by Daisy James
Theo’s silver eyes held a question but she looked away.
‘We’re expecting about two hundred people. Tickets are like gold dust. I want you there this time, Callie. I want to see your face in the audience. I need to hear your feedback on one of the songs I’ve written. It’s the forerunner of the song I’ve composed for Finn and Lilac’s wedding celebrations and it’ll be the first time it’s been performed in public, even though I wrote it years ago. I think you’ll like it.’
Theo pressed the tickets into her hands and curled his fingers around hers. She looked down at their entwined hands. It felt so easy and natural to be this close to Theo. She knew every contour of his handsome face, every curve of his muscular, slender body. She had to fight the urge to run her fingers through his spiky sandy hair. Her nostrils prickled as a whiff of his citrusy cologne rose up and sent her emotions zooming back to her past.
‘Did you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t run out that night?’
‘I had to get away, Theo,’ she whispered. ‘The image of you with that girl on your lap, her arms wound round your neck like a lioness protecting her cub, has remained branded on my soul ever since.’
Theo looked like he was going to say something straight back but he refrained.
‘You’ve done so well. Callie-Louise is a fabulous success. I’m proud of you, Cal. I’m sorry that this happened to us. If I could turn back the clock…’
‘I know.’
Theo’s mouth was inches away now, his eyes locked on hers.
‘Can’t we…’
He lowered his head, his breath warm on her cheek. Ripples of desire flooded her veins and heat surged through her body as his lips brushed hers and then touched at her ear lobe. She closed her eyes, allowing every one of her senses to sparkle with pleasure. His mouth moved back towards hers and their lips almost joined.
‘No, sorry, Theo, I can’t do this!’
Callie leapt down from the wall, grazing her knuckles on the stone. What the hell was she doing? Nothing had changed. Theo was still the lead singer in one of the most famous bands of the moment and she had a boutique to run in London. Why was she even considering opening up old wounds that had taken so long to heal, if indeed they ever had? Hadn’t she been hurt enough? Did she want to put herself through that agony again?
She stepped away but held his eyes, pausing long enough to see the confusion and hurt reflected deep within. Then she ran, ran as if her life depended on it, tears flowing down her cheeks, her heart breaking in two.
Chapter Twenty
Callie sat at the mahogany table practising the new stitch that she would be demonstrating to the Cupcakes & Couture ladies at their next session in an hour’s time. She had also laid out three sample garments of the baby doll and teddy lingerie that she’d put the finishing touches to last night for them to inspect. Under normal circumstances she would have been honoured that so many people were prepared to hear her ideas, but since her wedding gown design hadn’t won the competition she was upset to find that she struggled with creating new designs. It was the reason she’d asked Scarlet to email her old lingerie designs for the Cupcakes & Couture ladies to work on instead of sketching new ones.
For Callie, who had been dressing her Barbie dolls in her own wacky designs since the age of four, the withering of her passion for fashion had surprised her. A persistent lethargy had invaded her creative dexterity so that even putting pencil to sketch pad had been a tremendous effort which produced nothing of merit. What was the point? Lilac Verbois’s wedding dress had been one of the most inspirational creations of her career and yet it had been rejected; she had been banished from the salon, even if it was only temporarily; and now she found herself skulking in Yorkshire, compelled to manage a high-street business until it could be sold – an act of extreme hostility towards the community that had taken her to their hearts.
Her head reminded her that grief was a personal journey, an unnavigable maze impossible to share with even the closest confidante. Until the barrage of sorrow abated, she knew she could not recover her equilibrium or her flair for design.
But there was a glimmer of light on the horizon. The lingerie was exquisite and she was certain there would be a market for it in her boutique in Pimlico as well as hand-sewn garters, basques and silk bra and knicker sets. If she could inspire the Cupcakes & Couture ladies to turn their skills to embroidery and lace-making, it could be the start of an exciting cottage industry. There was already an established outlet with a readily available clientele and whilst the cost of a hand-made piece of lingerie would have been baulked at by a Yorkshire woman, residents of the capital had deeper pockets. She could perhaps even run the businesses side-by-side, each feeding from and into the other.
