A Sewing Circle in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  "I couldn't resist," said Petal. "The village was simply darling about discretion towards the press for the week of the wedding. I found I couldn't say 'no' when asked to join their celebration."

  "I'm sure they feel it's quite an honor," said Matt.

  The way Petal was looking at Matthew — I didn't like it, but I felt helpless to do anything other than stand here and smile. After all, she was just being friendly and polite. It had been a long time since she and Matt had been an item. Years since they had seen each other, even. So why was I so concerned about the merest, teeniest little touch on Matt's arm from Petal's perfectly-manicured fingers?

  "You'll be seeing quite a bit of these two during the week. Mrs. Rose here has been helping us plan the festivities, in conjunction with the estate," continued Nigel. "And Doctor Rose has been extremely helpful in putting together our garden exhibition ... not that we wouldn't welcome a little more of his input in these matters," he added, tossing another hint in Matthew's direction. "Forgive me a moment — Tony, the display tables for the Cornish flora go on the other side of the tent for now —"

  The three of us were momentarily alone. It felt awkward, and I imagined even Petal sensed it. After a pause, she spoke. "I saw Ms. Mo—Julianne — yesterday in the village. She ... caught me up on the circumstances of your life." She lifted her gaze to Matthew's eyes again. "I suppose that would be a good way of putting it."

  "Ah," said Matt. He took a deep breath. "I suppose things are well for you? Donald will be joining you for the weekend of the fete, I hope."

  "I'm afraid not," said Petal. She dropped her gaze now. "He has other plans."

  Matthew noticed her discomfort, and, judging from the look on his face, was confused by it. I cleared my throat, desperately looking for a subject less unpleasant for her.

  "I hope we'll see you around the village," I said. "And not just as part of the fete. If you need anything, please, we're happy to help."

  I was thinking about tea somewhere, or maybe lunch with Lord William and Lady Amanda — a friendly gesture towards Matt's ex to prove he had forgiven her for the way she treated him. Matt would want it that way, I sensed, and I had — mostly — no hard feelings towards the perfect model.

  Petal had recovered, her expression perfect again. "That sounds lovely," she said. "Perhaps if you're free this evening, you could dine with me at my hotel?" She was talking to both of us, and, at the end of this statement, included me in her glance also. "We have a great deal to catch up on, and I really should learn all that I can about the events I'm hosting ceremonially."

  Matt and I exchanged glances again in silent communication. Mine didn't hold a veto since I had extended the first invitation, although I wasn't thrilled by this idea. In Matthew's, the possible pain I had anticipated from his first re-encounter with his ex was completely absent as I searched his eyes. Neither of us had an excuse to refuse, it seemed.

  Matt turned to Petal. "We would be happy to," he answered, with a smile.

  "Absolutely," I added.

  "Then it's settled," said Petal.

  Nigel had returned to claim her. "If you'll come this way, Mrs. Price-Parker, there are a few visitors eager to say hello to our event's guest of honor. Doctor Rose, please join us — and you also, Mrs. Rose."

  "I'd love to, but I promised Lady Amanda that I would help her finish organizing the tea tent," I said, reluctantly admitting this fact.

  I glanced at Matt, a part of me hoping he was busy also. But, although he looked reluctant to be reeled in by Nigel, he went along with them. Petal fell in beside him after a moment, the two of them in the midst of the horticulturists' circle.

  I bit my lip, feeling frustrated. Why hadn't I apologized to Matt before? I'd made a big mistake, especially since I had no idea that Petal's presence was unknown to him until this morning. Of course, it was ridiculous to imagine that a little marital spat would give Matt sympathy for Petal's crumbling marriage; but it didn't make me comfortable, having him still peeved with me while spending an afternoon with his ex.

  Then again, he might have been peeved even after an apology. After all, I was still uncomfortable with the words he had spoken to me ... and I wasn't sure an apology from him would change how he felt about mine. We might still be angry beneath the surface, which meant Petal might somehow sense things were amiss between us.

  Don't be silly, Julianne. Be calm and rational. I was the only person thinking about the situation this way. Nobody even knew that me and Matt were fighting, except for Gemma, who was sworn to secrecy, and Matt wasn't the type to look for a sympathetic shoulder during a disagreement. Even during our quarrels over domestic chores or weekend plans, he had never breathed a word of complaint to even close friends like Lord William.

