The Runaway Bridesmaid

by Daisy James

  She smiled at the stark contrast between this pretty, albeit dilapidated cottage and the inhabitants of the rural Devonshire village, with her own tiny Manhattan apartment and her community neighbours. Every person living in Brampton had a working knowledge of their neighbour’s recent history and current daily life, thus imbuing the resident with a feeling of belonging, rather than the lack of privacy such intrusions would be labelled in her apartment block where she had met only one of her eight fellow tenants.

  Yet, despite this communal kinship, Rosie had been relieved to return to the high octane, disinterested environment of New York after a month’s immersion in all things rural, and she would be repeating the escape this time as soon as formalities allowed.

  It was Monday morning. The funeral was scheduled for Wednesday and her appointment at Richmond Morton Solicitors was on Thursday for the reading of her aunt’s will and the signing of the paperwork, after which she intended to scoot straight back to Heathrow for her Friday morning flight.

  As she inserted the ancient Yale key into the lock, she felt the slithers of regret worming their way into her conscience. Just because Giles had cheated on her in the worst way possible, did that mean she should consider resigning? Why should she suffer for his despicable actions? Maybe she was being too hasty in her reactions to his treachery.

  Rosie shouldered the reticent front door, a mound of mail slowing her entry. The cottage smelled of lingering dust and sadness but held a top note of dried lavender, a favourite of Bernice’s – almost her signature scent. The reminder brought tears to Rosie’s eyes.

  On her last visit, the lodge had throbbed with a vibrant welcome, the warmth from the stove enveloping her grief at the loss of Carlos and squeezing it from her soul, replacing the pain with acceptance, and then peace. Today, its inherent life had drained away. A gloomy hallway led to a dank kitchen, draping Rosie with a shroud of loneliness and reproach. The cream Aga stood silent and stern. She shivered, goose-bumps prickling her body.

  She dumped her Gucci duffle bag on the scarred pine table – the designer bag such an incongruous accessory in Bernice’s farmhouse-style kitchen. Her cell phone tumbled from the bag onto the floor and as she bent to retrieve it, it burst into song.

  She checked the caller ID and a bolt of pain so strong it whipped her breath away shot from her heart down to her fingertips.

  It was Giles.

  She checked her silver watch. New York was five hours behind Devon so that would make it just after seven a.m. He would be at Harlow Fenton, lounging behind his desk in his favourite Armani suit artfully cast open to reveal a tantalising glimpse of purple silk lining, his shirt cuffs turned back to display a pair of his many quirky cufflinks. She could almost sense the smirk on his face as he waited for her to answer his command to speak to him.

  That’s it! Never again did she intend to endure his casual, back-handed criticism of her abilities. She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and swiped the answer button.

  ‘Giles, what a pleasant surprise.’ Even the most rhinoceros-skinned person couldn’t fail to recognise the heavy sarcasm that laced Rosie’s greeting.

  An uneasy laugh spluttered down the phone line.

  ‘Hello, Rosie. We were just wanting to confirm that you are over in the UK to attend your aunt’s funeral and checking on your return date. Let me just say that I’m in the boardroom on speaker phone. I have CEO George Harlow with me, as well as Lauren, Toby and Brad Carlington.’

  ‘Perfect!’ Clearly Giles had gathered a group of colleagues around him, believing that she would never take him to task for his abhorrent behaviour in front of them. He was right, of course. But that was before he’d cheated on her with her sister. In fact, she felt even more inclined to speak her mind in front of an audience to ensure she did not retract what she was about to do. Lauren already knew what he had done of course, but only via a text, she didn’t have the details.

  ‘Rosie, I know how you must be feeling, how close you were to your aunt…’

  ‘Giles, I resign.’ Wow, how liberating it was to say those words. The concrete block that had taken up residence in her chest since the afternoon of the wedding shifted a little. ‘Yes, I resign.’

  ‘Ah, come on, Rosie. I know you may be a little put out about the… well, the situation we find ourselves in, but you don’t have to resign ! We value your involvement at Harlow Fenton…’

  ‘Actually, I do. I do have to resign. With immediate effect.’

