‘I’m sorry,’ Fee apologized. ‘I can’t. I’m waiting for a call. And I need to be here when it comes.’
‘It’s not the mysterious Rita, is it?’ Veronica asked.
Fee shook her head.
‘Leave your answering machine on,’ Veronica urged. ‘We want you to see all the stuff so we can send it off in the morning. We need a fresh eye . . . Mum says it looks OK but—’
‘Mum as in our mother?’ Fee questioned.
‘I’ve got no reason to doubt her authenticity,’ Veronica remarked mildly. ‘She’s developed a taste for notoriety since your television appearance . . . Did you know she’s given an interview to the local paper?’
Fee smiled. ‘What does she think of her eldest daughter running an escort agency?’
Veronica put on an exaggeratedly pained expression. ‘Please, Fee, “escort” is not the word we like to hear. “Associates” is much more refined and open-ended. What does Helen think? Well, naturally, she’s very disappointed—’ The two sisters burst out laughing.
‘Actually I think she’d prefer it if I went back to knocking off strangers at six paces with a single glance of the eye . . . So long as I did it quietly . . . But now that we’re so far down the line with Spannier’s, I think she sees it as her duty to be critic-in-chief. Tell us where we’re going wrong. And, to be honest, she’s weeded out two or three men who’ve asked for jobs and turned out to have faked their c.v.s.’
Veronica made her way to Fee’s front door. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked. ‘I know you’ve got something on your mind. Can I help? What’s wrong?’
Fee gave a tired smile. ‘What’s wrong? You mean apart from no job, not a lot of cash in the bank and a surplus of bridesmaids’ dresses cluttering the flat, which is already overflowing with enough mail to keep a team of agony aunts busy for a year?’
‘No,’ Veronica said. ‘I mean what’s really worrying you? Come on, come and have a drink at Shona’s and tell your big sister all about it.’
‘Claire’s pregnant,’ Fee said abruptly.
Veronica’s face softened. ‘Oh, you poor thing, now I understand—’
‘Well, if you do,’ Fee replied honestly, ‘I certainly don’t—’
Chapter Forty
‘SSSH!’ JEAN Stoker hissed.
She was standing in Shona’s hall, the door open, a finger to her lips.
‘I was just going to come and tell you,’ she whispered, to Veronica and Fee.
‘Tell us what?’ Veronica asked, puzzled.
‘Tell you that he’s here.’ Jean nodded with her head towards the closed door of the sitting room. ‘Edward. He’s in there . . . He arrived about ten minutes ago, when we were in the kitchen. He doesn’t know we’re here but Shona doesn’t want us to leave, in case he tries any rough stuff—’
The three women tiptoed down Shona’s hall and into the kitchen. The table and breakfast bar were covered with material for Spannier’s launch, including an expensively bound catalogue which Fee flicked through.
It was Spannier’s first crop of ‘associates’. Each man had been shot in the same style, in casual clothes, on a park bench, as if in a holiday snap, relaxed, smiling, informal, but the effect was professional.
‘We didn’t want those awful James Dean-type poses—’ Jean said, answering Fee’s unstated question.
‘Didn’t the photographer cost a lot . . . there must be seventy or eighty pictures here?’ Fee asked.
Jean answered, ‘No, he gave us a special price . . . on the understanding that if we become successful, we’d carry on using him. Summers? Bill Summers. It was your mother who suggested him.’
Fee closed the catalogue. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m delighted that someone is managing to profit from my past mistakes.’
In the sitting room, Shona Spannier was standing in front of the French windows. Opposite her, also standing, was her husband. This was the first time in over a fortnight that they had seen each other – and Shona’s overwhelming emotion was one of mistrust, a mistrust of herself.
Edward Spannier had his hands in his pocket and appeared anything but contrite. He glanced at Shona, then looked away. Anyone less fluent than Shona in her husband’s body language might read this as a sign of guilt. Shona knew that boredom was more likely an interpretation.
‘I’ve talked to Imogen about the situation,’ Edward was saying. ‘I’ve told her that I can’t see our relationship going anywhere. It was an aberration on my part. I let it all get out of control . . . it’s unusual for me. I’m sorry.’ The words were mechanical.