  As soon as I could steal a moment alone, I would find Matt and make the first apology. We would go back to pretending we didn't have any little differences between us, and bury our argument in the past as best we could.

  Right before dinner with the woman for whom Matt once promised to give up everything else in his life, that is.

  ***

  The moment for apologizing didn't find me, unfortunately: not in the midst of checklists for borrowed tea trays and the catering company's supply of bone white china tea services, anyway. One moment I was helping staple buntings and flags in Cornish colors around the perimeter of the tent; the next, I was on the phone with the latest entertainment booked, trying to review a list of Cornish folk tunes in the band's repertoire.

  I caught a glimpse of Matt leaving the fete a half hour later, shaking hands with one of the horticulturists and casting a brief glance in my direction. Our eyes met, and locked, as I was desperate to keep him from leaving before we spoke — but I was forced to look away as Nigel persisted in drawing my attention to an issue with the sewing circle's sale booth.

  "I'll talk to them this evening, I promise," I said to him. I had just remembered with an internal groan that today was the latest meeting of the circle, and I would undoubtedly be expected to show up for it. I tried to calculate whether I had time to stop by the cottage this afternoon and catch Matthew, since he would be there while the exhibition's plants were being delivered.

  An apology while surrounded by delivery people and gardeners. Brilliant. As if we could steal behind one of Matt's climbing rose supports and have a heartfelt conversation without being noticed.

  "Also, ask Olivia to have the donated prize delivered in advance, so we can photograph it for the website," said Nigel, who collected some stray rubbish from the ground and tossed it in the nearby dustbin. It landed on a crumpled pamphlet for Cal Pentworth's cause, I noticed. I felt another pang of guilt, and rattled the can to bury it out of sight beneath someone's old paper cup.

  "I should go," I said, since Nigel had momentarily come to a pause. I gathered up my things. "I have to help Lady Amanda schedule the tour hours for the estate that weekend. Lots of tourists will be shuffling through it, probably." My cheerful smile lasted long enough to get me away from Nigel and the fete's grounds, and onto the pavement, where nobody would notice my somber mood.

  The delivery people hadn't arrived at the cottage yet, nor had Matt. I tried calling his mobile, but it had been turned off. I hoped not in revenge for my own being inaccessible the night before. But Matt wouldn't be that petty, I knew. At least not up to now.

  I left a message and hung up, hoping Matt would call me back. As I walked back to work, I caught a glimpse of Petal in the company of the ad hoc committee, lunching at a local restaurant. A white floppy hat shielded her from the sun as she emerged from an expensive luxury car — she actually drew a couple of stares from locals, given how rare it was to see someone as glamorous as a runway model on our village streets. The party disappeared inside the restaurant, and with a deepening sense of chagrin, I walked on.

  "I'm sorry, Julianne," said Lady Amanda. "I had no idea the celebrity spokesperson the committee decided upon would be Petal Price-Parker. If I'd had any notion this was in
the plans, I would have stopped it, believe me."

  I looked up from the diary spread open on my desk — the one I had been pretending to read for an hour now. "I think it's great," I said, with a smile. "Why shouldn't they ask her?" This was the opinion I had decided to stick with, no matter who asked. After all, hadn't I planned Petal's celebrated — if now defunct — wedding?

  The look Lady Amanda was giving me, combined with her former tone, was confirmation that she knew full well why. Matt had told me before that several friends in the village were aware of his past engagement to Petal, and, over the years, others had heard the story about the model who broke Matt's heart ... mostly from the likes of Pippa and Gemma, who had been privy to some unfortunate gossip from the wedding's chief bridesmaid.

  "It's fine," I said in response to her look. This time more honestly. "It doesn't hurt Matt emotionally to see her again, the way it did before. I could tell." And if it doesn't hurt him, why should it hurt me?

  "But what about you?" Lady Amanda met my eye, firmly.

  I quailed. "I'm fine with it, too," I said. "There's no reason to be jealous, is there?" Matt and I were happily married. Perfectly, happily married, even if we had spent this past night apart, separately fuming with anger.

