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

by Melissa Hill

“Yeah, so it was a quick divorce, no long separation period, or anything like that.” Chloe made a face. If it had been an English divorce, it would be almost impossible to get her hands on the divorce papers. She’d have to strike that one off of her plan of action.

  “Chloe, again, I’d love to stay and chat, but I really have to go.”

  “OK, thanks John – listen, you won’t say anything to Dan, will you?”

  John laughed. “Are you mad? That fella is still so touchy about Nicola that I wouldn’t dare risk it.”

  Chloe hung up, her unease multiplying with each passing minute. John’s information hadn’t exactly assuaged her curiosity; if anything, it had made it worse. She had learnt a little about Dan and Nicola’s problems, but nothing to suggest a valid reason for their marriage break-up.

  And what had John meant when he said: ‘You need a very strong marriage to survive these things?’

  She wasn’t sure. The wedding was only a few months away, and Chloe was damned if she was going to let Dan’s ex-wife get in the way of her Big Day.

  She might not know the reason for Dan and Nicola’s break-up but Chloe was determined to find out.

  26

  Laura could barely contain her excitement. As of today, Laura Connolly Design was open for business, and now she was officially proprietor of her own company. She looked around her small garage workshop with immense satisfaction. The presentation boxes had arrived a few days earlier, and Laura had been unprepared for the absolute joy she felt upon her first glimpse of them. For the Laura Connolly Design logo, she had decided upon a simple lilac, silver-tinged wording on a white background, and inside the box the jewellery would be presented upon white satin.

  At Neil’s suggestion, she had put together small samples of her work – earrings and brooches etc – and had boxed and sent them out to selected gift and jewellery stores, hoping to ignite some interest.

  Laura wasn’t fooling herself; she knew it would be some time before things began to move, but hopefully by Christmas she would have some idea as to whether or not the pricing structure had been correct, and her margins sufficient. If it hadn’t been for Neil, she would be selling her jewellery for half nothing, but he had insisted that she maintain a decent mark-up.

  “I know you don’t want to price yourself out of the market, but remember that they’re handcrafted products, not the mass-market stuff already out there,” he had said. “If they cost too little, then people will think that they’re not worth much.”

  If it weren’t for Neil, Laura would probably be giving them away.

  Helen had suggested that she have an official Laura Connolly Design opening, invite all and sundry and perhaps gain a little publicity, but Laura wanted to leave such an outward proclamation until closer to Christmas, when buying jewellery would be foremost in people’s minds. For the moment, she was quite happy to start slowly, build up a decent catalogue, and hope that her profile might be raised by the Crafts Council and a few satisfied customers spreading the word.

  Her family hadn’t been much help, though. As far as she knew, her mother hadn’t said a thing to anyone about the business.

  So much for being proud of her.

  Neil was becoming increasingly frustrated by Maureen’s attitude towards both the business and the wedding, and Laura was feeling the strain of trying to defuse the growing tension between the two of them.

  Joe hadn’t said much, so she had no idea how he felt about the whole thing. For all Laura knew her dad could be secretly pleased for her but, because he always backed her mother, she had no way of knowing how he felt about it. Joe rarely let anyone know his personal feelings about anything – preferring instead to let his wife do the talking. It was a pity. Laura thought, because she could really do with someone in her corner. As for the wedding, Joe tended not to take any notice of Maureen’s rants about it, having already experienced a similar scenario with Cathy’s wedding.

  Still, her mother’s blatant lack of belief was difficult to handle. She had been so sure that Maureen would be thrilled, had been positive that her mother would be one of her greatest advocates, yet she was acting as though Laura’s plans were something to be ashamed of. It was hard to take. And she had heard nothing from her parents, not even a quick phone call to say good luck, when they knew well that – as of today – their eldest daughter was officially an entrepreneur.

  Deep in thought, Laura sat down at her bench, and began working on the design for a necklace that she hoped would become a popular seller, particularly at Christmas. As she worked, she tried to come up with an interesting-sounding description for the website:

  “Fine silver vermeil mesh with an overlay of filigree squiggles and curls, cloisonné enamel flowers and a centre row of coral and turquoise glass cabochons . . . this necklace will have everyone talking . . .”

  Everyone talking? Laura made a face. Should she say things like that? She didn’t want people to think that she was blowing her own trumpet. But maybe that was what she was supposed to be doing. She was trying to sell not just the jewellery but the image.

  She picked up her own personal favourite, one of the very first pieces she had designed since going out on her own. Going out on her own… Laura still couldn’t believe it. This bracelet was pretty spectacular though, and it had taken her ages to make – the fine silver metal chain being almost impossible to thread. She had strung shimmering crystal aurora beads on the chain and covered the metal clasp with blindingly bright aurora rhinestones.

  Laura ordered from a UK distributor who had sourced the stones in Italy, and while she was pleased with the results, she needed more materials to really achieve the designs she wanted. While she was concentrating on four, maybe five strong lines, using metals, beads and stone, she wanted to try a rather unusual ethnic range, using leather, and perhaps shell, or wood. She didn’t know how well this might go commercially and this, Laura thought, was her biggest problem. The designs might look fantastic, but would people wear them? No, for the moment she should concentrate on the more conventional styles, and give them her own contemporary twist.