Of course he had not discussed the issue with Imogen. He preferred to keep his options open. In the unlikely event that Shona spurned him, he knew he could still fall back on Imogen.
Shona appraised her husband. He was, as always, immaculately turned out, cool, unemotional – except in anger. She was reassured. After all the recent turmoil, at last life had returned to its familiar pattern; its vocabulary of denial and deceit.
‘I’ve made it clear to her that the relationship is over,’ Edward said, examining his cuticles. ‘What’s your response?’
Shona didn’t know whether to sob or sigh. She sighed. ‘Are you saying you want us to try again, Teddy?’ she asked.
‘Yes, so long as you accept a couple of provisos,’ he added, as if Shona and not he had been the errant partner.
‘Teddy, would you excuse me for a minute or two, please?’ Shona suddenly excused herself and walked out of the sitting room. It was only a flesh wound but the look of surprise on her husband’s face gave Shona a small thrill of satisfaction.
‘He wants to come back,’ she told the three women in her kitchen.
Fee responded instantly. ‘You don’t need him, Shona. Tell him to drop dead. You’re beginning to get back on your feet. He knows he’s losing his hold on you. That’s why he’s come back grovelling.’
‘I wouldn’t exactly say he was grovelling—’
‘What do you want to do?’ Veronica asked.
Shona sank down on a chair.
‘You’re going to hate me for this,’ she replied, watching Fee. ‘But I can’t help myself. I want him home. I’m not the type who can operate well when there’s only me to think about . . . the idea is too terrifying.’ Shona shook her head. ‘And there’s the boys . . . they need a father around—’
‘But is Edward likely to be around?’ Jean asked quietly.
‘Yes, he most certainly is,’ Shona replied firmly. ‘If he comes back, he comes back on my terms. I know I’ve got something he needs . . . I know I have a bargaining counter now.’
Veronica smiled and gave Shona a quick hug. ‘Go back in there, state your terms clearly and don’t let him bully you.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she said.
Ten minutes later, she was back again, white-faced.
‘He says that he won’t come home unless I . . . we . . . drop the whole Spannier’s project. He says it’s an unsuitable enterprise and will cause nothing but trouble. He says he’s prepared to buy us out. He says he’s prepared to be generous. He doesn’t want his name associated with this – and he doesn’t want me to work for you—’
Jean Stoker had been sitting on the kitchen floor, packing brochures into boxes. She stopped and stood up slowly.
‘Hold on a minute. Let me get this right. Your husband has said he won’t come back to you unless we ditch our business?’
Shona nodded.
‘How much is he offering?’ Veronica asked, ever the accountant.
‘£160,000.’
‘He’s mad,’ Jean pronounced.
‘No, he’s not,’ Veronica corrected her. ‘He’s got the money to give. And it’s worth it to him to avoid the risk of future embarrassment . . . But that’s hardly the point, is it? Are we in this for the money – or because we want to do something for ourselves too?’
‘We’re in this for the money,’ Jean answered crisply. ‘Although, I can’t pretend I haven�
�t become very fond of Spannier’s already—’
‘Jean’s right,’ Fee said. ‘It is about cash. She started this whole thing because she needs to clear her debts. If she accepts Edward’s offer, she can go a long way towards that . . . and still start another business. Isn’t that right, Jean?’
‘But?’ Veronica asked.
‘But’, Fee answered, ‘you’ll have to give up on what could be a highly successful idea. Presumably, Edward wants you home alone, again.’
Shona nodded. ‘The truth is, I’ve got no real say. I’ve only put in a couple of thousand, so it’s for the three of you to decide.’
‘But what would you prefer us to do?’ Veronica asked, expecting no surprises. The three women waited.
Shona took a deep breath. ‘What I’d like you to do,’ she hesitated, and the rest came out in a rush. ‘What I’d like you to do – is turn him down flat. I’m sorry I even considered what Teddy has to say. I know Spannier’s will work—’
Shona looked at each of the women around her.
‘What do you say, Jean, Veronica, Fee? The money – or the business?’
