by Jo Carnegie
Caro handed Velda a tissue and she took it, blowing her nose loudly.
‘I agonized over it, you know, whether to tell Saffron her mother had moved to Churchminster. But I knew she would refuse point blank to go.’ Velda smiled sadly. ‘I just thought that maybe if they bumped into each other, there might be some chance . . . So many years have passed now.’ She sniffed. ‘I should have known better, what a fool I’ve been! Saffron’s moved out, she won’t take my calls, and I’ve no idea how to get hold of her!’
Caro patted her shoulder. She was still trying to take it all in. She now knew why Velda had looked so familiar to her when they’d first met. Although Babs was taller and thinner than her older sister, they both shared the same colouring and bone-structure. As did Saffron. Saffron had even told Caro she was a natural strawberry blonde.
‘Velda, you’re not a fool. You’ve only got Saffron’s best interests at heart, and you did what you thought was right.’
‘I was wrong, though, wasn’t I?’ said Velda. ‘How could I have misjudged it so badly?’
Caro didn’t know quite what to say. ‘Give it time, I’m sure Saffron will come round.’
Velda looked at her through reddened eyes. ‘And if she doesn’t?’
Unfortunately Caro had no answer for that one.
Saffron was deep in thought as she stepped into the lift at lunchtime. She didn’t realize Tom was there until he spoke.
‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
Saffron looked up. ‘I’ve had better,’ she said, a little shortly.
Tom went a mottled red, and Saffron felt a bit of a heel. It wasn’t her fault she had the family from hell, after all.
‘How was yours?’ she asked, trying to sound more friendly.
‘All right,’ he muttered.
The two lapsed into silence. Saffron looked down at the floor. Christ, he had big feet! Tom was wearing an unfashionable pair of trainers, the laces done up in huge bows. For some reason Saffron found herself wondering if big feet did really mean a big cock . . .
The lift door pinged open. ‘See you later,’ she said quickly, and made a swift exit.
Chapter 48
ASH STEPPED UNCERTAINLY off the train at Bedlington. He felt like he was in the middle of a Heartbeat episode. The station had just one platform and a tiny stationmaster’s office, an old-fashioned clock ticking loudly overhead and flower boxes neatly lined up outside.
Ash still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, and the two-hour train journey had only unsettled his thoughts further. He had two months in this place. This Mrs Fox-Titt woman – what kind of name was that? – had sounded dead posh when they’d spoken on the phone. What the hell was he going to have in common with these people? They probably drank tea out of china cups with their little finger stuck up.
‘The 10:04 a.m. from London Paddington has now arrived,’ a woman’s voice called cheerily over the loudspeaker. Ash noticed no one else had got on or off. He was in the middle of the bloody wilderness! Slinging his sports bag over his shoulder, he walked towards the exit.
‘Hello there!’ someone cried as he walked out of the station. Ash turned to see a short, round-faced man standing by a muddy Range Rover. He was wearing a quilted jacket, and corduroys tucked into equally muddy boots. ‘You must be Ashley!’ said the man cheerily, striding up, arm outstretched. ‘I’m Freddie Fox-Titt.’
Ash shook his hand limply. ‘All right,’ he mumbled. There was an awkward silence.
‘Come on, then!’ said Freddie, a little too heartily. ‘Let me take your bag and we’ll be off home.’
Climbing up into the Range Rover, Ash had to move aside several copies of Horse and Hound from the passenger seat. The back seat had a saddle on it, and a blanket covered in dog hair. Ash was a bit scared of animals. His reservations grew even stronger.
‘Just chuck them in the back,’ said Freddie. ‘I’ve been meaning to have a clear-out for ages.’ He looked down at Ash’s gleaming white trainers and chuckled. ‘Those aren’t going to stay clean long!’
Ash looked dismayed: his vintage Nike Air Jordans were his pride and joy. Take me back to Peckham, he thought miserably, as the vehicle pulled out of the car park, narrowly missing a tractor coming the other way.
Fifteen minutes later Freddie indicated right. Archie had been mesmerized by the size of the houses they’d passed. He couldn’t believe people lived like this.
