‘I think you might be worrying a bit prematurely.’
‘Am I? I heard him on the phone to his office this evening and it made me realise that he has an important position, a public position, and if I’m his girlfriend, then that might make me more public too. Not just me, but the name Plum’s as well, the whole business. And if people start digging… It could ruin him and it could destroy our business. Our reputation is all we’ve got, Mills. I don’t want him knowing about my past. I couldn’t stand to look at his face and see disgust or disappointment. I love the way he looks at me now, no one has ever looked at me in that way, ever. And so it’s best I call it a day, for both our sakes.’
‘There is always a solution, Pru. Don’t overreact—’ Milly offered this by way of solace, but Pru saw the flinch in her eyes, as if the possibility of losing Plum’s had occurred to her for the first time.
‘I’m not overreacting!’ Pru shouted as she dashed at the tears that slid down her cheeks. ‘Don’t you get it? I’ve just been kidding myself. Can you really imagine Sir Christopher Heritage being with someone like me?’ Pru thumped at her chest.
Milly rolled her eyes. ‘Listen to me, Pru. You are a very successful businesswoman, we both are. Look at what we’ve achieved.’ She waved her arm in an arc. ‘All this. Our lovely home, the business, magazine articles every bloody month in every glossy mag, a client list that reads like Who’s Who. And look at what a great job you did with Bobby, she was incredible!’
‘What we did with Bobby. She loved you, Mills,’ Pru corrected.
Milly smiled. ‘Chris knows how wonderful she was and that was entirely down to you. Whether I like to admit it or not, you two had a special bond. You’re a success, love, and no one and nothing can take that away from you.’
‘But that’s just it, he can! Crying fucking Micky can! I feel sick, Mills. Like I am standing at a delta trying to hold back a flood, but it’s just me and the weight of the flood is coming towards me and there is not a thing I can do to change or stop events unfolding, but I have to try, even if it feels pointless. One word in the right ear and he can take everything from me, from us. It’s a bloody mess.’ Pru ran her hands over her face.
‘Only if you let it be a mess, and you can’t. You’re made of stronger stuff than this.’
‘Am I? I’m not so sure. We went to Salcombe today and it was perfect. I felt so happy. I felt like one of those women who swings their bag and holds their husband’s hand, smug, because they’ve got it all and they know it. I was happier than I’ve ever been. And then we get back to town and it’s like a veil’s been lifted. I am not one of those women and I never will be.’
‘Blimey, if I were you, I’d pull your veil back down then; it seems that your life was much nicer when you were looking through it! Or failing that, sort it out, talk it through, tell him about your worries.’
Pru was silent, considering her cousin’s advice. It was a little while before she answered. ‘It sounds so easy when you say it like that, as if all I have to do is talk to him and it will be like it was today – perfect.’
She looked up. Milly had made a veil out of her newspaper, with two eyeholes poked out, and she was sitting there with the sheet over her face.
‘Silly moo.’ Pru laughed into her soggy tissue. Milly was right; she had to face this head on.
11
At 9 a.m. Meg entered the café with her hair tied back in a wide black ribbon and wearing smart trousers and sensible shoes. The crisp white shirt strained rather across her bump, and her movements were measured, but she was ready for business.
The previous evening, Pru, Guy and Milly had been standing in the workroom, bent over at right angles with their faces inches from the marble-topped table, peering at a selection of sugar-paste flowers.
Pru pushed her glasses further up her nose, Milly sniffed and Guy used his pencil to prod at the pale pink flowers, which lay in various states of collapse.
‘Is this really the best they could do?’ Pru straightened up and sighed.
Guy shook his head and rubbed his fashionably stubbled chin. ‘We need to find someone fast! Things here are falling apart. My team are stretched and we can’t cope. We are the Titanic!’
Pru had laughed and rolled her eyes at Milly. ‘We are not the Titanic! It’s not quite that bad, Guy. Yes, we are short-staffed and yes, it’s tough. But no one is lowering the lifeboats and striking up the band for a final waltz just yet. We may have to juggle some of our less urgent jobs, but it’s not the end of the world. I’ll speak to Lady Miriam and The Dorchester about delaying their sample tastings. It’ll be fine.’ She reached for the order book. ‘I have some more CVs coming in and a recommendation from one of our delivery boys – his aunt’s friend, or something, who is a whizz with a piping bag. She might be useless, but at least she’s available!’