‘The business,’ the women chorused as one.
‘What if Edward leaves you?’ Jean ventured.
Shona gave a wan smile. ‘Perhaps Fee is right, perhaps it’s time he did.’
Edward Spannier banged the front door of his flat so hard the milk bottles on the window-sill in the kitchen performed a brief impromptu jig.
‘There goes a happy man,’ said Fee. The women walked into the sitting room expecting to see a distraught Shona. Instead, she was composed.
‘I told him we didn’t want his money. He said he’d sue me for using his name. I pointed out it was my name too. Then I said that we also intended to accept his former mistress’s kind offer to appear on television—’
‘And he marched out?’ said Jean.
‘Yes,’ Shona replied. ‘But we made progress.’
Jean looked puzzled. ‘You did?’
‘Edward never raised his hand, not once.’
‘Do you think he’ll be back?’ Jean asked, bemused by the terms on which Shona was prepared to accept a relationship.
‘He’ll be back,’ she replied. ‘Imogen’s made Edward realize that – no matter what his fantasies – he needs a wife, a certain type of wife. So, yes, he’ll be back. But whether I continue to be the kind of wife he wants—’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
Fee returned to her flat shortly after and discovered that Clem had called in her absence. His message was tentative and simple, as if uncertain of her response or who might hear the message.
‘Fee? It’s Clem. My father’s not so good so I won’t be home until the day after tomorrow. I’ll be on the 9.15 a.m. from Chester, if you can meet the train? If not, I’ll understand. I’ve got so much to say. I’ll try again. I . . . I . . . miss you.’
The word, ‘home’ made Fee experience an unexpected flash of jealously. Did he mean Claire’s flat? Was that still home? Perhaps, now that Clem knew that Claire was pregnant, his feelings towards her might change again?
She gave herself a small shake. This anticipation of disappointment proved her to be, if nothing else, her mother’s child.
‘Don’t question his motives,’ Fee told herself firmly. ‘Consider your own.’
Chapter Forty-One
NUPTIA EUROPA was not at its best. A couple of dummies stood in one corner of the window, naked except for battered floral head-dresses; the Muzak had been terminated; the muskrose-perfumed air had been replaced by a slight smell of damp.
Fee had telephoned earlier that morning to say that she would be picking up Claire Harper’s bridal dress. A voice unknown to her had told her to ring the doorbell since the business was no longer open to the public.
Fee had arrived punctually with her mood much improved. Before leaving the flat she had briefly looked at her mail and discovered three offers for jobs. None interested her in the slightest but at least she had been asked. There was also an invitation to her own farewell party, arranged by friends and colleagues at F.P. & D. for the following weekend.
‘If you can’t come,’ read the handwritten note on the card, ‘we’ll mourn in your absence. PS, Did you know that Gerry has moved in with Diana Woods?’
If Fee had harboured any regrets for walking out of F.P. & D., they were banished now. Gerry in love and presumably sexually active for the first time in years was a challenge too far.
Fee rang the doorbell again. Michele Canning appeared at the top of the stairs, recognized her, and came down to let her in.
‘You’ve heard?’ she said unnecessarily. ‘Do you know what’s going to happen to the place?’
Fee shook her head, following the woman back the way she had come.
‘It’s going to be a bookshop dealing exclusively in romantic fiction. Can you imagine it? The new owner says there’s more money in fiction than in marriage these days. Customers want a happy ever after they can believe in—’ Michele Canning gave a hollow laugh.
She cheered up considerably when Fee recounted the rise and fall of Claire’s marriage plans.
‘So she’s given him the push?’ she mused, carefully packing Claire’s mercifully frill-free bridal gown into a large cardboard box. ‘I didn’t like to say so at the time. But from the first five minutes in that cubicle, I could see it coming. Never been wrong yet.’
As Fee turned to leave, she accidentally dropped her car keys which appeared to sink without trace into the deep-pile carpet. As she was down on her hands and knees, her eyes were caught by a pair of shoes in the curtained cubicle to her left.
They were ridiculously high, absurd bright blue and suede. ‘Now isn’t that strange?’ said a voice Fee recognized.
