Bel stopped chewing. ‘Why wouldn’t you tell him?’
‘It’s not that I’m “not telling him”. I just haven’t told him yet,’ replied Violet, realizing immediately afterwards how rubbish and unconvincing that sounded.
‘You don’t talk about him much,’ said Max after some more chewing of pizza. ‘How is he? Any better?’
Violet groaned inwardly. There were twenty questions coming, she could feel it.
‘It’s a slow journey,’ she replied.
‘Is he on tablets? Having some therapy?’ Bel joined in.
‘Yes, he takes Prozac but he packed in the therapy. He said it wasn’t doing him any good.’ He said I was all the therapy he needed.
‘What does he do all day, then?’ Max observed how uncomfortable Violet was on the subject of her fiancé but still she carried on pushing questions at her. She wanted to know why Violet didn’t gush about the man she was going to marry next month. Something wasn’t quite right about it all.
‘He cleans the flat, cooks, does some online food shopping . . .’ God, Violet was suddenly aware that she was making Glyn sound limper than a five-week-old stick of celery.
Max nodded and returned her attention to picking off the chorizo on her pizza. Glyn sounded limper than a five-week-old stick of celery, she thought. Not at all like the person she would have pictured for Violet. That man was a strong go-getter who would love to take care of such a delicate, lovely soul and provide for her and look after her. It didn’t sound as if Glyn wanted to help himself recover very quickly. Either that or he was a lazy bastard who was pulling the lead.
Bel was thinking exactly the same. Violet was the sort of person who should be grinning and fizzing about her forthcoming marriage, so why wasn’t she? It was obvious to anyone with a brain cell that all was not as it should be in sweet Violet’s world. Why else would she keep from her man the news that she’d been given a house? No, something wasn’t right.
Bel looked around her at the quaint interior. Postbox Cottage was like a smaller version of what Emily and Charlotte would be like if they were knocked into one. She had a sudden vision of herself stirring a big stewpot in the kitchen while Dan Regent sat on the large squashy sofa, scribbling notes on to a pad. My, oh my, did that man have his hooks in her head? He seemed to have squatter’s rights and wouldn’t leave.
‘How’s Carousel coming along?’ asked Max, changing the subject. She didn’t want to pull Violet’s mood down any further. She knew that talking about the ice-cream parlour would bring the smile back to her face. The smile that she should also be wearing when she was talking about her soon-to-be husband, but there was time later to dig deeper into that one.
‘Oh it’s lovely. Pav’s doing a really good job.’
‘And what’s Pav like? Are we talking totty?’ Bel crooked her eyebrow.
‘He’s gorgeous and Polish but far too young to lust after. So put your tongue away.’
As if Glyn had heard her, her phone started vibrating again in her pocket.
‘Is that yours again?’ said Bel. ‘You get a lot of calls, don’t you?’ She calculated that it must have gone off at least ten times in the last half-hour.
‘Oh sorry, didn’t realize you could hear it,’ Violet said, visibly flustered and foraging in her pocket for it.
‘I thought you must be enjoying it,’ winked Bel.
‘It’ll be suppliers emailing costs and stuff,’ said Violet, handling the phone with all thumbs. And there was a blush growing on her face as well, the others noticed. She was lying about it being suppliers. So why was that, then? Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice in Wonderland might have said.
The phone stopped vibrating and then immediately began again.
‘Bloody thing, I’ll turn it off when I can find the button.’ As she was struggling with the minuscule ‘off’ switch, Max noticed that the screen showed it was an incoming call from Glyn. And said so.
‘If it’s from Glyn, just answer it,’ she said. ‘It might be important.’
‘It won’t be,’ said Violet, at last powering it off. ‘He gets fed up being in the flat by himself. I told him I wouldn’t be late.’
‘Late? It’s only quarter to six,’ said Max. She suspected that it had been Glyn who had been ringing Violet so persistently during their pizza-eating session. She was beginning to build up a picture of a man she didn’t think she would like very much.
Violet flapped her hand as if waving the discussion away and then addressed Bel with a nudge.
