Croissants and Jam

by Lynda Renham

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘This is you in the film, you agree with me?’ I am sitting in a dingy little room. I cannot believe they think I am a criminal. Where on earth is Simon? Surely he should have had me out of here long before now. He is a solicitor after all.

  I stare both mesmerised and horrified at the video that is being played in front of me. I actually do look like a criminal. There I am, stealing people’s wallets as cool as anything. But worse and this really is the worst of all, I cannot believe how awful I look. My hair is tangled and looks limp, and my face is deathly pale. I suddenly realise I am not a patch on Claudine and Christian probably never really found me in the least attractive. What a bloody fool I have been. Two policemen now sit opposite me and I wonder if they are planning on using the good cop, bad cop routine.

  ‘Yes,’ I answer miserably. ‘I was not stealing their wallets though. You need to contact him,’ I say leaning forward and pointing to Christian. ‘He is my fiancé’s brother and we were travelling here for my wedding and this other guy, the hoodie who kept away from the CCTV camera, he was the robber. He made me collect the money and…’

  The police officer shakes his head and pushes the pause button.

  ‘So you were forced to rob these people?’ he says cynically.

  I let out a small moan.

  ‘He was pointing a gun at me, so yes I was.’

  The other policeman jumps up and my heart starts beating very fast.

  ‘You tell us where the hoodie man is,’ he growls pushing his face close to mine, and I smell garlic on his breath. Oh God, this is awful. I am supposed to be getting married tomorrow. This should be the happiest time of my life.

  ‘I don’t know him,’ I protest somewhat feebly.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he shouts, thumping the table.

  The other policeman holds out a packet of cigarettes and I shake my head.

  ‘I don’t smoke,’ I say my voice trembling.

  ‘You took a lot of cigarettes, we saw you on the video.’

  Oh for goodness sake. Which bit do they not understand? Gun pointed at me? Forced?

  ‘I’m getting married,’ I say stupidly, like that explains everything. ‘To Simon, he is a solicitor.’

  ‘This man,’ he points to Christian and I nod eagerly. ‘This man, we know you were with because you travel in his car, but we cannot seem to trace him. Perhaps you know where he has disappeared to.’

  ‘What!’ I yell.

  What does he mean, they cannot trace Christian? Does Simon know this?

  ‘No, you’re wrong, he must be here. He was having dinner with us this evening. He’s going to be at my wedding tomorrow.’

  At least I think he is. The policeman nods suspiciously at me.

  ‘I see, and you say he was having dinner with you?’

  I nod.

  ‘Yet there was no sign of him in the restaurant?’

  What is wrong with these people, how can they not know Christian? I try to think where he would go. Surely he would not leave the country. Maybe he is cross with me but I know he is responsible no matter what Simon thinks and I feel sure he will be at the wedding. Oh God, where can he be? Then, it comes to me.

  ‘He is probably with Bryan Marshall, the footballer. He is building a house for him, you see.’

  The policemen are silent for a moment and then suddenly launch into animated conversation in bloody Italian. I strain to recognise some words, but the only two that make sense are ‘Bryan’ and ‘Marshall’. Then, before I have time to speak, more policemen come in and join in the discussion. One begins to demonstrate his dribbling skills and I shake my head in disbelief. What is it with men and football? It seems that all you have to do is mention a footballer’s name and they all become little boys again, totally obsessed with kicking a ball around and showing off any skill they have, which in this case is pretty limited.

  ‘Bryan Marshall, he is the best footballer and will play for Italy this year,’ smiles my interrogator.

