The Wedding Invite (Lakeview) (Lakeview Contemporary Romance Book 6)

by Melissa Hill

  “That’s not fair. What’s going on, Laura?”

  “Nope – I’d prefer to tell you face to face.”

  “Ah, now I’m dying to know!” Nicola thought quickly. “OK – why don’t you come tomorrow night? Helen’s over anyway, so you might as well join us.” Nicola, Laura and Helen had been friends for many years but lately, Nicola thought, hadn’t had many opportunities to get together. It would be nice for the three of them to have a bit of a natter.

  But Laura hesitated and for a moment Nicola wondered if she had said the wrong thing. “Unless you’d prefer to leave it for another night – just the two of us,” she offered.

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll bring a bottle of wine, will I?”

  “Do. We’ll have a bit of chat, get the latest on Helen’s new man and, oh – I’ll be able to show you my new wheels.”

  “Not again,” Laura teased. “What did you get this time – something along the lines of a Ferrari, maybe?”

  “I wish. I’d better go – I’ve another call coming in. See you tomorrow, round about eight?

  “Great, I’m looking forward to it,” Laura rang off, already sounding in much better form.

  Nicola hit the other line. Was she ever going to get anything done today?

  “Can you come down to the pool?” Sally sounded worried. “It’s Deirdre Hennessey and her boys again. You won’t believe what they’ve done this time.”

  3

  Laura replaced the receiver and smiled. As always, she felt a lot better after speaking to Nicola – it was a pity really that they couldn’t meet up tonight.

  But, tomorrow would do just as well, and she hadn’t seen Helen in ages. Nicola had mentioned that their friend had a new man but, where Helen was concerned, that was hardly surprising. Their glamorous friend went through men like Bewleys went through coffee, and most men adored her – the deliciously attractive combination of blonde hair, olive skin and dark, ochre eyes almost impossible to resist. Helen Jackson was everything Laura wanted to be – glamorous, effortlessly thin, successful and supremely confident.

  Of course, the men Helen attracted were always equally glamorous, if you could use that term for a man. Laura picked up the framed picture of her fiancé. Poor old Neil – glamorous he wasn’t.

  Laura had met him in Penney’s in O’Connell Street, on an unexpectedly showery Friday morning (goodness knows why unexpected, she thought now – in Ireland showery days were almost mandatory), when they both tried to buy the last available umbrella.

  She shook her head. If Helen had a new man, it wouldn’t last a wet or even a dry week. Relationships just didn’t seem to be her hing – not these days anyway – and no matter how good-looking he might be, there was very little chance that she would commit. Laura smiled ruefully. At home in Glengarrah, the Carlow town from where they both hailed, Helen always attracted the guys with film-star looks while Laura got the ones who looked like extras from Emmerdale.

  Not that Neil was all that bad. Dressed in his dark suits and brightly coloured ties, he was attractive in his own kind of way, but her fiancé was unlikely to be asked to one day drop everything and star in the Diet Coke ad. An ad for Mr Muscle bathroom-cleaner, maybe, but with his slight frame, definitely not Diet Coke.

  Still, the thought of Helen being at Nicola’s in Lakeview tomorrow didn’t exactly fill her with excitement. Although she and Helen had been friends for as long as Laura could remember, they no longer had that much in common, and their friendship was now based more on past association than any real closeness. It was a terrible pity but, Laura thought, if it weren’t for Nicola, she was certain that she and Helen would have drifted apart long ago – and she didn’t think her old friend would be all that bothered.

  She glanced at the clock. It was almost three – she’d better ring the stationery company about their wedding invites, having promised the designer she’d let her know their choice of design before the end of this week.

  When Nicola had recommended an up and coming stationery designer from the charming Wicklow village in which she lived for their wedding invites, Laura had worried in case the cards would be all doves, ribbons and old-fashioneed.

  But thankfully that hadn’t been the case.

