I feel my face redden. “So it wasn’t a matchmaking letter?”
“No, although it seems to have worked on a number of levels,” he says with a grin.
“And you thought that the reason I lied to Simon was to get your money?”
“Leonora was obviously concerned when she found out Cressida was staying with us. Particularly as Cressida moved to L.A. a couple of months ago,” says Archie, his eyes glinting slightly.
I gasp. “She knew? I mean . . . you knew I wasn’t Cressida all along?”
Archie’s eyes twinkle. “We didn’t know, no. Not until I mentioned to Leonora that you were here. She came down straightaway. I thought that a bit odd—but it was only after your . . . ah . . . until you were unwell that she told us.”
I hang my head in shame. “I bet she wanted to call the police,” I say miserably.
“She did rather think the worst,” agrees Archie affably. “But we didn’t believe her. And Simon certainly didn’t. It’s just a shame that you couldn’t have stayed to explain yourself.”
“I wanted to,” I say softly. “But then I heard you all talking about me. About Simon lowering his standards and stuff. I just couldn’t face you . . . couldn’t come out . . .”
I look at Archie closely for a reaction, but instead of looking guilty, he looks utterly bewildered.
“What are you talking about? We said no such thing!” says Tilly indignantly.
“You did, I heard you,” I say pointedly. “You said you thought it was a rash decision. And that he was lowering his standards.”
“And you thought we were talking about you?” Archie says with a huge smile.
“Of course,” I say hotly, unable to understand what’s so funny. “Which is fine, you know, if that’s what you think . . .”
“My dear girl,” says Archie, “give us some credit, will you? We were talking about Simon’s proposed change of career, if you must know. Simon’s got it into his head that he wants to be a teacher. Apparently he was going to tell us for several months, and finally decided to fill us in the week before he started his teacher-training course. The weekend that you came to stay.”
“So you were talking about . . .” I say slowly, my head clouding with the thought that I may have judged this whole thing very, very badly.
“. . . the change to his living standards,” Tilly says, finishing my sentence for me. “Paying the mortgage, that sort of thing.”
“Are you serious?” I want so much to believe them. Sod it—just look at them. Of course I believe them. They are the nicest people ever.
“Yes, Natalie,” Tilly says crossly. “I can’t believe you think we’d talk about you like that.”
She looks really upset.
“I’m so, so sorry.” I put my head in my hands. Good one, Natalie. Lie to the man who loves you, and then insult his entire family.
“I think we can forgive you, can’t we, Tilly?” says Archie generously. “After all, you were having to juggle two names and a bit of Reiki healing. Anyone would have got in a muddle.”
His eyes are twinkling, and I smile at him gratefully.
“And this new career of Simon’s,” I ask him. “Is he really becoming a teacher? I called his work and this girl said he was retraining or something.”
“Yes,” says Archie proudly. “I’m quite warming to the idea now. Bit of a shock at first, of course. But that boy never really felt at home in the City, you know.”
“I feel so stupid,” I say humbly.
“ ’Stupid’ is a little harsh, I think. ’Silly’ might be a better description,” says Archie cheerfully. “Anyway, you’ll know next time, won’t you? There will be a next time, won’t there?”
I look at him nervously. “The thing is,” I say tentatively, “I don’t know where Simon is . . . there’s someone called Jezza living in his flat.”
“Ah, Jezza, is it?” Archie asks distractedly. “Yes, well, he rented it out for a while. He’s—oh, what do you call it now?—downsizing. Yes, that’s it. Just while he’s training, you understand. Staying somewhere in Shepherd’s Bush, I think, near the college. Now, I’m not sure we’ve got his new address, but I do know the name of the college—yes, here we are.”
He hands me a compliments slip on which is scribbled, “Newham College, 255 Uxbridge Road, London W12.”
“You know,” says Archie, as I get up to go, “I think Natalie’s a lovely name. Suits you. And I’m sure Simon will think so, too.”
