To her credit, before the Boing 737 had landed at Heathrow, Cheryl’s scattered thoughts had turned to Rebecca and Max, and she wasn’t beyond realising the similarities of their predicaments at the hands of Bradley Peter Mathews.
* * *
Bradley sobered up swiftly in the overcrowded cell at Jebel Ali police station as the horror of his situation crashed over him. He’d requested legal representation and his colleague, Marcus, with whom he was due to spend the evening networking, arrived, pristine in his dark business suit, his hangover from the previous evening’s exploits untraceable.
“Bradley, you stupid idiot! You know being intoxicated in a public place is a criminal offence in Dubai. There is zero tolerance for drunken behaviour, especially from the ex-pat community. But what were you doing ripping Cheryl’s clothes off in the lobby of a restaurant? You caused her to bare her breasts—this is a Muslim country, and you’re really in the mire. One of the female diners in the restaurant has made a formal complaint that you have outraged public decency and she was highly offended by witnessing the incident. The best you can hope for is deportation. The worst is a stint in the central prison, which you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.”
Bradley leaned over to his left and vomited into a convenient metal bin. Its polished surface like a mirror, reflecting his handsome face drained of all colour, tinged blue around his jaw. His intelligent, cunning eyes were bloodshot, and a two-day beard was emerging. No sharp, clean edges now—more ruffled tramp.
“I’m not going to any jail, you moron,” Bradley spat. “Do your job and get me out of here!”
“I’ll do whatever I can for you, Bradley, but you do know that your contract will already have been terminated by the firm. They turn a blind eye to what doesn’t go public, but they can never be seen to condone public displays of intoxicated behaviour. I hope you have a Plan B.”
“Just get on with getting me out, and ask them to send Cheryl in.”
“Cheryl’s not here, mate.”
“Well, get her on her mobile. Tell her to wait outside with Zahid until you get me out.”
Relief flooded Marcus’s face as he was handed the opportunity to leave, and he moved toward the door. “It’s not what you expected, is it? Not the high-society party capital most people expect. But let me ask you this, did you behave this way in London?”
“Get lost, Marcus.”
Bradley spent one month in a prison cell, fearing daily for his life and sexuality, after which he was deported—one of a small but growing band of foreigners who didn’t think the rules applied to them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Halloween. A day of witches, wizards, and warlocks. Of ghosts, goblins, and ghouls. But not at St Aiden’s parish church. A sharp frost had sprinkled the church lawns at dawn with sparkling diamond dew, but the clear blue skies continued to raise the temperature and bathed the pretty village church in warm, late autumn sunshine.
The ladies of the parish had excelled themselves. Lollipop rose bushes in pale ivory—stems tied with cream ribbons—formed a guard of honour along the pathway leading to the heavy, arched church door, which sported a huge wreath of roses and white lilies. Each pew end was adorned with a sprig of holly and gypsophila bound together with ivory bows. The church had achieved the desired ‘fairytale’ wedding venue.
The congregation chatted noisily, sporadic laughter ringing out as children chased around the pews. Everyone present knew how long Deb and Fergus had waited for this day to arrive and was determined to play their part in making the occasion as momentous and memorable as possible.
The guests were also aware of the bride’s disappointment with the kitchen fire at Radley Hall and how the couple’s friends had banded together to transform the church hall to as close to Deb’s dream wedding as creatively possible. The whole of the previous week had been spent pinning reams and reams of ivory cotton sheeting around the walls, gigantic ivory ribbons and bows dotted the edges, interspersed with flowers from Deb’s chosen colour theme of royal purple. The resultant effect was an exact replica of the inside of a luxurious wedding marquee.
Radley Hall had agreed to loan them the octagonal tables and chairs, which they had adorned with starched white linen tablecloths and amazing floral table displays. The Hall had also offered the services of their temporarily redundant chef who had spent a happy three days slaving away in St Aiden’s church hall kitchen, whipping up a spectacular wedding feast.