  Amazing Day Designs were indeed amazing. She and Neil had enjoyed their recent visit to the store in Lakeview, more than Laura had expected. Debbie had produced some beautiful sample invitations, having already personalised some of them with Laura and Neil’s wedding details. To Laura’s artistic eye, the originality and quality of the work was excellent.

  Her call was answered on the second ring. “Amazing Days, Debbie speaking.”

  “Hi Debbie, Laura Fanning here. I just wanted to let you know our choice for the invites.”

  “Laura, hi,” Debbie said warmly. “Thanks for getting back to me. Well, what have you decided?”

  After much indecision, Laura and Neil had settled upon a traditional ivory and gold parchment design with separate RSVP cards, both of which Laura had to admit were utterly stunning. After double-checking the details, Debbie advised that Laura’s choice was in stock, and the invites would be ready within a couple of weeks.

  “Just give me a quick call before you come down to collect them, just to be sure,” she said pleasantly, before ringing off and leaving Laura thinking what an absolute pleasure it had been dealing with Amazing Days. Nicola was right to be ringing their praises.

  It was such a pity that the rest of the wedding preparations were turning out to be a lot more hassle than she’d expected. Her mother was driving her absolutely demented and couldn’t accept the fact that she wasn’t inviting the whole of Glengarrah to the wedding.

  She’d been living away from the village for so long now that she barely knew too many of the residents, and many of her old school friends had moved on too. So when Laura had announced that it would be a small wedding – close friends and family only, and that in no circumstances would any of Maureen’s fourteen free-loading siblings be invited, her mother had been appalled.

  “But it’s a big family day!” Maureen had moaned, mentally fretting over what all the relations would say about her.

  Still, there was no point in worrying about it now. Laura had a lot more on her mind. Her boss would be leaving the office for the afternoon soon so she’d better get going. Laura shut down the spreadsheet program on her PC, opened her word processor and began to type, feeling a tiny tingle of anticipation as she did.

  Then she paused, thinking again about tomorrow night. What would they make of her news? Would they be pleased, supportive, enthusiastic – or would her friends think she had gone completely mad? Laura hoped not. She was sure; no, she was certain that she was making the right decision.

  She had known all along that Neil would support her. He didn’t need any convincing – he’d been all for it and his blatant enthusiasm had given Laura the courage to think very seriously about what she was about to do. She was certain she could do this; in fact, she knew she should have done it a long time ago.

  Although it was a scary prospect, Laura didn’t want to put it off any longer. She couldn’t put it off any longer. The timing was important. She had all the groundwork done, knew exactly what would be expected of her, and what sacrifices she would have to make. And she was more than prepared to make those sacrifices. Ideally, she should maybe wait until after the wedding, but she knew that she couldn’t wait that long. She had waited long enough.

  Anyway, there was no time like the present.

  She spell-checked her document before printing it out, then reread it, signed it, and after a few nervous moments put it into an envelope.

  Then Laura stood up from her desk, took a deep breath and – letter in hand – walked resolutely towards her manager’s office.

  4

  What colour clutch-bag to take? Helen Jackson held one black and one silver against her plum-coloured satin, Maria Grachvogel dress. She adjusted the plunging neckline to ensure it didn’t expose quite so
much of her chest. She didn’t want Richard gaping at her cleavage all night – or did she?

  Helen smiled at her reflection.

  Tonight was definitely the night. She and Richard Moore had been seeing one another for quite some time now, and she was certain that it was time to take their relationship further. The thought of it all made her more nervous than she would normally allow herself to be.

  This, she thought, was probably due to the fact that she liked Richard a lot – actually, more than a lot –and definitely much more than any of the others she had been out with in recent years. Richard was intelligent, good-humoured and very sexy. Helen worked as business consultant manager for XL Business Software in Sandymount, and had met Richard after his recruitment company had sought their advice. Throughout their first meeting, Helen had been as she always was with a client – brisk, professional but unashamedly flirtatious. As she had so often told her sales staff, feminism didn’t earn anyone enough bonuses to keep them in two-bedroom seafront apartments on Dublin’s Southside.

