Читать книгу No One Wants to Be Miss Havisham - Brigid Coady - Страница 8

Edie jumped.

“What?” she said and looked up at the man next to her.

He was looking down at her with a friendly smile. Looking down from a long way up. And it was a very charming smile. Edie’s hackles went up. She didn't want to deal with people today. Especially charming ones.

“Cutting back on meat, you were just saying,” he explained.

“Kindly keep your dietary tips and stories for someone who cares,” she said. She didn’t need charming. Ms Satis had warned her to look behind the charm because they were normally hiding something. She was usually right.

The tall dark man’s smile faltered under her icy blast.

“Hey, you were the one sharing your dietary story first,” he said his hands held up in peace in front of him. “I thought maybe this was a new Friday office policy people had instigated while I was away.”

Edie stared at him confused. Why was he still talking? No one talked to her in the lift and never after one of her put-downs. And who the hell was he anyway?

The silence stretched for three more floors.

“This is us,” he said brightly.

Edie could feel rage building in her. She didn’t do brightly and she definitely didn’t want brightly charming people on the same floor as her.

The doors slid open and he gestured for her to leave first. She stalked out of the lift and tightened her grip on her briefcase.

Turn left. Turn left. Turn left. She willed him as she turned right. But no one was listening because there he was coming up behind her.

“I’m Jack Twist.” He was so close it felt as if he was speaking in her ear directly.

She stopped.

He wasn’t going to give up, she thought, until he had some sort of conversation. Tenacity was a good trait for a lawyer but not when they were garrulous as well.

It went against her work principles to indulge in chitchat but she needed to set him straight.

She turned on her heel and found herself inches from a very broad chest. It was currently clothed in a crisp striped blue and white cotton shirt. The tie was discretely and geometrically patterned in blue silk that soothed her somewhat. Then her attention was caught by the lining of the charcoal grey suit.

Cerise.

She blinked.

It was still cerise pink. The colour hurt her sleep-deprived eyes.

“Well Mr Twist, thank you for letting me know that you sometimes crave a steak or a bacon sandwich.” She tore herself away from the pink lining and moved her gaze to the determined and tanned chin at the top of the shirt, “I feel I can now begin this day with more of a spring in my step from this minutiae. But for future reference I don’t wish to hear about that or, in fact, anything else about you ever again whether in the lift or anywhere else. Good day.”

She swivelled on her heels and stalked off without waiting to see what Mr Twist had to say about it.

Who the hell did he think he was? OK so she had been talking to herself, which wasn’t something she usually indulged in but after last night…

Edie shivered, it was a dream. Just a dream.

She opened the door to her office.

No Rachel.

And after she promised to come in early.

Edie sniffed. The email she’d sent to HR last night would be followed up by a phone call today. How could she work to her best ability or expect to succeed when the people around her were substandard?

Edie marched to her desk. She placed her briefcase in the centre of it, adjusting it slightly to align it with the edge of the desk. She flicked open the locks, leaned forward to switch on her computer and then sat down in her chair all in one fluid take.

Work. Where she could forget about hallucinating. Where she could forget about ghosts and soft things like loving unconditionally. Where she could concentrate on at least making some money for those poor unfortunates who made the colossal mistake of getting hitched and believing they could have a happily ever after.

As she clicked to open her email, her last thought before she lost herself in work was;

Had some woman persuaded Jack Twist that cerise was a desirable lining for a work suit?

“Having reviewed the joint assets and the pension owed to Mrs Samuels, it is our belief that a fair settlement for my client is…”

The door to the office crashed open, banging on the wall and then almost ricocheting closed again. Edie paused in the middle of dictating her letter on the Samuels settlement. She clicked off the recorder, as Rachel, almost brained by the rebounding door, staggered into the room.

Edie lifted one carefully groomed eyebrow and surveyed the wreck of a girl before her.

“Well hello, Ms Micawber, it is good of you to grace us with your presence,” she said. “But if I could draw your attention to the clock over the door it is now nine fifteen am. If this is your idea of coming in early, I would hate to see you come in late. And may I also point out that you seem to have your skirt on backwards, your tights are laddered and there is a suspicious stain on your shirt.” Edie summed up.

She didn't mention the call she'd made to HR fifteen minutes before.

“Oh God, I am so sorry I’m late!” gasped a red-faced Rachel. A drop of sweat traced a path down her cheek.

“Timmy was sick in the night, and by the time we got him resettled and ourselves back to bed I was so exhausted I missed the alarm,” she stopped to gulp in more air.

“And then Rob gave me a lift to the station but we got a flat,” Rachel peered down at her shirt and made some vague rubbing motion over her left breast, smearing the stain into a bigger circle.

“I think that might be oil or grease from when I was trying to stop Timmy from lifting the spare tyre by himself. He is such a sweetheart, I can’t wait until the wedding and then I’ll be his stepmum properly.”

Edie could feel her eyes beginning to roll back in her head from boredom. It was too early to have to listen to Rachel’s witterings about her allegedly perfect fiancé Rob and his kid Timmy. Actually there was never a good time to listen to her. Edie knew more than she needed to about poor Timmy’s health issues and how his mother had rejected him at birth.