‘Nearly home!’ Freddie announced, to Ash’s relief. The winding lanes had been making him feel sick. As they bumped over the cattle grid, he could see a large square farmhouse at the end of a drive in front of them. Big green fields surrounded by wooden fences stretched as far as he could see. Ash raised an eyebrow. This gaff had to be worth a few million.
Freddie pulled up outside the house, and Ash could hear the sound of frantic barking from inside. The nausea returned.
Freddie got Ash’s bag out of the back and opened the front door, ‘After you.’
Accustomed to his poky flat, Ash was once again struck by the size of the place. There seemed to be doorways leading off everywhere, while the ceilings stretched up high. For someone used to living in municipal straightness, the old house seemed to curve and lean in every direction. Every inch of wall space seemed to be filled with paintings: it was like walking into an art gallery.
Suddenly, two large brown dogs appeared from nowhere and threw themselves at Ash. He couldn’t help but let out an involuntary scream: they were massive!
‘Avon! Barksdale!’ Freddie pulled them off. ‘Sorry, Ashley, they’re just being friendly.’ With some difficulty he pushed the yapping creatures into a nearby room and shut the door. Ash wasn’t sure if he’d heard the dogs’ names right. Freddie second-guessed him.
‘Our son Archie named them. Apparently after a character in a TV show – High Wire, or something. I must admit, I wasn’t sure, but Angie thought “Barksdale” was a rather jolly name for a dog.’
‘The Wire?’ Ash asked, incredulously.
Freddie looked pleased. ‘That’s the one! Do you know it?’
‘Yeah,’ Ash muttered. Shit, man, these people were nut jobs!
Freddie turned and looked up the stairs hopefully.
‘Darling, are you there?’
A muffled voice replied. ‘I thought I heard the dogs. I didn’t think you’d be back yet!’
Moments later, a middle-aged woman appeared on the top step. Ash thought she looked quite pretty in a mumsy, outdoorsy way. As she made her way down towards them Ash could see some kind of weird white cream smeared along her top lip.
Freddie evidently didn’t know what to make of his wife’s appearance, either.
‘Er, darling,’ he said staring at her mouth quizzically. ‘This is Ashley King.’
‘It’s Ash,’ he mumbled.
Freddie held his hand behind his ear. ‘Didn’t quite catch that, sorry.’
Ash blushed. ‘It’s Ash. Hi, Mrs, er, Mrs . . .’ Shit, he’d forgotten her name!
She smiled, ‘Angie, please. I like the name “Ash”, it’s got rather a ring to it.’
Freddie cleared his throat. ‘Darling, what’s that on your face?’
His wife laughed without embarrassment.
‘Sorry, you caught me in the middle of bleaching my moustache! You must think we live in a madhouse,’ she added to Ash, noticing his horrified expression.
‘Anyway, come through to the kitchen, I’ll put the kettle on.’ As they walked down the hallway Ash noticed a painting on the wall.
‘Is that Thomas Gertin?’ he asked without thinking.
Freddie looked bemused, Ash dropped his ‘t’s so he hadn’t got a clue what he’d just said. Angie however, looked delighted.
‘Yes! Do you know him?’
Ash shrugged, blushing under their gaze.
‘Is this Gertin some kind of whizz? I’m afraid art’s not my strong point,’ said Freddie.
‘Darling, he wasn’t just any old artist!’ Angie said. ‘Thomas Gertin
was one of the earliest pioneers of using watercolour paint as an art form!’
She sighed regretfully.
‘Of course, his life was cut tragically short. Who knows? He could have been one of the greats.’
‘What did he die of?’ asked Freddie brightly, trying to make an effort.
Ash spoke up. ‘Consumption.’ He stuttered on the word several times and went deep red. Angie thought momentarily that under the spots he was a very handsome young man. She smiled at him reassuringly.
‘So you like English watercolours? I’m thrilled to have a cohort, Freddie says I’ve clogged up the house with them, but don’t you find the expressive qualities of the brushwork just so enchanting?’
Ash didn’t answer; he was finding Angie’s moustache cream rather distracting.
Freddie noticed and pulled a face. ‘Dar-ling!’
Angie looked at him, ‘What?’
Freddie made a frantic movement above his top lip.
‘Oh, bugger, I’d forgotten about that!’ Angie looked apologetic. ‘I got so carried away with having Ash here. Won’t be two secs.’