But was it too little too late? Despite having restocked the shelves with modern yarn and updating the window display the shop’s income did not cover expenses. The fee for that evening’s Cupcakes & Couture class barely covered the cost of a coffee and a selection from the tray of Parisian marvels Tom had dropped by earlier.
Tom’s words of warning floated back to her. Should she have bolted whilst she’d had the chance to leave without a backward glance or a slice of guilt? Should she really be spinning a fantasy of false hope to these lovely people? Wouldn’t it have been less painful for everyone if she’d just kept Gingerberry closed after her aunt’s death and told everyone she was sorry, but her life was in London now and the continued operation of a tiny shop two hundred miles away was not a viable proposition?
Why was she doing this? Her aunt, bless her, would never know what her niece had done with her beloved shop. She’d never had the opportunity to note down her wishes. But who was she trying to kid? Her aunt would have wanted her to keep Gingerberry, probably just as it was.
Her ricocheting thoughts alighted on Delia whom it seemed was enjoying a new lease of life. With a jolt, Callie realised that she, like her aunt before her, had grown to love Delia and her trendy haircut, her leopard-print-clad bosom, her bejewelled spectacles swinging in rhythm to the sway of her ample hips as she teased the newbies’ stitches into something presentable. This was why she was still here in Allthorpe; the community and their unerring support of her and of Gingerberry Yarns.
The bell jangled and Callie raised her eyes to the door.
Nessa.
It seemed she had arrived early to commence a one-woman crusade to reboot Callie’s love life, conveniently brushing aside Callie’s arguments that she wasn’t interested as she was only back in Allthorpe temporarily.
‘Look, Nessa, stop nagging, will you?’
‘Callie, I’ve spoken to Seb, and Archie confirms it, too. Theo is not involved in a relationship at the moment. You really need to get over that one mistake when he…’
‘How do you know it was once, Nessa? Don’t you think it’s stretching coincidence that his one-time lapse in loyalty just so happened to be when I walked in that night and caught him?’
‘Things are different in the music scene…’
‘You don’t have to lecture me on the quirks of the music industry. I dated Theo for years until… Well, I’m not in the slightest bit interested in what Theo chooses to do with his life. Stop matchmaking! And anyway’ – Callie decided attack was the best form of defence where Nessa was concerned – ‘people who inhabit glass houses! Who are you dating at the moment?’
Nessa flicked the sides of her hair behind her ears, a gleeful smile lingering on her apricot lips. ‘Well, there’s this professional at the golf club; firm abs, taut butt, great swing, sends ripples around my…’
‘Okay, okay, sorry I asked.’
‘Callie, life is short and there’s a goody bag of guys out there with whom to share the journey. Come on, why not let Dominic set you up with his friend Fraser? He’s single, he lives in Paris. What better place for a fashion designer to call her base?’
‘Nessa…’ Callie paused in her task of laying out the bamboo needles and colourful yarn on the
gargantuan table to fix Nessa with what she hoped was her most fearsome expression. ‘I’m… not… interested! I’ve got enough to think about at the moment with sorting out Gingerberry and then getting it on the market.’
‘So, you are still selling up, then?’ asked Nessa softly.
Callie sank her lanky frame into the scruffy second-hand leather sofa she had purchased after last week’s success of Cupcakes & Couture and draped with a neon-pink throw. Her anguish over her prevarication about Gingerberry’s future had risen slowly like a creeping, ceaseless tide, but a decision had to be made.
‘I don’t think I have any choice, Nessa. I can’t split my time between two businesses so far apart. But I have to accept that I’ve been putting it off, arguing that it’ll be more attractive to potential buyers if I just spruce up the décor, maybe improve and replenish the stock, revamp the window display, increase the income, run crafting sessions. But none of this will make any difference if the person who buys Gingerberry intends to turn it into a holiday let, will it? So I’m wasting my time and my money.’
