‘Please, Elizabeth,’ implored Bev. ‘It would change things for me and I don’t want that. I can’t cope with it. Give it to Lorraine. Just don’t tell her it came from him. Tell her something else, something nice,’ Bev went on. ‘Don’t tell her I gave it to her. That would tie us together and we don’t belong together. She needs to be free of me. Please. That’s why I wanted to see her today. One last time.’
Elizabeth saw then that Bev meant every word.
‘I’ll do as you ask.’ Elizabeth opened the door to go. She had to get out of this room.
‘Elizabeth.’ Bev’s voice came small and cracked. It was the long-ago voice Elizabeth remembered of her sister. It dragged her back to the past, to being two girls doing a jigsaw together. Before. Tears stabbed behind Elizabeth’s eyes.
‘Just tell me, she is happy, isn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Elizabeth. ‘She’s happy.’
‘I’m glad. Goodbye, Elizabeth.’
‘Goodbye, B— Marilyn. Good luck.’
‘You too.’
Elizabeth closed the door behind her, walked down a flight of stairs, stood on the landing and wept the last tears she would ever shed for her sister. Then she dried her eyes and composed herself before going on, so John wouldn’t see she’d been crying. She strode into the street towards the car. Never did fresh air feel so good in her lungs.
Chapter 78
Vladimir Darq was a man who considered himself blessed. He was born in Tiresti, a small village at the foot of the Transylvanian Mountains by the side of the beautiful Mure River, to kind and loving parents. But something had always set the Darq family apart from the rest of the village. Stories circulated that they were descended from an ancient bloodline of night-dwelling creatures to be revered, feared and, above all, respected. Indeed, the sensitivity to bright sunlight that had plagued generations of the male line of Darq men, and their elongated canine teeth that grew naturally added credence to the stories. Nevertheless, the community was warm and protective over its mysterious family and Vladimir Senior wanted more than a lifetime in the mines for the son who had an amazing artistic talent and who loved to stitch with his seamstress mother. Alas, his parents had not lived to see their son catapulted to the A-list of the fashion world by both his amazing accomplishments and his mysterious vampiric allure.
The people in the Yorkshire village where he now lived were kind, accepting, straight-talking – the English version of the Romanian villagers he had grown up with. They were even becoming proud of him, the more they knew of him and his accomplishments. He had houses in Italy, Paris and London too. But Darq House was truly his home.
Vladimir was the dark darling of designers. The paparazzi adored him, reporters courted him, models tried to bed him and the young Vladimir had woken up many a morning with a beautiful woman stretched at the side of him. To the outside world, Vladimir Darq had everything. Almost. For in his heart he was still a simple boy from Romania, craving the love and family warmth sadly lacking from his dynamic career.
Seeing Anna at the train station that night had lit something within him. He couldn’t explain why the sight of the sad woman with the long chestnut hair had the effect on him that it did. He saw her potential as the model for his intended project. But it was more than that for him. Something primal within recognized a connected soul. A fellow being who needed love and to love. Her vulnerability called out to him and his heart answered.
Week by week, he watched Anna bloom, and the smell of her creamy skin almost drove him mad with lust. It took every reserve of strength to keep his lips away from it.
And at the Full Moon Ball, he had wanted the crowds to disperse early and for there to be only he and Anna left. He had planned to lead her out onto his balcony and dance with her in the moonlight. He wanted it to be romantic and lovely for her. He wanted to tell her as they waltzed under the stars that he had fallen in love with her. He wanted her to tell him she felt the same.
He had flown to her house when he discovered she had left. He could no more have stopped that kiss happening than he could have held back the River Mure when it burst its banks one summer when he was a child. But was it just a kiss for her?
He was actually shaking with nerves as he got in the car to pick her up the next morning as he had promised he would.
