Читать книгу Best Friend to Wife and Mother? - Caroline Anderson - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

‘ARE YOU READY?’

He eased a flyaway strand of hair from the corner of her eye, his touch as light as a butterfly’s wing, his fingertips lingering for a moment as their eyes met and held. His voice, as familiar to her as her own, was steady and reassuring, but his words didn’t reassure her. They sent her mind into free-fall.

They were such simple words, on the surface, but layered beneath were a million unasked and unanswered questions. Questions Leo probably didn’t even know he’d asked her. Questions she’d needed to ask herself for months but somehow hadn’t got round to.

Was she ready?

For the wedding, yes. The planning had been meticulous, nothing left to chance. Her mother, quietly and efficiently, had seen to that. But the marriage—the lifetime—with Nick?

Mingling with the birdsong and the voices of the people clustered outside the church gates were the familiar strains of the organ music.

The overture for her wedding.

No. Her marriage. Subtle difference, but hugely significant.

Amy glanced through the doorway of the church and caught the smiles on the row of faces in the back pew, all of them craning their necks to get a better look at her. The villagers at the gate were mostly there for Leo, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favourite son, but these people in the church—her friends, Nick’s—were here to see her marry Nick.

Today.

Right now.

Her heart skittered under the fitted bodice that suddenly seemed so tight she could hardly breathe.

I can’t do this—!

No choice. Too late now for cold feet. If she’d been going to change her mind she should have done it ages ago, before the wheels of this massive train that was her wedding had been set in motion. Or later, at a push—but not now, so late it was about to hit the buffers.

The church was full, the food cooked, the champagne on ice. And Nick would be standing at the altar, waiting for her.

Dear, kind, lovely Nick, who’d been there for her when her life had been in chaos, who’d just—been there, for the last three years, her friend and companion and cheerleader. Her lover. And she did love him. She did...

Enough to marry him? Till death us do part, and all that? Or is it just the easiest thing to do?

You can stop this, the voice whispered in her head. It’s not too late.

But it was. Way too late. She was marrying Nick.

Today.

A curious calm settled over her, as if a switch had been flicked, turning on the autopilot, steadying her fall into oblivion. The voice in her head didn’t care.

Just because it’s easy, because you know he’ll be a good husband and father and he’s safe? Is that enough?

Of course it was enough. It was just nerves unsettling her. That was all. Last-minute nerves. Nick was—fine.

Fine? Like safe, steady, reliable, predictable—that kind of fine? No chemistry, no fireworks? And whatever happened to amazing?

She tuned the voice out. There were more important things than amazing. Trust, fidelity, respect—and chemistry was overrated—

How do you know that? You don’t know that. You haven’t got a clue, you’ve never felt it. And if you marry Nick, you never will...

She stifled the voice again, stuffing it firmly back in its box; then, easing her death grip on the bouquet, she straightened her shoulders, tilted up her chin and gave Leo her most convincing and dazzling smile.

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m ready.’

* * *

Leo felt his breath catch at that smile.

When had she grown up? Turned into this stunningly lovely woman, instead of the slightly chubby, relentlessly accident-prone girl who’d dogged his footsteps for ever? He’d turned his back for what felt like five minutes, and she’d been transformed.

More like five years, though, give or take, and a lot of water under the bridge for both of them. Far too much, in his case, and so much of it tainted by regret.

He cradled her pale cheek in his hand, and felt her quiver. She was nervous. Of course she was. Who wouldn’t be, on their wedding day? It was a hell of a commitment. Literally, in his case.

‘You look beautiful, Amy,’ he said gruffly, looking down into the wide grey eyes of this lovely young woman he’d known so well but now hardly knew at all. ‘He’s a lucky man.’

‘Thank you.’

Her eyes searched his, a flicker of uncertainty in them echoing the tiny tremor in her cheek, the smile on her lush, pink lips a little hesitant now, and he felt himself frown.

