Her heart thumped painfully and her breath seemed to burn the back of her throat as she stared incredulously at him. She discovered that she’d been right. Seeing him again was just as awful as she’d expected.
However she’d imagined that meeting Peter again would only serve to remind her how very much she loved him and she’d thought that she’d find it impossible to stop herself from telling him how much she missed him, how much she still cared for him.
Now that meeting was a reality, she experienced quite different emotions to the ones she’d imagined. For Vicky was angry and felt only contempt for him. And her only difficulty was to try to stop herself from telling him how much she now despised him.
However, she was still shocked to see him and when she tried to find her voice, she discovered she couldn’t form a coherent sentence.
“Peter…er…what…um?”
“Vicky, are you all right? You’re dreadfully pale.”
He led her over to a nearby bench where she tried to gather her thoughts. Somehow although the rest of her body seemed to have been paralysed, her mind was working overtime.
Peter was here in Churchton…So the man she’d seen in the crowd last week, when she’d bought the dress, had been him.
Then the wreath had been left on her door by someone. Someone who knew just how much it would upset her.
In her mind, she was almost certain she’d stumbled on who was behind the campaign to drive her out of Brookleigh.
She could also imagine that Peter might have several motives to want to make her leave Brookleigh, not only based on trying to mess up her life, but also, in his warped mind, he might be trying to make her return to York, maybe hoping she’d come back to him.
Ridiculously, uppermost in her mind, was a great feeling of joy. Not at seeing Peter again but, if he was the culprit, then it meant that Marcus had to be innocent. She tried to be ready for any questions Peter might ask her, knowing she’d the ideal opportunity to trap him and make him confess to everything that had happened. She knew she just had to be a little bit clever and have her ears and eyes open.
“Feeling better now, Vicky?” He patted her hand.
The cool, clammy touch of his skin made her recoil. She pulled her hand away. Had this been the man she’d once convinced herself she was madly in love with? She remembered him as being handsome, attractive. Yes, he was almost as she recalled. The sandy hair was the same, the light blue eyes just as she’d pictured them in her mind’s eye over the last six months when he’d haunted her thoughts. But there was something else. He seemed paler, not so tall, not so attractive. And had she honestly never noticed how pink his eyelids were? Nor the thinness of his lips?
“Peter. What…what are you doing here?”
He smiled. “Came to see you, love, didn’t I? See there’s no bad feelings between us.”
She felt anger at the way he’d slipped an endearment into the conversation and how could he dare to assume that she’d forgiven him. But she bit back the harsh retort that was hammering in her mind. She couldn’t afford to upset him, not if she wanted to trap him.
“How…how did you know I was here?”
“That was easy. My old lady saw yours in town and she asked after you. Your mother said you’d set up in business down here. Said you were doing very nicely for yourself.”
Vicky smiled. She couldn’t be cross with her mother, knowing that she’d probably only let the information slip when trying to impress on Mrs. Elliott just how well Vicky was coping without her beloved son.
“Listen, love, I’ve got an appointment here in town so I can’t stop now. How about I take you out for dinner tonight so we can catch up on each other’s news?”
Vicky felt her stomach turn. The last thing she wanted to do was spend an evening in Peter Elliott’s company, but she knew she had to. Trapping him was all she cared about. Fixing a false smile on her lips, she said, “Thank you, Peter. That would be lovely. Could you pick me up from home at say, eight o’clock?”
“No problem, just give me your address.”
Vicky sighed. She’d hoped he’d fall for her attempt to prove that he already knew where she lived. She scribbled the address on the back of an envelope and handed it to him.
“Don’t be late, love,” he said, tweaking the end of her nose.
By the time he’d disappeared from view, Vicky’s face was aching from trying to smile sweetly when all she wanted to do was to put as much distance between them as was possible.
There hardly seemed any point going across to the last florist on her list, not now she was certain Peter had been behind it all. But then, she decided, as she was here in Churchton and she might find something with which to incriminate Peter even further, she might as well go to the last florist.
BELLE FLEUR was a small shop on the corner opposite the chemists. Buckets of flowers ringed the front of the shop. When she pushed open the door, she was met by a tantalising mixture of fragrances. It was cool inside and the florist looked up as Vicky went in. Ever mindful of her previous embarrassing interviews with the assistants at the other shops she decided to try and be more cautious this time.
“Good morning. Could I have a bunch of those pretty carnations?” Vicky asked.
“The peach ones, love?”
“Please.”
As the woman busied herself choosing the best bunch for her, Vicky said, “I’ve always admired people who can arrange flowers, make up bouquets and displays. I’ve always been useless at anything like that.”
“Oh, I love doing it. Especially the flowers for weddings.” The woman smiled.
She was quite chatty and went on to tell Vicky about several weddings she’d recently catered for.
“Yes, I suppose you see it all. Flowers to celebrate births and weddings. Then there’s funerals. That must be sad.”
“Oh, it is. Especially if you know the deceased. Mind you, not all wreaths are for funerals. There’s holly wreaths at Christmas and then only this Saturday morning I had to do one as a joke for someone.”