  Ah, ‘a result’ as they say. The policemen leave the room and I drop my head into my hands. It feels like hours since I was taken from the restaurant. I’m sure that Simon has been here the whole time. Have I been a total fool? After all this, Simon may decide he wants nothing more to do with me. Of course, there may not be a wedding as I may well end up in prison. I shudder in my seat when it dawns on me that Simon probably cannot practise law in Italy. Please God, let them release me and I promise to marry Simon and be the best wife ever. I’ll buy Nigella Lawson cook books and bake every day, well maybe not every day but most days and I promise to hand-wash Simon’s shirts, or at least get someone else to but I won’t ever put them in the washing machine like I did his Fat Face jumper. I’ll never refuse him sex, even when I am tired, and I’ll have lots of babies, well three anyway, just please God don’t make me go to prison. I mean, I know it won’t be like Thailand prisons and all that, but still, compared to England, it is bound to be a bit harsh. I just can’t believe all this is happening to me. I came to get married for God’s sake. It is all that bloody Christian’s fault. The video starts up again and there is his annoying face. I groan and attempt to turn it off when the door is flung open and my dad walks in. I jump up and run to him and he enfolds me in his arms.

  ‘Good Lord, this is some carry on. The women are in a fine state. I’ll never understand the fairer sex.’

  I hold back my tears.

  ‘I don’t want to go to prison Dad. I promise to be the best wife Simon has ever had,’ I say desperately.

  He pulls me away from him.

  ‘I wasn’t aware he had been married before,’ he says frowning.

  ‘What? No, he hasn’t, why would you think that?’

  ‘You said you promise to be the best wife Simon has ever had.’

  I let out a loud groan.

  ‘Dad, please. I will be his first and only wife. Can we just make sure I don’t go to prison please?’ I beg.

  ‘Ah, it seems Simon got hold of Christopher…’

  ‘Christian,’ I correct.

  He nods.

  ‘Ah, that’s it. I knew it was a religious name, Christopher, Christian…anyway.’

  He can see I am growing impatient.

  ‘Yes, well,’ he begins, offering me my cardigan. I look eagerly at him.

  ‘The police are releasing you. Simon is completing the paper work. Clever guy this Christopher. He…’

  ‘Christian,’ I correct grabbing my handbag.

  ‘Ah, yes, sorry, anyway very clever chap. Your mother and I watched a programme about Bryan Marshall and they showed his house in Rome, fantastic. Of course, it’s none of my business darling, or your mother’s, but if you decide not to marry Simon, your life won’t be worth living for a few months, but if you do marry Simon and realise he was not the right one, then your life won’t be worth living full stop. Worth thinking about before you take the plunge.’

  I am speechless. My dad, a man of few words and usually those are a muddle, but every so often he drops a gem like this, and you want to stitch it on a pillow. Generally though, he talks more to his plants than he does to either me or Mum. I look at Simon who is standing at the entrance watching the policemen kicking a football and know that I have no choice but to marry my fiancé. Dad’s words had made me realise that there is only one person I want to spend my life with and that is Christian, but Christian is Simon’s brother, so I must give up my foolish feelings and get on with my life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘I don’t believe this. There are lilies in your bouquet,’ cries Kaz lumbering into the room carrying three large boxes.

  Alex is twisting my hair into heated rollers so I cannot move.

  ‘Oh no,’ sighs my mother jumping up and almost falling over the hairdryer lead.

  Lilies. Good Lord is someone trying to tell me something.

  ‘Jesus,’ gasps Kaz, seeing my mum in her face mask. I stifle my laughter and strain to see the bouquet.

/>   ‘We have our own little beauty parlour here, Kaz, when are you joining us?’

  She drops the boxes with a huff.

  ‘If I can have a banana smoothie I will join you. By the way, the best man has the carnations sorted, and he says the inside of the church is beautiful, and he and Tom are taking the presents to the marquee.’

  My mother holds up the bouquet with a frown.

  ‘You can’t have lilies. We’ll have to send them back.’

  I shake my head and lean forward to get my glass of water. Alex yanks me back. Jesus, letting a hormonal woman near my hair on my wedding day is probably not my best idea.

  ‘I like them, they match my mood.’

  It is several hours before the ceremony. My mother is in her dressing gown, and Alex is curling my hair as she waits for her toenails to dry. My head has been aching ever since I awoke at five this morning. I had spent the early hours reading my wedding cards, of which there seemed to be hundreds. Alex exhales loudly and lays both hands on her stomach before sitting down carefully.

  ‘Right, your hair is setting, what time is the make-up artist coming?’

  I shrug my shoulders.