Second thoughts? About time. There was nothing wrong with the man she was marrying, from what little he’d seen of him—in fact, he’d liked him, a lot—but they just didn’t seem right for each other.

There was no chemistry between them, no zing that he could see. Maybe she didn’t want that? Maybe she just wanted safe and comfortable? And maybe that was a really, really good idea.

Or maybe not, not for Amy...

He hesitated another second, then took her hand in his, his thumb slowly stroking the back of it in a subconscious gesture of comfort. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly in his, reinforcing his concern. He squeezed them gently.

‘Amy, I’m going to ask you something. It’s only what your father would have done, so please don’t take it the wrong way, but—are you sure you want to do this? Because if not, you can still turn around and walk away. It’s your life, no one else’s, and nobody else can decide this for you.’

His voice dropped, his frown deepening as he struggled to get the importance of this across to her before it was too late. If only someone had done this for him...

‘Don’t do it unless it’s right, Amy, unless you really, truly love him. Take it from me, marrying the wrong person for the wrong reasons is a recipe for disaster. You have to be absolutely, completely and utterly sure that it’s the right thing to do and for the right reasons.’

A shadow flitted across her eyes, her fingers tightening on his, and after an infinitesimal pause that seemed to last an eternity, she nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, of course I’m sure.’

But she didn’t look sure, and he certainly wasn’t, but it was nothing to do with him, was it? Not his decision to make. And the shadows in her eyes could just as easily be sadness because her much-loved father wasn’t here to give her away. Nothing to do with her choice of groom...

Not your business who she chooses to love. God knows, you’re no expert. And he could be a lot, lot worse.

He hauled in a breath.

‘OK. Ready to go, then?’

She nodded, but he saw her swallow again, and for a moment he wondered if she’d changed her mind.

And then she straightened up and took a breath, hooked her hand through his arm and flashed a smile over her shoulder at her bridesmaids. ‘OK, girls? Good to go?’

They both nodded, and he felt her hand tighten on his arm.

‘OK, then. Let’s do this.’ Her eyes flicked up and met Leo’s, her fake smile pinned in place by sheer determination, but it didn’t waver and anybody else might have been convinced.

Not your business. He nodded to the usher, who nodded to the organist, and after a moment’s silence, broken only by the shuffling of the congregation getting to their feet and the clearing of a few throats, the evocative strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major filled the church.

He laid his hand over hers, squeezed her fingers and felt them grip his. He glanced down, into those liquid grey eyes that seemed flooded with doubt despite the brave smile, and his gut clenched.

He’d known her for ever, rescued her from a million scrapes, both literal and otherwise; dammit, she was his best friend, or had been before the craziness that was his life had got in the way, and he couldn’t bear to see her make the mistake of her life.

Don’t do it, Amy. Please, don’t do it!

‘It’s still not too late,’ he said gruffly, his voice muted, his head tilted towards her so only she could hear.

‘Yes, it is,’ she said, so softly he barely heard her, then she dredged up that expected smile again and took the first step forward.

Damn.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly, steadily, walked her down the aisle.

* * *

With every step, her legs felt heavier and more reluctant, her heart pounding, the sense of unease settling closer around her, chilling her to the bone.

What are you doing?

Nick was there, watching her thoughtfully. Warily?

It’s still not too late.

She felt Leo ease his arm out from under her hand and step away, and she felt—abandoned?

It was her wedding day. She should feel a sense of joy, of completeness, of utter, bone-deep rightness—but she didn’t.

Not at all.

And, as she glanced up at Nick, she realised that neither did he. Either that, or he was paralysed by nerves, which was unlikely. He wasn’t remotely the nervous type.

He took her hand briefly, squeezed it in reassurance, but it felt wrong. So wrong...

She eased it away, using the excuse of handing her bouquet to the waiting bridesmaid, and then the vicar spoke, everyone started to sing ‘Jerusalem’, and she felt her mouth move automatically while her mind whirled. Her mind, this time, not the voice in her head giving her grief, or a moment of panic, stage fright, last-minute nerves or whatever. This time it was really her, finally asking all the questions Leo’s ‘Are you ready?’ had prompted.