Vicky felt her blood run cold.
“A joke?”
“Yes. A man came in and asked for a wreath to be made up for a laugh. All in black, it was.”
Vicky swallowed. She was so close to knowing the truth.
“Wanted to play a joke on a business colleague in Brookleigh. Handsome chap. Ever so dark, he was.”
Vicky felt her head swim. Dark? Oh, no. Peter had fair, sandy hair. Now it looked like she’d just discovered that it wasn’t Peter, after all. If the man was dark there was more than a good chance that it was Marcus as she’d first thought.
Hardly able to function, Vicky barely managed to thank the woman. She walked out of the florists, blindly walking wherever her feet took her.
So Marcus was out to destroy her. He’d used her. Made a fool of her.
Tears started to trickle down her face and, remembering she was in the middle of Churchton High Street, she started to walk towards the car park where she’d left her Metro.
Once she was seated in her car, she felt utterly desolate. It didn’t look like Peter had anything to do with it. It had only been an unhappy coincidence. Now she’d got herself into an even deeper mess, agreeing to have dinner with Peter. She couldn’t contact him to cancel their date as she didn’t have the address of where he was staying. She’d have to go tonight.
As she started the engine and headed back to Brookleigh, Vicky thought that dinner with Peter was really the least of her worries. More disturbing was the knowledge that Marcus was trying to drive her out of town. That knowledge coloured all that had happened to her lately. He’d kissed her while all the time he was plotting to get rid of her. She shivered as she remembered the evening they’d discovered the wreath together and how she’d been alone with him all night. He could have done anything to her. After all, she knew he must
have a twisted mind. Nobody sane would send someone a wreath like that.
But there was still one piece of the puzzle missing. What was his motive? Why did Marcus want her out of Brookleigh so badly? So he didn’t believe in romantic love and he obviously didn’t approve of dating agencies but neither were strong enough reasons to act so determinedly against her.
This was still baffling Vicky when she arrived back at the office. Entering Lovelink she saw that Jan wasn’t alone.
Keith Manning, her boyfriend, was standing beside her with his hands pressed into his pockets. Vicky wasn’t too keen on him. She thought that Jan could probably do a lot better for herself. There was something brash and overconfident about him but then perhaps that had something to do with his job. Estate agents weren’t renowned for their meekness.
“Vicky, are you all right? You look dreadful.” Jan said, the moment Vicky stepped into the reception area.
“I’m…fine. Hello, Keith.”
“Hello, Vicky.”
“What did the doctor say?” Jan asked.
“Doctor? What doctor?”
“The one you saw this morning. Honestly Vicky, I think you’re cracking up.”
Normally Vicky would have laughed at this but there was something in the tone of Jan’s voice that rang a warning bell in her head. And she didn’t like the way Keith was staring at her, almost expecting her to do or say something.
“No, really, I’m fine. Nothing a hot cup of coffee won’t put right. I’ll put the kettle on. Would you like a drink, Keith?”
“No, thanks. I just popped in to see Jan and tell her I can’t meet her for lunch. I’ve an important client to see.”
“You’re keeping busy then, Keith.”
He pushed a hand though his hair and said, “Yes, not too bad. Mind you, I could do with a few more cottages like yours on my books.”
Vicky didn’t understand him.
“Mine? There’s nothing all that special about my cottage. I love it but there must be lots similar to it for sale.”
“Oh, there is. The cottage as it stands is typical of the area but I haven’t got people queuing up to buy them. Not like I have with yours.”
Vicky shivered. “A queue? I’m sorry I don’t understand.”
Keith laughed. “Not so much a queue. I exaggerate.”
“Exaggeration’s second nature to an estate agent, isn’t it?” She smiled but she saw the cold glint in Keith’s eyes and knew her comment had hit home.
“No, not a queue but I have got an interested buyer. He wanted the cottage when it came on the market before but, as he was out of the country at the time, he missed it and so you bought the cottage. He told me if you ever wanted to sell he’d like first refusal.”
“Who is this mystery buyer?”
Keith tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “That would be telling but let’s just say, your cottage is almost on his land.”
Vicky felt her head swim. So Marcus was interested in buying her cottage. Keith had virtually said as much.
She made her way out to the back and filled the kettle. As she waited for it to boil she drank a glass of cold water. Her head was thumping. She’d had just as many shocks as she could handle this morning.
It looked like she finally knew Marcus’s motive for wanting her to leave Brookleigh. It wasn’t the business he was interested in, after all. It was her home. If she was driven out of Brookleigh, he could buy her cottage, probably for a song if he frightened her enough.
At the moment she knew her home was sandwiched between two plots of his land. With her cottage out of the way, he could expand. She supposed she ought to feel some sense of relief at knowing finally all that was going on. But she didn’t. She just felt sick and sad. Marcus was the one person in Brookleigh she’d desperately hoped hadn’t been behind the campaign.
Later that evening she dressed for dinner with Peter. She didn’t put half as much effort into getting ready for this date as she had done for the Nuneton party.
