by Jenny Harper
There was a pause.
‘Patrick’s been involved, yes,’ Cora said at last. ‘Is that so terrible?’
‘Yes!’ Lexie screeched. ‘Yes it is! You knew I’d fallen out with him, I told you that.’
‘But arguments should be resolved, don’t you think?’
‘Not behind my back like this. I’d never have gone ahead if I’d known. Don’t you get it, Cora? I needed to do this on my own. I didn’t want some behind-the-scenes manoeuvring by Patrick Mulgrew. It was important to me to achieve this success by myself.’
There was a sigh.
‘I did suggest that might be the case, but you know Patrick. He does things his own way.’
‘So why did he do it? What hold has he got over you? Is he your lover?’
Lexie knew this was downright rude, but she was past being tactful.
‘My lover?’
There was genuine amusement in Cora’s laugh.
‘No. He’s my brother. And he’s the owner of The Maker’s Mark.’
Lexie turned the phone off, stunned. She ran over in her mind everything she had ever heard about the gallery since it opened, but couldn’t recall ever hearing a hint of Patrick’s involvement. She’d spoken to Cora at the opening and remembered her saying the owner was in London. A stretch of the truth at best, a lie at worst.
Her mobile rang. It was Cora. She let it go to voice mail.
She started pacing round the garden room.
Patrick! And she thought she’d done it all herself. It was unbelievable. Should she have known? How could she have known?
She was sunk so deep in her rage that it took some time for her to realise that someone was knocking on the door. Not just knocking, hammering. She wasn’t thinking about visitors, she didn’t even realise that her feet were moving towards the door, she just wanted the noise to stop.
‘Lexie.’
Patrick was standing there, a little out of breath but otherwise shockingly normal, not at all like the demon she’d been imagining for the past hour. She was too angry to be civil. She started to slam the door, but he was too quick for her. His arm shot out.
‘Listen, Lexie, Cora called and told me. I don’t know how it happened. Please let me come in and talk about it.’
She swivelled away from him and marched back into the house.
‘I don’t want to talk.’
She was like a sulky child. She did want to talk, but even more than that she wanted to kick and scream and shout.
He followed her and tried to catch her arm. She shook him off.
‘What were you thinking, Patrick? Were you trying to patronise me?’
She glared at him, rubbed her hands furiously across her scalp so that the crimson hair stood on end.
‘You were being your usual bloody-minded, controlling self, weren’t you? You just had to have things your way, even if I never found out. In fact—’
She whirled round and jabbed at his chest with her finger.
‘—it would have been a whole lot better if I’d never found out, wouldn’t it? Because then you’d have had the secret satisfaction of knowing what you’d done and knowing I didn’t know and bloody gloating behind that supercilious smile every time you saw me.’
She came to a halt at last.
Patrick said, ‘Can we talk? Without yelling, perhaps? Will you let me tell you why I did it?’
‘No! Go away! I don’t want to hear.’
She fell silent at last, panting with the exertion of finding the words to express her fury. She anticipated argument and was mustering her strength for another outburst, but he was just standing there, looking at her.
At last he spoke.
‘Supercilious?’ His voice caught. ‘Is that what you really think of me?’
And he turned and walked away.
Lexie stared after him, shaken. He sounded genuinely hurt.
Chapter Thirty-four
Catalogue number 25: One brown brogue, one black lace-up in plain leather. Donated by Robin Harper, Edinburgh. ‘When I was elected to the Scottish Parliament in 1999, my presence was in constant demand. One day I dressed in the dark for an early engagement, not wanting to disturb my wife. It wasn’t until I was on the platform addressing an audience of pensioners that someone pointed out to me that I had put on mismatched shoes. They were kind enough not to brief the Press!'
‘Lexie? I’m going to need your help. Please? Just for a couple of weeks. I’ll pay your salary.’
Neil’s voice was excited.