What are we doing? And why? Who for?

The last echoes of the hymn filtered away, and the vicar did the just cause or impediment bit. Was there a just cause? Was not loving him enough sufficient? And then she saw the vicar’s lips move as he began to speak the words of the marriage service, drowned out by her thudding heart and the whirlwind in her head.

Until he said, ‘Who gives this woman to be married to this man?’ and Leo stepped forward, took her hand with a tiny, barely perceptible squeeze, and gave it—gave her—to Nick.

Dear Nick. Lovely, kind, dependable Nick, ready to make her his wife, give her the babies they both longed for, grow old with her...

But Nick hesitated. When the vicar asked if he would take this woman to be his wife, he hesitated. And then—was that a shrug?—his mouth twisted in a wry smile and he said, ‘I will.’

The vicar turned, spoke to her, but she wasn’t really listening any more. She was staring into Nick’s eyes, searching them for the truth, and all she could see was duty.

Duty from him, and duty from her? Because they’d come this far before either of them had realised it was bound to be—what were Leo’s words?—a disaster?

She gripped his hands. ‘Will you? Will you really?’ she asked under her breath. ‘Because I’m not sure I can.’

Behind her she heard the slight suck of Leo’s indrawn breath, the rustle from the congregation, the whispered undertone of someone asking what she’d said.

And then Nick smiled—the first time he’d really smiled at her in weeks, she realised—and put his arms around her, and hugged her against his broad, solid chest. It shook with what could have been a huff of laughter, and he squeezed her tight.

His breath brushed her cheek, his words soft in her ear. ‘You cut that a bit fine, my love.’

She felt the tension flow out of her like air out of a punctured balloon, and if he hadn’t been holding her she would have crumpled.

‘I did, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Nick, but I just can’t do this,’ she murmured.

‘I know; it doesn’t feel right, does it? I thought it would, but...it just doesn’t. And better now than later.’ She felt his arms slacken as he raised his head and looked over her shoulder.

‘Time to go, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his mouth tugging into a wistful smile. ‘Leo’s waiting for you. He’ll make sure you’re all right.’ He kissed her gently on the cheek and stepped back, his smile a little unsteady now. ‘Be happy, Amy.’

She searched his eyes, and saw regret and relief, and her eyes welled with tears. ‘You, too,’ she said silently, and took a step back, then another one, and collided with Leo’s solid warmth.

His hands cupped her elbows, supporting her as everything slowly righted itself. She turned to him, met those steady golden eyes and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

And then she picked up her skirts and ran.

* * *

She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Walked—no, sprinted, or as close to it as she could in those ridiculous shoes—away from disaster.

Leo watched her go, her mother and bridesmaids hurrying after her, watched Nick turn to his best man and sit down on the pew behind him as if his strings had been cut, and realised it was all down to him. Appropriate, really, since in a way he was the cause of it.

He hauled in a deep breath, turned to the stunned congregation and gave them his best media smile.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it seems there isn’t going to be a wedding today after all. I’m not sure of the protocol for this kind of thing, but there’s food ready and waiting for you in the marquee, and any of you who’d like to come back and enjoy it will be more than welcome to do so before you head off. I gather the chef comes highly recommended,’ he added drily, and there was a ripple of laughter that broke the tension.

He nodded to his father, who nodded back, pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket to set the ball rolling with their catering team, and with a brief nod to the vicar, Leo strode swiftly down the aisle and out of the church after Amy.

The sun warmed him, the gentle rays bringing the life back into his limbs, and he realised he’d been stone cold at the prospect of watching her make a disastrous mistake. He flexed his fingers as he walked over to the vintage Bentley and peered inside.

She was in there, perched on the seat in a billowing cloud of tulle and lace, surrounded by her mother and bridesmaids all clucking like mother hens, and the villagers gathered around the gate were agog. As well they might be.