She left the kitchen. Freddie and Ash looked awkwardly at each other.
‘Here we are then, young Ashley, I mean Ash!’ said Freddie. Outside Ash heard a strange screeching noise. It sounded like someone was being murdered.
‘What’s that?’ he asked in alarm.
Freddie smiled, ‘Just the peacocks. We’ve got a pair of them. Beautiful creatures, but they can get a bit nasty if you get them on an off day. I’d keep my distance if I were you.’
Once again Ash wondered what on earth he was doing there.
Chapter 49
HARRIET WAS WALKING back to the office after lunch when her mobile went. To her surprise, it was Saffron’s home number.
‘Harriet, it’s Velda.’
‘Velda! How are you?’
Velda gave a dry laugh. ‘I’ve been better. I suppose you’ve heard about Saffron moving out?’
‘She did mention it,’ Harriet admitted. ‘Not that she says much to me at the moment. I think she’s avoiding me.’
Velda paused. ‘I – we – really need your help. Would you be able to come over after work tonight? My sister is here.’
Despite the turmoil within, Montague Mews looked typically enchanting that evening. The candy-coloured doors peeked out of the darkness, while the overhead lamps threw a triangle of light down on to the patchwork of cobbles. An old sports car was parked haphazardly outside No. 3.
Luckily Saffron had been out on a photo shoot all day, otherwise Harriet wouldn’t have been able to look her in the eye. She somehow felt she was going behind her friend’s back in agreeing to meet Velda. But on the other hand Velda had sounded so worried that Harriet hadn’t had the heart to say no.
Velda opened the front door even before Harriet had had a chance to knock. She looked pale and tired, like she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in quite a while.
‘It really is very good of you to come over,’ she told Harriet as she ushered her into the living room. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’
‘A cup of tea would be lovely,’ said Harriet.
Velda nodded. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
Harriet heard voices and footsteps in the hallway, and moments later Babs Sax stumbled in. It seemed so incongruous to see her here. The artist’s tumbling red hair looked wilder than ever, and there was a desperate look in her eyes. She threw herself down on the sofa and burst into tears.
‘You’ve got to help me!’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t know what else to do.’
Harriet felt awful. Babs was normally so full of flounce and flamboyance that it was horribly disconcerting to see her sitting there crying what looked to be genuine, heartfelt tears. Tentatively, she laid a hand on her scrawny shoulder.
‘There, there.’
Babs cried even harder. One false eyelash had fallen off and was stuck to her cheek like an intoxicated tarantula. ‘You’re Saffron’s friend, please talk to her! I’ve left it so long, and now I’m scared it’s too late.’
Velda came back into the room carrying a tray. She placed it down, looked at Babs and sighed, producing a tissue from the box on the coffee table. ‘Belle got here last night,’ Velda said. ‘I opened the front door and there she was. She was rather hoping for a reconciliation with Saffron, but of course she didn’t know she’d moved out.’
‘It’s all my fault!’ sobbed Babs. ‘If I hadn’t been such a terrible mother in the first place, none of this would have happened.’
Velda looked at her sister. ‘Belle, how can it have come to this?’
Babs was in a pit of self-loathing. ‘He broke my heart, and I never thought I would recover,’ she breathed unhappily.
Harriet looked confused. ‘Harry Walden, Saffron’s father,’ explained Velda.
Babs took a big, shuddering breath. ‘Saffron is the image of him. Every time I looked at her, it was like my heart was ripped out all over again.’
Velda had had enough of her sister’s self-pity. ‘She was only a child!’ she told her angrily. ‘It’s not Saffron’s fault she looks like her father.’
‘I know!’ Babs’s lower lip quivered. ‘But she’s like him in so many ways, too. Wilful, headstrong . . . after a while it just got too much. I could tell she blamed me for Harry leaving.’ Her voice had risen high, like a child’s. ‘What was I supposed to do? He left me!’
Velda handed her sister another tissue. ‘Please try and calm down, this is doing you no good at all.’
Babs blew her nose loudly and turned a pair of reddened, beseeching eyes towards Harriet.
‘You must talk to her, please! She’ll listen to you.’