Milly coughed. ‘That’s all well and good, but we want the right person, not the available person. How hard can it be, for Gawd’s sake?’
Guy held up a bedraggled rose that looked more like a cone. ‘Well, if this is the level of skill the agencies are sending us, mon Dieu!, harder than you might think.’
There was a tentative knock on the doorframe and in crept Meg, looking nervous. In her hand was a platter of exquisite china-white sugar-paste roses, so thin they were almost translucent and yet shaped to perfection. With the light shining on them, they took on a greenish hue, reminding Pru of real roses. They were delicate, uniform and perfect.
Guy spread his hands under his chin. ‘Oh my, oh my! These are beautiful, parfait! Who made them?’
Meg was embarrassed. She tucked her hair behind her ears and shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘I did. I was wondering if… maybe I could work in the café, help you all out… maybe. Just to learn how the shop works and everything.’ She chewed her fingernail and looked at the floor. ‘It’s just that I’ve always worked. I like working. I don’t want wages or nothing; you’ve already given me too much. But if I could help out, just till the baby’s born. Can I do that?’
Despite Milly’s angry raised eyebrow, Pru and Guy had said yes immediately.
And now here she was.
‘Ah, Miss Meg! You are beautiful!’ Guy kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Today we set you to work!’ He clapped his hands.
‘That’s the idea.’ Meg hesitated. ‘I’m a bit nervous actually, Guy,’ she whispered.
‘No need, chérie. You are under my wing.’ He winked at her and grabbed a menu. They sat down at a corner table and he started to talk her through everything they served.
She was a fast learner and spent the rest of the day taking orders and ferrying plates and cups back down to the kitchen for washing. If she was being honest, she was rather enjoying herself. It was exhausting, especially with the extra weight she was carrying, but made a pleasant change from counting the minutes from the confines of her bedroom.
By 4 p.m. she was on her last legs. A man entered and hovered by the counter, obstructing anyone trying to pass and making his presence felt. Then he took a seat at one of the back tables. He was thin, with pointy features and a squinty eye. Pushing seventy, Meg guessed. Despite the heat of the day, he was dressed in a dark suit and a black trilby. He stretched out his legs under the vacant chair opposite and slouched in his seat, leaning backwards.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ Meg recited, just as she had been taught.
‘Do you know, I think that’s what I like most about coming to this sort of place. It’s the level of respect that is shown. And yes, my dear, you can help me. I would like a pot of tea, some sandwiches, and a really nice cake or two. Posh ones with a big fat dollop of cream inside.’ His voice was loud and sarcastic. He tried to disguise his cockney accent, but only succeeded in sounding strange, as if he was playing a game. His words were pleasant, but his tone was mean.
‘I can get that for you, but we have lots of different sandwiches and cakes. Would you like to choose something from the menu?’ Meg reached out for a menu to pla
ce in front of him.
‘No, I would not. I would like you to do it for me. Surprise me! We all like surprises, don’t we?’
Meg smiled nervously at the customer. He was weird and he kept staring at her chest, which bulged over the starched white half-apron that was wrapped around her enormous, taut stomach. It made her feel sick. She shuffled down to the kitchen. Guy was at the counter.
‘There’s a man upstairs who is a complete weirdo, says I should choose something for him to eat! He didn’t want to look at the menu. He really gives me the creeps.’
‘Maybe he is nervous and you just need to put him at his ease. Plum’s is a fine establishment and people sometimes feel a pressure to behave in a certain way. Try a big smile – it usually works!’ Guy drew a large semicircle between his ears with his finger. He was keen to keep all their customers happy.
‘Maybe, but it didn’t seem like that.’
Meg made a selection of tiny crust-less sandwiches and miniature cakes and took the tray up to the café. Balancing the tray on the edge of the table, she carefully decanted the plates of goodies and the teapot on to the space in front of the man.