  ‘Well, I’ll need to check your contractual obligations with HR. I may be wrong, but I believe you are required to give the firm six months’ notice of your wish to terminate your employment.’ Rosie could hear the officious tone that had crept into his voice. Why hadn’t she noticed his tendency to petulance before?

  ‘Really, Giles? Is that so? I have a contractual obligation? Is that the same as an obligation owed by a boyfriend to his girlfriend not to cheat on her with her sister ?’ She realised too late that instead of taking the moral high ground as she had intended, her voice had escalated an octave to shriek mode in place of the dulcet, sarcastic tone she was aiming for.

  ‘Ha, ha, Rosie. I do love your sense of humour. Maybe what we have here is a case of mistaken identity…’ She could almost hear the beads of perspiration bulge from his salon-steamed pores.

  ‘No, Giles. I’d recognised those pallid buttocks anywhere, even when they are concealed in the linen closet of the most expensive hotel Stonington Beach has to offer its residents. I’m resigning so that I don’t have to set eyes on your bouffant, lacquered locks, your plucked and tinted eyebrows and chemically enhanced lips ever again.’

  ‘Come on, Rosie. Don’t make this personal. There are great prospects for you at Harlow Fenton. I thought you dreamed of being VP one day?’

  ‘I doubt that will happen, Giles, whilst you continue to steal the credit for every high-profile deal you can get away with. It’s only because of our “involvement” that I’ve let that particular treachery slide, against my better judgement.’

  ‘Now, Rosie, I must protest…’

  ‘You want details? I can give you details.’

  ‘There’s no need. Perhaps we can discuss this in a civilised and professional manner when you return to the US and your senses. Clearly your aunt’s death had affected your behaviour more than we anticipated. It’s understandable. But this is your career we are talking about here…’

  ‘I resign, Giles. I’d rather get a job scrubbing toilets than continue to work under your management.’

  To her amazement she heard a smattering of applause in the background and knew it was either Lauren, or more likely Toby, who had been unable to resist the urge to celebrate her moment of revenge, or was it madness? Had she really thought this through? What on earth was she going to do without an income? Wasn’t Manhattan the most expensive city in the world to rent an apartment? And how could she throw away everything she had been working towards since she left college? All those late night scrambles to close an investment deal to make their wealthy clients more money than they could spend in one lifetime? Was that all for nothing?

  A curl of self-doubt tickled at her abdomen as a crystal clear image of her mother’s gentle face floated into her mind, swiftly chased by a rendition of her father’s mantra which he had repeated often since they had laid her mother to rest. ‘Pursue your dreams as hard as you can, but don’t forget to pause and smell the flowers you were named after! ’

  She returned her cell phone to her bag but knew she would be retrieving it again shortly to take Lauren’s flabbergasted call. She was amazed to find the crushing weight that had taken up residence in her chest since the wedding had not just shifted, but melted away.

  As she set the ancient kettle to boil and searched for a packet of the loose tea her Aunt Bernice favoured, she contemplated her now-former workplace. She envisaged the stony faces of Giles and the other two senior VPs at the boardroom table in that temple of insatiable greed which preached any problem
could be solved by throwing enough money at it, so why not take the risk? She knew that those who shied away from the excessive risk-taking were destined to wallow in the lower echelons of the company hierarchy and became mindless paper-shifters, indoctrinated in the culture that screamed money was king and its accumulation the only goal worth pursuing.

  Young associates at Harlow Fenton existed on frequent injections of caffeine which disguised the lack of restorative sleep and the ever-tightening tentacles of the stress they all constantly fought against. They were obliged to accept these tortuous conditions as a rite of passage; they, like their predecessors, had to pay their dues. There was no slackening of expectations even when those who had endured the gruelling journey had reached the top and were in a position to make changes. More was always better in the corporate culture of excess – more hours, more money, more clients, more deals, which often translated into more booze, more food, more sex, more emotional crutches.