  "Of course not," said Lady Amanda. "Silly me, for thinking you might be sensitive about it. I suppose I was simply thinking I might feel a bit sensitive if I were working with an ex-fiancée of William's, even if only for a short time."

  "Does William have an ex-fiancée?"

  "Of course not. I was his one and only love. At least, that's what I always tell myself," said Lady Amanda, with a shrewd wink.

  "My worry bwoke," announced Edwin, who appeared in the doorway of my office now, dolefully clutching the two pieces of a plastic dump truck — Edwin's 'r's' were still a work in progress, his parents were apt to explain.

  "Let's find the glue, shall we?" said Lady Amanda. "I believe there's a bottle in my desk drawer." She gave me one last sympathetic smile before she and her son went in search of lorry repair supplies.

  At the sewing circle's meeting, I tried to hide my poorly-sewn squares beneath a big pile of thread as Olivia showed off her beautiful Cornish plants wall quilt. A tapestry of delicately-stitched leaves and stems, miniature embroidered blossoms and buds, all on muslin squares framed by artful lavender and purple quilt blocks. The name of each plant — in Cornish — was stitched on each block in perfect calligraphy.

  "Olivia — why, it's quite the picture, isn't it?" said Dovie, eagerly.

  "Looks a proper job, it does, Livvie."

  "Such perfect little stitches — I wish mine were half as delicate."

  "Maybe you can show me how you do it on my block," said Charlotte, who was holding out a perfect-looking Log Cabin square, as far as I could tell.

  "It's really quite simple," said Olivia. "But I think yours are perfectly good, judging from your finished quilt." She adjusted her eyeglasses. “I took up smaller stitches while patching Ted's shirts — the patches hold longer in the wash."

  "Mine are rather medium ones, I think," said Dovie. "Is the trick to getting them smaller in the needle or the fingers, love?"

  My mobile rang. Hastily, I snatched it up. "Sorry," I said. "I'll be right back." I sprang from the sofa, letting my mangled sewing supplies scatter themselves across the cushions as they would.

  I answered it in the hall. "Matt," I said. "I've been trying to call you all afternoon."

  "I apologize. I forgot to switch it on after Nigel was finished with his tour," said Matt. "I'm leaving for the restaurant in half an hour. Should I pick you up at the manor?"

  A half hour. I checked my watch. There was no way I could make it in time — I still had to talk to Olivia about Nigel's checklist. "I ... I'll be late," I said. "I still have things to do."

  "I see." Matt was quiet. "Shall I wait?"

  The distance in his voice wasn't very consoling at the moment. "That's all right," I said. I didn't want to cling to him — not with Petal in full view of whatever behavior Matt and I exhibited tonight. "I'll get a ride to the hotel. It's not that far."

  "I'll see you tonight, then," said Matt. I could hear other voices in the background before he hung up.

  I sighed. It was merely a necessary call from one spouse to another, the way fighting couples still have to tell each other to take out the rubbish or pick up the dry cleaning. I felt disappointed that this was the case.

  "... and that's the secret, really," Olivia was saying to Charlotte as I returned. "But Julie does it completely differently and it turns out quite nicely, really."

  "Which stitch do you use, Julianne?" Dovie asked.

  I froze. "Oh ... you know ... just a basic stitch," I said. I was quickly gathering my stuff up to hide it in my basket again, pricking my finger on a stray pin at the same time. "Nothing fancy. I'm sort of a ... plain seamstress," I supplied in the end.

  "Is that a new block?" asked Julie, adjusting her own glasses to peer at my work. "That's quite an unusual pattern. Did you draw it yourself?"

  "Sort of." She was looking at a fabric monstrosity I had created by inadvertently sewing two wrong-sized blocks together. This was after I had finished erasing multiple notes for the fete, an attempt to give my angry fingers something to take out their frustration on.

  "I didn't realize you were sewing something original for the fete," said Charlotte. "What a lovely idea."

  "Thanks," I said. I now removed every sight of my work before further inspection to reveal its truth. "I guess I thought I would try something besides the traditional and see how it works."

  "Now, is it for a quilt, or something else?" asked Olivia, who was evidently taking note of it in her sewing circle minutes' book.