He ducked his head inside the car.

‘Amy?’ he murmured, and she stared blankly up at him. She looked lost, shocked and confused and just a little crazy, and he could read the desperate appeal in her eyes.

‘Take her home, I’ll follow,’ he instructed the driver tersely, and as the car whisked her away one of the crowd at the gate yelled, ‘What’s going on, Leo?’

He didn’t answer. They could see what was going on, they just didn’t know why, and he had better things to do than stand around and tittle-tattle. He turned to scan the throng of puzzled guests spilling out of the church, milling aimlessly around, unsure of what to do next, and in the midst of them he found his parents heading towards him.

‘Is she all right?’ his mother asked worriedly, and he nodded.

‘I think so. She will be. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got things to do.’

* * *

She’d done it.

Stopped the train and run away—from Nick, from the certainty of her carefully planned and mapped-out future, from everything that made up her life, and she felt lost. Cast adrift, swamped by a million conflicting emotions, unsure of what to do or think or feel.

Actually, she couldn’t feel anything much. Just numbness, a sort of strange hollowness deep in her chest as if there was nothing there any more.

Better than the ice-cold dread of doing the wrong thing, but not much.

She tugged off her veil, handing it to her bridesmaids. If she could she would have taken the dress off, too, there and then. She couldn’t get out of it fast enough. Couldn’t get out of all of it fast enough, the church, the dress, the car—the country?

She almost laughed, but the hysteria bubbling in her throat threatened to turn to tears so she clamped her teeth shut and crushed it ruthlessly down. Not now. Not yet.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ Her mother’s face was troubled but calm, and Amy heaved a shaky sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t going off the deep end. Not that her mother was a deep-end kind of person, but you never knew. And her daughter hadn’t ever jilted anyone at the altar before, so the situation wasn’t exactly tried and tested.

‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m really sorry, Mum.’

‘Don’t be. It’s the first sensible thing you’ve done for months.’

Amy stared at her, astonished. ‘I thought you liked him?’

‘I do like him! He’s lovely. I just don’t think he’s right for you. You don’t have that spark.’

Not her, too, joining in with her alter ego and reminding her she’d been about to do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons and should have pulled out much, much earlier.

Or he should. Both of them, for everyone’s sake. Oh, what a mess!

The car door opened, and she realised they’d come to rest on the drive. Gathering up her skirts, she climbed awkwardly out and headed for the front door. Her mother unlocked it and pushed it open and Amy was swept inside on the tide of her redundant bridesmaids, into the hallway of the house she’d left such a short time before as a bride on the brink of a nice, safe, sensible marriage. Now she was—she didn’t know what she was.

A runaway bride?

Such a cliché. She gave a smothered laugh and shook her head.

‘I need to get out of this dress,’ she muttered, kicking off her shoes and heading for the stairs and the sanctuary of her bedroom.

‘I’ll come,’ her mother said, and they all fell in behind her, threatening to suffocate her with kindness.

She paused on the third stair and turned back. ‘No, Mum. Actually, none of you. I think I’d like to be alone for a moment.’

They ground to a halt, three pairs of worried eyes studying her. Checking to see if she’d lost her marbles, probably. Wrong. She’d just found them, at the absolutely last minute. Oh, Nick, I’m sorry...

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ her mother asked, her face creased with concern.

‘Yes,’ she said, more firmly this time. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Sure about everything except what her future held. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything stupid.’ Or at least, nothing as stupid as marrying the wrong man would have been. Not that she knew who the right one was, or how she’d recognise him. She seemed to have a gift for getting it wrong.

They were all still standing there as if they didn’t know what to do now their carefully planned schedule had been thrown out the window, but it was no good asking her. She didn’t have a clue. She turned back to the stairs, putting one foot in front of the other, skirts bunched in her quivering hands.

‘Shall I bring you up a cup of tea?’ her mother asked, breaking the silence.

