Here Comes The Bride

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Here Comes The Bride Page 14

by Rebecca Winters


  ‘Make up your mind! I thought I was supposed to be falling for this guy I’m meeting tonight?’

  ‘You know, I really do think you might,’ said Thea with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Still, there’s no harm in having P.J. as a fall-back position, is there?’

  ‘I think you should get back together with P.J.,’ said Clara, leaning over Nell’s shoulder to pinch another biscuit from the tin. ‘I thought he was really nice.’

  ‘You hardly met him,’ objected Nell. Why was everyone so determined to push her into P.J.’s arms?

  ‘He had smiley eyes,’ Clara said simply.

  He did have nice eyes. Nell couldn’t dispute that. Their warmth and humour was very hard to resist, and she wasn’t that surprised that her daughter had fallen for their charm, too.

  ‘I could tell he was pleased to see you, too, Mum,’ Clara went on. ‘Why were you so unfriendly to him?’

  Good question. Nell couldn’t explain to Clara that P.J. was much more than a charming smile and an engaging manner. If that was all there was to him, there would be no problem. She would just be able to think of him as an old friend and a nice man, the way everyone else seemed to do.

  But old friends didn’t make you churn with desire, did they? They didn’t set your nerves a-jangle, or make you feel restless and breathless with something that was more fear than pleasure, as if the earth had shifted beneath your feet and sent your life and everything you thought you were, everything you thought you wanted, spinning out of your control?

  Steeling herself against the way P.J. made her feel was the only way Nell could keep a grip on reality, but how could she explain that to Clara?

  ‘I was just a bit…thrown,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s an odd feeling coming face to face with your past without warning like that.’

  Nell wanted to go back to the way she had been yesterday. Yes, it had been lonely sometimes, but she had Clara, who made everything worthwhile. So life wasn’t very exciting? At least it was safe, and she was content. Surely that was better than this twitchy, jittery, scarily alive feeling she had had ever since P.J. had crashed back into her life that morning?

  ‘You’re supposed to be thinking about the future, not the past,’ said Thea, who had been watching her sister’s face. Draining her tea, she got to her feet and brushed the biscuit crumbs from her fingers in a determined manner. ‘Let’s go and make you beautiful for John.’

  Between them, Thea and Clara bullied Nell into putting on the dress she had bought in a burst of extravagance to celebrate Thea’s wedding the previous Christmas. At first glance it seemed quite plain, just a dress that clung to her figure and whose smoky grey echoed her eyes, but there was a sheen to the material that added a subtle glamour to the subdued colour, and the effect was softened by the chiffon sleeves and overskirt that fluttered and floated as she moved.

  Something about the fabric and the cut made Nell feel wonderful whenever she put it on. Even now, when she was churning with anxiety, she was conscious of a frisson of pleasure as the soft material shimmered around her.

  Maybe Thea was right. She should be thinking about the future, not the past. Her life was too small at the moment. There seemed no room for anything except Clara and work. No wonder P.J.’s reappearance had had such an effect on her, Nell thought ruefully. He had made her realise just how limited her life had become. If she had been involved in another relationship, she wouldn’t be this unsettled by him.

  Well, that could change. She would make an effort tonight. This John might be just what she needed, Nell told herself. He might be nice. Thea liked him, which was a good sign, but it was hard to imagine him at the moment. Whenever she tried to conjure up a possible picture, all she could see was P.J. smiling at her.

  She pushed the image aside once more and concentrated fiercely on imagining a future with a man she loved. Maybe in years to come, she and John would look back on this evening as the first night they met, and they would remember the bar, and how they had felt and this dress…

  ‘You don’t think it’s too revealing?’ she asked, regarding herself dubiously in the mirror.

  ‘That’s the whole point,’ said Thea patiently. ‘It’s supposed to be sexy.’

  ‘But I’ve got to go to this reception first.’ And P.J. would see her wearing it. What if he thought she had made all this effort for him? ‘It’s not really appropriate for a work do.’