‘How did it go with Richard yesterday?’
‘We went for dinner at La Hacienda. It’s “our place”, so if it was going to go well anywhere, it would be there.’
‘Ooh very nice,’ trilled Max. ‘And expensive. I hope he paid and you picked the most expensive thing on the menu.’
‘Of course he paid,’ said Bel. ‘And even the most expensive thing on the menu is well within his price range. I couldn’t make him suffer that way. He’s too loaded.’
‘How was he?’ asked Max, serious now.
‘Contrite,’ said Bel, nodding; the word that had just come to her fitted him very well. ‘Neither of us really knew what to say.’
‘Did he kiss you goodnight?’ said Max.
‘On the cheek.’
‘Are you seeing him again?’
‘We agreed that for the time being we’d see each other about once a week, work permitting, and see how we go,’ sighed Bel. ‘What a mess. I daren’t tell my dad I’ve seen him.’
‘So, where’s your fucking bastard cousin?’ said Max, with a sneery-Elvis lip.
‘Richard hasn’t seen her since the reception, so he says, and I believe him,’ Bel replied. ‘I don’t think he dare stretch any truth at the moment. I got the feeling from Dad that my stepmum hasn’t spoken to Shaden’s mother since the wedding either. So I don’t know where my dear cousin is, or what she’s up to.’ Apart from selling her story to tabloids for plastic-surgery money.
‘Your family gatherings are going to be interesting from now on,’ said Max with a naughty laugh.
‘The Bosomworth clan can stay away for ever as far as I’m concerned. I shan’t miss Vanoushka or creepy Martin, and Lydiana’s once-yearly visits from her “house in Australia with both outdoor and indoor swimming pools” are more than enough. Anyway, they only come to the house to check out how they can attempt to better Faye. Or, in the case of “Uncle Martin”, to grope my arse.’
‘Your stepmother sounds very different to the rest of her family’ Violet observed.
‘Yeah, but she has Bosomworth blood running through her veins,’ sneered Bel.
‘Oh come on, she can’t help which family she was born into,’ said Max. ‘She seemed lovely when we met her at the wedding.’
Bel didn’t want to get on to the subject of Faye’s virtues. She went into the kitchen for another bottle of Schloer and Violet asked her to fetch the large plate of assorted tiny cream buns that was stored in the fridge.
‘I can’t eat cream buns, Violet,’ Max cried, as the cakes arrived. ‘I’ve got a wedding dress to fit into. Oh sod it.’ And with that she picked up a baby doughnut and popped it into her mouth whole. ‘Oh you’ll never guess. I got Stuart half-wankered and he agreed to invite a couple more people to the wedding.’
‘Dear God,’ said Violet. ‘How many is “a couple”?’
‘I reckon about fifteen each side. I’ve asked his mum for a list of addresses so I can invite them to the reception as well.’
‘The reception that Stuart doesn’t know anything about? How are you going to keep it secret now, Max?’
‘I have thought of that,’ Max replied with an indignant sniff. ‘I’m going to put on the invitation that there will be “refreshments” after the ceremony, which is vague enough. I’m organizing a minibus to take people from the church to Higher Hoppleton Hall. I shall send a separate note to each guest to say that they’ve actually been invited to a full sit-down dinner reception but they must not tell
Stuart as it’s a wedding surprise for him.’
‘How stupid of me not to think of that,’ Bel smacked her forehead.
‘He’s stressed at the moment, I can tell,’ said Max, reaching next for a mini cream slice. ‘We went out for a curry on Saturday night and he was great company, then he went off to the toilet and came back with a cloud over his head. And he’s totally gone off sex. That night it took me ages to—’
Violet screamed and held up her hand to stem Max’s flow. ‘Do you mind, I’m eating an eclair and you’re putting me off.’
‘We had a bit of a row in bed as well,’ Max confessed, her eyebrows dipping into a frown. ‘He has this really annoying habit of doing something nice and then totally ruining it.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bel.