He leads me to the door and plants a kiss on both cheeks.
“You’re sure you don’t want to set up an alternative-healing practice?” he asks as I leave.
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“Shame,” he says vaguely as he sees me to the door, clutching my laundry bag. “Do let me know if you change your mind, won’t you?”
I get back into the car in silence. Dad puts a hand on my shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks tentatively.
“Fine. I’m fine,” I say firmly. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”
“Home?” says Dad, alarm in his voice. “I thought we were going to London?”
“That’s what I mean,” I say with a half smile. “London. My home.”
Dad reaches over and gives me a hug. “Home it is, Natalie. Home it is.”
We drive through the English countryside toward London, and I stare out of the window thinking back to conversations with Simon. I remember him talking about investment banking not being worthwhile. Wondering if there were more important things. And now he’s found something more meaningful. I’m so proud of him. And so desperate to talk to him, to explain. If only I’d called him sooner. If only I hadn’t been so pathetic and run back home.
We get to Ladbroke Grove and get out of the car.
“Coming up?” I ask Dad, but he shakes his head. “Your mum and I’ll come down in a week or two when you’re sorted. I’d better get back now.”
“Thanks, Dad. Really.”
He nods and smiles at me. “Remember what Winston Churchill used to say,” he says.
“Keep buggering on?” I say with a grin.
“That’s the one. Your mum and I are very proud of you, Natalie.”
I give him one last hug, then pick up my bag and walk toward my flat.
As I walk up the stairs, I hear the familiar strains of daytime television emanating from my flat. Sure enough, when I walk through the door, I find Stanley sitting on the sofa staring at the screen, cup of tea in hand.
“Cressida!” he says, jumping up—or as near as someone his age gets to jumping.
“Natalie,” I correct him.
Stanley looks confused.
“Cressida, it is very good to have you back. But I thought . . . I thought you’d gone for good.”
“I know,” I say, putting down my things. “Stanley, look, there’s lots of stuff I’ve got to tell you. A tangled web of deceit and . . .”
“A tangled web of deceit? Well, I think that calls for a cup of tea, don’t you think?” Stanley interrupts. “You tell me your story, and then I’ll fill you in on the latest happenings on EastEnders. You won’t believe what Janine has been up to.”
I smile gratefully, and as Stanley makes the tea, I tell him the whole sorry tale, from Leonora’s letter to her turning up at Archie and Tilly’s house, my sojourn in Bath, and my conversation with Archie and Tilly. I wait for him to look shocked or upset, but instead, he laughs.
“You don’t understand, Stanley,” I tell him, perturbed by his reaction. “I’m not even a Reiki healer. I lied to you . . .”
At this Stanley laughs even more. “My dear girl, do you think I didn’t know that? I knew you weren’t a Reiki healer the minute I came inside your flat. Far too much clutter, no massage table, no nothing. But you have done more for me than any alternative therapist. You gave me what I really wanted—company. And it sounds like you gave Simon what he wanted, too. All this business of names, it doesn’t matter, you know. What matte
rs is people.”
I look at him dubiously. “So you think Simon’s going to forgive me?”
“Forgive you? Of course he will. My dear, life is too short to not take every chance that comes your way. Simon knows that—that’s why he’s taken up a new career. It sounds like you need to talk to him. If he’s a sensible chap, he’ll understand. People do funny things for their hearts. That’s what it means to be human, you know.”
I rub my neck, aware of the tension that’s been building in my shoulders all day. It’s easy for Stanley to say Simon will understand—but what does he really know?
“You know, Bess died today. Two years ago today,” Stanley continues. “And do you know what I got in the post today?”
He motions over to the coffee table, where an opened letter is lying. Hesitantly I pick it up and look inside. It’s a letter from the Council.
“Planning permission,” says Stanley, half laughing, half on the verge of tears. “Planning permission for the shop. Ten years Bess was trying to get it, and it comes through two years after she died. Apparently there has been a change in the regulations or something . . .”