‘I meant to call you,’ Lexie said, trying to snap out of her exhaustion. ‘I’m so pleased Dad’s done it at last – for you and for him. I’m delighted they’re getting away, and I’m thrilled he’s handed over to you. You so deserve it.’
‘Thanks. Will you come and help?’
‘I don’t think I have the strength right now.’
It had been a week since the flare-up with Patrick. Lexie had calmed down enough to be able to go in to see Cora, negotiate some neutral territory with her, and discuss the business she needed to discuss. She’d kept on top of emails, visited her parents at Fernhill to talk about everything that had to be done, and seen Molly several times. Each action had taken its toll. She was extremely tempted to take up Martha and Tom’s offer of an all-expenses paid holiday. Only her stubborn independence stood in the way of accepting.
‘I really need your help, Lexie, no-one else can do it. It’s just taking forward all the things we talked about, but it needs to be done quickly. I want everything in place by the time your folks get back from their safari, and I want the sales ledger to be reflecting the new look. Please? It’s not just for me, it’s for the future of Gordon’s.’
Lexie groaned.
‘That’s blackmail.’
‘There’s a month to turn this place around. I need to do something with all this old stock, either return it or send it off to a clearance warehouse. We need to get the decorators in – but you’ll have to give them instructions – and we need to order up a whole load of new stock. The grand opening is four weeks from today.’
Lexie whistled, her excitement rising.
‘That’s ambitious.’
‘I need you to do some designs and plans so that we can start the whole process next week. Julie will…’
‘Julie? Is she really the best person to help you take Gordon’s forward?’
‘She’s good. Now that she’s getting to grips with everything, she’s very willing.’
‘Well, that I can believe.’
‘Actually,’ Neil sounded shy. ‘We’ve started going out together.’
Lexie started to laugh, but she choked the noise off quickly. ‘Really? Have you?’
‘She’s a vulnerable person. Everyone’s always put her down. I think it was lack of confidence that used to make her surly. Now that she’s being given some responsibility she’s beginning to shine.’
‘Well, good luck with that, Neil.’
‘Thanks. Are you going to come in? Please?’
Lexie sighed heavily. A couple of weeks at Gordon’s would be very strange after the intensity of working for the exhibition, but on the other hand, it would keep her busy while she considered what to do next. And the money would come in handy.
‘Okay. I’ll be there in the morning. You can brief me then,’ she said
‘I’m sorry about the mix up with the emails, Patrick, really I am. I don’t know how it happened. I was very tired. I must have keyed in Lexie’s address without thinking,’ said Cora.
‘Mistakes happen.’
They were in the departure hall at Edinburgh airport. Cora’s bags were lined up beside them as they stood in the check-in queue. It was ten months since she’d descended the escalator into the arrivals hall, although in some ways it felt like years.
‘How much shopping have you done since you flew in, for God’s sake?’ Patrick eyed the bags. ‘I either paid you too much or gave you too much time off.’
Cora shrugged. ‘It�
��s mostly foodstuffs. Things I can’t get in Kalamata.’
‘Like?’
‘You know. Baked beans. Brown sauce. Tinned haggis.’
‘Christ. You eat that stuff?’
‘You’d be surprised how much you crave it when you know you can’t get it.’
‘I’ll have to believe you, I suppose.’
The queue in front of them moved forward and they shuffled along.
‘Will he meet you?’
‘Who?’
‘This man. Your lover.’
Patrick realised how very little he knew about his sister’s life. In that sense they were alike – they liked private matters to be kept private.
‘My lover will meet me, yes.’
‘Will you bring him over sometime? You can stay as long as you like.’
‘I don’t think so. It’s not really like that, but thanks for the offer.’
They’d reached the head of the queue. It took a few minutes for Cora to check her bags through and negotiate the price of the excess, then they turned for the stairs.
‘You can leave me now, if you like. I know how busy you are, you don’t have to wait.’
‘I’ve got time for a coffee.’