Fergus had whispered to Rebecca during the week that every cloud had a silver lining. He truly believed the church hall was more romantic than the Hall, but most of all, they had saved seven thousand pounds on the reception which meant they could afford the deposit on old Mrs Granville’s terraced house on Deb’s Mum’s street. Although he didn’t want to sound unsympathetic, he’d also confided that Mrs Granville would be moving to a local care home after spending one last Christmas in her home.
Rebecca, Josh, and Max parked themselves on the bride’s side of the church—left of the aisle near the back—allowing Deb’s extended family to take their places at the front. Rebecca gathered and smoothed her peacock-blue silk dress so as not to produce too many creases, pulling the matching short-sleeved jacket closer for warmth. It was warmer outside than in.
They spotted Nathan holding Millie, who looked so cute in an ivory princess dress, complete with royal purple ribbon sash, her blonde curls tied into a matching purple bow. She was beaming, but nothing could match the pride and joy radiating from Nathan’s thin face.
In his best shirt and tie, hair gelled into a quiff at the front, Max looked handsome waiting patiently on the wooden pew, his short legs pointing straight out in front of him. Next to him sat Josh, gorgeous in his charcoal-grey wool suit with royal blue silk lining. Peeping from his cuffs were the rugby ball cufflinks Rebecca had presented him with that morning when she and Max collected him from the B&B, as a small token of thanks for all the hard work he had put in at the cottage’s garden. She’d bought a pair for each of his friends, Tom and James, too.
She couldn’t prevent herself from flicking glances at him under her eyelashes, his tousled hair shining and his cobalt eyes bright. She felt blessed, perched on the hard bench in this beautiful church, happy in the presence of this gorgeous man and her handsome son. She marvelled at the way her life had changed over the last seven months since meeting the girl of the day, Deborah Marie Bell—soon to be Deborah Marie Horne. Her radiant optimism and enthusiasm, her faith in life, and the power of love and affection had been the driving force behind Rebecca’s transformation. She raised her eyes heavenwards and silently thanked the Director of the Fates and Deb from the bottom of her recuperating heart.
She exchanged a smile with Nathan who had also played no small part in her rehabilitation.
Squeezing Josh’s hand, she shifted her body closer to him. She didn’t forget to thank the wisdom and guidance of the little green book which had taught her to live life as it occured, whatever was thrown at her, and not to straitjacket its experiences into challenges of ‘must dos’ to be crossed off as quickly as possible in pursuit of the next. Quality of life not quantity was her mantra now.
She and Max had studied the book last night as they snuggled under the duvet. Under the heading of ‘Marrying’, it had suggested they arrive early, dressed to perfection, and determine to have fun!
She had delivered the completed ‘Horne’ stained-glass panel to Deb’s parents’ home the day before and hoped they would love her gift.
An increase in the volume of murmurings bounced from the ancient stone walls. Rebecca swiveled around to gawp at the couple who had just made their grand entrance at the rear of the church.
There was an audible gasp—from Rebecca! The man standing in the stone entrance was an Adonis, exuding charisma from every pore. Olive skinned, immaculately styled, chocolate-brown hair, dark exotic eyes from which he had just removed mirrored designer shades. His slender hips were those of a flamenco dancer, but on this spec
ial occasion, they were encased in a beautifully cut, black wool suit, obviously Spanish haute couture, crisp white shirt, and wildly patterned pink and purple silk tie.
After the initial salivation, it was his partner Rebecca couldn’t drag her eyes away from.
Lucinda was positively beaming, radiating a warmth Rebecca didn’t think she possessed. Her immaculately coiffed bob reflected soft toffee tones, and was slightly longer than she usually wore it. A soft peach, shimmering lip gloss had replaced her normally severe, perfectly applied scarlet lipstick. Rebecca recognised her suit straight away, having drooled over it when she and Deb had been window-shopping at Harrods for wedding ideas to copy.
Lucinda wore an Italian Collezioni, white tweed two piece. The short, pencil-thin skirt skimmed her knee, enhancing her slender tanned legs. The collarless, three-button, open-weave jacket was shot through with a luxurious metallic sparkle thread. But the sparkle of the luscious fabric was nothing compared to the twinkle in its wearer’s eyes as she linked arms with her partner.
