But before I could answer, a car drew up. A plush, expensive-looking car with tinted windows. A car I recognized.
“Chester?” The door opened, and his familiar face appeared. “Hey Jess. Hey Esther.”
His face lit up when he saw her and I looked away angrily.
“Chester, darling. You didn't have to come. I told you I could take a cab.”
“Leave you to the mercies of a London cabbie? I don't think so,” Chester said warmly. “So Jess, can I drive you anywhere? Drop you home?”
“No.” I shook my head. “No. My friends and I—we're going for a drink actually.”
“Oh, Jessica, let us drive you somewhere. Please,” my mother said, looking back at me hopefully as she got into the passenger seat.
I shook my head.
“You're sure?” Chester asked.
I nodded tightly. “Very.”
I heard one of the car doors opening and my mother got out, running back toward me. “You're not cross? Please don't be cross, Jessica,” she said, trying to take my arm. “Please understand …”
“I understand that you got what you came for,” I said icily, moving my arm away.
“I'm sorry?” My mother looked at me perplexed.
“The money. That's what you wanted. Now you've got it, so you don't have to pretend to love me anymore. Go. Go out with Chester, I don't care.”
“No, Jessica …,” she said, her lip trembling. “It's not true. I'll give you the money back if you want.” She started to rummage around in her bag but I walked away.
“Keep it,” I said flatly. “Like you said, you know how to look after yourself. Bye, Mum. See you around.”
I refused to turn back to look at her, fighting back tears.
“Well, enjoy!” I heard Chester shout; seconds later they were driving off into the night.
“So, drinks,” Helen said immediately. Then she caught my expression. “Jess? You okay?”
“I'm fine,” I said bitterly. “My mother chose a date over a drink with her daughter, but I'm fine.”
Ivana shot me a long look. “What?” I demanded. “What now? You think she went because I'm not showing enough cleavage? Because I'm not like you? Is that it?”
She blanched slightly, then her face resumed its usual look of feigned boredom. She moved closer.
“Is not about cleavage,” she said.
“Great. Thanks. That's a relief to know,” I said gruffly. “So this time you'll actually concede that everything isn't entirely my fault?”
I didn't know why I was taking it out on her; it wasn't her fault either.
“Is not your fault, no,” Ivana said, a slightly icy tone to her voice. “But mebe you think a little bit more about others, huh?”
My face wrinkled in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You think is easy,” she said, her eyes boring into me. “You think everyone have what you have—good job, friends, now fiancé. But is not easy. Some peple have only one thing. They no have job or friends. They nid stick to what they know. Otherwise it all go, yes?”
I raised my eyebrows uncomprehendingly “Ivana, what are you talking about?”
“Your mother,” Ivana said levelly “is like me. She good with men. She not good other things. We stick to what we know. Is better. Is better for everyone. And now, I hef to work. I em late already.”
She stalked off, leaving me staring after her in total bemusement.
Helen caught my expression and shrugged. “God knows what that was all about. Okay, Jess, looks like it's just you and me.”
I turned around. “Actually, I think I might go home. I want to talk to Max.”
Helen frowned. “About what? Can't it wait?”
“No.” I shook my head and sniffed. “I'm going to tell him. About Hugh. He has to know.”
“Why?” Helen asked incredulously.
“Because I think people should be honest.”
“Are you mad?” Helen's eyebrows shot up. “Honesty sucks. Honesty hurts people.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But people prefer the truth. It's always best.”
“No, it isn't,” Helen said firmly. “What's this all about, Jess?”
“Max and I trust each other,” I said stubbornly. “I'm not the sort of person who keeps secrets. I'm not the sort of person who lies and lets people down.” I could feel tears pricking at my eyes. I'm not her, I wanted to shout. I'm different from my mother. I couldn't be more different.
“And you're not the sort of person to upset people unnecessarily. Think about it, Jess. What will you achieve? Nothing, that's what. You'll hurt Max and all so you can feel a bit better. Don't be stupid. Don't do something you'll regret.”