  ‘Actually, quite soon,’ answers Kaz, looking at her watch. ‘She has five of us to do.’

  The phone shrills and Kaz jumps up to answer it. I check my Blackberry as Kaz reaches for the phone.

  ‘The bride’s boudoir,’ she smiles. ‘Oh hi, yes of course she is here, hold on.’

  Kaz stretches the phone lead across Alex and hands it to me.

  ‘It’s Simon,’ she whispers grinning.

  I take the phone reluctantly. Please don’t say anything to put me off you, I think desperately. I am holding my feelings together with just a piece of thread and I feel sure the smallest thing could see me unravel.

  ‘Hi,’ I say uncertainly.

  ‘Hi, it’s me Christian, your friendly builder.’

  Butterflies dance in my stomach and I feel sick. Oh buggety bugger, why now?

  I jump up knocking hair tongs into my mother’s lap. I indicate to Kaz to transfer it to the bathroom phone and after stepping over towels and boxes of flowers I slam the door shut and flop onto the loo.

  ‘Hi,’ I say finally.

  There is silence for a minute and my heart sinks when I think he may have hung up.

  ‘Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have phoned today, I just wanted to apologise for the dinner business. It was a bit of low point.’ He sounds nervous. God, his voice never fails to send a shiver down my spine and I still can’t connect him with Simon. How can two brothers be so different? I try to swallow but there is a large lump in my throat.

  ‘There is nothing to apologise for, I…’

  ‘Yes, there is. The truth is I think I knew you were Annabel long before I admitted it. Anyway, I just want to wish you all the best for the future and I think you and Simon make a great couple and I couldn’t wish for a better sister-in-law.’

  Sister-in-law. Sodding hell, why is the bastard phoning me now? Why the hell is he suing his own brother? In fact, why did he even have to come into my life? Well, of course, I know he would have come into my life; after all he is Simon’s brother. I just wish he hadn’t come into my life with such a bang and turned it upside down.

  ‘Simon is a great guy,’ I say holding back my resentment. Let’s face it, the fact that he is Simon’s brother most certainly means anything else between us is out of the question. Again there is silence.

  ‘Anyway, good luck this afternoon, don’t fall over the dress or anything,’ he says finally. I notice he does not agree with me that Simon is a great guy.

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ I say quickly, trying not to think of his lips on mine.

  He laughs softly and I wonder if Claudine is nearby.

  ‘It’s the kind of thing you do isn’t it?’ I can almost see him smiling.

  ‘I do not,’ I reply indignantly.

  ‘Yes you do and then you swear like a trooper.’

  ‘What a cheek,’ I say; grateful he cannot see my smile.

  ‘Simon is marrying a fun girl and you’re marrying…’

  ‘A very serious guy,’ I finish for him.

  ‘The right guy,’ he corrects me and I stifle my sigh.

  ‘Am I?’ I whisper.

  There is a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Yes, you are. Anyway, break a leg.’

  The phone goes dead and I stare at it wanting to shout ‘trace that call and find out where he is staying.’ But of course, I don’t. I walk back into the main room where Natasha, the make-up artist is setting up her things. The only thing I can remember about our conversation is that he had said he knew who I was long before I knew who he was. Was this before he had questioned me about Simon? Before he had kissed me in the car? When had he realised I was Simon’s fiancée? Damn the bastard. I probably will fall over my dress now and break a leg. I try to remember the seating plan for the reception. I could ask Kaz if she knows where he may be sitting but decide against it. Probably best that I don’t know. I flop onto the bed and watch Natasha paint Alex’s fingernails. Rosa strolls in and compiles a list of food and drink requests which she goes downstairs to fetch. I watch as if in a dream, all the goings on around me. The photographer sets up his camera and my hotel room looks like a film set. Kaz watches Natasha as she begins to paint my mother’s nails. Alex has propped her legs up on the bed and is gently massaging her stomach while my mother enjoys her manicure while looking very decadent in her Chanel dressing gown. I smile, my mum, fashionable even when going to bed. I check my Blackberry and realise I have just over three hours before I become Mrs Simon Lloyd and I have to take a deep breath to calm myself. Last night, on the way back from the police station, I saw the villa where the reception is to be held. I hated it. It is wonderfully medieval, and of course romantic, but it somehow reminds me of the vineyard at Chateau de Velaruse and I really do not need reminders of Christian on my wedding day. Rosa walks in with a tray of tea and sandwiches. I accept a cup of tea but decline the salami roll she offers.

