White Wedding (45 page)

‘How did you know I was here, Mum?’

‘I didn’t know. Violet, what’s happened to you?’ Susan burst into tears.

‘I’m fine, Mum, really. Don’t cry. Why are you here?’

‘I came with Nan. I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’ Susan bent and put her arms round her daughter. ‘She’s gone, love. She had a massive stroke during the night
and she’s gone.’

Nan was cremated five days later. The dear vicar of St Jude’s told some lovely and funny stories about her, including the one about the phallic bottle opener. After they
had said their goodbyes, thirty of them went for a four-course sit-down meal at Arden Country Hotel. Susan was determined that her last duty for the mother-in-law she adored would be to give her
the best send-off she could. They toasted Nan with port after the cheese course. Violet had managed to hold off the tears until they did that.

Max gave her a big hug. ‘I think we should all go on a bloody cruise after this week.’

‘Knowing our luck it would sink,’ said Bel, from Violet’s other side. ‘Are you eating that Stilton?’

‘Help yourself,’ chuckled Violet, drying her eyes. ‘I see your appetite’s back in town.’

‘Can I have your crackers as well?’

‘They say you are what you eat,’ winked Max. ‘How’s Pav doing?’

‘I’m going up to the hospital after I drop Mum off,’ said Violet. ‘This is the first day he’s been allowed visitors. The doctor said he must have had a guardian
angel. The scissors missed his vital organs by that much –’ she held up a finger and thumb barely apart. ‘He’s very sore, though, and his lungs are a bit smoke-damaged, but,
boy, has he been lucky. He’ll need lots of peace and quiet.’

‘You’re going to move him into Postbox Cottage, aren’t you?’ Max accurately prophesied. She could see where this was going.

‘Until he’s well, yes. If he wants to come,’ Violet replied.

‘How can he not want to be nursed by you?’ said Bel through a mouthful of Jacobs cream cracker. ‘He’ll be after your bedbaths.’

‘What’s happened to
him
?’ shivered Max. ‘I can’t even say his name.’

‘Glyn? Not sure if he’s been charged yet. He admitted what he’d done straight away when the police went round to question him. I feel so sorry for Joy and—’

Max gently grabbed Violet’s bandaged arms and pulled her round to face her. ‘None of this is any of your fault. It’s his and only his. Remember: he is the one to
blame.’

‘So many bumholes, so little time,’ sighed Bel. ‘I wonder if there’s a bumhole dot com where you could meet people like that and cut to the chase without having to spend
years with them before you discover the truth.’

‘Someone’s in a sceptical mood today,’ Max raised her eyebrows. ‘Seeing Richard tonight?’

‘Yep,’ replied Bel, wriggling quickly away from the question. ‘Who’s the fellow who looks like a big butcher sitting next to your mum, V?’

‘He’s a big butcher. Mum’s secret boyfriend,’ giggled Violet. ‘Patrick. He has the shop round the corner, and he seems really sweet. Mum had to fess up about him
when he came over to see how she was after Nan died.’

‘That’s nice and handy, him living there, then,’ said Max.

‘The shop is there but he lives out in Hoodley. Mum says that he has quite an impressive semi.’

‘I’ll bet he has, the dirty sod,’ crooned Bel. ‘Mummy’s going to be okay for fresh sausage, then?’

‘Oh behave,’ snorted Violet, then she reached for their hands. ‘Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me. I wish you’d met Nan, though; she was just brilliant.
You’ve really cheered me up. I don’t actually know how I’ve ever coped without you both.’

Neither Bel nor Max said a word. They didn’t have to. The warm friendly feeling that sat between them said it all.

When Violet approached the hospital bed she could see instantly that Pav had lost weight. His cheeks were hollow and his eye sockets dark. He looked asleep and so Violet
thought she might just leave the parcel of goodies she had brought for him and slip away.

But as she put it down on the cabinet at his bedside he opened his eyes and what he saw made him smile.

‘Lovely Violet, how are you?’

‘Never mind how I am, how are you?’ said Violet, holding back the urge to throw her arms round him and kiss him. She sat down in the chair at the side of his bed.

‘Your face is cut,’ he said.

‘Just scratches,’ said Violet.

‘And your poor hands.’ He indicated the bandages on them both.

‘I think you win on the injury score,’ said Violet.