The best Patrick could say about the coffee was that it was drinkable. He watched the black liquid eddy and swirl as he stirred in some sugar.
‘You have no idea how much I appreciate everything you’ve done, Cora. I didn’t think I would, but you’ve exceeded expectations by a long mile.’
‘Praise indeed. Thank you.’ Cora blew on her coffee. ‘I’ve enjoyed the challenge. Challenges. And the successes.’
‘There’ve been a few, haven’t there?’
‘I’d like to think so.’
They sat in silence until the coffee was finished.
‘Is there anything you can do to show her how you feel?’ Cora said, after a while.
‘Tell who? What?’
‘Don’t be an ass, Pats, you know exactly—’
‘Patrick.’
‘You’re Pats when you’re being an idiot. As I was saying, don’t be a fool, Pats, you know who I mean. You’re in love with Lexie, aren’t you? It’s plain as day.’
‘Oh God, is it?’
‘Don’t worry, no-one else would notice, but I’m your sister, and I’ve seen you through quite a few relationships. You don’t look at her as you looked at Diana, for example. You don’t speak to her in the same way. You treat her more like you used to treat Niamh, in the old days.’
‘Shit. I thought my secret was safe.’
‘I’m not going to tell anyone. That’s your job. Tell Lexie, for a start.’
‘I can’t. She won’t listen. She thinks I’m the devil incarnate.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. One of the minor fiends, perhaps.’
‘Bitch,’ Patrick said amiably.
‘So, to get back to my original question, is there anything you can do to show her how you feel?’
‘I don’t get it.’
Cora sighed. ‘Men can be so obtuse when it comes to relationships. If she won’t listen, find another way. But whatever you do, make sure you really put yourself on the line. Be absolutely honest about how you feel. It’s going to take that to win her round.’
Patrick said nothing for a very long time. At last he looked at his watch.
‘I’ve got to go. Shall I walk you to security or are you okay on your own?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Patrick, I’m not a child. Go.’
He stood up.
‘I’ll see you sometime, then.’
‘Sure.’
‘Bye, Cora.’
He bent and kissed her cheek, and then strode off.
Cora watched him go. She pressed a speed dial number labelled ‘Nikos’, and said, ‘Yassas, Anna.’
‘Cora? When will you get here?’
‘I’ll see you at the airport at nine tonight. Can’t wait to see you, my darling.’
‘Nor me. Love you.’
‘You too. See you later, bye.’
‘Bye.’
She cut the call and cradled the phone in her hand. There were some secrets she didn’t care to share with either of her brothers.
There was a day of embarrassment during which Julie clearly had no idea how to relate to Lexie. As soon as they found themselves giggling over something ridiculously minor and silly, though, they agreed with relief that the past was the past and they were not going to talk about it any more.
‘Well shot of him, anyway,’ Julie said, ‘he was hot as hell but not a keeper, that one.’
‘Are you a keeper?’ Lexie asked pointedly.
Julie flashed a sideways glance at Lexie, unexpectedly coy.
‘Neil’s a good guy. Just because he’s a bit older than me doesn’t mean I don’t fancy him, you know? I’ve been messed up all my life, me, but Neil treats me like a princess.’
‘He’s much too nice to just play around with. Understand me?’
‘I don’t plan to hurt him.’ Julie twirled her ponytail. ‘Him and me, we’re solid. I’m goin’ to get him to propose to me before the year’s out, you’ll see. He wants kids, an’ so do I. An’ I can help out here.’
‘OK. Let’s get on with it then.’
The market research had been done a year ago but nothing had changed. They knew the demographic they were aiming at, which styles and colourways they wanted and the price range they needed to focus on. Lexie took charge of the renovations, Neil did all the ordering and paperwork, and Julie went out stuffing flyers through letterboxes around the new developments in the area, as well as the smaller flats and cottages. Joe McPhail from Pettigrew’s volunteered to deliver the flyers for the bigger houses further afield.
