. It’s then that the truth stares me in the face, taunting and cruel.
Admit it, Sophie. All of this is your fault. You have only yourself to blame.

I’ve had two viewings from the estate agents for Greenings since going back to school after the half-term break. One was from a young couple looking for a home in which to start their family. The girl was heavily pregnant and her husband was solicitous, taking her arm on the stairs and frequently asking her if she was all right. They loved the house.

‘We really wanted to have moved well before the baby arrived,’ the girl told me. ‘But we’ve looked at so many houses and none of them has had the right
feel
. They didn’t feel like home if you know what I mean.’

I knew exactly what she meant. Even in what was then a
close-to
-derelict state I’d known that Greenings was just what I wanted the moment I walked through the door.

‘How can you bear to sell when you’ve put so much into it?’ the young man asked me. ‘You must have worked so hard.’

‘One of those things,’ I said lightly. ‘My husband and I have split up and moved on. The house is too big for me alone.’

They exchanged pitying looks. ‘I’m so sorry,’ the girl said, touching my arm gently.

Her husband cleared his throat. ‘The price is a bit more than we wanted to pay,’ he said. ‘Would you consider accepting a little less?’

‘I suggest you put in an offer to the agent,’ I said. ‘And we’ll go from there.’

When I showed them out and closed the door behind them I had a huge lump in my throat. The girl had seen all the things I’d seen in the house. The way the light slanted through the landing
window, making patterns on the hall floor, the cosiness of the big living-kitchen, and the elegant beauty of the Georgian staircase. I remembered the day we first saw it. I’d had so many plans, so many dreams of us living together in a perfect home we’d created out of chaos.

I told myself not to be sentimental. It was just a building after all; a heap of bricks and mortar. But it had been something wonderful that I’d seen Rex and I creating together and now there was only me. How could it all have gone so wrong? Why couldn’t Rex have seen that to me the house had stood for warmth and security – a real home, wrapping itself around us like a big fleecy blanket. Now it was just a dream from which I’d had a sharp awakening and the thought of starting again on my own somewhere cold and impersonal made my heart sink.

The second couple were older and childless – a smart city couple who, I gathered, would hardly live in the house at all, except at weekends. We stood in the kitchen, my favourite room in the house and the one I liked best to show off. The woman looked around, wrinkling her elegant nose.

‘Of course all of this would have to go,’ she said with a sweep of her arm. ‘I’d have to up-date. I couldn’t possibly live with these oak cupboards and that ghastly dresser. I see it in pale wood and stainless steel – with an island in the centre instead of that table.’ She flung out a hand towards my chintz settee under the window and sniggered. ‘Who ever actually
sits
in the kitchen?’ she said with a tinkling laugh that sounded like breaking glass. ‘I might even have that window bricked up and have halogen lighting instead.’

‘I doubt if you’d be allowed to do that,’ I said briskly. ‘The house is grade two listed.’

‘Oh, what a
bore
!’ She looked at her husband who was peering out of the window. ‘What do you think, Damion?’

He pulled a face. ‘Have you seen that garden? I don’t fancy spending all my weekends mowing grass and pulling up weeds.’

She followed his gaze and sighed. ‘God, yes! I see what you mean. But maybe we could have it all block paved,’ she suggested. ‘And chop down some of the trees.’

‘Again, I think you might have a problem there,’ I told her. ‘Most of the trees are quite old and have preservation orders on them.’

She bridled. ‘You mean you’re not allowed to do what you like on your own property?’

‘Not all the time, no. Not with a house of this age.’

Her husband smiled at her. ‘I told you that moving to the country has its downside.’

They left soon after and I knew with relief that I wouldn’t be hearing from them again. Two days later the agent rang me with an offer from the first couple. The phone was ringing as I got in from school. It was a ludicrously low offer and I turned it down at once.

‘They’re very keen,’ the agent told me. ‘They really love the house and they want to move in quickly because of their situation.’ He paused. ‘And they’re renting at the moment so there’s no chain.’

‘I’m still not selling Greenings for that price,’ I told him. ‘We spent a fortune and worked our fingers to the bone renovating.’ I almost added that it had cost us our marriage as well, but reminded myself that the fault for that lay elsewhere.

‘So what would you be prepared to take?’ the agent was saying.

I sighed. If I really had to part with Greenings I’d prefer it to be to the young couple and their coming baby. I knew they would love it as much as I had. The thing was, was I really ready to let it go yet? ‘Leave it with me,’ I said. ‘If they come up with a better offer I’ll consider it, but it will have to be quite a lot better.’

That evening I drove round to John Harrison’s house with the boys’ portraits which I had now mounted and framed. He was some time answering my ring at the bell and when he appeared he was wearing a blue striped apron and looking flustered. He looked relieved to see me.

‘Oh, Sophie, thank goodness it’s only you.’

I laughed. ‘I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not!’

‘Come in.’ He held the door for me to enter the hallway. ‘To tell you the truth I was trying to make an apple pie,’ he said. ‘But the pastry seems to have a life of its own.’

‘Want me to take a look?’

‘Would you?’

‘’Course.’ I handed him the parcel. ‘Just lead me to the kitchen.’

I could see at once that he’d tried to roll out the pastry while it was too crumbly. I scooped it all back into the bowl, added a few drips of water and kneaded it together. When he saw me roll out a
smooth sheet he shook his head.

‘You’re a genius.’

