Regrets (Follow Your Heart Book 2)

by Caragh Bell

  ‘He had to pop down to Fortnum and Mason for some violet creams,’ answered Molly. ‘Don’t ask.’

  The waiter seated them by the window. Samantha had chosen a Thai restaurant for the first night. It was laid back and friendly, with opulent décor. The walls were adorned with sparkling pictures of elephants and palm trees.

  A small Thai waiter arrived with heavy leather menus and flashed a brilliant smile. Molly opened hers immediately and started scanning the starters.

  ‘I’m starving!’ she announced. ‘A big bowl of tom yum for me anyway.’

  Lydia sipped her wine, feeling completely relaxed. There was a hum of conversation around the table, ranging from wedding dresses to holidays.

  They heard him before they saw him.

  ‘I’m here!’ Colin swept up to the table, decked out in a long cashmere coat. His arms were laden down with shopping bags and his cheeks were rosy from the cold.

  ‘Colin!’ Lydia jumped up and kissed his cold cheek. ‘It’s so good to see you!’

  He beamed back at her. ‘I can’t believe I’m so late. I mean, I’m never late. The bloody queues were awful.’

  ‘Here, Col,’ said Molly soothingly, placing a huge glass of Sauvignon Blanc in front of him. ‘Get this down the hatch.’

  ‘Fab,’ said Colin, gratefully. ‘I’ve been dying for this all day.’

  ‘So, did you buy anything nice?’ enquired Helen, observing all the bags.

  ‘Some new ski gear, chocolates for Marta and some cologne,’ he answered, taking a huge sip of wine.

  ‘Who’s Marta?’ asked Laura in an undertone.

  ‘His ex-nanny,’ whispered Lydia. ‘She lives in Croydon – they’re super-close.’

  ‘Anyway, Samantha, my darling, I have done some serious research. I think we should start in Harrods tomorrow.’ Colin munched on a prawn cracker. ‘We should start early, stop for a bite and then keep going until sundown. We are not leaving this city without the dress.’

  Samantha looked doubtful. ‘I’m so overwhelmed by the speed of all this. I don’t know if I’ll end up panic-buying.’

  ‘You won’t,’ consoled Colin, patting her arm. ‘I’ll tell you if you look horrendous.’

  She rolled her eyes to heaven. ‘Okay, Col. Let’s see if you’re right.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘Welcome, welcome!’

  The assistant in Harrods greeted them at the entrance to the bridal section. She was a petite woman in her fifties, with long grey hair swept up in a bun and spectacles on the end of her nose. She wore a crisp white shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt, and black high heels. Her name tag read ‘Antonia’.

  ‘Samantha, the bride, where are you?’ she asked efficiently.

  Colin pushed Samantha forward. ‘This is she,’ he informed her haughtily. ‘We would like champagne to start, please. Then we’ll look at the Vera Wang collection.’

  ‘Right away, sir,’ she answered, scurrying off.

  Lydia giggled. ‘You’re something else.’

  In the end, only Lydia, Colin and Sandra had accompanied Samantha to the dress-fitting. She wanted to retain the element of surprise for the big day. Helen and Molly were delighted as they wanted to go shopping. Laura took the opportunity to meet up with some friends.

  The assistant arrived back with a helper.

  ‘Very well, sir, we have the Vera Wang collection ready for viewing. Would you all please follow me?’

  They got to their feet in excitement.

  ‘My name is Bryony,’ said the helper, balancing four flutes of champagne on a round tray. ‘Please come through.’

  They entered a room swathed in cream and white. Four chairs were lined up in the corner and a podium stood in the centre of the room surrounded by mirrors. Large, full-length drapes hung at the entrance to the changing room. They all accepted a drink from Bryony and watched in fascination as Antonia wheeled out a rack filled with gowns.

  ‘Oh, Sam!’ exclaimed Sandra, grasping her hand. ‘This is so exciting. You choose whichever dress you like. It doesn’t matter. Daddy and I want you to have the day of your dreams.’