“Rachel," she said sharply. “Enough of the family spiel, we are behind enough already without a rehash of the touching family bonding experience I’m sure you all shared. Pull yourself together and when you have you can tell me where you are with the McCartney-Mills case.”

Edie clicked her Dictaphone back on.

“Half the pension, five thousand pounds a month maintenance and the London flat,” she carried on as if Rachel’s entrance had not happened at all.

Edie pinched her nose as a dull throbbing headache, probably caused by her interrupted night’s sleep, hit her.

And it was still only lunchtime.

She stretched out her arms, laced her fingers and pulled, loosening herself up.

At least today was Friday; she could have a small lie in tomorrow and then she would have the whole weekend. Two days where she could get some work finished uninterrupted by colleagues or clients, two days without Rachel's snivelling.

But what about ghosts? An inner Edie whispered.

There was no such thing as ghosts; last night had been a very vivid and detailed dream, she told herself.

She was obviously fixating on weddings because Mel’s was coming up in a fortnight. Why had she ever agreed to be bridesmaid, sorry no, make that maid of honour in the first place? It was only due to the length of time that she had known Mel that had made her say yes. And when had maid of honour become such a big thing? She shuddered when she thought of it. Not only would she have to sit through a wedding, she was actually having to take part in one as a member of the wedding party. It was enough to make her break out in a rash.

Yes, it was the stress from the wedding that was getting to her. That was probably why she'd dreamt of Jessica. Really it was funny when she thought about it, how her subconscious was playing tricks on her. And everyone knew you shouldn't read into dreams.

Then a memory tickled the back of her mind and as it poked a bit harder at her, a black cloud of dread appeared on her horizon, it loomed and crept closer. It was something to do with the wedding… the clouds gathered into a storm and closed in. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, her recently stretched shoulders tightened.

What was it?

And simultaneously at the exact point she could put a name to her dread, a calendar reminder on her computer bleeped and named it for her.

Mel’s Hen Weekend – 1 day

The hen weekend.

Her vision of a blessed free weekend was winked out in the flip of a binary switch, the production of a calendar reminder. This time tomorrow she would be in the midst of the most hellish endurance sport known to womankind… the hen party. And as maid of honour there was no way she could miss it or even leave early. She was in for the duration, no time off for good behaviour.

And even she wouldn't back out and blame work. She might hate weddings but she really did love Mel. She owed her for making her teen years at least partly bearable. For giving her a refuge from the coldness at home.

But Edie knew that every one of the other hens were card-carrying members of the ‘happily ever after’ clan.

Her phone rang, thankfully distracting her from the need to think any further about the hen night. She lunged for it without checking the caller ID.

“Edie Dickens,” she answered.

“Edie! It’s a disaster!” a voice squealed out of the earpiece.

She should've checked. Edie frowned as she moved the earpiece further away from her ear.

“Hi Mel,” she said, “What is it this time? The caterers have run out of pink icing? Barry has run off with the best man?”

And of course the other point of being maid of honour and best friend to the bride was that you were supposed to be available to calm down any nerves and last minute panics. It was a bit of a stretch because all the advice Edie had was to tell her to cancel the whole thing, run very fast in the opposite direction and use the money for something more sensible… like taking a course in underwater basket weaving.

“No! As if! Although now you say that I think I’ll just give the caterers a quick ring after we’ve chatted… just in case. God wouldn’t it be awful if they didn’t have pink icing for the cupcake cake? It would blow the entire colour scheme!”

Edie looked upwards in disgust. This was why she didn’t do weddings. And to think she wouldn’t even have Jessica to take the piss out of it with her.

Jessica.

She hadn’t really visited last night had she? She couldn’t have done. All that funny stuff about contracts and loving unconditionally… it was a load of bunkum obviously drawn from some weird and wonderful part of her mind and mixed with dodgy meat.

“Anyway what I phoned about is my bloody parents,” Mel had obviously finished worrying about the caterers.

“What’s up with Maggie and Doug?”

Mel’s parents were the only married couple that disproved Edie's theory. They had been together for thirty-nine years and even though Doug was a workaholic surgeon and was away working more than at home, they would be together for thirty-nine years more. They were safe and solid and completely unlike her own parents. When she was a teenager she used to wish they’d adopt her, that she could be part of their normal family. In fact she'd spent almost all her time round at their house. It was more of a home than the one she'd shared with her mum.

“They are acting like five-year-olds. They are squabbling in low, angry voices and whenever I ask them what’s wrong they both clam up and say there is nothing to worry about. You don’t think there is a problem with paying for it all, do you? Maybe they forgot to pay the deposit on the golf club? Oh God, I hope Dad isn’t going to be completely inappropriate during the speeches.”

Edie sighed. It was nothing startling then, no world-shattering event, Mel just needing to vent to the one person who had to listen. Her maid of honour.

“I’m sure your parents are fine,” Edie spoke absently as she opened her emails at the same time. “Doug probably brought up some surgical procedure at one of their charity dinners or something and put everyone off their scallops.”