‘Well, on the rare occasion that he brings any flowers in he’ll hand them over and then say something like, “They’re not much, they were only cheap. Chuck them away if you don’t like them.” Once he bought me a surprise box of After Eights – which I love, incidentally – with the accompanying words, “I know you’d prefer posh ones but this is all I can afford right now, okay?” as if I’d actually asked him for a three-pound box of Patrick Roger Parisienne chocolates.’
‘Sounds like he thinks you’re worth more than he can afford,’ suggested Violet.
‘Why can’t he just say that, then? “Max, I wish I could give you the moon, but here are some After Eights.” I’d be so overjoyed I’d shag him on the spot.’
‘God knows,’ said Bel. ‘If only they were from anywhere as near as Mars . . .’
‘You should have heard him going on about Curry Corner when we were there. Anyone would have thought I was a queen that he’d dragged to a dump and force-fed chicken jalfrezi. I told him to stop it because he was spoiling the evening.’
‘And he answered?’ prodded Violet.
‘He said that the evening had already been spoiled. I still don’t know how. And he wouldn’t tell me. Just told me to drop it.’
‘Don’t try to fathom them out,’ harrumphed Bel. ‘They’re all fecking weird. I bet even Prince Charming turned into a bumhole as soon as he got that ring on Cinderella’s finger.’
That reminded Max of what she had to show them. She grabbed her handbag and started hunting in it. ‘Look at this,’ she said, pulling out a wad of paper and handing it over. Violet stared at it and her eyes grew as large as dinner plates.
‘You. Are. Joking,’ she said, passing it over to an impatient Bel.
‘Oh. My. Good. God,’ said Bel, looking at the pumpkin coach in pink, drawn by two white horses bearing pink plumage. ‘You can’t.’
‘I’m not. I’m having six horses,’ Max giggled.
‘Stuart will hit the roof.’
‘Tough. It’s ordered. And it’s his own fault. If he thinks I’m worth the best, then the best is what I shall have.’
Bel and Violet looked at each other and opened their mouths to say something – but there would have been no point. Stuart, it appeared, had played right into his gypsy bride’s hands.
Chapter 62
Stu heard the downstairs door open. She was here. He hadn’t been able to see her on her Tuesday cleaning visit because he had a boring meeting that he couldn’t get out of, and he had been ticking off the days to today: Saturday.
He had tried not to think about her, forcing Max’s face into his brain every time it wandered over to Jenny’s, but he had failed more than he had succeeded. He ran down the stairs with a smile already beaming on his face to find Sheila hanging up her coat on the hook by the door. He couldn’t stop his spirits sliding brutally into disappointment.
‘Hello,’ greeted Sheila. ‘You’ve got me today.’
‘Nice to see you again, Sheila,’ said Stuart, sticking on a pretend smile of delight. ‘Are you better?’
‘Well, on the mend. Still a bit sore,’ said Sheila. ‘I hope our Jenny has been looking after you.’
‘Jenny was doing a great job filling in. You shouldn’t have come back until you were totally fit and well,’ said Stuart, hoping Sheila would put on her coat and say that he was right and she’d send her daughter round immediately.
‘Oh that’s nice to know.’ Sheila picked up her bag and for the first time Stuart noticed the resemblance between mother and daughter. How could he have missed that wide arc of a smile and the merry twinkle in her eyes?
‘I would have had another week off, but she’s busy today and I didn’t want to let you down.’
Busy doing what? He wanted to ask. And with whom?
Max emerged from the study. She had been in there for three hours already that morning.
‘Hi, Sheila, lovely to see you again. Are you better?’
‘Aye, I’m not bad,’ Sheila said, smiling Jenny’s smile.
‘Would you strip the sofa cushions and wash them, please?’
‘Course I will,’ replied Sheila, looking too chirpy for someone who was washing someone else’s upholstery on a Saturday morning.
‘Stuart, give me another half an hour and I’ll have finished,’ said Max, disappearing back to her desk. ‘We’ll go out for lunch.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Stu to the closed door. He made himself a bacon butty and took the newspaper into the garden because he knew he was in for yet another lonely Saturday. Sure enough, an hour later and Max was still only halfway through all the emails she needed to answer before the weekend was out.