‘It’s so good to see you.’ She could see that he meant it. His hand came up to her face and stroked her hair.

‘Has your brother been to visit you?’ asked Violet, her insides sighing as he carried on stroking her.

‘Yes, he has been. Alone, of course. He is going back to Poland. He and his wife have had their last argument, I think.’

‘Pav, I want you to come to my cottage and stay with me until you get better.’

‘Because you feel guilty about me? No, Violet. I will not have you feeling guilty about me.’

‘No, because I like you and I want you to get better,’ said Violet.

‘You are another guardian angel,’ said Pav.

‘Another?’

‘Yes, the nurses say I must have had a guardian angel to look after me in the fire.’

‘You must have had, Pav,’ smiled Violet. ‘And I wish I could meet her to thank her.’

Pav joined in the joke about the guardian angel because he didn’t want to be ridiculed. But it was no joke. When he felt his life slipping away, a light enveloped him and he found himself
being pulled towards it. But in the near distance was an old lady and a tall angel with red hair and they were laughing and chatting with each other.

They both turned to him as he approached them and the old lady said, ‘Oh no, you mustn’t come with us. It’s not your turn. She needs you.’ And she flapped her hands at
him to shoo him away from them.

‘Go back,’ said the red-haired angel. ‘We will keep you safe.’

Pav would never tell this story, though. He didn’t want anyone to think he was a crazy man.

Vanuoshka’s foot injury still prevented her from driving, so it was down to Shaden to act as chauffeur for the present time. She had enough brass neck to walk into Aunt
Faibiana’s and Uncle Trevor’s house, especially as her mother was desperately pushing for a full family reconciliation. Step one had been achieved – a meeting between Faye and
Vanoushka at the Bosomworth-Proud residence; step two – here and now – was a visit by Shaden to her aunt’s house. Step three would be meeting Bel again. That would be interesting.
And she was ready to bring it on.

There was no customary kiss from her aunt Faye as Shaden walked into the house following her limping mother. Faye merely nodded her head at her and said, ‘Hello, Shaden’ in a tight
but dignified tone. She noticed immediately that her niece’s face was very different from the last time she had seen it. Her nose had been chiselled and straightened and tipped up at the end.
A Barbie nose. And were those cheek implants?

Trevor had gone to the golf course to get out of the way. He could understand why Faye felt obliged to listen to Vanoushka’s efforts to smooth things over – they were sisters, after
all. But he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive Shaden. In truth he had never liked the girl. She was spoiled and selfish, jealous and destructive. Shaden might be driving her temporarily
crippled mother to his house, but he wouldn’t be there to receive them.

Vanoushka was at her most contrite and polite, enquiring after Trevor – and Bel. And if she was in touch with Richard.

‘They’re talking things through and seeing if they can go forward,’ replied Faye, not wanting to divulge Bel’s business, but at the same time wishing she could wipe that
smug look off her niece’s face.

‘That’s good,’ said Vanoushka meekly.

‘He’s making an effort. He’s taken her to their restaurant again tonight. La Hacienda. But Bel has a lot to forgive him for. She must take her time.’

Their restaurant?
How sweet, having their own romantic restaurant, thought Shaden.

‘Bel should go back to him,’ said Vanoushka. ‘His family are very well connected. His grandfather is a life peer.’

Typical Vanoushka, thought Faye. Thinking of the money. No wonder Shaden grew up to be so shallow.

‘That’s up to Bel. We will support her, whatever she decides,’ returned Faye firmly, casting a sideways glance at the bleach-blonde elephant in the room. ‘I certainly get
the impression that he regrets his mistake and wants to heal his marriage.’

Mistake? Marriage?
Oh how Shaden wanted to laugh.

They were indeed meeting again for an early supper at La Hacienda and again Richard greeted her with red roses. Bel noticed the bouquet was smaller this time by four main
flowers but padded up in volume with gypsophila. The greeting kiss was longer and more intense, but not necessarily as tender as of late.

She had known since they returned from Leeds how tonight would play out. That day trip had told her everything she needed to know. But after making her decision she let it lie in her head,
waiting for doubts to attack it and try to change her mind. They didn’t even get close.

‘You look lovely,’ said Richard, gently guiding her by the arm into the restaurant.

And she knew that she did because a woman empowered exuded a certain beauty that transcended any physical imperfections. Bel had always been fascinated by how Mae West, quite plain and
thick-waisted, could be such a sex siren. That inner va-va-voom was a magical tool with a direct hit on male pheromones.