Rebecca had no difficulty in believing the reason behind the dramatic change in Lucinda’s presentation when she resumed her study of the man clutching her hand.
Lucinda spotted them and, continuing with the cornucopia of surprises, made a beeline for the pew behind them, providing Rebecca with the opportunity to clock her shoes—the ivory silk stilettos Deb had salivated over in the bridal boutique. Five-inch heels, peep-toed, ivory satin adorned with minute sparkling crystals.
“May I introduce Raphael? Raph, this is Rebecca and her son, Max,” said Lucinda, presenting Max with a dazzling smile. She raised wide questioning eyes to Josh, obviously liking what she saw.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Raphael.” Rebecca offered her hand to shake, and was surprised to feel the soft touch of his lips on her hand as he rolled his tongue around her name.
“Enchanted, Rebecca.”
Clearing her dry throat, she introduced Josh. The men shook hands and Josh leant forward to kiss Lucinda on her flushed cheeks. Nathan shook hands with Raphael, but shot back to Millie before having to greet Lucinda the same way Josh had, fear lurking behind his eyes.
Rebecca experienced a jolt of suspended reality. This scenario would have been an absurd impossibility two months ago. Thankfully, life does change—occasionally for the worse, but sometimes for the better.
The church organ struck up a crescendo with the first chord of the wedding march. A pale-faced Fergus and his best man, his brother, Alex, stepped forward to await the arrival of his bride.
Rebecca and the congregation spun around in unison to witness Deb float down the narrow aisle, resplendent in her fairy tale wedding dress. The tulle-draped, A-line skirt, scattered with silk petals, so voluminous the sides brushed those lucky guests on the pew ends as she floated toward Fergus. The tight, strapless ivory taffeta bodice, embroidered with delicate sea pearls, suited her figure perfectly. The short train rustled as it swept the stone floor on its journey to the altar where Deb’s proud father delivered her hand to her groom.
Deb’s ivory veil hung low over her face, but the sheer material couldn’t mask her radiant happiness at finally marrying her adored Fergus. She carried single blooms of white lilies, tied with a huge royal purple sash, laid across her arm. Rebecca strained to make out her headpiece, but didn’t recognise the Harrods tiara Deb had agonised so long over. The outline of a circlet of flowers poked through her delicate veil and Rebecca hoped to get a better look when Deb drew back the netting.
The couple faced Reverend Briggs, more than ready to make their solemn vows to each other. There wasn’t a dry eye when Deb and Fergus read their personally composed poems to each other. Even Josh squeezed Rebecca’s hand, offering her his folded cotton handkerchief with Max looking on, his face creased in puzzlement at his mum’s tears when he was having such a great time at his first wedding ceremony attendance.
As the new Mr and Mrs Fergus Horne paraded back down the aisle, Rebecca had a chance to catch a glimpse of Deb’s crown. Woven bamboo, interspersed with tiny ivory roses and gyp—a perfect replica of the drawing she had made on the firm’s expensive cream parchment all those months ago! Its design meant she could wear her flowing pale blonde locks loose in cascading curls, fresh flowers floating around her head like an angel’s halo.
Where had she unearthed the precise replica of her dream headpiece, Rebecca marveled. It suited her perfectly. Barefeet would have completed the image, but Rebecca knew she would have never considered this.
And under that spectacular dress were the shoes, those works of art they’d spent an age cooing over. Her most prized possession, she’d admitted in quiet moments, when she had removed them from their box and stroked them.
The congregation filed out of the church, snaking leisurely to the hall next door, most guests agreeing how much more convenient this venue was than the twenty-mile drive which would have been in front of them had Deb and Fergus still been celebrating at Radley Hall.
The happy couple greeted their guests as they entered the transformed church hall, a special word of thanks bestowed on each of them. When Rebecca’s turn came, she was grabbed into a tight embrace by Deb, who eyed Josh over her shoulder.
“Gorgeous, Becky. Lucky you!” she whispered in her ear.
Rebecca smiled at her friend’s appreciation and good taste, happiness ballooning in her chest. “Congratulations, Deb. You look amazing! All those magazines were well worth their weight in gold. Where did you source that fantastic headpiece? It’s the exact replica of your sketch—your perfect design.”