  ‘You should eat something darling,’ advises my mother biting into a Parma ham roll.

  I feel sick and slide off the bed.

  ‘Actually, what I need is some fresh air; the room stinks of hair-setting gel and…

  The room turns silent and all eyes are on me.

  ‘What do you mean you need fresh air?’ Alex asks.

  ‘Do you want me to stop taking the photos?’ asks the photographer looking confused.

  Christ, am I a bloody prisoner now?

  ‘There isn’t time for you to go wandering,’ Rosa chips in, nodding to Alex.

  Wandering? What the hell are they on about? I pull the rollers from my hair and hear Alex gasp. I try not to sigh too loudly.

  ‘I just need to get out of this room for ten minutes. Don’t worry I will come back,’ I pull on my jeans and grab my Blackberry.

  ‘Well, don’t be long,’ says my mother.

  I smile and close the door behind me. An enormous sense of freedom overwhelms me and I dive into the lift. The lounge is crowded with many of our guests and I quickly retreat from there and make my way to a small bar by the gym. I see Edward nursing a whisky.

  ‘Ah, you’ve escaped. Well done.’

  I join him at the bar and allow him to order me a diet coke.

  ‘How is Simon doing? Is he nervous?’ I ask, taking a small sip from my glass.

  He looks at the whisky in front of him and twirls it around the glass.

  ‘The whisky you bought me is really smooth. I opened it, I’m afraid. My son, Christian, well you’ve met him haven’t you? He appreciates good single malt like his father.’

  I nod. Why is it that everywhere I go Christian seems to follow me?

  ‘Ah, Simon is fine. More to the point how are you?’ He taps my knee gently. ‘You look like you need something stronger than coke. Here, have a sip.’

  I take a small sip, its warmth comforting me.

  �
�You must not worry about our Simon, very business minded is my son, he takes after his mother. I hope you’re not that serious, he could do with some light relief in his life.’

  ‘He is a bit intense,’ I agree.

  He shakes peanuts from a dish and drops them into my hand.

  ‘Yes, he is far too intense. Christian is more like me, thank God.’

  Oh he sure is.

  ‘But you don’t have a nut allergy,’ I laugh watching him throw a handful of nuts into his mouth.

  ‘Ha, that is such a problem. Trying to keep nuts away from him when he was a kid was an absolute nightmare.’

  Oh how I would love to sit and chat about Christian when he was a child. I look at my Blackberry.

  ‘Oh sod a dog they will be shitting themselves. I promised I would only be about ten minutes. I feel like I just escaped Colditz, and now I am going back in. I must be out of my mind.’

  I slide off my stool and quickly take another sip of Edward’s whisky.

  ‘That is really good stuff, right back to the wolves.’

  He kisses me on the cheek.

  ‘You make sure you are the boss of your own wedding and don’t go falling over your dress.’

  Oh my God. Did he really say that?

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ I reply experiencing that déjà vu feeling.

  I wave and rush back to my room. Everything is exactly the same as when I left it. Alex is still sitting with her hands on her stomach and Mum is having the second coat painted onto her nails. I sit back down and allow Alex to put the rollers back into my hair and try to smile at the photographer as he snaps away. Okay, this is it. In just two hours I will be walking down the aisle, and within minutes I will be Mrs Annabel Lloyd. I close my eyes and picture our flat in London. I am already one half of a joint mortgage so there is no going back. It certainly is time I got married and what better man to marry than Simon. He is rich, successful and handsome. How many men can you say that about? Well, Christian…No, no, I mustn’t think about him. Eligible too, don’t forget, Simon is eligible too and you can’t say that about Christian. I sigh and hold my hand out for a manicure. Bugger it, why do I keep thinking about him? Alex takes my other hand and places it on her stomach.