  Thea waved work aside. ‘If they want you to turn up in a suit, they should keep work to office hours,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a heavy date tonight, and it’s more important that you look nice for that. Now, where are those shoes…? Ah!’

  ‘Thea, I can’t possibly walk in those,’ Nell protested as her sister pulled a pair of exquisitely delicate sandals from the bottom of her cupboard.

  ‘Who said anything about walking? You can get taxis this evening,’ said Thea. ‘I’ve already ordered you a cab to get to the gallery. You spent a fortune on these shoes, Nell, and you never wear them. Anything else will spoil the dress, anyway-unless you were thinking of going in your trainers?’ she added sarcastically.

  ‘I could put them in a bag and change when I get there, the way I do for work,’ Nell pointed out, but Thea wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘You are not going to ruin everything by hulking a carrier bag along with you,’ she said. Rummaging some more in Nell’s wardrobe, she emerged after a few moments with a tiny sequinned bag, which she pushed into her sister’s hand. ‘Perfect! That is all you’re allowed to carry, and I can tell you now the trainers just won’t fit.’

  She stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘You look fabulous!’

  ‘You do,’ Clara agreed. She had been sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching Thea take her mother in hand. ‘You look beautiful, Mum.’

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ said Nell, touched. ‘But the truth is that I’d much rather be wearing my dressing gown and staying in for pizza with you and Thea!’

  ‘Instead of which you’ve got to go out to a glamorous reception and a date with a gorgeous man,’ said Thea with spurious sympathy. ‘It’s a dirty job, I know, but somebody’s got to do it, and tonight it’s your turn! Don’t forget your book,’ she added as they went downstairs to wait for the cab.

  Resigned, Nell went into the sitting room and ran an eye along the shelves until she found the Swahili phrase book that Thea had apparently arranged for her to carry as a signal.

  She wished Thea hadn’t chosen this book of all books. Pulling it slowly down from the shelf, she stared at it in her hands and felt the memories wash over her. It was years since she had looked at it. Keeping it hadn’t even been a conscious decision, and if anyone had asked her if she had such a phrase book a week ago she would probably have said that she didn’t.

  ‘Why did you tell John I would have this with me?’

  ‘Because I’ve been noticing that book on your shelves ever since I’ve been babysitting Clara,’ said Thea. ‘If I’m here on my own and there’s nothing on television, I see if I can find something to read, and that Swahili book always seemed to catch my eye. I’ve often wondered why you had it.’

  Nell flicked slowly through the pages. ‘P.J. and I used to talk about a trip to East Africa,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘It was going to be an extended honeymoon. We planned to spend a few months there and we were both going to learn Swahili…’

  Her voice trailed off as she remembered how young and innocent and enthusiastic they had been. She couldn’t contemplate a trip like that now without running through all the possible complications and difficulties first. But everything had been simple then. They had loved each other, and the world had been at their feet, and that had been enough.

  She remembered going to a cavernous shop in Covent Garden with P.J. and eagerly buying maps and guides and phrase books. That had been just before she’d gone back to university for the last time, and the next time she’d been home, Simon had been there…

  ‘I wish I could go to Africa,’ sig
hed Clara. ‘I want to go on safari and see the lions and giraffes and elephants.’

  Yes, that was what she and P.J. had wanted to do, too.

  ‘What is John going to be carrying, again?’ asked Nell, still leafing distractedly through the book.

  ‘A Swahili dictionary,’ said Thea. ‘He’s been to Tanzania, and that’s what made me think of saying you’d take your phrase book. I thought it was a brilliant idea,’ she added complacently. ‘No one else is likely to have one, are they? So you won’t be able to mistake each other, and it means you don’t need to bother with awkward descriptions.’

  ‘I suppose it’ll give us something to talk about, if nothing else,’ acknowledged Nell, opening her clutch bag. The phrase book was pocket sized, but the bag was so tiny that she could only just squeeze it in. The clasp wouldn’t close properly, but it was better than carrying the book in her hand. At least this way P.J. wouldn’t see it.