  She was definitely going to experiment with her wedding jewellery, though. Laura had a clear idea of what she wanted in that regard. She was going to come up with something fabulous for Nicola and Cathy, something that her bridesmaids would hopefully treasure for years to come.

  Laura was so engrossed in the work that she almost didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

  A deliveryman stood at the door, holding the most amazing and unusual arrangement of flowers Laura had ever seen. That morning Helen had a gift basket of handmade chocolates delivered, Nicola had sent her a Good Luck helium balloon, and Neil’s mother, despite the fact that she was in hospital, had sent a magnum of champagne.

  But these were from Neil.

  ‘Congratulations, LC,

  Guess who has designs on your heart?’

  As she read the card attached, Laura tried to hold back the tears. He was being so wonderful – people were being so wonderful. Blast her family. What did it matter what they thought? As long as she had Neil behind her, surely everything would be all right.

  27

  Helen checked her watch. She was sitting in the bar of the Stillorgan Park Hotel and

  Miriam Casey was late. Forty minutes late. If there was one thing Helen hated, it was professional discourtesy. If the woman was going to be late, why didn’t she ring ahead and say so?

  As if on cue Helen’s mobile rang.

  “Helen?” The woman sounded rushed and harassed. “Miriam Casey here – listen I know this is awful, but could we possibly postpone this meeting until some other time?”

  Helen bristled. She had been up all night working on a presentation for Mizz Casey and now the cow was cancelling.

  “Miriam, I have to admit I’m disappointed. I have a table booked and – ”

  “I know, I know and I’m very sorry, it’s just that one of the kids has taken ill, and I really can’t leave him. Tell you what, wh
y don’t you stay for lunch and bill it to the company? Please,” she insisted, when Helen hesitated, “it’s the very least I can do.”

  It certainly is, Helen thought, after dragging me all the way out here for nothing. Noticing a decidedly attractive guy staring at her from the bar, she dropped the frown, composed her features and automatically assumed her sexiest pose.

  So it looked as though she wasn’t the only woman struggling to hold a career and motherhood together. Although she certainly wouldn’t let a sick child get in the way of business.

  Helen shook her head. “Call me when you want to reschedule,” she said shortly, putting her phone back on the countertop.

  Great. So much for rushing around like a madwoman earlier, trying to get a full day’s work into one morning. Despite Miriam’s offer she didn’t fancy having dinner on her own. She debated going back to the office but it was such a gorgeous day ...

  Helen paused. It was just after two. She could just collect Kerry from pre-school and go home early, but there was hardly much point in doing that, when Jo was probably already on the way. And, Helen thought, as she saw the attractive guy now giving her a full-on come hither stare, Kerry didn’t need collecting from Jo’s until after five, so for the first time in as long as she could remember, she had an afternoon to herself. She mentally hugged herself. This was brilliant.

  Maybe she should head out to Laura’s and see how she was getting on in her first day in business or – even better – pop down to Lakeview and visit Nicola in the leisure centre, maybe stay for a massage or a long soak in the spa. She sighed. That would be absolute bliss.

  Then of course, there was the other option – an option that Helen could rarely resist. Grafton St was there to be conquered, so how better to spend an idle afternoon than shopping? She needed to get an outfit for Laura’s wedding, Kerry’s tantrums having ruined her last opportunity, so why not? She already had something in mind, maybe a racy little Julien McDonald or Jenny Packham number, something to get them all talking in Glengarrah.

  Helen checked her watch. She could be in town by three, and still have plenty of time before she needed to pick up Kerry. And even if she was a tiny bit late, Jo wouldn’t mind.

  “So, are you waiting for someone, or is this just my lucky day?”

  It was a line if ever there was one, but Helen didn’t mind. This guy could have asked her if she came here often and it would be the sexiest thing Helen had ever heard. The way he was looking at her sent an involuntary shiver of excitement down her spine. The dark, downy hairs sneaking over his sleeve sent her imagination sprinting, and suddenly she began to imagine running her fingers along his chest. She let the sensations work their way from her mind down along the rest of her body.

  Man, it had been ages …

  “So what are you going to do?” Mr Suave asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “Well, are you going to join me for a drink, or do you have somewhere else to go?”

  Helen smiled and sexily crossed her legs once more.

  28

  It had probably been the most intense flirtation she had ever experienced. Every word they said to one another had been heavy with meaning, and Helen had enjoyed every second of it.

  It wasn’t just the alcohol either, she decided – it was as if her mind had been taken over by some weird sensual drug. The man – who introduced himself as Paul, absolutely emanated sex, and Helen had felt unbelievably horny just sitting beside him.

  He must have seen something in her eyes because at one stage he gave her an intense searching look and signalled almost imperceptibly towards reception.

  Understanding immediately, she nodded instantly, before she changed her mind and less than five minutes later, Helen was writhing beneath him on the bed, his lean sculptured body fulfilling every one of her expectations.