  ‘It’s great being an only child, isn’t it?’ stated Colin, swirling his champagne around the glass. ‘I’m expecting the same treatment on my big day, if Val ever gets it together.

  ‘Colin!’ said Samantha in a warning tone. ‘My day, okay? My day!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, calm down.’ He got to his feet and rifled through a few of the dresses. He turned to Antonia. ‘Can you recommend any styles for her shape and height?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll pull out a few for you, sir.’

  Lydia lay on her bed that evening, reflecting on the day.

  The fifth dress had been the one. Sam had clutched it like a precious jewel and then had proceeded to cry. ‘This is it, Lyd! I don’t even need to try it on.’

  Colin had poked his head around the curtain. ‘Oh yes, you do. Your ass looked big in the last one – just saying.’

  Sandra had yanked him out at that moment.

  Lydia had helped Sam step into the folds of silk and lace. She had zipped up the fitted bodice and had then repositioned the heavy silk skirt. They had both stared at each other in the mirror, at a loss at what to say.

  Lydia had to admit that Sam had been right. She looked perfect.

  Her own dress wasn’t so bad either. She had the same colour dress as the bride: off-white, fitted and full-length. Like little girls, they had squealed in delight as they pranced around the dressing room. Colin, tipsy after three glasses of champagne, joined in, jumping around in excitement.

  ‘This is so exciting!’ he yelled, trying to initiate a group hug.

  Sandra texted Mark, letting him know that the job was done. He texted back asking if he should remortgage the house.

  That probably would be a good idea, Lydia thought. Vera Wang was not cheap.

  Laura arrived out of the bathroom, followed by a cloud of steam.

  ‘It was so great meeting my girlfriends today. We went to Wagamama and had ramen and a huge catch-up.’

  Lydia got to her feet. ‘How long have we got before Colin is knocking on the door?’

  As if on cue, the door shook. ‘Are you two ready to roll?’ he called.

  Lydia shot into the bathroom. ‘Say nothing. He’ll flip out if he realises I haven’t even showered yet.’

  ‘Got it,’ affirmed Laura, opening the door. ‘Colin, darling! Just on the finishing touches.’

  ‘Save it. I know Kelly is late. I mean it’s a fait accompli at this stage. Let’s hit the minibar.’

  Luca walked out of Heathrow, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Taxi!’ he yelled at a passing black cab. It ground to a halt.

  Opening the door, he jumped in, throwing his bag on the ground.

  ‘Where to, mate?’ The taxi driver smiled a toothless grin.

  ‘Claridge’s,’ he answered, activating his phone.

  He was in town for a meeting with the Tate Modern. They were looking to exhibit his mom’s new collection but the dates were clashing with a New York show. Tara had called him the day before and asked him to take the red-eye to London to sort it out. Initially he had refused; he was supposed to go to Charlotte’s place to meet her aunt. It had been arranged for months. Then it had been cancelled at the last minute, Charlotte had locked herself away to finish some case she was working on, so he had relented.

  He watched the crowds on the street as the taxi whizzed past. London always seemed so grey or something. Sure, he got that it was historical and old, but it always seemed so goddamn grey.

  ‘Alright, matey. Here we are.’ The black cab stopped outside the impressive red brick building. Flags flew above the entrance, their bright colours dancing in the wind. The concierge was waiting to open the door.

  Luca walked into the opulent lobby and straight up to the desk. The black-and-white floor was spotless and a huge chandelier hung from the ceiling.

  ‘Luca Jacob,’ he
said to the receptionist.

  ‘Hello, sir,’ she said in her clipped British tone. ‘That’s perfect. Anything you would like to be brought up?’

  ‘A bottle of Jameson and a Nespresso machine.’

  ‘Of course. Any preference of coffee, sir?’ she asked smoothly.

  ‘Nah, bring me the box thing with all the samples.’