The wedding rehearsal went ahead after the morning’s Sunday church service. There was a slight hold-up while both bridesmaids were sick in the graveyard and the best man had to go and buy some paracetamol and Red Bull from the nearby shop. The groom had only one eyebrow. The other had been shaved off when he was tied naked to a lamppost in Wakefield town centre. He was exceedingly quiet and well-behaved during the rehearsal and didn’t join in any chance to make fun of the vicar’s lisp as the best man would have liked.
As he looked at his future bride by his side, Calum Crooke realized what a good lass he had in Dawn. He had woken up that morning next to Mandy Clamp – his final fling, as arranged by Killer and Empty Head. But now he felt like a dieter who had just wolfed down a whole Black Forest gâteau – ashamed, regretful, nauseous and aware that the anticipation of such a treat far outweighed the reality of it. Mandy Clamp was a total slapper and not worth risking losing Dawn for. The realization had hit him hard that morning when Mandy had made it perfectly plain that a wedding ring made no difference to her and he was welcome to more of what she had on offer whenever – and wherever. He’d always been out with slappers with their boundaries blurred, and even though Dawn wasn’t one and would never have done to him what he’d done to her last night, he’d been treating her with as little respect as he did the Mandy Clamps of this world. He looked at Dawn, smart in a summer frock, her long red hair tied behind her and her face all nicely made up, and compared her to his sisters, zombie-white and swaying in jeans and knock-off designer tops. His mother, in her omnipresent flip-flops, was pushing them into position and swearing at them in a whisper that really was anything but, and he thought that it was no wonder he went for Clampesque women, because it was all he’d ever known, until Dawn came into his life. Demi and Denise had slagged off every woman he’d ever been with, behind their back of course, which was a cheek because they were as bad, especially in Demi’s case because all his mates’d had her. But recently, when they’d been laughing at Dawn for getting above herself wanting matching ribbons on her little chocolates, he’d got quietly annoyed. The next time they made fun of her, he’d say something back and shut them up. She’d worked so hard and he’d been less than helpful. He’d borrowed Auntie Charlotte’s money with no intention of putting it back or financing a honeymoon with it. And standing in church then, he felt true shame that he was the sort of man who’d thought it was big and clever to deceive her. When they were married, he was going to make sure he tried very hard to keep it in his trousers.
Vladimir looked very grim-faced and stern as he pulled up outside her house and Anna half-expected he was going to tell her that he was a bit drunk last night and hadn’t meant to kiss her. Well, if he did, he could go and sod off. She’d seen one weak-willied bloke off in the past twenty-four hours, and she would do it again if she had to. She stiffened her spine in readiness for a confrontation, then Vladimir got out of the car, crushed her violently in his arms and planted such a kiss on her lips that she thought if his fangs sank to her throat she would happily bleed to death there in front of the neighbours.
‘It’s daylight,’ she said, with the little bit of breath that he spared her. ‘Won’t you turn to dust?’
‘God save us from fiction story writers,’ said Vladimir. ‘Get in the car.’
She gladly did as she was told and was driven to Darq House, which an army of cleaners had miraculously restored to its magnificently neat and gothic glory. He showed Anna around his home, his world. He introduced her to the extravagantly sized kitchen fridge which had a Marks & Spencer’s minced beef pie and a jar of Hellman’s mayonnaise in it as well as Cristal champagne and Italian white truffles. He took he
r into the cavernous sitting room with a massive TV, a thousand DVDs and CDs lining the shelves on the wall, and the biggest, squashiest sofa ever. He showed her the bathrooms, his office, a storage cupboard full of dog food and rooms stacked high with material and sewing machines. There were no coffins, no bottles of virgins’ blood, no Black Mass altars.
Then Vladimir Darq took Anna Brightside upstairs to his ornately carved gothic bedroom, where he threw her down on his four-poster, pinned her there in the shape of a crucifix and did all manner of unholy things to her.
Chapter 79
‘Bloody hell, have you had plastic surgery?’ said Dawn to Anna as she swaggered in like Mae West the next day. ‘You look about twenty years younger than you did on Saturday when we left you – and you only looked about nineteen then! Was it really one of those Botox parties you went to?’
