Читать книгу Mills & Boon Christmas Delights Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 37

Chapter Two

‘I’m so sorry. How awful for you!’

The friend of an acquaintance of an acquaintance was passing on her condolences on my failed wedding. Even though I had absolutely no idea who she was.

‘And in front of all those people too!’

Yes. In front of pretty much everyone I know. Thanks for bringing that up. Again.

‘Mmm.’ I made a non-committal noise and tried to change the subject. ‘So, are you looking for a dress for yourself or someone else?’

‘A dress?’

‘Yes, I mean, I assume you’re looking for a dress. Is it for a wedding, a prom or another special occasion?’ I tried again.

‘Oh I’m not looking for a dress, dear. I just popped in to tell you how sorry I was when I heard he’d just left you standing at the altar.’

Why is it when someone makes a comment you’d rather no one else heard, absolutely everyone in the vicinity hears it? The three other customers turned and peered at me.

‘Oh right. Well, that was very kind of you. Now, I’d better see to my clients. Thank you for dropping in.’

I turned my back on her and did my best to find a confident stride and a happy smile with which to greet the other people in my studio, hoping that they had actually come to discuss occasion wear rather than my nuptials, or lack thereof.

***

I glanced up at the old-fashioned station clock hanging on the wall. Nine p.m. My assistant had gone home hours ago but I’d declined the offer to walk to the station together tonight in favour of catching up on some paperwork and social media updates. I’d actually finished everything over half an hour ago but still I stayed. I loved my studio but even I knew it wasn’t that healthy to be here quite as much as I was. Working had been my salvation after the whole wedding hoo-hah. It was the one thing I could rely on. Even with a ropey economy, there were still plenty of people in London with money, and weddings were still big business. Luckily.

My studio had been doing pretty well for a couple of years and I knew I wanted to do more, but with the planning of the wedding and having a relationship, I just hadn’t really had the time to sit and think about exactly what and how. Now, thanks to Steven, I didn’t have to commit time to either of those things – which is why, the day after everything had happened, or more precisely, not happened, I had lain on my studio floor surrounded by spreadsheets, brainstorm pictograms and a plethora of other paperwork. By the end of the day, I had created a five-year plan for my business. Amongst other things, I wanted to expand so that I could take on a couple more seamstresses – this would allow me not only to take on more commissions, but also to get those that I did take on, done quicker. Without the bother of a relationship to get in the way of things, I had spent the weeks following my non-nuptials burying myself in my work, and determined to follow my neatly planned out path.

‘Hello?’ a voice called out as the bells above my door tinkled. Damn. I thought I’d locked that after Tash had left. I got up and walked across the studio space, my one indulgent pair of Louboutins clicking hurriedly on the wooden floor.

‘Hi!’ I greeted Natayla as she turned back from closing the door against the wind that was once more howling down the street outside my cosy studio.

‘I’m sorry to bother you. I wasn’t sure you’d still be here at this time but we were passing.’

‘Oh I’m often here late.’ I smiled, ‘No bother at all. It’s lovely to see you! How was the honeymoon?’

‘Amazing!’ Natayla gushed, ‘Sunsets, sandy beaches, cocktails and relaxing by the pool. We didn’t really do much else.’ she said, then blushed and smiled shyly.

I smiled back at her and touched her arm gently. ‘I’m glad it all went so well, Natayla.’

‘Thank you again for making me look so beautiful.’

‘It was my pleasure.’ I answered, honestly.

‘I brought you something.’ she said, and handed me a large envelope.

Opening it, I pulled out a black and white eight-by-ten photograph of Natayla and her new husband. The photo not only screamed at me how much in love they were, but also showed her dress off perfectly.

‘Oh Natayla! That’s beautiful. Thank you so much. I shall put it up first thing tomorrow.’

My client smiled her shy little smile again and I wavered.

‘Only if you’re happy with that, of course.’

‘Yes! Yes, I am happy. Very happy.’

‘Wonderful. Thank you.’