I laughed. ‘Why are you making a pie anyway? The supermarket’s full of them.’

‘I’ve invited a couple of friends over for supper,’ he told me. ‘And I don’t want them thinking I’m totally helpless.’

‘Then lie through your teeth,’ I advised. ‘Always works for me.’

He held up a bottle of sherry. ‘Fancy a glass of this? I think you deserve one.’

‘Just a small one then. I’m driving. But shall we get this pie into the oven first?’

When John produced a tin of apple pulp I opened it without saying anything. Clearly he wasn’t about to overplay the Jamie Oliver impression. Five minutes later the pie was in the oven and we were sipping dry sherry at his kitchen table.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said suddenly. ‘Why don’t you join us for supper?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea. For one thing you’re my boss and for another you don’t want to start tongues wagging, do you?’

He pursed his mouth regretfully. ‘Mmm, I suppose you’re right.’

‘On the other hand I’m not leaving until you unwrap that.’ I pointed to the parcel containing the portraits, still lying on the table.

‘Oh my God, I’d forgotten! Is it the portraits?’ He unwrapped the two framed pictures and looked at them for so long that I began to think he was disappointed, but when he looked up at me I saw that there were tears in his eyes.

‘Oh, Sophie, you’ve captured them both perfectly. Thank you so much.’

I heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad you like them.’

‘I do. They’re wonderful, not only a good likeness but you’ve caught something of their characters too. Although they look alike they’re quite different in temperament and you’ve caught that.’

‘That’s what I was aiming for,’ I told him. ‘I’m happy if you think it came off.’

‘I do. Now, you must let me write you a cheque.’

‘No, really, there’s no hurry.’ I stood up. ‘You have supper guests coming and I mustn’t hold you up any longer.’

But he had reached into the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the back of a chair, and was already writing out a cheque. He handed it to me. ‘Here, and don’t argue.’

I gasped when I looked at it. ‘John! This is far too much,’ I protested but he waved my arguments away.

‘You don’t know what it means to me to be able to see those two when I wake up in the mornings. It’ll make up for….’ He swallowed hard and I reached out a hand to him.

‘I know. John, I’m so sorry. Is there no hope of…?’

‘None at all,’ he cut in. ‘Hillary has met someone else. It seems serious.’ He looked up at me, his face earnest. ‘Sophie, don’t let it happen to you. If there’s any chance at all of patching things up with Rex then grasp it with both hands. You’ve no idea how painful it is being made to face the fact that the marriage you’ve invested so much in is over for good.’

‘At least we don’t have children,’ I said.

‘But you’re still young enough to have them. And you do still love him, don’t you?’ When I didn’t reply he went on. ‘Don’t deny it. I can tell you do. Don’t let your pride or mistakes from the past stand in the way. Make a new start, and do it soon.’

I was astonished at his outburst. He was my boss – my headmaster. This was such personal stuff. As though he read my thoughts he shook his shoulders and turned away.

‘Listen to me, talking to you like a Dutch uncle! What the hell do I know? It’s none of my business anyway. But thanks so much for the portraits, Sophie. They mean a lot to me.’

I slipped my coat on and he came to the door with me. ‘Thanks for the cheque, John,’ I said. ‘I still think it’s too much.’

‘It’s not nearly enough,’ he said.

‘Have a nice evening with your friends.’ I sniffed. ‘John! The pie! Better take it out of the oven before it’s burnt to a crisp.’

He rushed off and I walked down the drive towards the car thinking about what he’d said. If the prospective buyers came up with a reasonable offer I’d have to get in touch with Rex somehow soon, maybe it should be sooner rather than later.

Back at home I decided to text him. If he saw that the message was about the house surely he would answer. I sent a simple message:
Received offer on the house. Need to speak. S.
I waited. Half an
hour later the phone in the hall rang.

‘Sophie, it’s me. Your text said you’ve had an offer on the house.’

‘At last!’ I snapped. ‘I thought the prospect of money would get you going!’ The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think, sharp and bitter. But once I’d started I couldn’t stop myself. ‘I’ve tried so many times to ring you but you were too busy sucking up to my folks to be bothered. Did you manage to get any more cash out of them?’

‘Did you ring just to have a go at me, Sophie?’ he said coldly. ‘If so I’m going to hang up.’

‘No,
don’t
! Yes, I did have an offer,’ I told him. ‘They’re a nice young couple with a baby on the way. They love the house as much as we – as much as
I
do, but they can’t manage the asking price.’

‘Well, as you’ve decided on that yourself without any in-put from me perhaps you would like to put me in the picture,’ he said pithily.

‘I didn’t decide. It was the agent’s valuation,’ I said. ‘Rex, we really need to talk properly. We can’t agree anything about selling the house over the phone.’

He paused. ‘Do you want me to come to the house?’

‘It would be best.’

‘When?’

‘I’m here now.’

There was another long pause at the other end, then he said, ‘As long as it’s not going to develop into yet another row.’

‘It won’t.’ I bit my lip. ‘I’m sorry about just now.’

‘OK then. In about an hour.’

He arrived before the hour was up. He looked strained and I thought he’d lost weight. He needed a haircut too. When I let him in he was brisk and to the point, refusing my offer of coffee or to come and sit down with me. Standing awkwardly in the hall he said, ‘I can’t stay long. What was this offer then?’

I told him, adding, ‘I’ve turned it down but I’m pretty sure they’ll offer more in a day or two.’