“That's just the point. I already have,” I said flatly. “Anyway, my therapist thought I should tell him.”
“Your therapist? Since when are you in therapy?”
“No, my therapist here. Louise. The girl who gave me a massage.”
“You're taking the advice of a massage therapist?” Helen rolled her eyes. “Listen to me, Jess. You tell him nothing. You marry him. End of story, okay? There's been enough drama lately. Trust me, he doesn't need to know. He doesn't want to know. No good can come of telling him. Okay?” She turned around and took my hands, looking into my eyes. “Okay?”
I held her gaze for a few seconds, then looked down. She was right. Of course she was right. I was angry with my mother, that's all. Very angry, as it happened. “Fine,” I relented. “Whatever.”
“So, drink?” Helen asked, eyebrows raised.
I shook my head. “I'm still going to go home,” I said with a sigh. “But don't worry, I won't say anything.”
“You'd better not,” she said firmly, waving as she walked away. “I went through hell getting you down the aisle the first time,” she called. “You're not wrecking things for a second time.”
Chapter 14
I DECIDED THAT HELEN was right. There was no point talking to Max, and certainly no point letting my mother ruin my life any more than she'd managed already. Sure, she kept texting me and trying to arrange that drink we “postponed,” but I just ignored her. I was going to get married and I was going to be happy. End of story I could forget about my mother, and I could forget about Hugh, too. Pretend I'd imagined the whole thing.
So for the next few weeks, whenever Chester started talking moonily about “that wonderful woman,” I just smiled tightly and pretended he was talking about some complete stranger. And whenever she swept into the office on his arm, looking like a giddy teenager and making a beeline for me just so she could twitter on about how proud she was of me and to tell me about their intoxicating romance, I did my very best to smile and pretend she was just some woman I'd met and didn't care about in the slightest.
Giles, meanwhile, was delighted to hear that everything was back on and immediately put ten meetings in the calendar (he'd pitched for twenty, but I'd gently reminded him that I did have a job to do, a job that didn't unfortunately revolve around table plans and wedding flowers, even spectacular wedding flowers). As for me, I called up the Wedding Dress Shop to ask for yet another appointment to get my perfect wedding dress fitted.
“I'm having déjà vu,” Helen said drily as I put on the dress and stepped up on the podium in front of a large mirror. I loved myself in that dress—it was just the right depth of creamy milky white and it made my usually average skin look luminous.
“I'm having a moment, too,” Giles said, dabbing at his eye with a decorative handkerchief. “You're beautiful, Ms. Wild. It's stunning. Absolutely stunning.”
“And everything's okay?” Vanessa, the assistant, asked lightly as she pinned the dress around the neckline. “No problems, nothing on the horizon?”
“No,” Giles said immediately. “No problems. Everything is tickety boo. More than tickety boo. Things are perfect, aren't they, Jess?”
He looked at me earnestly and I forced a smile. “Absolutely,” I said, trying to sound utterly su
re of myself. “No problems at all. None.”
Helen looked at me suspiciously. “Jess? You sound funny. What's up?”
“Nothing.” I stared straight ahead. I looked beautiful. Like a bride. Like a happy, optimistic, glowing bride.
“Don't try and fob me off,” Helen said, her eyes narrowing. “There's something you're not telling me.”
“No, there isn't,” I insisted.
“No, there isn't,” Giles agreed. “Everything is under control.” He brought out his planner just to be sure and started to check through his list. “Mood board for the reception, check. Dress …” He looked at me appraisingly and smiled. “Check. Guest list …” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “We haven't sent those out yet, have we?” he asked worriedly. “So we'll do that tomorrow. Okay?”
“Great,” I said enthusiastically. “See?” I said to Helen pointedly. “Everything's fine.”
“Suit yourself.” Helen sat back on her chair. Then she leaned forward.
“Is it to do with Max? Something he said? Something he did?”