We exchanged a hug and I walked her over to the door, pausing whilst she pulled on her gloves and hat before I opened it. She stepped out and waved again, before hurrying off to a waiting car and disappearing inside. I shut the door, this time throwing the bolt before turning back.

I looked at the clock once more, and once more thought that I really should be making a move to go home. That was the problem with living somewhere you didn’t like. You never really wanted to go there. Instead I picked up my tea and wandered over to the wall covered in beautifully framed pictures. Sipping at my drink, I let my gaze drift over the happy smiles and gorgeous dresses. I lay the latest acquisition on Tash’s desk. There was no need for a note. Tash would know what to do with it. She’d been a great find and she was excellent at all the admin side of the business, and with clients, but I still wanted to increase the number of staff. Part of my business plan was to accept an intern. I’d learned so much when I’d done the same thing after getting my degree – about all different aspects of the job, things you just can’t learn in college – and I wanted to give someone else the chance to have that same experience. The thought of going to watch Final Collection shows with the view to employing someone, and then helping to nurture and develop that talent, gave me something to look forward to. My gaze went back to the photograph lying on the desk of the happy couple. The look of joy and love on their faces radiated out of the picture. I touched it briefly, almost as if by doing that I could experience that same joy, just for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, I took my mug and rinsed it out in the little kitchenette at the back of the studio. I slipped on my coat and belted it before grabbing the oversized leather tote bag I carried everywhere, and headed to the door.

***

‘When’s it going to stop?’ I asked my best friend, Mags, as I relayed the surprise visit I’d had during the week, ‘Honestly, I feel like the prime exhibit at a zoo! I have absolutely no idea who this woman was. I didn’t even know any of the people she reeled off as having told her the “devastating news” of my being jilted at the altar.’

‘Just ignore the old bag.’ Mags said sagely as she refilled my empty wine glass.

‘She even pointed out the irony of someone who makes wedding dresses for a living being left at the altar on her own wedding day. I mean, seriously! I felt like suggesting that she should join Mensa because, of course, that thought hasn’t crossed my mind once!’

‘Have you heard anything more from him?’

‘What, since he left me that thoughtful note saying he was going to go on the honeymoon alone as it “seemed a shame to waste it” and it would be good to “have some space between us”?’ I’d definitely had too much wine as I was doing finger quotes in the air. I never did finger quotes.

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

That was the good thing about living in London. It was big. You were much less likely to bump into people you knew than if you lived in a village. Of course Steven knew all our old haunts, and seemed to be having the good sense to stay out of them. I imagine he’d heard about my reaction in the church. I knew Rob wouldn’t have said anything out of choice but announcing that the wedding was off whilst trying to stem a steady flow of blood from his nose, together with the obvious lack of a groom, had probably meant that there wasn’t a whole lot of explanation required. Steven was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d likely worked out pretty quickly that going to the places we used to frequent together may lead to the possibility of the term ‘regular haunt’ becoming more literal than figurative for him.

‘How are your parents doing?’ Mags asked.

Mags and I had been friends forever. We were both army brats with our fathers serving in the same battalion, and I couldn’t remember a time when Mags wasn’t my best friend. When it had become clear that Steven wasn’t going to make an appearance at the church, she’d automatically known that the last thing I wanted, or needed, was a crowd of people fussing around me. She’d gone over to my parents, tactfully explained the situation, then sat with them whilst my dad stared at the flower display – silently, likely imagining several different ways to kill Steven with a gerbera – and my mum repeatedly asked how Steven could do such a thing, intermittently dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered linen handkerchief. Of course, had Mags known I was about to deck the best man, she might have altered her strategy.

‘They’re ok. Devastated. Concerned. But ok,’ I took a swig of the crisp, cool wine, ‘I think so long as they know I’m all right, they’ll be fine.’

‘And are you?’ Mags asked, looking at me directly, knowing I could never give her anything but an honest answer.

I drained my glass and thought about it. Was I ok?

‘Yes. I think so. Now the shock’s worn off. I still have days when I don’t really want to get out of bed, but then my stubborn side kicks in and I think that I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing what a bloody mess he’s caused.’

Mags nodded. I knew there was another question coming.