When Gordon’s Furniture Emporium reopened four weeks later, the place had been transformed. The green and gold lettering on the outside of the store was perhaps the only original thing that remained, and that was only because Lexie couldn’t bear to see this last piece of family history go.
Gone were the old-fashioned, over-stuffed recliners, the velour chesterfields and faux-leather chairs. In the bedroom department, rows of divans so tightly packed it was almost impossible to move between them had been exchanged for spacious room sets. There was an emphasis on simplicity and style. Lexie’s ‘rooms’ used chic tones of aubergine or cool shades of peppermint. Smart contemporary prints provided accents here and there. And in a marketing masterstroke , she had agreed a contract with Neil to supply some of her pastel prints of shoes, ready framed, for sale.
Lexie sweet-talked a television newsreader who lived in Hailesbank to come and cut the ribbon, and there was a free glass of bubbly or a soft drink for everyone who walked in the door.
Tom and Martha flew back from South Africa on the morning of the opening.
‘Will you be too tired to come?’ Lexie, phoning to check they were safe, enquired anxiously.
‘Not a bit. There’s no jet lag when you fly to South Africa, that’s the great thing,’ Martha said. ‘Well, one of the great things. The elephants at—’
‘Have to stop you there, Mum,’ Lexie laughed. ‘Too much to do. I’ll catch up tomorrow, I’m dying to hear about it. Meantime, put on your best bib and tucker, get Dad back into his suit, and make sure you’re here by six.’
It was the second time in a matter of weeks that Lexie had moved her father to tears.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, looking around. ‘I just can’t believe it’s the same place. Look at it! Where’s that chenille recliner that used to be here?’
‘All dealt with, Tom,’ Neil said firmly. ‘And there’ve been loads of orders already. Now, Tom, Martha, if you’ll just come this way, I’ll introduce you to our star guest, Louise.’
Martha hooked her arm through Lexie’s as they followed Neil and Tom through the store.
‘He’ll get used to it,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘After the first two weeks away he became so relaxed it was like being with the Tom Gordon
I fell in love with.’
Tom was in animated conversation with a striking brunette who looked familiar.
‘Louise Brennen,’ Lexie said, ‘from the telly, you know.’
‘Your father looks happy, doesn’t he?’ Martha leaned close again. ‘I’ve already booked another holiday. We’re off to South America this time, but I haven’t told him yet.’
‘What about Fernhill?’
‘Sold already.’
‘Sold!’
Lexie was thunderstruck.
‘We put it with an agent before we went. It was snapped up right away, it wasn’t even advertised. All we have to do is pack up and get out.’
‘Good God.’
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, of course not. I’ll just have to drop by and make sure I grab anything of mine. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Have you bought somewhere else already? Going on a world tour, perhaps?’
‘We’re going to put everything into storage and start looking when we’re tired of travelling. Is that all right?’
‘Sounds exhausting.’
Martha looked serious.
‘We’re not running away, darling. We’re not hiding any more. You do know that, don’t you? You’ve done that for us. Jamie will always live in our hearts, but it’s a tiny bit less awful every day.’
‘I know, Mum. I feel the same.’
A waitress passed with a tray of Prosecco. Lexie reached out and grabbed two glasses.
‘Cheers, Mum. Here’s to the future.’
Chapter Thirty-five
Catalogue number 35: Prince Charming – if the shoe fits ... ‘Glass’ shoe, fashioned from clear plastic. Donor, Antonia Fullerton, Edinburgh. ‘The only surviving shoe from a pantomime production of Cinderella, 1935, Edinburgh. I played Cinders, the glorious Robert Harknett played the Prince. The shoes were specially made by a local cobbler, but they were murder to wear.’
‘I’ve had a word with Lady Fleming. She’s happy to talk to you about renting the cottage on a more formal basis,’ Molly said, flicking one of Lexie’s paintbrushes up and down her forearm in a desultory way, painting an imaginary line from wrist to elbow and from elbow to wrist in an endless motion.