Chapter 63
Violet called in at Carousel before her wedding-dress fitting. She tried to fool herself by telling herself she wanted to see how the new flavour of ice cream she had made the previous day had fared in the freezer – but she knew in her heart of hearts that she was going there in the hope of finding Pav. She felt her spirits soar upwards as if they were perched on eagle’s wings to find his battered red van parked outside the shop. This is a dangerous portal you are opening, Violet Flockton, said some sensible part of her head. She chose to ignore it as she locked her car and walked, with a quickened step, towards him.
The smile Pav gave her when she opened the door mirrored her own; deep and genuinely pleased to see the other.
‘I didn’t think you’d be here today,’ fibbed Violet. ‘I just popped by to check on something I made yesterday. Coffee?’
‘Yes, please, that would be good.’
While the kettle was boiling, she pulled the large tub of pastel mauve ice cream out of the freezer and stuck a spoon in it. Clotted cream and flowers – she’d sourced some tiny edible petals and stirred them into the mix. It looked so pretty and she just hoped the taste matched.
‘Don’t suppose you fancy helping me out with something, Pav?’ she called. Pav looked up and stopped painting.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘Do you need me to lift something for you?’
‘No, I want you to taste some ice cream.’
Pav grinned. ‘This is a job I would very much like to help you with.’
‘Lovely.’ Violet brought out a large spoonful of ice cream. She intended to hand it over, but instead Pav opened his mouth. Violet carefully guided the spoon between his lips and tried not to notice that his summer-blue eyes were full on her. Her hand was ever so slightly shaking as his lips closed round the spoon and she saw how soft they looked.
‘Mmm,’ he said, as she took away the spoon, ‘what flavour is it? No, let me guess. It’s like – a little scented.’
‘Flowers and clotted cream,’ said Violet, willing her cheeks not to colour.
‘It’s very nice,’ said Pav. ‘Very nice. I like that you test out your flavour on me. The ice cream in Poland is very . . . like water ice, not creamy like yours.’
Pav downed tools while they drank coffee.
‘Do you miss home, Pav?’ asked Violet.
‘No. I like it better here, in Yorkshire.’
‘Do you have family over there?’
‘I have only one brother and he is in Barnsley with his wife. I followed him over h
ere. My father died when I was just a baby and my mother died last year.’
‘That’s really sad, Pav. I’m sorry.’
‘It was sad,’ replied Pav. ‘She had a hard life and was only forty-six.’
It was no age at all, thought Violet. This she knew, because her dad was the same age when he passed away. And she still missed him every single day.
‘Were any of your family painters like you, Pav?’
Violet looked at the horses on the wall. The detail was incredible – it was more than she could ever have asked for.
‘No. No painters. Only me. I am the family freak,’ he grinned.
Violet thought she could have listened to Pav’s accent all day. Or all night.
‘You’re so talented,’ she said. She almost believed that if she reached out to touch it, the pole in the dapple-grey horse’s back would be cold, like metal.
‘I work slow, though, ah? It’s good that I can paint at night after I finish building,’ said Pav.
‘Aren’t you tired by that time?’
‘No, it’s how I relax,’ he said. ‘It is nice to be here doing this than in my brother’s house. His wife is . . . er . . .’
He struggled for a suitable word. He didn’t find it and had to paraphrase. ‘She would prefer it if I wasn’t around and the house was just for her and him.’
‘Oh that must be quite difficult,’ Violet sympathized.
‘Let’s just say that I am at my happiest working here on your horses. I am saving for my own place. Things will be different then.’
Pav’s lips curved into a smile as he put down his cup and moved back to the wall. The warmth of that smile soaked right through Violet to the core of her. Glyn had never made her feel as if her knees might knock together. Not even in the beginning when she thought she loved him. It had never been love;she had worked that one out since. It had been a mix of gratitude, need, pity, obligation – but not love. She was marrying a man she didn’t love. It was no wonder that she wasn’t excited one bit about the fact that she had a wedding-dress fitting in less than half an hour.
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