I look at Stanley, shocked. I suddenly feel incredibly selfish for worrying so much about Simon not welcoming me back with open arms—Stanley doesn’t have that luxury with the love of his life.
“I’m so sorry,” I manage to say eventually.
“Oh, don’t be. It’s called Sod’s law,” Stanley says ruefully. “Bess’ll be looking down at me now, getting cross because I’m not fulfilling her dream. But you can’t do that. You can’t live someone else’s dream, can you?”
He looks at me as if I might be able to tell him. As if I might know any better than he does.
“No,” I say gently. “I think you’ve got to do what makes you happy.”
“And you? What would make you happy?” Stanley asks me. “Getting Simon back?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically. “But I think there’s something else, too.”
“Ah,” says Stanley. “This sounds interesting. Not another trip to Bath, though?”
“No,” I say, grinning, “Not Bath. It’s just that Simon has proved to me that you can change things. He’s followed his dream, you know? And it’s made me realize that you have to make things happen, not wait for them to happen to you. I don’t want to do what other people think I should anymore—or even what I think other people might think I should do.”
“Quite,” says Stanley. “So . . . ?”
“So I’m going to work on a game plan.”
“A game plan,” Stanley says, nodding seriously.
“A game plan for my own shop,” I explain. “If the guy from Stallioni designs is so keen for me to be involved in his stock, maybe he’d be interested in me running a concession somewhere in a few years. I need to set myself some targets, and work out how to achieve them, y’know?”
Stanley smiles to demonstrate that he does indeed know.
“I could even put myself on the waiting list for a market stall at Portobello,” I continue. “You know, as a first step. That’s where the guy from Monsoon started, you know. One day a stall, the next day . . .”
“A small shop?” says Stanley, his eyes twinkling.
“Exactly!” I say happily.
“Or you could just bypass the stall and go straight to the shop idea,” suggests Stanley.
I look at Stanley uncertainly.
“It isn’t particularly big,” continues Stanley. “But it’s got planning permission. And it’s in a very good part of Notting Hill, just round the corner from Westbourne Grove. There are a couple of drawbacks—one of which is the old codger who lives upstairs, but he’s not so bad once you get to know him . . .”
Stanley trails off and his eyes twinkle as I realize what he’s saying. His shop. The antiques shop he ran with Bess. The one he’s just got planning permission for.
“You can’t be serious,” I say in a hushed voice.
“Couldn’t be more serious,” Stanley says.
“But I couldn’t . . . I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start with a proper shop . . .”
“Of course you would. And I can help if you want—I used to do the accounts and plans for the antiques shop. I’d quite like to have something proper to do, actually.”
I sit rooted to the spot, thoughts racing through my head. Surely I couldn’t do this. Could I? I can hear Archie’s voice in my head asking me to get in touch if I decide I want backing, after all. Julie’s voice telling me about Giovanni wanting me to be responsible for his line of shoes. And if I could get Julie and Lucy on board . . .
I feel a broad grin plant itself on my face, and I look at Stanley, whose eyes are glinting.
“Certainly food for thought, isn’t it?” he says, smiling happily. “Bess would be pleased.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say sternly, trying to contain my excitement. “You know that you are a very bad influence on me, don’t you?”
“At my age,” says Stanley wryly, “I take that as an enormous compliment.”
18
A week and a half of hard graft later, I call Laura. Julie, who has proved herself to be a demon business manager as well as a great clotheshorse, has been coming round to my flat every evening and working out detail after detail, and now we’re ready to get started. Obviously we pick a day to call when Julie isn’t in. That way she can sit next to me while I do it and hear every word.
“Hi, Laura!” I try to sound nervous, not gloating. I’ve been preparing for this phone call all morning. If I sound too cocky, I’ll give the game away too quickly. And that would spoil all the fun.
“Natalie, oh, I’m so glad you’re in. I hear you’ve been away?”
