2 Busy 4 Love

by Lucy Hepburn

  But just then, Nina set upon her sister with a squeal, calling out something about how she better give that dress back at the end of the night, and other guests, seeing the hostess in such high spirits in the middle of the room, began to stop their conversations and pay attention.

  Will stopped and retreated slightly, back to the edge of the room. Nina had taken Christy’s arm and was trying to pull her toward the far side of the room. The crowd was thickening around them.

  “That her?”

  Will jumped. His father had approached behind him, and he’d been too intent on watching Christy to notice.

  “In the red dress? The girl who got you running around in circles all day?”

  He nodded, still staring at Christy as he did. And then his heart sank. Nina had succeeded in dragging Christy across to where Shorey stood. It looked as though Nina was trying to get them together—or were Shorey and Christy old friends? They definitely knew one another, he could tell by the body language. Hold on, what was it Shorey had said earlier, about having a thing for…the bridesmaid?

  “O-kay,” he whispered to nobody as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. Of course, she’s Shrimp. Christy is the chief bridesmaid, and the woman that Shorey wants to get back together with.

  Christy looked up at Shorey and gave him a dazzling smile. Will caught his breath; he had never seen her smile. Why the heck did it have to be at this guy? Why wasn’t it at him?

  “It’s okay, son,” Carl Thompson said in a low voice.

  “It is?” Will said vacantly, turning to look at his father.

  “I think so.” He gave Will a strange smile, kind of knowing, then patted his shoulder, turned, and wandered off.

  Will turned back to look at Christy.

  She had seen him.

  Still standing beside Shorey, it was as though she was a statue, mouth slightly open, hand halfway to her mouth—and Will realized he was no longer breathing.

  Ages seemed to pass as they looked at one another. Shorey was saying something to her, but she wasn’t responding. Will was dimly aware that, all the while, his line of vision was getting narrower and narrower as more and more party guests were streaming onto the dance floor.

  “Speeches! Speeches!” The crowd was looking toward the front. Nina and Antonio were probably up front; Will didn’t know for sure and cared even less.

  “Speeches! Speeches!” The noise had turned into a slow handclap.

  And now, he had lost sight of her, swallowed up by the crowd.

  CHRISTY

  9:15 p.m.

  OFF DUTY – at last!

  “Duncan!” Christy smiled broadly when Nina dragged her across to her ex then left them to it. “Thank you so much for saving the day earlier with the fish delivery.” She tailed off when she saw the expression in his eyes—affection, maybe even hope, followed by disappointment after she had spoken. What was that about?

  “You’re welcome, Christy. Anything for you,” said Duncan. “Look, I know you’ve probably had a busy day, but can we talk? I mean, really talk?” His face was pleading, and suddenly she felt a creeping sensation of apprehension. He was going to say something big—and she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear it. Luckily the crowds were beginning to chant ‘speeches, speeches,’ so she had an excuse to pretend to be distracted.

  But something on the other side of the room caught her attention. She had a sense that someone was looking at her. She glanced around the room and then froze, feeling all of the breath sucked from her body as she found herself staring across the room at…

  Will.

  It was definitely him—that gorgeous hair, the handsome, anxious face—he’d come to the party! Her feet wouldn’t move, nor could she drag her eyes away. Duncan was saying something, but she didn’t know what. But all the while the crowd was thickening. Will was lost from view.

  “Christy?” Duncan said again. “Come over here, there’s a quiet table.”

  “The speeches…” Christy faltered, really wanting to forget the speeches and go to Will. But she knew she owed Duncan this much. “Okay.”

  They sat down. Duncan, so insistent, was suddenly hesitant.

  Moments turned to minutes as they sat awkwardly opposite one another. Someone, a man, had begun a speech, but the words just rolled off Christy. She was torn between being curiosity about what Duncan had to say and a vague dread about what was going to happen.

  Will was here! Had he come for her, or was it all far more innocent? Maybe there had been a mix-up with the handover of the paperwork? Could it be that simple—something to do with her mother, nothing else?

  “Speeches, huh?” Duncan smiled, looking across at Nina and Antonio, who were standing at the head of the crowd, arms wrapped around one another. “I guess tonight’s the perfect night for them. And it’s so romantic in here. I’m pleased.” He hesitated for a second. “The more romantic, the better…because, Christy, I—”

  “Duncan—”

  “Please.” He covered her hands with his. “Let me do this. You have to.”

  And now he was looking deep into her eyes. Christy, her nerves jangling with the sight of Will and apprehension about what was about to take place, looked back at him and, after a moment or so, made herself relax. Years of easy familiarity passed between them in that look. Childhood games and dreams. Teenage romance, the heady days of moving in together and trying out life as grown-ups—she and Duncan had shared all that. In some ways, she realized, being with him was like slipping into an old pair of slippers. And she loved her slippers. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  “Does anyone still call you Shorey, Duncan Jefferson Shore?” she asked gently.

  “Christy…” he ignored the question. “What we had together was special.”

  She looked away, then back at him, and nodded. “Yes, it was.”

  “But I ruined it, I know that.”