She was just pulling a brush through her long hair when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it must be Peter, she went to open it but was surprised to see a young lady standing there, holding a bouquet of white roses.
“Good evening. Miss Lewis?”
“Yes…”
The girl smiled.
“I’m from BELLE FLEUR and these are for you.”
Handing Vicky the bouquet she said goodbye and walked to the waiting van.
Vicky took the flowers inside. The roses were lovely. Surely Peter hadn’t gone to so much trouble? She found the card and opened it.
“To dear Vicky. I’m sorry. Can we try again? Marcus.”
Her initial reaction was to be pleased. It was kind of him to make the first move when it had really been her fault they’d argued. She knew him to be a proud man and it had obviously taken a lot for him to swallow his pride. But then she remembered that it was Marcus who was trying to get rid of her and this was probably yet another of his warped ploys.
BELLE FLEUR! That had been was the florist who’d supplied the wreath. This bouquet only seemed to prove Marcus’s guilt even more solidly.
Vicky was feeling very depressed by the time Peter drew up. She pinned one of the white roses to the lapel of the pale pink suit she’d decided to wear for this evening.
“Vicky, you look lovely,” Peter said, as she opened the door to him.
He bent his head to kiss her on the cheek but she managed to slither out of his reach.
“Right, where are we going?” she asked, closing the front door firmly behind her.
Peter looked disappointed.
“You’re not going to invite me in, then? Never mind, plenty of time for that later.” He grinned.
No chance, Vicky thought as she walked briskly towards his car. This was going to be more of an ordeal than she’d realised. If only she could just get through the meal, make sure Peter understood that there was nothing left between them and then forget he’d ever existed.
Once seated in the car, she pushed herself against the door, trying to sit as far away from him as possible. He drove erratically and she wasn’t sorry when they arrived at a brightly lit pub called the Ship and Shore. The car park was almost full—testimony to the pub’s popularity.
“Here we are. My hotel recommended this place. Told me the food’s very good,” he said.
Vicky smiled weakly. Being with Peter had severely reduced her appetite.
They went in and sat in the lounge bar.
“Let’s just have a drink before we order. There’s no hurry after all.” Peter winked at her. “Now what would you like? It’s a G and T, if I’m not mistaken.”
“No, I can’t stand gin. That’s Gillian’s drink. I’ll have a glass of wine,” she said, coldly.
Peter’s complexion darkened to a deep red.
“Err…sorry, love. Glass of wine coming straight up.”
As she watched him make his way to the bar, Vicky wondered how she’d manage to endure an evening in his company without losing her temper. Had she really ever loved him? It seemed impossible now.
She glanced around the busy pub. As her eyes scanned the crowd she was shocked when she saw another face that she recognised.
She watched in horror as Marcus, smiling broadly at her, pushed his way through the throng of people, towards her. She cast a glance in Peter’s direction, seeing that he was still standing at the bar, waiting to be served.
Marcus studied her for a long moment.
“Vicky, what a lovely surprise!”
She felt the familiar quickening of her pulse. Amazing, after all she’d discovered today, he still had such an instant effect on her body. She had no power to control the emotions he caused to rage within her. Fighting to keep her voice calm, she said, “Good evening, Marcus.”
S
miling as he looked at her lapel, he said, “You received it then.”
“Pardon?”
“The bouquet. My way of a humble apology.” He smiled, igniting the blue of his eyes.
“Oh, yes. Thank you. They’re lovely.”
Nervously, she glanced towards the bar and was disturbed to see that Peter was making his way back to her, carrying the drinks.
“Are you here alone?” he asked.
“No, I’m…”
“Here you are, love.” Peter handed her a glass of wine. “Who’s this then? I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he said, looking at Marcus, suspiciously.
“I’m Marcus Foster, a…friend of Vicky’s.”
They shook hands.
“I’m Peter Elliott, Vicky’s fiancé.”
Vicky was outraged.
“Peter! You’re…” She wanted passionately to tell Marcus the truth but words died on her lips.
It was too late. He’d turned to gaze coldly at her. The look in his eyes was unmistakable. Vicky felt her cheeks burn. What right did Marcus Foster have to judge her? And how dare Peter tell such a dreadful lie.
“Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening.”
It was at that moment that Lucinda Dayton arrived to stand beside Marcus. She linked her arm through his and Vicky watched as Peter’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets as he stared at her perfect figure moulded into a tight, emerald green dress.
“Hi, Nicky. Can’t stop. Come on, Marcus.” And with that she led him away.
Vicky was furious. Not only with Marcus who’d acted like a jealous schoolboy. How dare he, when he was with someone else for the evening anyway. But she was also livid with Peter. She turned furiously to him.
“How could you say such a thing, Peter Elliott? You know we’re not engaged anymore. That was a complete and utter lie.”
“Cool down. I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I suppose I’m still used to introducing you as that. You can always put the record straight when you see him again. That is…”
Vicky’s green eyes blazed as she looked at this conceited man, slouching in the chair opposite her.
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