‘Ok. But what about how you really are? That’s the “showing the world I’m ok” bit taken care of, but how are you inside. Really?’

I loved Mags to bits, but sometimes I wished she wasn’t quite so insightful. I fiddled with the wine bottle cork as I let out a sigh.

‘I’m not sure, to be honest. He hurt me. Totally humiliated me. But I am getting through it. And that sort of worries me in a way. I mean, shouldn’t I be sobbing and wailing and declaring that my broken heart will never mend? It’s made me question whether he was really The One after all. I mean, I thought he was, obviously. But now – I don’t know! As much as I hate to admit it, I’m secretly wondering if he actually did me a bit of a favour. Would the marriage even have lasted, seeing as I’m not pining away for him?’

I took another swig. ‘Of course, I’d rather he’d told me prior to the bloody wedding day!’ I said, my voice getting louder as I finished the sentence.

It was the truth though. I was seriously wondering if I had very nearly made a big mistake. But the anger at Steven for humiliating me, and my parents, as well as his own, still boiled away. I didn’t know how long that would take to go away. I hadn’t seen Rob since the wedding day either, so it was likely he wasn’t too sure about that aspect either, and, bearing in mind I’d punched him on the nose last time, he wasn’t taking any chances. I could hardly blame him.

As if reading my mind, Mags looked over from where she was studying the label on the wine bottle.

‘Have you seen Rob at all since then?’

I shook my head.

‘You do know you actually broke his nose, don’t you?

I whipped my head around to face her. Thanks to the copious amount of alcohol now thinning my blood, it took the world a moment or two to catch up. I blinked, and waited a few seconds for it all to settle down. Mags pushed her own cute little nose to the side, as if to illustrate the point.

‘I couldn’t have! He’s an ex-army, six-foot-three rugby player and I’m...’ I paused to look down at my own far less statuesque frame, ‘...not. I didn’t even hit him that hard!’

If I’m honest, I wasn’t entirely sure about the last bit. In the days following the incident, my hand, with its perfectly manicured nails, had turned a variety of shades, none of which were particularly attractive, as the whole thing became one massive bruise. And he had ended up on his bum.

‘Hard enough, it seems.’ Mags confirmed, a small smirk catching her lips.

I saw it.

‘Stop it! It’s not funny.’

Her smirk turned into a grin.

‘It’s not!’ I reiterated, ‘Anyway, how do you know?’

‘I saw him a few days ago. I was at Borough Market at lunchtime and he came into the pub with some colleagues.’

‘Oh.’

‘He was asking after you. He wanted to know if you were ok.’

‘Oh.’ I said again. ‘What did you tell him?’ I asked, after a couple more minutes.

‘I just said that you were doing ok, under the circumstances, and that you would be fine because you’re not about to let a lowlife piece of pond scum like Steven ruin your life.’

‘Right. Good. Ok. So long as you were subtle about it.’

‘Of course.’

And the funny thing was, that actually was subtle for Mags. It was lucky that it had been Rob and not Steven she’d run into. We’d been there for every good, and every awful, moment in each other’s lives and her fury at seeing her best friend hurt was probably more than my own could ever be. If Steven appeared in her line of vision any time within the next few months, there was every chance a trip to the casualty department would be in his very immediate future. I was just entertaining that idea in my head when Mags broke into my thoughts.

‘I think he’d like to see you.’

‘Who?’

‘Rob.’

‘Me? Why?’ My hand suddenly flew to my mouth, ‘Oh my God! He’s going to sue me for breaking his nose!’

Mags spurted out her wine over my kitchen table in laughter. ‘He does not want to sue you for breaking his nose!’

‘How do you know? Did he specifically say that? He is a lawyer! Why else would he want to see me?’

‘Izz, he specialises in company law, not ambulance chasing! Like I said, he’s just concerned as to how you are,’ she said, mopping up with a paper towel, ‘I think he feels some sort of odd sense of responsibility.’

‘Well, he shouldn’t.’

‘No, I told him that too.’

‘Good. Well, that’s that then.’

‘Excellent. Glad that’s settled. Is there any more wine?’