Tea. Of course. The universal panacea. And it would give her mother something to do. ‘That would be lovely, Mum. Whenever you’re ready. Don’t rush.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Her mother disappeared into the kitchen, the bridesmaids trailing in her wake as one after the other they came out of their trances, and she made it to the safety of her bedroom and shut the door before the bubble burst and the first tears fell.

Odd, that she was crying when she felt so little. It was just a release of tension, but without the tension there was nothing, just a yawning chasm opening up in front of her, and she thought she was going to fall apart. Pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs, she slid down the door, crumpling to the floor in a billowing cloud of lace and petticoats, and let the floodgates open.

* * *

He had to get to her.

He could only imagine what state she was in, but that look in her eyes when she’d glanced up in the car—

He pulled up on the driveway of his family home, and after checking that the baby was all right and the catering was under control he headed through the gate in the fence into Amy’s garden and tapped on the kitchen door.

Amy’s mother let him in, her face troubled. ‘Oh, Leo, I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, and hugged him briefly, her composure wobbling for a second.

‘How is she?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. She’s gone upstairs. She wouldn’t let us go—said she needed to be alone. I’ve made her a cup of tea, I was just about to take it up.’

‘Give it to me. I’ll go and talk to her. This is my fault.’

‘Your fault?’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I asked her if she was sure.’

Jill smiled back at him and kissed his cheek. ‘Well, thank God you did, Leo. I haven’t had the guts. Here, take it. And get her out of here, can you? She doesn’t need all this hoopla.’

He nodded, took the tea and headed for the stairs. Her bedroom was over the kitchen, with a perfect view of the marquee on his parents’ lawn and the steady stream of guests who were arriving for the wedding reception that wasn’t.

Damn.

He crossed the landing and tapped on her bedroom door.

* * *

Someone was knocking.

Her mother, probably. She dropped her head back against the door and sucked in a breath. She wasn’t ready to face her. Wasn’t ready to face anyone—

‘Amy? Can I come in?’

Leo. Her mother must have sent him up. She heard the knob turn, could feel the door gently pushing her in the back, but she couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay there for ever, hiding from everyone, until she’d worked out what had happened and what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

His voice came through the door again, low and gentle. ‘Amy? Let me in, sweetheart. I’ve got a cup of tea for you.’

It was the tea that made her move. That, and the reassuring normality of his voice. She shuffled over, hauling her voluminous skirts with her, and he pushed the door gently inwards until he could squeeze past it and shut it behind him.

She sniffed hard, and she heard him tutting softly. He crouched down, his face coming into view, his eyes scanning the mess her face must be. She scrubbed her cheeks with her hands and he held out a wad of tissues.

He’d even come prepared, she thought, and the tears began again.

She heard the soft click of his tongue as he tutted again, the gentle touch of his hand on her hair. ‘Oh, Amy.’

He put the tea down, sat on the floor next to her and hauled her into his arms. ‘Come here, you silly thing. You’ll be OK. It’ll all work out in the end.’

‘Will it? How? What am I going to do?’ she mumbled into his shoulder, busily shredding the sodden tissues in her lap. ‘I’ve given up my job, I’d already given up my flat—we were about to move out of his flat and buy a family house and have babies, and I was going to try going freelance with my photography, and now...I don’t have a life any more, Leo. It’s all gone, every part of it. I just walked away from it and I feel as if I’ve stepped off a cliff. I must be mad!’

Leo’s heart contracted.

Poor Amy. She sounded utterly lost, and it tugged at something deep inside him, some part of him that had spent years protecting her from the fallout of her impulsive nature. He hugged her closer, rocking her gently against his chest. ‘I don’t think you’re mad. I think it’s the first sensible thing you’ve done in ages,’ he told her gently, echoing her mother’s words.

She shifted so she could see his face. ‘How come everybody else knew this except me?’ she said plaintively. ‘Why am I so stupid?’