  ‘No problem. Will that be all?’ Her fingers moved at lightning speed on the keyboard.

  He paused. ‘Are there bananas in the fruit bowl?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I believe so, sir.’

  ‘Then I want them removed. I hate those things.’

  Her face remained impassive. ‘Of course, sir. Right away.’

  His room was understated and luxurious at the same time. Fresh fruit filled the bowl on the table and he was gratified to notice that the bananas had indeed been removed.

  Pulling back the covers of the bed, he could feel that the sheets were as soft as feathers. A quick siesta sounded appealing. Before he could make up his mind, there was a knock on the door. He opened it to find a young man in a uniform.

  ‘The coffee machine, sir.’

  ‘Come on in.’

  The young man placed a small Nespresso machine on the desk and plugged it in. Then he placed a box of coffee samples next to it.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ He handed him a five-pound note.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The door shut quietly.

  He didn’t feel like a coffee. Not at this stage of the evening. He scanned the room and saw the bottle of whiskey on the dresser, a crystal glass by its side. Striding over, he poured some immediately.

  He pressed the remote and the TV sprang to life. A few drinks and then bed. He had an early start in the morning. Then he had to take the six a.m. flight back to New York on Sunday.

  A flying visit. He smiled. Hey, that was neat. It was like a pun, or something. Lydia would know. She was into all that. Grammar and stuff.

  He pushed her image from his mind. He hated when that happened – when she filled his thoughts without warning.

  He downed his drink and poured another. Just a couple more.

  He flicked channels until he found a baseball game. That was gratifying – a comfort far from home. Settling back on his bed, he sipped his drink and followed the game.

  Charlotte would kill him for drinking this on an empty stomach. She was so healthy and demanded that he change his ways too. She hated the way he cracked open a can of beer after a hard day at the gallery. She loathed his love of French fries and Doritos.

  When they were together, he made an effort; anything for a quiet life. He stashed packets of nachos under the bed and tended to hit the bar after work, prior to going home. That way he could have a couple of uninterrupted beers in peace.

  It was hard pretending all the time. Like that Prufrock guy in that Eliot poem . . . the poem they had studied together. He remembered it like it was yesterday. That Brendan Cleary guy with his glasses on the end of his nose – how they were squeezed into that cramped little room – the fact that Lydia said it was her favourite poem of all time …

  ‘Fuck!’ he cursed out loud. He had to stop thinking about her; it made him angry. He took a vicious swig of whiskey and felt it burn his throat.

  It was only because of that goddamn wedding. Once that was over, he need never think about her again.

  ‘How did it go, honey?’

  Tara’s soft lilting voice carried over the phone.

  ‘Awesome. They changed the dates to next month. That way we don’t lose anything.’

  ‘Oh, Luca! I’m proud of you.’

  He glowed with pride. ‘Hey, it’s my job.’ He paused to cross the busy street. ‘Now, I got time to kill and no one to kill it with.’

  ‘Go out for a while, take in a museum. The National Gallery is nice – it’s on Trafalgar Square.’

  He made a face. ‘Are you kidding me? I think I’ll head out to a bar.’

  ‘Whatever you want – just be safe.’ The line went dead.

  Charlotte had texted earlier, saying that she had cracked the case and was going to be finished by morning.

  Thank God for that. He was sick of sharing her with her work. She took it so seriously. Sometimes she forgot how to have some fun.

  Immediately, he felt guilty. He shouldn’t think like that. She was his fiancée: his wife-to-be. He loved her more than anyone. Sure, she brought her work home. She was passionate about it; there was no crime in that.

  He walked along the Embankment, drinking in the London atmosphere. He had just passed the Globe Theatre. He remembered seeing a picture of that when he was studying the Scottish play in high school. In the distance, he could see the dome of St. Paul’s.