  It didn’t matter that she didn’t know him, or anything about him – all that mattered was that she was more turned on than she had ever been in her entire life. She clung to his damp body like her life depended on it.

  After what seemed like hours, Paul collapsed heavily on the pillow beside Helen, the hair around his forehead damp with sweat, and his tanned skin glistening in the afternoon light. She slung an arm across his chest.

  He turned to look at her, his pupils still dilated with lust. “So, what was your name again?” he teased.

  Helen kicked him in the leg. “Names were about as far as we did get before … this,” she smiled slyly.

  “Well this as you call it, this was bloody fantastic.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “What?” Paul’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  There was a slight twang in his voice that Helen hadn’t noticed before. She laughed. “Of course it was fantastic.”

  “Well, now we should at least get to know one another, don’t you think?” Paul began running a finger along Helen’s ribcage, and she felt herself respond almost instantly to his touch.

  “Yes.”

  “So, tell me all about yourself, Helen,” He traced his tongue around one of her nipples.

  Her breathing began to quicken once more. “I’m thirty, I work in sales, I’m not married …”

  “No,” he whispered, putting a finger to her lips. “Tell me about yourself – for instance … tell me how you’re feeling now, how this feels.” He moved his hands lower along her body and Helen struggled to speak.

  “Is this a getting-to-know-you exercise?” she asked him huskily, wrapping herself around him again.

  Afterwards, they lay together in, Helen thought, a very comfortable silence. “So, what about you?” she asked eventually.

  Paul sat up. “What about me?”

  “Well, I know you’re a businessman – ”

  “Pensions,” he interjected.

  “Pensions?”

  “And investments,” he finished. “Not what you imagined, huh?”

  Helen smiled. “No, not exactly.” She had thought him a partner in some high-powered corporation, not quite a pensions salesman.

  “Does it matter?” he asked, kissing the nape of her neck.

  “Of course not,” Helen moved his head upwards, and kissed him sensually on the lips.

  “So what do you think?” he asked with a daring smile.

  “About what?” Helen felt a tingle of anticipation. She knew where this was going. He wanted to see her again.

  “About dinner on Saturday night?” Paul confirmed her expectations.

  “I’d love to,” she said coyly, pulling him close to her, “but I think I need to know that little bit more about you first.”

  Paul willingly complied.

  29

  Nicola closed the Accounts program on her PC, unable to concentrate on the figures. She heard a soft knock on the door of her office, and seconds later a head appeared around the door.

  “One of Deirdre Hennessey’s kids has had an accident in the swimming-pool again,” Jack the pool attendant said. “I’ve had a word with her, but she’s getting antsy.”

  She made a face. Oh, no – not again. “Have you taken care of it yet?”

  “Not yet, remember you said before that the next time it happened – with Mrs Hennessey in particular – that we should leave it as ‘evidence’.” He gave a slight grin.

  Nicola groaned. “Where is it?”

  “Near the exit on the left-hand side.”

  “OK, I’ll be down in a minute. And thanks for letting me know.”

  Nicola ran a hand through her hair and buttoned the top button of her shirt as she approached the lift downstairs.

  Jack reappeared at reception, having located a pair of rubber gloves. He grabbed the ‘fishing net’ (which, in this case, doubled as a pooper-scooper) as Nicola followed him out towards the swimming-pool. The offending item was indeed floating near the surface of the water, not far from Deirdre and her toddler sons. Ugh!

  Nicola went to increase the pool chlorine level and, through the
window of the control room, she saw Deirdre Hennessey brazenly lazing around in the water with her boys, obviously unperturbed by the incident. She heard Sally call her from reception. “Nicola, telephone – line three.”

  “I’ll take it from upstairs, Sally, thanks.” Nicola dried her hands and called the lift again. Back in her office, she pressed the blinking extension light.

  “Nicola speaking.”

  A slight throat-clear at the other end. “Hello Nic.”

  It was as though she could feel every cell in her body constrict with tension but amazingly, her voice when she spoke sounded casual, almost ordinary.

  “Dan, how are you – it’s been a while.”

  He cleared his throat again. “Um, welcome back … am … I mean, I didn’t realise you were back in Ireland and …”

  Welcome back? Was that it?

  “What do you want?” she asked, sitting forward in her seat.

  He hesitated. “I just wondered if we could meet up – for coffee, or something.”

  Silence.

  “Please, Nicola. I’d really like to talk to you.”

  Nicola bit her lip. She wanted to see him too but she didn’t know if she could stand it. How could she look into those eyes again, those ice-blue eyes that would undoubtedly remind her of what they had lost? She had battled too long and too hard for that. Anyway, she was fine now, she had Ken, and she loved him and …

  “I’m not sure, Dan, we’re very busy here at the moment.”

  “The leisure centre, yes. I’m pleased for you.” She knew by the sound of his voice that he was smiling.

  “Yes.”

  Then he sighed. “Nicola, I don’t know if Laura told you …”

  “About the wedding? Yes, she did.” She wasn’t going to tell him that she had actually seen the wedding invitations.

  “Well, I’m sorry you had to find out like that. I would have told you, but I had no way of contacting you, and I didn’t know you were back. I’m sorry, I hope that – ”