I shook my head.
“It's not that Hugh bloke, is it? You're not still thinking about spilling the beans?”
“No.” I shook my head again, more emphatically this time.
“Hugh? Hugh who? Is he on the guest list?” Giles asked worriedly. “I don't remember a Hugh.”
“There's no Hugh,” I said firmly, shooting Helen a meaningful look.
“Then what is it?” Helen asked, looking perplexed. “Your mother?”
I flinched slightly and she pounced. “Aha. So, your mother. What's she said? What's she done? Come on, tell me.”
“Nothing,” I said, exasperated. “Vanessa, I think I'd like to try a veil.”
“Good idea.” Vanessa smiled. “I'll go and get you a selection.”
She left the room and Helen looked up at me expectantly. “So?”
“So?” Giles asked, looking terrified.
“So?” I said glibly refusing to look at either of them.
“So come on. What's with the frozen smile and the slightly manic eyes? I know you, Jess. Something's up. What's your mother done? You may as well tell me, because I'll get it out of you eventually. You know I will.”
“Just tell me this won't stop the wedding, please,” Giles implored me. “Please!”
“Of course it won't,” I reassured him, then turned back to Helen. “I told you,” I said flatly. “She's done nothing.”
“But she must have.”
I took a deep breath and let it out again. Then I looked back at my reflection. “I mean, maybe I thought she might do more than nothing,” I said quietly. “Maybe I thought …”
Helen looked up. “Yes?”
I shook my head. “It doesn't matter.”
“Come on,” Helen persisted. “It obviously does matter.”
I bit my lip. “I thought …” I swallowed uncomfortably. “I thought once I got to know her, once she got to know me … I thought she might … we might …”
“Yes?” Helen coaxed.
“Might?” Giles said, with a sympathetic smile.
“I thought she might be sorry.”
“She is sorry. I heard her tell you …”
“Not sorry, like ‘I'm sorry I ruined your life’ sorry,” I said, sniffing. “Sorry like regretful. I thought she might be sorry she walked away. Sorry for all the stuff she missed out on. That we missed out on. But … but …”
“But what?” Helen asked.
“She's not,” I said flatly. I hadn't wanted to talk about her. And now … now I wasn't going to let myself get upset. “Chester's all she talks about. She's all he talks about. It's like I don't exist anymore. It's like I don't matter.”
“I'm sure she didn't mean it like that,” Helen said.
“I'm sure she just got carried away,” Giles agreed. “People do, don't they?”
“Maybe they do.” I spun around. I hadn't realized how angry my mother and Chester had been making me; now it was all coming out. “But they're acting like teenagers and it's ridiculous. She's my mother. She should be concentrating on me, not running around with my biggest client like a lovesick idiot. You know, I spent my life thinking I didn't have a mother. But at least I thought I'd had a mother who'd loved me, who would have looked after me if… if she hadn't… if the car accident hadn't happened. I used to dream she was alive and would come and find me and we'd go and live in this lovely house together and she'd look after me …”
“And she has come back,” Helen said quietly. “She risked loads, too, didn't she? All those people chasing her?”
“She came back for you,” Giles said, nodding earnestly.
“Yes, she did,” I said tightly. “But I've paid off her debts now.”
“You did?” Helen whistled. “Wow. That was nice.”
I shrugged. “So now we're even. I won't expect anything from her and she won't get anything from me.”
“Because she's going out with Chester?” Giles asked.
“Because she will always choose her happiness, however trivial, over mine,” I said, clearing my throat and turning back to my reflection, just as Vanessa came back in. “I have no expectations of her, so I won't be disappointed.”
“There we are.” Vanessa beamed, putting a veil on my head. “Doesn't that look nice?”
I looked at my reflection. It did look nice. Very nice.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Yes, it does. See?” I turned to Helen. “I don't need my mother. I'm getting married. That's what matters. I'm going to get married and it's going to be the best wedding in the whole wide world and she's going to regret … She's going to wish she was a big part of it. And she won't be. So there.”