  It was a slow drive into the centre of London at that time of the evening, and as Nell sat in the back of the minicab and looked out at the bumper-to-bumper traffic she found herself thinking about those old dreams of camping together under a wide African sky.

  ‘We’ll lie in our tent and listen to the lions roaring,’ P.J. had promised, his face alight. ‘We’ll watch the sun rise over the Serengeti and we’ll be married, and we’ll be together, and we’ll be the happiest people in the world!’

  But they had never made it. She had chosen Simon instead, and that was a choice she had to live with, Nell knew that. On an impulse, she pulled the phrase book out of her bag, and turned it in her hands. For some reason the anger she had felt after that afternoon’s meeting had evaporated at the sight of it.

  It wasn’t really P.J. she was angry with, Nell realised. She was angry with herself for regretting the choices she had made. She was angry because he had come back and made her think about how happy they might have been, might still be, if she had chosen differently. It wasn’t P.J.’s fault that he had moved on and made a success of his life without her.

  She had Clara. Nell clung to the thought. She couldn’t imagine life without Clara, wouldn’t want to imagine it. But she could imagine being with someone who loved her and cared for her, someone who would make her laugh and hold her when she was sad, who would celebrate her triumphs with her, and commiserate with her failures. Someone who would share her life instead of shutting her off into a small part of it, the way Simon had done.

  P.J. would have been a husband like that. Nell stared unseeing out at the traffic and thought about the mistakes she had made. She had had her chance. She had been lucky enough to meet the right man for her, but she had blown it. She had been too young to appreciate kindness and integrity and strength and humour over good looks and glamour. Now, she could see how lucky she had been to find those qualities in her first love, but now it was too late.

  Things might be different if P.J. hadn’t been quite so successful, but his immense wealth seemed to Nell to be an insurmountable gulf between them. It changed everything. She didn’t want him for his money, but how would he ever believe that now?

  She would have to stay on her side of the gulf and make the best of it, Nell decided sadly. She would go and meet John, and make a real effort to start afresh, and maybe after a while she could forget P.J. all over again.

  The gallery was already crowded when she got there, the hubbub spilling out into the street. If only she didn’t have to face P.J. again! Still, with this crowd, there ought to be a good chance of avoiding him. She would go in, show her face to Eve, talk to a couple of people and then go. She had a previous engagement, after all. She couldn’t be expected to rearrange her entire social life around work.

  A brief hope that her name might have been missed off the guest list died as she was waved through, so she accepted a glass of champagne and looked cautiously around for Eve.

  Of course, the first person she saw was P.J. He wasn’t looking her way, but still the sight of him made her heart jolt painfully, and she jerked her glass, sending champagne slopping over the rim and down the front of her dress. Nell brushed herself down with a hand that was shaking slightly, and told herself to get a grip.

  She risked another glance. Like many of the other men in the room, P.J. was wearing a dinner jacket, and the severe black and white tailoring made him look powerful and more distinguished than she had ever seen him. He was standing on one side of the gallery, talking to a dark, intense girl who was dressed in such a challenging way that Nell wondered if she was one of the artists.

  He seemed absorbed in his conversation, and Nell let her eyes rest hungrily on him for a moment. It was as if everything about him were in sharp focus, the planes of his face, the set of his shoulders, the white cuff against his brown hand as he gesticulated, and her stomach clenched with longing.

  Turning abruptly, she headed off in the opposite direction in search of Eve. There was such a press of people, none of whom seemed to be the slightest bit interested in the pictures and installations that lined the walls, that it was quite hard work pushing through them and when Nell had got as far away from P.J. as she could, she paused. She couldn’t see any sign of Eve.

  What now?

  The whole exercise was pointless anyway, Nell told herself. There was no way they were going to be able to talk properly to anyone in this crush. Perhaps she would just slip away now…

  Glancing longingly towards the entrance through a break in the crowd, she found herself staring straight into a pair of familiar warm blue eyes that lit at the sight of her.