  He was definitely warming to the place. Sure, last night it seemed grey and cold, but in the sunshine it came to life. He had to give it to the British; they had loads of history. Earlier he had wandered up through a labyrinth of small streets where there was a bustling food market. Suddenly, he saw an old building with a plaque outside it. It was a bishop’s palace from like a thousand years ago. Right next door to a Starbuck’s, which was kind of awesome.

  He crossed the Thames and started to head towards Mayfair. He needed to get out of his suit and have a shower. Claridge’s was a ten-minute walk away.

  He would go back to his room, get more comfortable, call Charlotte, and then head out for a few beers.

  ‘I’m so full!’ exclaimed Molly, patting her stomach. ‘How much steak did I eat?’

  ‘Enough,’ drawled Colin. ‘I don’t know how you do it. It must be an Ollie gene.’

  Sandra got to her feet. ‘Now, no arguments. Mark and I are paying for this meal.’

  Helen opened her mouth in protest, but Sandra waved her away with her debit card.

  ‘I insist. You all came over for the weekend and paid out for hotels and everything. It’s the least we could do.’

  ‘Mark will have to get a night job to keep this up,’ whispered Colin to Lydia. ‘I mean, that dress cost a fortune and now this? Molly ate enough steak for three men.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Molly shrieked.

  Samantha had barely touched her food all evening. She was buzzing from the day she’d had. Now that she had her dress, she felt like it was really happening. She could visualise herself gliding up the aisle to the Bridal March, her arm entwined with her dad’s. She could see Craig at the top of the aisle, Luca by his side, nervous and excited.

  She stopped short.

  Luca.

  Glancing over at Lydia, she wondered what to do. It had been years since their affair so there was no need to make a big deal about it. She had probably forgotten all about him. The fact that he was best man should not matter.

  Or should it? She wasn’t so sure. Lydia had changed. There was no denying it. Since all the drama between Dom and Luca, she had retreated into herself. She never discussed those days and that was a relief. It made things awkward, as Craig and Luca were so close now.

  Plus, Charlotte was such a nice girl. She really liked her and kept in touch with her regularly. Lydia didn’t know about that, of course. She almost felt like she was cheating on her best friend, ridiculous as it sounded.

  She sipped her wine. Best to breeze in and announce it like it was no big deal. The reality was that he was going to play a big part in the wedding. And so was Lydia.

  Chapter 13

  ‘How about a cocktail at Claridge’s?’ suggested Colin, linking arms with Helen as they walked through Covent Garden. ‘Just one – it would be such a nice experience.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Laura dreamily.

  ‘Come on, you only live once,’ urged Sandra, who was feeling quite tipsy. ‘I’ll buy a round.’

  ‘Jesus, Mum. Dad will have a heart attack if you spend any more money,’ interrupted Samantha. ‘I do want some inheritance when you pop your clogs.’

  Helen nodded fervently in agreement
. ‘Seán would have definitely divorced me by now. Someone take the debit card off her.’

  ‘Aw, come on! Just a quick Cosmo. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event.’ Colin put on his puppy dog look. ‘We can all pay for ourselves.’

  ‘I’m in,’ conceded Lydia. ‘Remember when we did this in Paris, Col? The Ritz?’

  Colin clapped his hands together in delight. ‘Yes! We got a taxi to Place Vendôme and the concierge let us out and we swept into the Ritz.’

  ‘Down the corridors and into Bar Hemingway,’ continued Lydia. ‘The cheapest cocktail was thirty euros! Imagine!’

  Molly gasped. ‘Who can afford to drink there?’

  ‘Oh, men in suits having affairs who write it all off to tax,’ Colin informed her authoritatively. ‘We totally saw couples like that, didn’t we, Lyd?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Still, it was a fantastic experience. Never to be repeated, but memorable.’

  ‘Okay, I’m sold.’ Samantha threw her hands up in the air. ‘Let’s go to Claridge’s.’

  ‘Let’s get a black cab.’ Colin started waving frantically as taxis flew past. ‘I’m pretty sure there’s a rank on Leicester Square.’