  But Helen didn’t have to force herself all that much to flirt with a man who looked like Richard Moore. Shortly after their first meeting, and a few equally coquettish phone consultations, the company had upgraded their office network, and Richard had asked her out.

  Helen had enjoyed herself immensely each time they went out together, and although there had been more than a few passionate encounters, so far they hadn’t slept together. Helen took this as a positive sign. It meant that he wasn’t just after her thirty-year-old body, and was just as interested in her as a person.

  Yes, tonight would be the night, Helen decided.

  Maybe finally she would have someone to take the place of the empty chair that positioned itself permanently opposite her, whenever there were any formal get-togethers. Her friends all sat across from their respective partners, as did her colleagues, whereas Helen always got stuck with the empty chair. In fairness, she and the chair were by now way beyond first-name terms, and indeed over the last few years had become best buddies.

  She smiled ruefully, and once again concentrated on the task in hand.

  Deciding that with this dress the silver bag looked infinitely more glamorous than the black one, Helen rummaged through her wardrobe, and seconds later emerged with a pair of spaghetti-strap mules that were ridiculously high-heeled. OK, they were only imitation Manolos but, more importantly, they matched the bag perfectly. For every hand, clutch, and shoulder-bag she possessed, Helen always had a matching pair of shoes. When the supermarkets stopped giving out free plastic bags, her friends joked that they would soon be seeing Helen shopping in Superquinn wearing a pair of shoes that matched her ‘Bag for Life’.

  Anyway, Helen thought, everyone knew that it was bad luck to wear mismatched accessories. Heaven only knew how Laura got away with wearing those silver and gold jewellery combos she put together in her spare time.

  Helen ran a brush through her freshly blow-dried locks, and checked her watch. It was almost seven, and she was meeting Richard in town at half past. She’d better get a move on – who knew how long it would take to get a taxi into town on a Friday night. She picked up her bag and coat, tottered downstairs, and slammed the front door behind her – the impact shuddering through the large, empty apartment.

  “You look amazing,” Richard smiled appreciatively, as Helen wobbled unsteadily to where he stood waiting outside the restaurant.

  Her heart soared as he leant forward and kissed her softly on the lips. Those silver heels certainly hadn’t been designed with Dublin’s unevenly cobbled footpaths in mind, she thought, following him inside, but it had been worth the discomfort. Thank goodness she hadn’t worn her precious Jimmy Choos. Although it was a possibility that one of these days she might actually have to wear them outside of the apartment.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself, considering you’ve come straight from the office.” Helen nudged him playfully, trying to dispel the rising butterflies in her stomach. Richard did look good. His short dark hair had been recently cropped, and to her delight, Helen noticed there was a slight covering of stubble on his tanned chin. In her opinion, there was nothing sexier than a stubbled chin. Not a beard, mind, Helen drew the line at beards, and she really hated that freshly-shaven Mummy’s boy look. Stubble was just perfect.

  “What time are we eating?” she asked, glancing around the packed restaurant.

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully soon. I haven’t eaten anything since midday.”

  As if on cue, a waitress approached and called them to their table, which fortunately, Helen noted, was situated towards the rear of the room in a dark, quiet corner.

  All the better for intimacy.

  Helen’s gaze raked over the menu, but she found that she was so nervous she could barely see what was written on it. She watched Richard out of the corner of her eye. He was studying the wine list intently – probably trying to decide between his personal favourites: Australian or South African Cabernet. It was a little scary actually: they had only been together for a short time, but yet Helen could read him like the Cosmo fashion pages. It had been the same with her previous partner, Jamie, who was as open and transparent as any man could get. Too transparent, probably. Jamie had been so open that he had one day informed Helen that he felt tied down, was bored with the rat race, and was taking off for a while to South Africa to ‘find himself’.