‘Rita.’ Fee didn’t even need to look up. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been? And what are you doing here?’
Rita Mason, a well-worn Sandra Dee, smiled. ‘I’m buying my wedding dress. What do you think I’m doing here, silly?’
Twenty minutes later, Rita and Fee were in the wine bar next door to Nuptia Europa, drinking coffee. Fee hammered Rita with a series of questions. Why had she run off with Gwynfor Pryce’s money? Why had she stolen Fee’s belongings? Why had she disappeared without telling anyone where she was going? Why had she lied about her name, her mother’s death, her job, her life? Why hadn’t she phoned?
Fee found herself growing more irate. The anger came not just from the inadequacies of Rita’s replies – but also because of the casualness of her approach.
‘Didn’t you realize how much trouble you put so many people through?’ she asked. She knew she sounded like the mother of a teenage runaway.
Rita Mason in turn, affected an almost infantile bewilderment that anyone should have been so bothered. She had told people where she had gone – was it her fault they hadn’t listened? She was under the impression that Fee hadn’t wanted to see her again anyway. So what was the problem?
‘God, Rita, I could shake you,’ Fee replied, exasperated. ‘What about the bedsit and all your things? I had to give your stuff to Will to stick in his spare room.’
Rita looked blank. ‘Why did you need to move my stuff? I sent the landlord a cheque with my rent in advance . . . I’m popping round there now—’
Fee explained that if Rita had sent a cheque, it had failed to arrive. She had been evicted. Why hadn’t she informed her employers at Tendon Hospital how long she would be away?
Rita pouted. ‘I worked really hard at that place and when I asked for my fortnight’s holiday plus an extra week unpaid, they said it wasn’t possible, so I thought, stuff ’em, why should I care?’
‘All right, why did you stand me up when you arranged to meet me for a drink?’ Fee asked.
‘I rang in the afternoon,’ Rita answered sulkily. ‘That woman Gill answered. Nearly bit my head off. She said she’d tell you. I also tried your office but they said you were unavailable . . . they said you were on a blind date or something—’
Fee shook her head in mock-despair. ‘So where have you been Rita?’
She beamed. ‘My fiancé Roger came over from Saudi Arabia. I told Walt and Jim – you must have met them at the house – I told them Roger was coming. Perhaps they forgot. Or perhaps they thought it was another one of my—’ Rita stirred her coffee noisily. It was the nearest she had come to admitting that reality might not be her strong suit.
‘Are you telling me that Roger actually exists?’ Fee asked bluntly. ‘Of course, he does,’ Rita replied indignantly. It was all right to label herself a liar – it was a liberty for anybody else to suggest it.
‘Why did you have my photos in your room then?’ Fee asked. ‘Why did you tell Walt and Jim that my old boyfriend was your fiancé?’
Rita shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of fun. Why not? Nobody’s harmed. Sometimes it does a bit of good. Besides, you wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t gone into my room . . . And, to be honest, Roger’s a lovely man but he does not take a good photo.’
‘But why all the lies, Rita?’ Fee pressed. ‘You’re not a radiographer, you haven’t got a cottage in Sussex, your mother’s not dead and you sure as hell owe Gwynfor Pryce a lot of money.’
Rita took a sip of her coffee. ‘He’s a crook. I only gave him a bit of what he dishes out to others. I’ve got his money, I’ll send it back when I’m ready. I wanted to teach him a lesson, show him he’s not the only one who can take people for a ride. I bet he was furious, wasn’t he?’ Rita giggled.
Fee could see now that Rita Mason’s whole life was an exercise in escapism. She didn’t consider the impact of her lies on others – perhaps because, for too many years, there had been so few people around who might be affected.
‘You’re looking a bit lost, Fee, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ Rita commented chattily, as if the matter of all the unanswered questions had been more than adequately dealt with and it was time to move on.
‘I told Roger, from the minute we met, I could tell you were a bit . . . rudderless . . . You needed someone to look after you. That’s why I followed you and your friend to the place next door,’ Rita smiled, pleased with her own act of generosity.
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