Nessa opened her mouth to add her own soliloquy of criticism of the property developers who had taken over Allthorpe High Street, but Callie was saved from hearing it by the jingle of the front door bell and the next session of Cupcakes & Couture getting under way.
Ten minutes later the room was crammed with enthusiastic participants. The ranks were swelled by a married couple from the next village and two girls from Marcia’s reading group. Every one of the dedicated crafters from the previous session had arrived armed with their completed square of knitting, revealing varying degrees of competence. As a comfortable swirl of cheerful banter wove around the shop, two of the more experienced WI women proudly displayed an intricately knitted Fair Isle sweater that they had collaborated on to a great deal of murmured appreciation.
‘As good, if not better, than anything you can get in any of your fancy London stores, eh, Callie?’
‘Absolutely gorgeous, Kath. I love the peaches and cream colour palette. Could you hold it up whilst I take a picture of it to email to my friend Scarlet? Be prepared to get your first order!’
After she had sent the photo to Scarlet, Callie took a moment to surreptitiously survey the diverse but happy gathering.
First Nessa, arched over the glass counter with her friend Julia as they spread out and pinned the woolly squares, ready to sew together for the hospice blanket project. Then there were the students from St Hilda’s, Alicia, Polly and Megan, giggling as their ducked under the table to retrieve their burnt-orange yarn like the naughty schoolgirls they were.
But it was in contemplation of Marcia that Callie stalled. Whilst her tawny hair remained long and unstyled, she had ditched her mother’s reading glasses and her face glowed as she patiently guided Marc’s hand through each stitch until, with a whoop of delight, he completed a row of moss stitch. A smile turned the corners of her lips as she exchanged a silent glance with Iris. When the class broke for their coffee and patisserie treats, Callie continued her study of the shy young girl and realised the change was not merely physical. Callie had never seen Marcia so content.
‘Those girls from St Hilda’s are a hoot, aren’t they?’ Delia said as she curled her fingers around a mug of coffee. ‘I’m delighted to see that youngsters are rediscovering the crafting bug. Polly said three more of their friends will be along next time. At this rate, as long as Callie stops giving away these delicious pastries and coffee and starts charging proper prices for them, we might just manage to turn this place around.’
‘Oh, I hope so!’ Marcia interjected. ‘It’s shocking what’s happening to the high street, just shocking. Mum didn’t want me to say anything before the meeting, Callie, but this morning we received notification from the council about another application for planning permission, this one for the petrol station on the corner of our street. You know, Hargreaves & Sons that closed down eighteen months ago? Well, no prizes for what’s being proposed – a block of eight executive apartments.
‘All the houses round there are Victorian, stone-built terraces and semis, and they want to throw up a four-storey, brick-built monstrosity! Well, if it has anything to do with me, it will not happen.’ Marcia emphasised the last four words. Her cheeks burned as she lowered her lashes. She twiddled with the hand-knit scarf around her neck. ‘I’ve drafted a written objection to the council setting out the reasons for our objection, but with all the businesses closing it creates a circle of collapse. The properties are renovated into housing only city dwellers can afford as weekend retreats which perpetuates the problem of dwindling resident numbers and lack of daily trade.’
‘You are absolutely right, Marcia,’ Callie nodded; then, wrestling with her conscience, she decided to add her own submission of persuasion to the conversation. ‘Marcia, I hope you don’t mind but I read one of your short stories the other night. It was excellent, absorbing, I adored Lance, fell in love with him actually, and I loved the twist at the end. Could I just make a suggestion?’
Marcia raised her chin and met Callie’s eyes. She nodded, awaiting her pronouncement without a smidgeon of nerves. And why should she be nervous? After all, she was a published author with a national magazine.
‘Have you ever thought of extending the story into a full-length novel? I can see you are an accomplished writer of short stories for the women’s magazine market, but I firmly believe that if you submitted your work to a book publisher they would snap you up in a millisecond. Why don’t you give it a try? What have you got to lose? You already have an army of fans, me included!’