  That was almost four years ago, and since then Jamie had not only found himself, but – handily enough for him, Helen thought – someone else. OK, she decided, seeing Richard close the wine list, if he orders Australian it’s a good omen, and South African is definitely a bad one.

  “Ready to order?” the waitress asked pleasantly.

  “Yes, thanks. Helen?” Ever the gentleman, Richard waited while she deliberated over lamb or pork. She eventually decided upon the lamb and Richard ordered medium-rare fillet steak.

  “Wine?” the waitress enquired.

  Helen smiled at Richard. “I’d better let the sommelier decide,” she said, knowing that Richard considered himself a bit of a wine expert.

  Please, please, pick the Australian. Despite herself, Helen’s heart began to pound as she waited for his response. Richard waved the menu away and smiled at the waitress. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just throw caution to the winds tonight. Can you recommend anything?”

  The girl paused for a moment. “Well, considering your choice of main course, I would definitely say the South African Guardian Peak Cabernet. It’s one of the most popular wines on our list, and it’s the perfect accompaniment to red meat dishes – lamb in particular,” she added, smiling at Helen.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Richard beamed at her. “Perfect, we’ll have that then – thank you.”

  The waitress collected their menus and left the table, Helen berating herself for being so foolish as to think that the bloody wine she and Richard were having for their meal should affect their relationship. She’d really have to try and stop with all this signs and omens nonsense. That was the kind of game only a child would play.

  Another butterfly (there’s always a latecomer) rose up inside Helen’s stomach.

  “So what have you been up to this week?” Richard reached across the table, and took her hand in his.

  “Not much. Got the Carver Property and the Tip-Top Distribution contracts finalised and countersigned yesterday.” She feigned a shrug, and hid a smile. “A quiet week, really.”

  “You did not.” Richard gave a disbelieving guffaw. “Bloody hell, you’re something else, Helen Jackson, do you know that?”

  Helen had told him previously that XL had been chasing both contracts for some time, and there was a real danger that Carver’s in particular would opt for a rival consultancy. At the very last minute, and following an especially persuasive meeting with Helen, Ronnie Carver had changed his mind and signed a five-year contract with XL. Which meant that Helen could look forward to what could only be described as an ob
ese bonus cheque at the end of the month. She filled him in on the story, while they made inroads on their starters.

  “Wow,” Richard smiled and clinked her glass, “I think I’ll keep you. The ultimate career woman, huh?”

  The little voice inside her brain was deafening. Tell him, tell him now.

  Helen took a deep breath. Relax, said the voice. You two get on well together and he really likes you. What difference could it make?

  She gulped a mouthful of wine, and set her glass back down on the table.

  “Richard?” she asked softly and the words were out before she could stop herself. “How do you feel about children?”

  Damn, the voice berated her. It wasn’t supposed to come out so quickly – you were supposed to ease it into the conversation. Typical you, and your stupid size four-an’-a-halves.

  Richard looked as though she had just asked him to eat a bull’s testicle.

  “Children?” he repeated warily. “What kind of a question is that?”

  Helen felt completely deflated. It was going to happen again – she just knew it.

  “I mean, do you like children?” She tried to lighten the tone. “I mean, by any chance do you have some of your own or … or would you like some of your own?”

  Oh no, this was getting worse by the minute, she thought.

  Richard now looked like he had been presented with a plate of bulls’ testicles.

  “Helen, what the hell are you talking about? You know that I’ve never been married …” Before she could reply, his face changed. “Hang on a second … are you up the pole?” he hissed at her. “Because if you are, and you think you can trap me into fatherhood, then I think you’ve forgotten something. I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing but, for the record, we haven’t even shagged properly –”

  “Forget it, Richard.” Helen reached for her bag, red-faced and in shock. How dare he? If he would behave like this over a mention of children, how would he behave when he knew the truth? What had happened to the perfect gentleman?