‘You aren’t stupid. He’s a nice guy. He’s just not the right man for you. If he was, you wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment, and nor would he. And it didn’t seem to me as if you’d broken his heart. Quite the opposite.’

‘No.’ There’d been nothing heartbroken, she thought, about the flash of relief in his eyes in that fleeting moment. Sadness, yes, but no heartbreak. ‘I suppose he was just doing the decent thing.’

Leo’s eyes clouded and he turned away. ‘Yeah. Trust me, it doesn’t work.’

‘Was that what you did?’ she asked him, momentarily distracted from her own self-induced catastrophe. ‘The decent thing? When you married the wrong person for the wrong reasons?’

A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘Something like that. Are you going to drink this tea or not?’

She took the mug that he was holding out to her, cradled it in both hands and sighed shakily.

‘You OK now?’

She nodded. She was, she realised. Just about, so long as she didn’t have to make any more decisions, because clearly she was unqualified in that department. She sipped her tea, lifted her head and rested it back against the wall with another shaky little sigh. ‘I will be. I don’t know; I just feel—I can’t explain—as if I can’t trust myself any more. I don’t know who I am, and I thought I knew. Does that make sense, Leo?’

‘Absolutely. Been there, done that, worn out the T-shirt.’

She turned to him, searching his face and finding only kindness and concern. No reproach. No disappointment in her. Just Leo, doing what he always did, getting her out of the mess she’d got herself into.

Again.

‘Leo, will you get me out of here?’ she asked unevenly. ‘I can’t stay here, not with all this...’

‘Of course I will. That’s what I’m here for.’

‘To rescue me? Poor you. I bet you thought you were done with all that at last.’

‘What, me? Change the habits of a lifetime?’ he teased, and she had to laugh, even though it wasn’t really remotely funny.

She glanced down at herself, then at him. He’d abandoned the tailcoat, loosened the rose-pink cravat which showed off his olive skin to perfection, and turned back the cuffs on his immaculate white shirt to reveal strong wrists above hands criss-crossed with fine white scars. Chef’s hands, he called them, but the scars didn’t detract from his appeal, not in any way. He’d been fighting girls off with a stick since he’d hit puberty, and the scars hadn’t put them off at all.

She managed a small smile. ‘We might have to change first, before we go.’

His lips quirked. ‘You think? I thought I looked rather good like this.’

So did she, but then she thought he looked good in anything.

‘You do, but if the press catch a glimpse of us, they’ll think the nation’s favourite celebrity chef’s secretly tied the knot again,’ she said, her mouth on autopilot, and his face clouded.

‘Yeah, well, it’ll be a cold day in hell before that ever happens,’ he said tightly, and she could have kicked herself for blundering all over such a sensitive area. She closed her eyes and let out an anguished sigh.

‘Oh, God, Leo, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that—’

‘It’s OK, it doesn’t matter, and you’re quite right. I don’t need that sort of publicity, and neither do you.’ He smiled fleetingly, then looked away again. ‘So, anywhere in particular you want to go?’

‘I don’t know. Got any ideas?’

He shrugged. ‘Not really. My house is still crawling with builders, and I have to fly to Tuscany tomorrow on business.’

‘Oh.’ Her heart sank at the thought of him going, and she felt her smile slip. ‘I don’t suppose you want to smuggle me out there in your luggage?’ she joked weakly, and propped up her wavering smile. ‘I promise not to be a nuisance.’

‘How many times have I heard you say that?’ he murmured drily, and she felt a wash of guilt flood over her.

He was right—she was always imposing on him, getting him to extract her from one mess or another. Or she had done, back in the days when they really had been best friends. And that was years ago.

She forced herself to ease away from him, to stop leaning on him, both metaphorically and physically. Time to get out her big girl pants and put their friendship on a more equal and adult footing.

She scraped up the last smile in the bottom of the bucket and plastered it on her face.

‘I’m sorry, I was only joking. I know you can’t. Don’t worry about me, Leo, I’ll be all right. It’s my mess, I’ll clear it up.’

Somehow...