He twisted the little china teacup round on its delicate saucer until the handle faced him. ‘Be a dear and pour for me, would you?’ He grinned, revealing stubby brown teeth that were neglected and chipped.
Meg’s hand shook as she lifted the pot and leant over the table. She tried not to let the tremor affect her pouring.
‘Oh now look at that, you’re shaking! It’s quite understandable, my dear. I have been known to have that effect on women.’ He reached up and placed his hand on the back of her thigh, his thumb nudging against her bottom.
He had touched her! She wanted to shout that no one had touched her since Bill and no one would, and that she was pregnant! Instead, she jumped back, shocked, and dropped the teapot. It tumbled to the floor and shattered into a hundred jagged pieces.
How was it possible there could be so much tea inside a small pot? It spilled all over, spreading like a golden lake on the wooden floor. She stared at it and concentrated on not crying as she knelt down, awkward with her huge belly, and used her linen cloth to mop at the mess.
Guy had heard the smash and fluttered into the room like a bird. ‘Oh, mon Dieu! What has happened? Sir, I am so very sorry. It is Megan’s first day and she is a little nervous. There will of course be no charge for your tea and it would be my pleasure to bring you another pot.’ He gave one of his bows.
‘No charge for the tea?’ the man sneered. ‘I think you’ll find, my good fellow, that there will be no charge for any of it.’ He picked up a sandwich and folded it in half, cramming it into his mouth and using his index finger as a poker. He smacked his lips open as the little triangle of brown bread and egg mayonnaise churned against his tongue and teeth, then followed it with a mini éclair. It was quite revolting.
‘No charge, sir?’ Guy was confused.
‘You heard me, sunshine. I am an old friend of the proprietor, Miss Plum, and I can guarantee that she would not want to see a single penny transfer from my pocket into your shiny till. In fact, quite the reverse.’ He gave an irritating nasal laugh.
‘Go and fetch Miss Plum, please, Meg.’
Meg was glad of the excuse to escape the café, still flustered by the man’s wandering hand and foul demeanour. She found Pru in her office behind the workroom.
‘Pru, there’s a man in the café who is a complete creep. I dropped a teapot and he’s saying he doesn’t have to pay for anything because he’s a friend of yours! I’ll pay you back for it, I promise!’
‘It’s all right, Meg, calm down. It doesn’t matter a jot. A friend of mine? Sounds like a nutter. I’ll come and sort it out. You go upstairs, get showered and relax a bit. I think Milly is cooking our tea later. You’ve been absolutely brilliant today. Thank you for all your hard work.’
‘I’m sorry about the teapot.’
‘Don’t give it a second thought.’
Meg beamed and trudged up the stairs, glad her shift had come to an end. She felt strangely fulfilled. It was a nice feeling being tired after working hard all day and there had been minutes if not hours that she hadn’t thought about Bill, she’d been that busy.
Pru closed the file she’d been working on and replaced it in the top drawer of the desk. She walked through the kitchen and up the stairs to the café. As she neared the door, she heard his laugh even before she saw him. She felt her bowels shrink and her blood run cold. Crying Micky – here, right now, in my business, in my home.
She walked into the café, trying to keep her expression impassive, clasping her hands in front of her to hide their shake.
‘Well, well. Now look at you – the one and only Miss Plum! Apart from the other Miss Plum!’ He guffawed. ‘Long time no see!’
‘It’s all right, Guy, I can take it from here.’ Pru nodded at her loyal manager, who hovered, disconcerted by the presence of the rude man in the hat. He retreated behind the counter and busied himself with the emergency counting of doilies. She crossed over to the table.
‘What do you want?’ Her tone was clipped, her volume low. She didn’t want to alert any other customers to his presence.
‘Do you know what? I think I preferred the tasty little pregnant piece who called me sir. Can I have her back again?’ He laughed and raised his handkerchief to wipe the tear that trickled from his puckered eye.
‘I don’t want you here, Micky. I want you to leave, now.’