“Very mature.” Helen grinned. “That's the spirit.”
“Mother off the guest list,” Giles said seriously. “Okay, so we have a space on the table plan. We're going to have to think about this very carefully …” He looked up and caught my expression, then smiled weakly. “I'm going to think about it,” he corrected himself. “And it won't be a problem. Big relief, actually. Mothers. Ugggggghhhh.”
“Exactly,” I said firmly. “The wedding is all that matters to me. It's going to be fabulous. More than fabulous.”
“Well, of course it will be,” Helen said kindly. “It'll be the best wedding ever.” She frowned. “So good in fact that it would be a shame not to capture it on film. You know, have it aired for the nation as a wake-up call for all the other estranged children who harbor feelings of resentment toward their parents …”
I stared at her, my eyes narrowing. “I am not doing your show, Helen,” I said levelly “Not a chance.”
I got a cab to the office. By the time I'd got there I was feeling much better.
“Hi Gillie!” I called nonchalantly as I walked through the doors. “How's it going?”
“Oh, you know.” She rolled her eyes. Then she grinned at me. “Been for another fitting?”
Gillie had managed to convince Max that she should have access to everyone's Outlook calendar so she could direct calls appropriately and advise callers when the person they wanted would next be available. Which was all very well, but it was a bit disconcerting when she reminded me about my leg waxing appointment or asked me how my “spend some quality time with Caroline and discuss time-management skills” coffee had gone. “Yes,” I said.
“And?”
Her eyes were shining expectantly.
“And it's all great. Dress is lovely and it's virtually there on the fitting front.”
“Just be careful not to lose weight. Or gain it,” she said seriously. “I had a friend who got a bit carried away—you know, let herself go before she'd even got the ring on her finger—and, no lie, she couldn't get into her dress on the day of the wedding. Had to send her mum out to buy an alternative. So not the way to go.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Well, thanks. I'll … bear that in mind.”
“Sensible,” Gillie said, peering at h
er nails. “Very sensible.”
I wandered over to my desk where Caroline was staring earnestly at her computer screen.
“How's the dress?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she saw me. “How does it look? Is it, like, seriously dreamy?”
I grinned. “It's nice,” I said. “Really nice.”
“Oh God, it's just, like, soooo exciting,” Caroline gushed. “I mean, the whole long white dress, all those people and the champagne and …”
“It is going to be brilliant,” I agreed, pulling out the wedding magazines I'd borrowed from Vanessa. I'd suddenly realized how many things I'd dismissed without really thinking them through—hand-designed place cards, predinner entertainment … I was going to write a list for Giles. It had become very important to me, imperative even, that my wedding was the best wedding ever. That my mother should watch from the sidelines and realize how much she wanted to be part of my life (too late, of course). That any memories of Hugh Barter should be buried once and for all beneath a deluge of confetti and wedding cake and happy shining people holding hands …
Caroline's phone rang, disturbing my reverie, and I quickly brought up my Project Handbag file and opened the project plan.
“Jess?” I spun around—it was Max, carrying a copy of Advertising Today.
“Darling!” I beamed at him. “What do you think about having magicians at the wedding? During the drinks. You know, keeping people entertained.”
“Great idea,” he said, his expression suggesting it was anything but. “Have you seen this?” he asked, showing me the newspaper.
“So you think that's the right way to go? I mean, we could go with live music but everyone does that. Or maybe we could do both? A string quartet and magicians walking around …”
“Whatever,” Max said curtly. “So about this?”
“Advertising Today?” I shrugged. “Look, I know I need to make more time for reading. But I've been so busy with the wedding, and I really want to make sure that Giles has enough time to prepare everything. So we're saying musicians and magicians …”
“So you haven't seen this article?” Max held the newspaper and I looked at it irritably; I could see an article on the bottom of the front page with the words “Jarvis” and “Milton” in the title.
A Wild Affair: A Novel Page 14