Everyone turned to the phenomenon that was Anna with her fresh face and sparkling eyes. Even her hair seemed more alive, falling in chestnut curls around her and bobbing when she moved, as if she were straight out of an old Harmony Hairspray advert.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Anna with a grin so smug that Cheshire cats worldwide would soon be ringing her for tips.
‘Emergency meeting, I think,’ said Christie, switching her phone to voicemail and leading the way down to the canteen.
‘Did you see Spatchcock’s face as we walked past his desk?’ said Raychel, who felt considerably lighter this Monday morning than she had done for years. Her aunt was wonderful, she loved her so much. She felt truly content with her lot.
‘Sod him,’ said Christie. ‘I don’t care what that little twerp thinks of me or any of us.’
‘I hate him,’ said Dawn. ‘I never liked him before, but after what he tried to do to you and to Grace, I doubly hate him. Trebly even.’
Anna was last to the table with her cappuccino. The others were waiting for her to begin and so she teasingly said in a very slow voice, ‘Once upon a time . . .’
‘You are so dead if you don’t hurry up,’ said Dawn.
‘Well, I was standing by myself for most of the evening, to be honest, sharing canapés with the dog—’
‘Tell us about that bit later,’ said Christie, rolling her hand as if to fast forward to the juicy bits.
‘—So I came home early but Vladimir followed me and kissed me goodnight and then he collected me from my house yesterday morning and I spent most of the day with him.’
‘Doing what?’
‘We watched a film, he cooked me dinner—’
‘And? You witch!’ said Dawn.
‘We listened to music, then—’
‘Anna!’
‘—Then Vlad impaled me—’
‘Hallelujah!’ said Grace and they all gave Anna a round of applause.
‘Did Tony come back?’ asked Dawn.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘I hope you told him what to do.’
‘More or less,’ said Anna. ‘And, you’ll never guess – the bloody cat came back to me as well.’
‘We’ll let you keep the cat,’ said Grace. ‘Seeing as he’s got no balls.’
‘Have any of them?’ said Raychel, making a rare risqué joke.
‘I know one that has,’ said Anna dreamily. ‘Although they won’t be quite as full this morning.’
‘Anna Brightside, you dirty girl!’ laughed Grace.
‘And how did your hen night go?’ said Christie, turning to Dawn. She worried about Dawn.
‘Awful,’ said Dawn. ‘But we had the wedding rehearsal yesterday and Calum was . . . like a new bloke. It was so odd. He didn’t go out to the pub or drag me to his mother’s for lunch. He wanted it to be just me and him.’ He was like he was at the beginning, she added to herself.
‘He’ll be getting into wedding mode,’ said Grace. She had been including Dawn in her nightly prayers. Please God, make her be getting married for all the right reasons. ‘When do you pick up your dress?’
‘Tonight, after work.’
‘So the countdown begins?’ said Anna.
‘Yes, it most certainly does,’ said Dawn. She tried to smile in the same way that Anna was, but the truth was Calum would never be able to light her from the inside the way that Vladimir Darq was doing for her grinning co-worker. Calum had been as nice as pie all day yesterday and it made no difference because every thought was still bending back to Al Holly. She had silently cried herself to sleep and it had taken hours because, yes, the countdown clock to her wedding was ticking loudly now, but the one that was tocking for Al Holly boarding a bus with his suitcases was so much louder.
Chapter 80
Dawn was gazing at herself in the mirror. She looked pretty, even if she did say so herself. How could she not in a dress like that? But she wasn’t smiling at her reflection one bit.
‘What a perfect fit,’ said Freya. ‘You must be feeling very excited now.’
‘Yes, yes, I am,’ said Dawn, making a breezy attempt at pulling the corners of her mouth up. But she could do nothing about the clouds of tears gathering in her eyes. They spilled over and down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away.
‘You’d be surprised at how many brides I’ve seen sobbing,’ said Freya, handing over a well-timed tissue from a ready supply behind her.