“Sam’s company, Exquisite Forest, handmade it for me to my detailed spec. She’s amazing. And look, I got these earrings from her as a wedding gift.” She flicked her immaculately coiffed hair back to reveal hand-crafted, daisy-shaped earrings matching her engagement ring.
The wedding reception seating plan directed them to a table with Nathan and Millie, Lucinda and Raphael, and Georgina and Jonathan. A few weeks ago, the table plan had presented Deb with an unsolvable conundrum as to where to sit Lucinda and her plus one, but that was no longer an issue. Lucinda was a changed woman and Deb had no qualms seating her with her colleagues from Baringer & Co.
Georgina wore a stunning emerald silk dress with a black, wispy feather fascinator. She looked fabulous, but there was something else playing around her eyes, a sort of smugness. A satisfaction.
Rebecca whispered in her ear as Jonathan pulled out her chair. “Do you have any news you want to spill? You have a glowing expression about you.”
Georgina glanced at Jonathan who gave a slight nod, a smile twitching his mouth, a matching smugness in his own grey eyes.
“I’m pregnant!” she whispered.
“Aaah, what fantastic news.” She hugged Georgina and kissed Jonathan, realising too late that this overly exuberant greeting was a little bizarre and she had drawn the eagle eye of Lucinda. She flashed an apology at Georgina, about to attempt to cover her tracks.
“It’s okay, Becky.” She grabbed Jonathan’s hand and announced to the table at large, but with her eyes firmly on Lucinda, “Jonathan and I are proud to announce that we are expecting a baby, sometime next May. We’re overjoyed!”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Lucinda leapt up and hugged Georgina just as Rebecca had done—Georgina’s face a picture over Lucinda’s shoulder at the shock of physical contact. “We will discuss your maternity leave package later. I do hope we can accommodate you with part-time hours when you return. Maybe job-share with someone?” Rebecca could have sworn she caught a glint in Lucinda’s eye, was she suggesting herself?
Lucinda resumed her seat, Rebecca looking quickly away as she noticed Lucinda smooth her palm up and down Raphael’s stretched thigh under the table. He favoured her with a luscious smile as Rebecca witnessed first-hand the chemistry between them.
The wedding feast was superb, Radley Hall’s loaned chef excelling himself. The chef had pulled out all the stops for the wedding meal. He’d explained to
anyone who complimented his expertise that he’d been bored witless without the use of his beloved kitchen at the Hall and spent the time experimenting with new recipes and flavours.
The company was relaxed and friendly, the conversation fascinating as Lucinda and Raphael chatted about her sister’s recent wedding, the unusual customs of a Spanish wedding compared to an English one, and Lucinda’s idyllic week spent on Raphael’s yacht moored in the marina at Palma, to which they intended to return immediately after the wedding on his chartered helicopter. It was as though they had stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine, a lifestyle inaccessible even to a partner in a top law firm. Lucky Lucinda!
Max, Millie, and the many other children invited to the wedding were entertained by a magician and puppeteer. Spurts of laughter and shrieking erupted from time to time from the blue and pink spotted rug he had set out on which they sat cross-legged like obedient puppies.
After the speeches, the tables were cleared away into waiting vans to be returned to Radley Hall, and the hall was prepared for the onslaught of the live indie band made up of Fergus’s old school friends.
For such a tall, broad guy, Josh was a surprisingly nimble dancer. Rebecca laughed and giggled her way through the rest of the evening at the ridiculous moves he and Max performed, each trying to outdo the other in the choreography stakes. She loved seeing them have such fun together, but she did frequently have to drag her eyes away from the snaking hips of Raphael, his dance moves scoring a perfect ten. Wow!
At nine p.m. on the dot, the party paused as the guests gathered at the church’s kissing gate to send an ecstatic couple off on their honeymoon to Paris, staying in five-star luxury with Fergus promising a celebratory dinner and champagne at the restaurant at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Deb had melted into floods of tears when he disclosed their hotel destination, having dreamed of vacationing at the French sister hotel in London for years.
The Wish List Addiction Page 19