Bel studied Richard as he read the menu. He was such an attractive man, and she knew that he would become even more so as he got older. The few white hairs at his temples would spread and give
him a commanding air that would make him irresistible to women even half his age. He had impeccable dress sense and style; tonight he was wearing a Tom English charcoal suit that looked as if it
had been designed especially for him. And Bel knew he would have Calvin Klein boxers under the trousers because he never wore anything else.

‘I’ve been thinking about whisking you off to Paris,’ he said, without his eyes leaving the menu.

‘Have you?’ replied Bel. At this point her heart should have started break-dancing but the rhythm remained steady and calm.

‘I want to consummate our marriage.’ Now he looked up and his eyes were full of suggestive promise. And Bel knew that any honeymoon in Paris would be full of sex. Going to bed with
Richard was often like a Guinness World Records attempt to achieve the most positions in one session. It always felt more about having sex, and very little about making love.

‘I think I’ll have the prawn-stuffed cod,’ Bel decided, dropping her eyes back to the menu. ‘With the menagerie of vegetables.’

‘Ménage à trois,’ he corrected.

‘I know,’ said Bel. ‘I was joking.’

‘Ah.’ Then, ‘Oh my, you’re wearing your wedding ring,’ Richard exclaimed in a delighted voice.

‘Yes,’ said Bel. ‘Richard, I’ve made my decision . . .’

‘Excuse me,’ said a waiter, zooming to their side and addressing Bel. ‘There’s just been a call to say would you please check your mobile phone for messages. Your father
needs you urgently and can’t get through to you.’

Max opened the door and there stood Luke holding a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Expensive chocolates.

‘For after dinner,’ he said, proffering them to her.

‘It’s only chicken chasseur,’ said Max. ‘The sauce came out of a packet.’

‘I’ll take them back, then,’ he grinned.

‘Will you hell as like,’ she said, snatching them from him. ‘Come in. It’s cold.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Luke, ‘it’s a lovely evening. Why do you think I’m not wearing a jacket? It’s colder in here than it is out there.’

‘Oh don’t you start. Stuart always said it was freezing in—’ Max stopped herself. Luke gave her a playful nudge then leaned over and kissed her cheek.

‘Early days, Max. Don’t beat yourself up for saying his name.’

‘I know,’ Max nodded and injected some extra cheeriness into her voice. ‘Haven’t you brought any files with you?’

‘It’s all on my faithful memory stick,’ said Luke, taking it out of his pocket and waving it at her. He pulled a lungful of chicken-scented air into his lungs.

‘Smells good, even if it is out of a packet.’

‘The vegetables aren’t out of a packet,’ said Max. ‘I thought I’d better make an effort if I’m going to pick your brains.’

‘Nick all my marketing ideas, you mean,’ chuckled Luke, going into the kitchen for a bottle opener. Then he rolled up his white shirt sleeves. ‘Come on, then, how can I help?
I’m starving.’

‘I haven’t finished my prep – you came early.’

‘Well, show me the way to a knife and a chopping board, Max. Come on, what are you waiting for?’

Together they made dinner, ate dinner, talked shop, cleared the plates, scoffed banoffee cheesecake, talked more shop and drank Rioja. As he was bending over to fill up the dishwasher, Max
looked at him and saw what a very nice bum he had. It was a bit odd thinking that and she averted her gaze very quickly. She hadn’t looked at him like that since they were sixteen. Max filled
up her glass and took a very big gulp.

‘Thanks for filling my glass up as well,’ huffed Luke sarcastically, making her laugh. Again. He had always made her laugh. ‘I don’t know. You give someone all your
expertise and in return they give you a packet-mix chicken dish and swipe all the booze.’ He picked up the bottle and took it into the lounge and Max followed. They both sank on to opposite
ends of the sofa and silence reigned for a short – and entirely comfortable – few minutes until Max broke it.

‘Any more news about Stuart?’

‘None,’ replied Luke. ‘He’s absorbed in his new life at the moment. I’m way down on the list of priorities.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t be,’ Max twisted to face him.

‘It’s okay,’ said Luke. ‘It’s awkward, anyway. He thinks I’ve taken sides.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did take sides, Luke. You’ve been friends since you were babies.’