“Yeah. Of course. You are so right Edie. I don’t know where my head is at.”

I know, thought Edie, your brain is on Planet Wedding and it has sucked any sense out of you.

But she didn’t say it. She also didn’t say she thought Mel had lost a fair few IQ points ever since she got engaged. Hell, who was she kidding? Ever since she fell in love. Why couldn’t Barry have run off with the best man? It would solve all manner of things. For once Edie kept her opinion to herself, Mel meant too much to her.

“OK, well I’ll see you at mine at eleven am, and no ducking out of anything. You promised.” Mel carried on.

“I’ll be there.” Edie promised as she said goodbye.

She even had to drive herself to her own execution. A three-hour car journey with the blushing bride before they even got to the hen weekend; if Edie’s body wasn’t so well disciplined her shoulders would have been round her ears, her back bent and she would be wringing her hands. Instead she picked at the chipped varnish on her thumbnail.

At six thirty, Edie repacked her briefcase with less work than she would have liked. She turned off her computer and left the pale and red eyed Rachel still at her desk.

“Oh, are you off?” Rachel sounded surprised.

Edie knew it was earlier than normal but if a hen night called then she would need to make sure she hit the gym that night instead of tomorrow.

“Good night, Rachel,” she said repressively. There was no need for her to keep Rachel up to date with her social life.

Marching out of her office she headed for the lift, thinking as she walked that she would do a quick five miles on the treadmill and then some weights.

Pressing the button, the chipped varnish on her thumbnail where she'd been picking at it caught her eye; she wondered whether the manicurist could fit her in tomorrow morning.

“We must stop meeting like this.” The deep voice from this morning spoke from somewhere behind her.

Her back tensed.

It was bad enough that she was haunted in her dreams now it felt as if she was being haunted in real life.

She ignored him.

“Tough day at the coalface, huh? So tired and drained from saving people’s marriages that you can’t speak?” the bass voice rumbled on.

Really. Saving people’s marriages? What kind of divorce lawyer did he think she was? It was in the title ‘divorce.’ Hilary Satis had taught her that when she’d been her mother’s lawyer and then again when Edie had come to work for her.

“I think you’ll find, Mr Twist, that saving marriages is for marriage counsellors. Not for lawyers.”

The lift arrived and she marched in. Turning to press the ground floor button, she got a good look at her nemesis as he followed her in, grinning.

She had forgotten how tall he was; she only came up to his chin. His face was square and saved from beauty by a broken nose, a scar through his left eyebrow and another just below his lower lip. Although the scar brought attention to a bottom lip that begged to be kissed.

What?

She caught herself from thinking further about his lips.

She looked up and caught hazel eyes glinting, laughing at her.

“Well, I believe we will have to agree to differ then,” he said following her in. “Ms Dickens, isn’t it? Your reputation precedes you,” he continued.

The way he emphasised ‘reputation’ caused Edie to go on alert.

She knew his type. They were always trying to convince people that if they just worked at it they could get back together or at least come to an equable settlement. As if. That wasn’t what the job was about.

“I take it you believe mediation is the panacea for the masses then? All the touchy feely new age stuff,” she said.

As Edie said ‘mediation’ a shiver went up her spine.

Mediation.

Wasn’t that what Jessica had said she should be pushing her clients towards?

“New age? If you want to call it that, then yes, Ms Dickens I’m one of those touchy feely new age types. But maybe you’d care to tell me where I’m going wrong over a drink tonight. Dispense your theories. Maybe take pity on the prodigal son returning to the fold.”

His hands were held out in supplication. They were as rough and battered as his face. One of them could've easily held both of hers.

Where were these thoughts coming from?

And what was this prodigal son stuff? Did he think she had nothing better to do than gossip about her colleagues? A drink? As if.

She opened her mouth to tell him and as she did a faint shimmer of pink glitter fluttered out of thin air and landed on his shoulder. The few specks winked in the fluorescent lighting.

Pink glitter.

Just like the glitter she had found all over the end of her bed that morning.

The same pink glitter that had wound a path from her bedroom window to disappear somewhere in the middle of her living room.

It hadn’t been a dream.

Edie felt the blood drain out of her face. The cerise lining of Jack Twist's suit went grey. She put a hand out to steady herself.

It hit solid muscle; muscle clad in cotton and wool.

“Whoa there. I know I’m not much of a catch but you don’t need to faint to get out of it. A simple no would have been fine,” Jack Twist joked as he grasped her arms to hold her steady.

He smelt of coffee, shampoo, laundry detergent and something citrusy. Clean. Normal. Not the sort of man who would have ghosts haunting him. Well of course he wouldn’t, he was the saintly sort who believed in mediation.

And yet there was the glitter.

It winked and blinked at her, a warning light.

Stop.

Wait.

Go.

Go, she had to go.

“Excuse me please,” she said.

Wrenching her arm away she staggered to the lift doors and as soon as they were at the ground floor and opening she slipped through the gap.

“Edie! At least let me get you a cab,” his voice called loudly causing everyone in the lobby to look and see what was happening but she ignored it. She ran out of the building and bumped and careened her way through the commuters on the street.