  Chained to their computer monitors, blinkered to the outside world in their corporate cocoons, where nothing worth knowing happened anyway, their only companions were stale, stained coffee cups and gut-wrenching fear. Every waking hour was spent nose-to-screen until they succumbed to their chosen poison or expired. Then they’d be wheeled out, without a word of thanks, and a fresh-faced business school graduate would be slotted seamlessly into the vacated booth to continue the relentless cycle, their naivety exposed when they swore they could tame the corporate tigers lurking in the financial jungle.

  Her only regret was that her resignation had left Lauren alone to continue the fight against the ‘male, pale and stale’ culture that was so prevalent on the Harlow Fenton board. In order to survive an executive needed to focus firmly on their intended escape route for when the pressure became unsustainable, and Rosie knew Lauren’s was motherhood. Lauren and Brett had been trying for a child for well over a year now, the failure of which, in itself, piled on more pressure. The couple were engaged in a constant, low-key battle about the excessive hours Lauren spent under the cosh of Harlow Fenton. Brett had now expanded his arguments to include the submission that the constant stress and anxiety of the continual deadlines were playing a significant role in their inability to conceive and the reason they had to resort to expensive IVF. They had their first round of treatment scheduled for the end of the week and, with another painful jolt to her stomach, Rosie realised she wouldn’t be around to support Lauren. What a truly useless friend she’d turned out to be.

  Now that she had tossed away everything she had worked towards since she left college nearly ten years ago, all she had to figure out was what she was going to do with the rest of her life when she returned to New York after her aunt’s funeral. She knew finding a soul mate was a non-starter – she had no intention of subjecting herself to that minefield again. Every foray she’d made into the field had blown up in her face. There were only so many hints that she was not ‘girlfriend material’ that she could ignore. Whatever her character flaws were, she harboured no masochistic tendencies.

  Her cell phone buzzed into life, as she knew it would, and a smile played at her lips. Lauren.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Oh my God! What did you just do?’ Lauren’s voice was surrounded by a faint echo and Rosie knew her friend was crouched in the only sanctuary available at Harlow Fenton – the ladies’ restroom.

  ‘I know, I know. It’s only just beginning to sink in.’

  ‘But why? I tried to call you after I got your text about Giles and Freya, and I totally understand why you ran away,’ Lauren’s voice squeaked in outrage. She had never been a paid-up member of Freya’s fan club. ‘I didn’t think even Freya could be so vile! On her wedding day! Although to be honest, it’s completely within the scope of Giles’ questionable capabilities. But do you have to resign? Have you really thought this through?’

  ‘Yes, I do, and yes I have. Clearly Giles held me in so little esteem that he betrayed me with my sister !’

  ‘She’s livid, by the way. All the gossip about your mysterious disappearance meant she was no longer the centre of attention. She thinks you did it on purpose to spoil her big celebration; that you are jealous she’s found her soul mate and you haven’t and couldn’t bear to watch.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, that’s just typical of Freya. Has she conveniently forgotten that since Mum died she’s been my number one priority! I’ve done everything for her! Everything revolves around her and her happiness! Everything! And if I’m ever lucky enough to have something she doesn’t, she will stop at nothing until she takes it from me!’

  ‘I’m so sorry Rosie. How are you feeling?’

  ‘How should I be feeling? I go in search of the blushing bride so that I can deliver her to her handsome, successful, billionaire bridegroom, and where do I find her? In the linen cupboard in a compromising position with my boyfriend –- the faithless scumbag that is Giles Phillips.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie, I’m so sorry you had to find out about him like that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure if this is the right time to tell you this, but you already know Giles has a reputation for dating a long string of women yet eschewing commitment like it’s the bubonic plague. I’m so sorry, Rosie, but I just found out after your call that Giles is in a relationship with CEO’s daughter! Has been for the last six months, but she’s been out of the country on an internship at a bank in Paris for the last three. She’s due back next week and George Harlow is apoplectic.’