‘Really?’ said Dawn, not quite believing her. Brides were supposed to be skippy and laughing and sunshiney, weren’t they? Brides didn’t walk down aisles with their heads full of guitarists leaving on jet planes.
‘I cried,’ said Freya. ‘I cried so much that my father said to me at the church door, “Now, Freya, if you don’t want to go in there, then we’ll turn around and go home. Don’t think about letting anyone down, just concentrate on what you want”.’
‘And did you go in?’
‘Yes, I went in,’ said Freya. ‘But I lied to myself. I didn’t want to let anyone down. So much money had been invested, the church was full, guests had travelled from far away and bought presents; I couldn’t bear the thought that people would talk about me if I called it off at the last minute – so I went through with it.’
She started to unzip Dawn’s dress and help her out of it.
Dawn hardly dared ask.
‘And did everything work out fine and dandy in the end?’
‘No,’ came the reply from behind her. ‘It did not. Not in that marriage anyway.’
‘Oh blimey,’ said Dawn. That really wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
‘But then I met the love of my life,’ smiled Freya. ‘And I became the lucky bride who first wore this dress.’
‘It was yours?’ said Dawn.
‘Yes,’ Freya admitted. ‘It was mine. And when I tasted the true happiness that love can bring, I was determined never to see another unhappy bride.’
You failed then.
‘Love is the best magic of all,’ said Freya, beginning to fold the dress fondly into leaves of tissue at the table. She didn’t look up as she packed it into its box. ‘You can do anything when you’re in love. Nothing fazes you. Be brave and let love make you strong. Once you let it into your heart, you could fly to the other side of the world, don’t you think?’
Chapter 81
Dawn had to make an obligatory trip to her future in-laws on Thursday to finalize the times of the cars arriving. When did coming here become a chore? she thought as she walked up the path, narrowly avoiding a dried-up greyhound turd. Life had been so much less complicated when she had felt part of them all and craved their love. Why the hell had she to go and cement the arrangement in wedding cake? In saying that, Calum had been uncharacteristically tender since his stag do. Maybe getting tied to a lamppost had sent some blood rushing to the parts in his brain that dealt with demonstrations of affection.
‘I know I’ve been a bit of a twat in the past, Dawn,’ he’d said in bed that night. ‘But I do love you. And I know you wanted to get married more than me and I went along with things, but now I do want to get married. Just think, in less
than forty-eight hours now, we’ll be man and wife.’
This new nice Calum made Dawn feel even more duty bound to go down that aisle. She almost wished he would slap her again – really hard this time – and give her an excuse to rise up and run, but he didn’t. Instead, they had sex and she kept her eyes shut and faked her pleasure with tears trapped under her eyelids.
Chapter 82
‘Are we all ready then?’ said Christie.
‘Yes, as we’ll ever be,’ said Grace.
‘Well, to the pub we go then for our bride-to-be’s hen night!’ said Christie. She started striding down the office. They all heard the loud tut Malcolm made when Christie was level with the man himself, standing by his desk, arms folded, exuding resentment out of every pore.
She turned slowly to him. ‘Is there anything you wish to say to my face, Mr Spatchcock?’ she asked. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer to mail it anonymously?’
Malcolm’s eyebrows rose in two innocent, bushy arches. He hated the woman standing in front of him. He’d been in a meeting with McAskill that afternoon and the man had vetoed and pulled down his every proposal. He knew it was because he suspected he’d written the letter to his wife. There was no proof though, but he felt the venom towards him coming off McAskill in waves. He shouldn’t have sent the letter, he realized, but he’d been driven to it by her. And now she was standing there like Lady Muck, making accusatory comments.
‘No,’ said Malcolm with a plastic smile. ‘Do you have anything for me?’
‘No,’ said Christie.
‘I have though,’ said Anna. She cleared the two strides between them and crushed Malcolm’s testicles in one grinding upwards swoop of her knee. The action was fuelled from the mix of powerful, feminine, oestrogen-driven emotions flying around her system – all lumped together in one mighty leg arc of adrenalin.
A Summer Fling Page 39