‘Thanks, Callie. I’ll think about it.’
Before anyone else could comment, the doorbell rang and all eyes swung to check out the new arrival.
‘Oh, hi, Tom, come on in.’ Callie swooped across to the coffee machine, anxious to thank him for the tray of baked goodies and offer payment. ‘Cappuccino?’
‘Thanks, Callie. I just popped by for the tray. It’s from my window display and I need it for tomorrow morning. You can keep the cupcake pyramid until later in the week, though.’ His green eyes spotted Marcia and swiftly averted their gaze to fix on Callie as a crimson blush seeped across his unshaven cheeks. ‘Erm, how was your evening? What’s your team of knitters and sewers called again?’
‘Cupcakes & Couture!’ Callie laughed. ‘So I actually have you to thank for half of it. We’ve had five new students join the ranks tonight, although I suspect it was your culinary delights that brought them here rather than my knitting and dressmaking skills.’
Callie smiled at Tom but he was studying his feet so she glanced across to Marcia. She realised immediately what was happening and why Marcia had seemed to exude an uncharacteristic glow that evening.
As it seemed no one but she intended to aid the path of conversation, Callie ploughed on. ‘Any news from St Hilda’s about the after-school-club cookery lessons, Tom?’
‘Not yet, but Marcia did an awesome job writing down the recipes and the methods as well as designing the lesson plans. I’m just not convinced my skills are what the school is looking for and, anyway, every bit of my time is already taken up with running the shop, visiting Dad, doing the books…’
‘Tom, you’re exactly what the school needs,’ said Nessa. ‘I’ll have a word with the head tomorrow and get back to you. She’s been deluged with paperwork for the forthcoming OFSTED inspection.’
‘Thanks, Nessa,’ said Marcia, flashing a triumphant smile in the direction of Tom.
‘Come on now, everyone, we need to get back to work,’ urged Callie. She unfolded a sheet of acid-free tissue paper to display her lingerie samples. ‘I’ve finished the teddies and the baby dolls I showed you photos of last week. What do you think?’
Ooohs and aaahs rippled through the room as the class stroked the silk and marvelled at the workmanship.
‘These are just beautiful, Callie. Is this the sort of thing you have in mind for your shop in London?’ asked one of the WI women.
‘Yes, as well as a selection of hand-sewn silk garters, bustiers and basques, and embroidered bra and knicker sets. Every penny that is made will be filtered back to those members of Cupcakes & Couture that wish to contribute.’
‘I’m in.’
‘Me, too.’
‘You can count on me, too.’
‘And I’m going to be your first customer, Callie. I have to have that teddy, it’s just gorgeous,’ said Julia. ‘And can I order one in bronze for my sister?’
‘Sure,’ Callie smiled.
A wave of appreciation washed over her. Perhaps her love of all things fashion hadn’t deserted her after all. She flopped down onto the couch and tilted her head against its back, twisting to her left as a sudden movement at the shop window caught her eye.
What the…
***
‘Is this it?’ asked Lilac. ‘The Yorkshire branch of Callie-Louise Bridal Couture?’
Nikki and Tish stood on each side of Lilac as they peered into Gingerberry Yarns. The plate-glass window had steamed up and trickles of condensation ran in parallel lines from top to bottom, collecting in tiny pools on the window sill.
‘I’m not sure what I’m seeing exactly, but it looks like a bunch of old ladies sitting around a table, knitting. What do you see, Nikki?’
Nikki groaned inwardly. For the first time she found herself cursing her ever-present need for efficiency. She’d anticipated the meeting with the bishop would take a lot longer than it actually had – it seemed he had an even more punishing schedule than a BAFTA-winning actress. When they’d emerged from the Minster she’d called their limousine service and they’d dashed across to Allthorpe. She’d thought that Callie could probably utilise the extra time with Lilac after she’d made the announcement. She checked her watch. Eight-thirty. Clearly Callie was busy doing something else.