  Rosie’s knees wobbled, her chest heaved with each ragged breath and her eyes smarted from the shock. She crumpled onto her aunt’s chintz-covered sofa and waited until the waves of pain subsided. The CEO’s daughter? How could he treat her with such flippant contempt? A stop-gap until his girlfriend returned from her European secondment. It wasn’t so much that she’s scraped the bottom of the barrel with her choice of boyfriend but that she’d chiselled through to woodworm below!

  She fiddled with the pearl earring at her lobe as she forced herself to replay the distressing closet scene in her mind’s eye.

  ‘I suppose it wasn’t as if Freya was doing this to me on purpose…’ she said to reassure herself, rather than the spluttering, indignant Lauren.

  ‘No, Rosie, stop this. Listen to yourself. Marshalling your arguments like a criminal defence lawyer, making excuses for her again. She knew Giles was your date. And Giles knew she was your sister, about to get married! They deserve each other – both of them are cheating idiots!’

  Before Lauren had met Brett, and long before Rosie had fallen into her relationship with Giles, they had spent many an alcohol-infused night holed up in her apartment concocting a list of criteria for their prospective Mr Rights. Faithfulness and loyalty were the top essential attributes on both girls’ lists, qualities that brooked no amendment. But it seemed those characteristics were in short supply and they’d had to settle for the indulgence of some girly TLC – that trio of oestrogen solace – tea, Louboutins and chocolate.

  ‘Giles is a loser! Not satisfied with cheating on his girlfriend, he pursues anything that moves.’ Lauren, in her outrage, was unaware of the hurtful insinuation her comment held. ‘What’s up with men like that?’

  ‘Well, Toby did have a number of theories…’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Rosie, but you deserve better than Giles’ leftovers.’ Lauren’s hostility towards their boss glided across miles down the phone line. ‘He’s a player and a cheat who squeezes us all until the pips squeak. Giles is a scumbag, Rosie.’

  Rosie could muster no defensive arguments to this accusation – guilty as charged. But Lauren hadn’t finished with her character assassination.

  ‘He’s a devious, disloyal, sly… We work like Trojans whilst he’s swinging around town like an alley cat. We’ve no time to pee but he has all the time in the world to…’ She paused, her voice softening. ‘Sorry, Rosie. But you do realise you dating him was borne out of convenience. Giles blazes his own trail in the
world, discarding others without a glance in his rear view mirror, trampling on their dreams for his own gain. He sweeps around and sleeps around – you knew that before you marched, stilettos first, into his web.’

  Rosie was fully aware she had been consorting with the enemy. After the event she was now able, under Lauren’s counsel, to look back and question her sanity. Giles was the most self-obsessed person she’d ever had the misfortune to meet, and that was from a pool of sharks that included Freya! His strategy was to milk every dollar from every client and to hog all the credit for the successful mergers and acquisitions their team advised on, even the intuitive choices of Lauren. Despite his unpopularity, he was strangely admired by those inhabiting the lower ranks of Harlow Fenton and praised for his business acumen by those whose positions he coveted.

  ‘Giles is relationship history, Rosie. Good riddance. Now you’re free to concentrate all your efforts on meeting a decent guy who will make you happy – like Brett. New York is a lonely town, I know. But you can do it. What did Freya say when you confronted her?’

  Rosie mumbled something.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t actually confront her as such.’

  ‘But why not? You’ve got to, Rosie. For all his faults, and he has many, Giles was your boyfriend!’

  ‘But it wasn’t a serious relationship, was it?’ Rosie squirmed under Lauren’s insistent questioning technique. She would have made a superb Gestapo officer.

  Lauren was not prepared to let Freya off the hook as lightly as Rosie. ‘She was just about to get married to a great guy. She has a fabulous life stretching out before her. Jacob is her escape route, but he’s also yours, Rosie. At long last you can hand over the baton, relinquish your assumed responsibility for your adult sister, and get on with a life of your own. You’ve got to talk to her about this. Are you going to tell your father?’