  “No, Duncan, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, Christy, I did. You know, looking back, I have a lot of regrets about how I was. And what I originally wanted to do tonight was to find you and tell you I’ve changed, that I’m a different person, but you know what? I’m not a different person. I’m the same person, only with a whole lot of better stuff going on in my life, and it’s all thanks to you. You used to tell me to do more, to be more than I was doing and being, and all the time I thought things were just fine—I thought you loved organizing me and doing everything and I realize…well, I realize now that we slipped into roles in our relationship.”

  “I think you’re probably right there,” Christy put in softly.

  “You do?”

  She nodded. Tears were beginning to sting the backs of her eyes, and quickly she blinked them away. She didn’t realize it would mean so much to her, hearing Duncan acknowledge the root of her unhappiness when they had been together.

  “See, Christy, roles are just that—things we learn to do. And ever since you went, Christy, I’ve been working to unlearn the role I played when we were together. No more passive guy, no more easy routes, no more sitting around. See this place?”

  He spread his arms out.

  Christy smiled. “It’s wonderful, Duncan. I’m so proud of you.”

  “You are?” He looked delighted. “See, I’m proud, too. I knew if I was to have a chance with you—”

  “Duncan—”

  “Okay, not just with you, with my whole life, I needed to be the person you were always encouraging me to be. It’s all down to you, Christy. You made me step up to the plate and strive to be a better person. Not a different person, but a better person.”

  “You’ve always been a good person,” Christy whispered. “A really good person.”

  “Christy?”

  The atmosphere was suddenly almost unbearably tense.

  “Yes?”

  “Can we try again? You and me? Same people, new roles?”

  His hands were still clasping hers. She made herself
look into his eyes again. They were full of love and hope, and, in that moment, Christy knew that every word he had said was completely sincere. He would be different next time if she gave him the chance. The same guy, but like he said, they’d be playing different roles. He’d made a success of his life, he had nothing to prove, and she knew that he would spend the rest of his life continuing to make her proud to be with him.

  “Duncan, you were my first love,” she said, not letting her eyes leave his face. “And you will always be truly special to me.”

  His eyes flickered, his grip on her hands loosened a fraction. “But?” he whispered.

  “But it would be a mistake.”

  “No, Christy.”

  “Duncan, it would,” Christy insisted, releasing one of her hands and raising it to stroke his cheek tenderly. “You and I, we had our chance, and yes, I do hear you, and I totally respect what you have done with your life.”

  “It’s all thanks to you—and it was all for you,” he insisted, then coughed as if choking back tears of his own.

  “No. Duncan, don’t say that.”

  As she spoke, Christy felt a sensation of calm resolve beginning to well up inside her. It was time, once again, to take control of the situation. For the very last time.

  “Duncan, you turned your life around, and you did it all by yourself. Our time together, well, maybe that shaped part of who you are, but it isn’t all of you. Just think what you did on your own. Duncan, you do better without me. I really hope you can see that.”

  “Just one chance,” he pleaded, looking down at their intertwined fingers, his voice barely audible.

  “Duncan, my dearest, oldest friend, we had our chance. I need…we both need…different things now, and we have got to go find them. Please, tell me you understand? I’ve seen the way you’ve changed, and you know something? I think, after the day I’ve had, that it’s time for me to change, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  WILL

  9:30 p.m.

  Up until today, Will had always secretly thought of himself as an expert on human behavior. He prided himself that there was no aspect of body language, no mannerisms, and no postures that he could not analyze and reach a conclusion about. Folded arms? That indicated a guarded personality, not giving anything away. Too much silly laughter and too much talking? Nerves; give the person a little time to open up and don’t judge too quickly. Aggression? That meant fear, usually. Or sometimes it meant just plain aggression. In any event, best avoided.

  But tonight, beautiful Christy Davies had him stumped. Whenever the crowds parted a little and he caught a glimpse of her, there she was, sitting at that quiet corner table opposite Shorey, their hands clasped together, engrossed in conversation.

  Normally he’d have taken one look at the scene and marched out, cursing his stupidity for showing up at the party in the first place. But somehow, he didn’t. What was that look all about just a few minutes ago, when she had caught sight of him? No way did he imagine that huge jolt of electricity that passed between them—it had almost knocked him sideways. And if he had read it correctly, then why, for goodness’ sake, hadn’t she come right over to him? It would have been…well, it would have been polite, for one thing.

  And just what was going on between those two now? One second it looked as close as if they were lovers, the next everything changed and he caught something in Christy’s expression—some look of discomfort, a shifting of the angle of her body, which normally he’d have read as hostility or at least nervousness, but he found, to his alarm, that he no longer trusted any of his instincts. Something big was going down over there, but what?

  A smiling waitress walked by, carrying a tray of drinks. Will helped himself to another, placing his empty glass on the tray with a nod of thanks.

  “Why so sad?” The waitress was young and pretty. She looked up at him from under long, dark lashes. The coy smile together with the slightly closer-than-polite personal space invasion made her body language a little easier to read than the mixed messages Christy was throwing out.

  “What makes you think I’m sad?” Will asked.

  She shrugged, causing the drinks on her tray to wobble dangerously. “I am extremely intuitive,” she lisped.