I’ve never heard Laura sound so pleasant. It’s like she’s become someone else. Someone almost likable. But only almost.
“Yes,” I say airily, “I wanted to get out of London for a while.” Julie shoots me a look, and I nearly giggle, but manage to hold it together.
“Good idea!” says Laura brightly. I wish she would stop this fake camaraderie—it’s beginning to make me feel bad.
“So anyway,” she continues, “I was wondering if you might be able to come into the shop. To talk about your future at Tina T’s.”
I nearly make a caustic remark about my not having had a future at Tina T’s last time we spoke, but I bite my lip. This is not the time for sniping.
“Well, I’m a bit tied up right now, but I could maybe pop round early next week?” I say as casually as I can. “Say Tuesday?”
“That’s over a week away,” says Laura sharply. “What’s wrong with tomorrow?”
Ah, this is more like it. This is the Laura I know.
“I’m sorry, Laura, but I’ve got a few things to take care of. Tuesday’s the earliest I can make.”
Julie rolls her eyes and grins, then does a great impression of Laura looking thunderous.
“Fine,” I hear Laura say. “Shall we say lunchtime?”
“Lunchtime suits me. See you then.”
I put the phone down and hear my heart beating loudly.
“You did it!” says Julie excitedly. “Right, I’m off to see Stanley. Got some information about the planning I need to prize out of him.”
As she leaves, I tick Laura off my list. I’ve still got to get our business plan to Archie, but that can wait—he’s got stacks of information as it is. In the meantime there’s someone else I’ve got to call. I pick up the receiver again and call the number that Julie agreed to track down for me, scribbled on a Tina T’s receipt.
“Um, hello—is that Giovanni? It is? Oh, good. Look, this is Natalie Raglan. You may not remember me . . . oh, you do. Oh, that’s great. Well, I was wondering if I could pop in and see you tomorrow morning. I have a business proposition for you . . .”
The following Tuesday afternoon, Stanley insists on coming with me to Tina T’s. He’s promised he’ll wait outside, but he says he feels so involved in the plot that he wants to s
ee what happens firsthand this time.
I squeeze Stanley’s hand for good luck before leaving him just outside the door and walking in.
Julie and Lucy are both in the shop when I arrive, and they wink at me as Laura greets me.
“Natalie, so lovely to see you. You are looking well!”
I smile sweetly at her. “Thanks, Laura.”
She looks at me uncertainly, then ushers me into the dressing room she uses for private clients.
“Coffee? Tea? Perhaps a glass of wine?”
“I’m fine, really,” I say pleasantly.
“Great. Well, look, as I said on the phone, I wanted to talk to you about your future at Tina T’s.”
“I didn’t think I had one,” I say, still smiling.
Laura shoots me a look. “Yes, well, we all say things we don’t mean sometimes. I just think we should perhaps review the situation.”
I pause to look at her. Her face is looking pinched, as always, and her clothes are virtually hanging off her bones.
“Review the situation?” I say eventually. “I thought you’d made it very clear you never wanted to see me again.”
I hear a snort of laughter. Julie and Lucy are obviously right outside the dressing room, hanging on every word.
“Natalie, look,” says Laura in faux big-sisterly tones. “I would like to work things out, if you’re amenable. I can offer you your old job back if you’d like to start on Monday. And we can discuss the clothes issue then.”
“The clothes issue?”
“The borrowing of clothes. Obviously I’ll need to bring in spot searches to stop the practice.”
“Right . . .” I say, “and what about the bullying issue?”
Laura’s eyes narrow.
“I’m sorry? I don’t think I heard that properly,” she says in a strained voice.
“You, bullying the staff. Accusing them of things they didn’t do, and not thinking to check the facts first. I just wondered if there would be spot checks for that, too?”
Laura’s face blackens. “You little brat,” she says angrily. “How dare you talk to me like that?”
“And what about spot checks for being a total bitch?” asks Julie, sashaying through the curtain.
Little White Lies Page 24