  P.J. smiled at her, and Nell’s bones seemed to dissolve. Appalled, she spun on her heel before she had a chance to think and turned her back pointedly, desperate to break the effect of that glinting blue smile. Her instinct was to bolt for the entrance, but if he saw her leaving now P.J. would know that it was because of him.

  Unseeingly, she stared at a picture on the wall instead, pretending to be absorbed in it. Surely P.J. would get the point and leave her alone now?

  ‘What do you think?’ His voice came from behind her and Nell jumped. How had he got across the room that fast? Why had he come at all? Couldn’t he see how hard this was for her?

  Her mouth was dry, and she moistened her lips. ‘Think?’ she repeated stupidly. How could she think when he was standing right beside her, near enough for her to turn and lean into him, to rest against his broad chest and wind her arms around his back and cling to him as if he were her last refuge?

  ‘Of the picture,’ P.J. prompted.

  ‘Oh.’

  With difficulty, Nell focused on the painting and discovered that she had been apparently absorbed in an extremely explicit male nude study. A wave of colour surged up her cheeks, but somehow she managed to keep her expression composed enough.

  ‘Interesting use of brushwork,’ she said stiltedly, and P.J. laughed.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve learnt to like contemporary art, Nell!’

  ‘I wouldn’t say “like,’” said Nell, ‘but maybe I’ve learnt to appreciate some of the things I wasn’t old enough to appreciate before.’

  Their eyes met for a brief moment, and something flared in P.J.’s face, something that made Nell’s heart stumble, and she looked away almost fiercely, afraid that she had given too much away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  P.J. LOOKED at Nell’s averted face, letting his eyes rest on the pure line of her cheek and the pulse hammering in her throat, and he remembered her as a girl, sitting across a café table in Paris, her expression vivid as she talked and argued and laughed.

  Even then he had marvelled that this beautiful creature was really his. That she would love him had seemed too good to be true, and when Simon Shea had swept in and taken her away part of P.J. had told himself that he had always known it couldn’t last. Why would a girl like Nell want to be with him, with his big nose and lanky frame and utter lack of sophistication?

  She was still beautiful, still slender and somehow elusive, and as he w
atched her P.J.’s earlier confidence drained away. He felt twenty-two all over again, awkward and unsure, dazed by her nearness and gripped by the fear that if he tried to hold on to her, she would slip through his fingers and leave.

  As she had.

  She had John now. She was happy. Why would she want to start all over again with him? Look at her, sophisticated and desirable in a dress that clung in all the right places. It was a dress that made you think about how soft and warm her body would be beneath the soft, floaty material, how it would slide and slither over her skin, what it would be like to ease down the zip…

  P.J. swallowed hard.

  ‘You look stunning,’ he said, aware that he sounded abrupt and almost angry, but unable to help himself.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nell a little warily.

  ‘I hope John appreciates that dress.’

  John? For a terrible moment, Nell couldn’t think who he meant, but then she remembered her blind date, and she clutched at the idea. John represented the future, P.J. the past. Pretending that she had already chosen the future would make it easier in the end to say goodbye to P.J. again.

  ‘John doesn’t think clothes are important,’ she said. It was the first thing that came into her head, and P.J. wasn’t impressed.

  ‘You don’t have to think clothes are important to appreciate a beautiful woman in a beautiful dress!’ he said. ‘He sounds a bit worthy for you, Nell.’

  ‘He’s a very nice man,’ she said a little defensively.

  ‘Not just a little boring?’ P.J. suggested.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Nell stiffly.

  ‘It just sounds as if he might be, that’s all.’

  Nell glared, so irritated by his needling that she almost forgot that she knew absolutely nothing about John. ‘He’s not like that at all,’ she insisted, lifting her chin defiantly. ‘He’s great. He’s…kind and reliable and…clever…and he’s got a great sense of humour,’ she finished as if laying down a challenge.

  ‘I suppose he’s incredibly good-looking, too?’ said P.J. nastily.

 

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