  “Oh?” He looked down at her curiously.

  “Uh-huh. And I know a lot of ways of cheering cute guys up, you know what I mean?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  Will took a swig of his drink and smiled at her. “I am sure you do…” he bent his knees slightly to read her name badge, which nestled just below a cleavage that seemed enhanced out of proportion with the rest of her tiny frame, “…Rhonda. But I’m afraid I’m waiting for someone.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame.” She stuck out her bottom lip in a petulant gesture that Will knew would bring her a lifetime of her own way. “Lucky someone,” she said over her shoulder before sashaying away to try her luck with her drinks tray elsewhere.

  “Um…ladies, gentlemen…”

  Huh?

  Will looked up and saw with surprise that his father had stepped up onto the stage. What was he doing up there? Carl Thompson had taken his place in front of the microphone, his clothes crumpled and a little unkempt, hair likewise. He was blinking in the glare of the single spotlight, which illuminated him in an unforgiving dazzling beam of whiteness, and looking all around the room in some sort of apologetic panic.

  To his surprise, Will’s heart went out to him. His dad hated public appearances of any sort. He always had. He invariably turned down flat requests to do readings or book signings, saying they ‘weren’t his thing,’ much to his long-suffering agent’s annoyance.

  And right up to tonight, Will admitted to himself, he had passed these refusals of his father’s off as arrogance, or vanity, or just plain awkwardness. Now, watching him, vulnerable and a little frightened, Will could see that public appearances were more than just not his ‘thing’—he was terrified.

  His father cleared his throat. He was holding a crumpled sheet of paper in his right hand. Will could see the paper trembling at the edges.

  Why didn’t he put his speech onto prompt cards? Will thought to himself, taking an apprehensive swig from his wine glass. That’s what you do for a business presentation.

  “My name is—um—Carl Thompson,” he began, as the crowd hushed in order to hear the quiet tones that even the microphone was struggling to pick up, “and it is my privilege to have Annette Davies as my employee. She is a very special person, as I know you all know—” he paused to allow the enthusiastic applause and whoops of agreement to settle before continuing. “I felt humbled and privileged when she asked me to say a few words on this very special night.”

  Will was spellbound. His father’s humility, and the affection and sincerity in his voice, completely knocked him for six. This must be what he’d been working on all day. Not some obscure line for an incomprehensible philosophical poem destined for an anthology to be published in two, three, ten years’ time. He’d been working on a tribute to Nina.

  “Antonio, you are one lucky guy.”

  “I know!” Antonio called out, to more applause.

  “And I have no intention of telling you two to look after each other or make time for one another or all that sort of stuff that you’ll get told on your wedding day. I know you’re going to do that anyway—one look told me that.”

  “Thank you,” Nina said, reaching in Antonio’s pocket for a handkerchief and wiping her eyes.

  “But that left me with something of a dilemma,” he went on. “What do I say? What’s left? And I gave it some thought—well, okay, I gave it a lot of thought, and I hit on this great idea to make a big deal about the language barrier between you two—I was going to find examples of misunderstandings that can crop up when words get mixed up and then hilariously liken them to misunderstandings within a relationship and how everything can be solved with a little practice and a good dictionary…”
r />   A ripple of laughter spread around the room.

  “But Nina surprised me. She often does that, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. But anyhow, she told me, just today, that she speaks fluent Italian, and Antonio speaks fluent English, and what sort of a girl did I think she was getting engaged to someone she couldn’t share a conversation with?”

  “Not that they’ll be doing much talking!” a young man at the back called out, to raucous laughter from his friends.

  Nina giggled nervously as her fiancé squeezed her close to his side.

  “So, anyway,” Will’s father went on, clearly unused to dealing with ribald comments from an audience, and cleared his throat nervously, “there I was, about to talk about how misunderstandings of the language type can lead to misunderstanding the whole person.”

  Will’s heart skipped. Well, if anyone knew about misunderstandings…

  “It happens, you know, even between people you care about very much.”

  The piece of paper fell from Carl Thompson’s hand as he looked up and scanned the crowd. He was searching for someone…and then his eyes met Will’s.

  “So anyway, I, well, I kind of wrote a poem…”

  “You did?” Nina squeaked, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “Oh, wow!”

  “I did, and I’m going to read it now, if you’ll permit it. It’s about the bonds that bestride misunderstanding.” Again he looked over at Will. An almost-imperceptible nod of the head, a tiny, momentary tightening of the mouth…

  His father’s hands shook even more as he read the poem. The partygoers stood enraptured, and after only a few lines, tears were coursing down Nina’s face. As the poem slipped out of his father’s mouth, “Mixed messages like rain-soaked postcards…the blank space on the page leaves room for misuse…Meanings lost and tainted…Judgements made…The only words heard are the ones I didn’t say…Three words…that leave no doubt…” Will tried his hardest to concentrate on what he was saying, but his heart was so full and his head so dizzy that he could barely take it in. All he knew was that his father was talking about him, and their relationship. And it was raw, and honest, and beautiful. It was as though his father had stood up onstage and declared his love for him. Something that he had subconsciously spent his life yearning to hear.