‘Is that right?’ He drew a deep breath, slowly. ‘Thing is, it’s not always about what you want, is it now, Miss Plum? Sometimes it’s about what other people need, if you get my meaning?’
‘We have an agreement,’ she whispered, gripping the back of the empty chair at the table, unsuccessfully trying to steady her hands.
‘Ah, but that’s the thing about agreements, the terms can change, just like that.’ He clicked his fingers loudly above his head. Several patrons at nearby tables whipped round to look at him.
‘Please, Micky, just go. If you need to talk to me, you can do so over the phone.’
‘Please is nice. At least I’m getting a bit of civility now – and that’s all people want in life, isn’t it, Miss Plum. Civility, respect, status. Some would say it can make a business.’ He glanced around the room, taking in the ornate cornicing, brass fittings and grand antique chandelier. ‘Some would say that if you remove that respect and status, it can destroy a business and a reputation.’ He dug with his fingernail at something trapped between his front teeth.
‘If this is about money, I can’t give you any more.’ Her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth and she was finding it hard to get the words out.
Micky laughed until he wheezed then coughed. ‘If it’s about money? Why else would I haul my arse all the way up here to see you, Prudence? What did you think? That I’d come all this way to reminisce about old times? Well, why not! And how is that nasty tranny you lived with over in Earls Court? What was his name… Trudy, wasn’t it? Still up to his old tricks? If you want to blame anyone, you—’
‘Please! Micky!’ Pru felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. How dare Micky foul the memory of her dear friend – what did he know? She flushed with fury at the horrible, casual way in which he’d sneered at Trudy’s biggest secret. Clenching her teeth and biting back her retort, she braced herself. He had the upper hand and she couldn’t afford to lose control; not here.
Her voice quivered with emotion. ‘I can’t give you any more.’
He made a fist and thumped his chest. ‘In my book, can’t means won’t and won’t means a whole heap of trouble.’
He stood up slowly, allowing the chair to scrape along the wooden floor, attracting the attention of the other customers. Drawing closer to Pru, he leered at her, only inches from her face. ‘Another thousand a month or you will be seeing me again. And I might bring some of my associates; they like a good time, if you get my meaning.’ He winked at her an
d straightened his hat. Then he grabbed a pale green pistachio macaroon from the display counter, shoved it behind his teeth and sauntered out.
Pru put on a bright smile as she cleared away the table, scooping the stray crumbs into her palm and straightening the menu against the flowers. She even managed to hum a little. She’d dealt with that quite well, all things considered. It was only when she reached the safety of her office and sank down into one of the comfy chairs that she allowed herself to register her thundering heart and quivering hands.
Her phone buzzed. She let out a little scream and trembled in the chair. ‘You silly moo,’ she muttered to herself, ‘calm down.’ Pulling the mobile from her pocket, she read the one-word message – Park? – and pressed the screen against her forehead.
She breathed deeply. How can I do this? How can I pretend? I have to tell him.
Christopher approached the bridge at the same time as she did, both of them walking along the slight curve and meeting in the middle.
‘A late-afternoon bridge appointment? This is a bit of a departure, Sir Christopher.’
‘I know, I like to mix things up a bit!’ He laughed. ‘Keep you on your toes! No, it’s just been one of those days. I couldn’t escape before, but I’ve been thinking about you. It’s been a real pig of an afternoon.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Pru pushed the image of Micky’s leering, sneering face from her mind, happy that they weren’t going to compare notes.
Christopher leant across and kissed her and it felt like the most natural thing in the world, as though they had been doing it for years and not just that one day in Salcombe. She blushed and felt the knots leave her shoulders.
‘I’m pleased to see you.’ He smiled, as if it needed confirming.
‘I’m pleased to see you too.’
‘I feel different, Pru. Like we’ve moved forward. I couldn’t have imagined meeting someone at my age, didn’t know what starting out again would feel like, but it’s quite a relief to know it feels the same as it did when I was sixteen. But instead of worrying about spots and whether I’ll be able to borrow my father’s car for a date, I now worry about whether I might bore you and what to do to keep you surprised and interested.’
A Little Love Page 16