  "Something smaller. Definitely." Wall art, chair throw, pillow cover — anything that would let me shrink its size and avoid the complicated quilting stitch and turned-under corners the rest of the group breezed through with ease.

  "Lovely," said Olivia. "Now, let's have a quick word on who's minding the stall and when, shall we?"

  I checked my watch again. There was definitely no way I could have Matt pick me up for dinner.

  ***

  The Chrysalis was a big, expensive, impersonal-looking modern hotel just outside of Truro. It had a sleek, modern dining room that was always well-lit and crowded with guests and outside visitors, and was the kind of place I imagined Petal used to lunch at when she and Donald were living the 'Cornish Riviera' lifestyle.

  "Here we are," said Pippa, parking outside the door. "Sure you should've gone through with this?" she asked, for the third time tonight. "After all, who wants to have dinner with their spouse's ex? Even if she is a proper celebrity."

  "It's just a business dinner," I said, as I opened the car door. "It's better to be friendly than be cold, right? It's all water under the bridge for all of us." I pulled out my best confident tone for these words, although I was kicking myself inside for being nearly twenty minutes late. "You won't have to pick me up, since I'll drive back with Matt."

  "Are you sure?" said Pippa. "I'll just be a few ticks away. I'm seeing a movie in Truro tonight with Gemma. Andy's been a bit of a dunce this week, so we're having a hen night."

  I gave Pip a look after this offer. "I'm sure," I said. I closed the door and hurried up the steps to the hotel's entrance.

  The Chrysalis's atmosphere seemed cold and intimidating as I walked inside. Large, lush green ferns filled the conservatory-like space, its lights dimmed slightly for evening. Already, waiters were drawing the dining room drapes and lighting candles. I scanned the room and spotted Petal and Matt at a table together, where one of the wait staff had just finished lighting a single white taper.

  It looked like a date from here. Anybody else watching would probably say the same, because Petal looked gorgeous. Her casual designer clothes had been swapped for a white silk dress that clung in all the right places — she leaned forward as they talked, as if leaning in to Matt's words, l
aughing with him over some story. Matt glanced at the waiter who was refilling their water glasses, but Petal's glance never traveled far from Matt's features, I couldn't help but see.

  I was not intimidated. Not by this overly-posh restaurant, or by Petal's posh designer frock. Turning aside, I ducked into the powder room, letting the door close behind me as I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

  The reflection in the mirror over the sink caught my eye, and it was not a kind one. My dark navy blue business suit looked rumpled after a long day's work, and had stray thread snippings clinging to it from the sewing meeting. My hair was mussed and lusterless since I had missed my shower this morning, and its natural red highlights looked garish and frizzy compared to Petal's smooth waterfall.

  Makeup. Something to get rid of the dark circles of exhaustion under my eyes, and add a little color to my lips .... My fingers reached for it, only to realize suddenly that I had no makeup, and, incidentally, no I.D. or charge cards, because I had left my handbag on the seat of Pippa's car.

  A perfect end to a rotten day. I felt the sting of tears just beneath the surface of my eyes, and I fought them hard. I am not, NOT going to cry this time. I am being foolish and irrational, and it's not as if Petal is out there wooing my husband back into her arms.

  It was a great speech; however, my knees were not listening as I sank down on the lid of the toilet seat and sniffled in an attempt to suck all the tears back into my head where they belonged. Just then, I heard a knock on the door. "Juli, are you in there?" a muffled voice demanded.

  The door opened and Pippa poked her head inside. "There you are," she said. "I didn't see you anywhere in the restaurant. You left your purse in my car so I ...." She trailed off as she took a good look at me.

  "Don't," I said. "Just hand me my mascara and lip gloss, all right?"

  "Are you crying?" Pippa squatted down, giving me an indignant look. "Whatever for?"

  "Nothing." I wished I could claim I had just been applying some eye drops, although Pippa was clearly holding all my cosmetics. "I've just had a very difficult day and I'm not quite up to ... to this dinner." I paused. "Who am I kidding, Pip? Look at me — look at Petal. Even if Matt and I hadn't had a row, I wouldn't be comfortable sitting at the same table with her."