Velda’s voice was calmer, but Harriet detected the hint of a tremor. ‘I know we’re putting you in a difficult situation, but if there’s anything you can do. Anything . . .’
‘Leave it with me, I’ll have a talk with Saffron,’ said Harriet, sounding a lot more confident than she felt.
‘What do you think to this hairstyle?’ Annabel held up a magazine with a picture of Jennifer Aniston at a red-carpet do, looking ultra-glamorous.
On the other side of the desk Saffron’s jaw tightened. She was trying to write up her interview with a major heart-throb, who’d turned out to be a boring git with too much fake tan on. She was having enough trouble trying to make him sound interesting without Annabel’s constant interruptions.
‘Yah, I might have some highlights put in like that. Actually . . .’ Annabel cocked her head and studied the picture, before holding it up next to her pallid moon face. ‘Don’t you think we look alike? We could pass for sisters. I’d be the younger one, of course.’
Saffron’s mouth fell open as she realized the features editor was serious. God, Annabel had some ego! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet coming over.
‘Er, Saffron?’ Harriet sounded really nervous. Saffron tried to look nonchalant.
‘What?’
‘Do you fancy going out for lunch?’
‘Sorry, I’m really busy . . .’ Saffron started to say, but just then Annabel started waving the picture of Jennifer Aniston at her again, obviously wanting her to agree. She had to get out of there.
‘OK, just a quick one.’
They went to what had been their favourite café down the road, and sat at their regular table. For the first ten minutes, conversation was painfully stilted, before Saffron looked at Harriet and sighed.
‘I’m sorry, H, I’ve been a real bitch to you.’
Harriet looked down at her can of Diet Coke.
‘You’ve been through a horrible time, it doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter. You’ve been nothing but a good friend to me, and I had such a nice Christmas with you and your parents. I just wasn’t expecting to see her. It totally threw me.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Knightsbridge, with an old school friend and her boyfriend. They’ve got a flat right behind Harro
ds, but it’s one bedroom and bloody tiny. I’m sleeping on the sofa and I have to listen to them shagging all night.’
‘You can always stay with me,’ Harriet offered.
Saffron smiled. ‘Thanks, but it’s a bit too close to Montague Mews for my liking. Besides, Tara and Tim are going skiing for a few days tomorrow, so I’ll have the place to myself.’
Harriet hesitated. ‘Are you going to move back home after that?’
‘I don’t know where home is any more,’ Saffron said flatly.
‘Your aunt is desperately worried about you.’
‘Has she asked you to talk to me?’
Harriet shrugged helplessly, and Saffron sighed.
‘I know in some kind of fucked-up way, she probably thought she was trying to help. I’m just pissed off. Why didn’t she tell me? It’s like she tricked me.’
‘I think she thought Babs and you would be able to make things up. I think it was a last resort.’
Saffron’s face was set. ‘Well then, she doesn’t know me at all. I will never make up with that woman for as long as I live.’ She looked away moodily. There was a man buying a sandwich at the counter, and his height and broad shoulders caught her eye. As he turned to leave, Saffron saw to her surprise that it was Tom from the art desk.
Their food arrived. ‘Anyway, we haven’t spoken about that guy from New Year’s Eve,’ said Saffron as she tucked in to her potato. ‘Did you pull him?’
‘Actually, yes,’ said Harriet. She blushed.
Saffron stopped eating. ‘Did you shag him?’ Harriet went even redder, and Saffron burst out laughing. ‘At bloody last! Was it any good?’
‘Not really,’ admitted Harriet, too embarrassed to tell Saffron the details. ‘Besides, he had a fiancée.’
‘No! What a twat! Never mind, at least it got you back in the saddle. You wait, they’ll be queuing up from now on.’
Harriet clenched her bum cheeks together and shifted uncomfortably on her seat.
Chapter 50
IT WAS NEARING the end of January, and Catherine was about to receive a crushing blow. Normally every month, Laura, the head of sales, would send a ‘Project 300’ update to Catherine and Adam with the latest figures. Since the redesign, she had hardly been able to contain her glee about the soaring sales, but this month no email had come. Catherine had been in to see her, but Laura had gone bright red and muttered something about a hold-up with the data. Catherine knew she was being fobbed off – and it wasn’t long before she found out why.