by Nikki Ashton
“Well that’s not right is it dear, if it’s not what you are normally like, then you need to find out what made you act that way. You say you love your husband, tell me then, why would you want to hurt him so much?”
“I don’t know, and I feel empty without him,” she finally whispered.
Mrs Llewellyn quietly stood up and moved towards Kerry. She placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Go home and make your peace with him.”
She left Kerry alone, contemplating what she was going to say to Kelvin, to everyone, when she got back home, tomorrow.
“Of course you can have some time off, if that’s what you want,” said Paul, rubbing Charlotte’s arm gently. “I must say you do look tired and drawn.”
Unexpectedly tears started to run down Charlotte’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she cried, wiping them away with the back with her hand. “I just can’t think straight at the moment, all I want to do is sleep and cry.”
“Come on,” cooed Paul, handing her his handkerchief. “I know all about it you know; the thing with Niall and Grant.”
Charlotte looked at him in amazement. “How do you know? I thought that I’d hidden it pretty well, okay I’ve been a bit grumpy lately, but I thought that you’d put it down to hormones.”
“Well I knew that you’d talk about it when you were ready. You see I spoke to Niall about it. I tried hard to get him to think about things, and I made my feelings about Grant pretty clear.”
“When did you speak to him?”
“We went to the pub to chat, after he’d tackled you about it. Before that, after Christmas, he rang and asked for my advice.”
Charlotte almost shot off her seat through the ceiling. “Your advice, but your gay, what do you know about women?
“My mother is a woman, so I know some things. However, mostly I’m with you every day, so why do you think he called me?”
“I hope that you told him what a good catch I was,” Charlotte gave an empty laugh, realising that any chance she had with Niall was gone.
“Of course,” Paul smiled at her. “Charlotte he feels very deeply for you, believe me.”
“Felt, get it right Paul, past tense.”
“We’ll see, but there is something that I need to tell you.” He looked at her rather sheepishly. “This doesn’t mean that it’s over you know, but I think it does rather put a spoke in the wheels.”
“What does?” Charlotte asked, watching Paul reach inside his drawer.
He pulled out a cream parchment envelope and passed it to Charlotte. With trembling fingers, she reached inside, already knowing in her heart what it was. The invitation was very classy; just two gold initials entwined on the front. She ran her finger over the gold embossed N and I, and then slowly opened it.
Mr & Mrs J Cathcart cordially invites.
Mr Paul Palmer & Guest
To the wedding of their daughter Ingrid to Mr Niall Patrick Devine
On Saturday 17th March at 2 p.m.
At St Mary the Virgin Church
Charlotte couldn’t read anymore and snapped the invitation shut, placing it carefully back into the envelope she handed it to Paul.
“Thanks Paul I would have hated for Grant to ring me and not know about it; because he’s really nice like that you know.”
Paul smirked at her sarcasm. “How do you feel about it being on your birthday?” he asked.
“Who could ask for a better gift? I believe Tenerife is nice in March, perhaps I’ll go there until it’s all over.”
“Well whatever you decide to do, there is still the matter of a few days off now. Look I know a really nice place in Canterbury. A friend of mine is the Manager. How about I give him a ring and get you booked in for a few days; my treat."
Charlotte shook her head vehemently. “No, you’re not paying. Give him a call by all means, but I can pay for myself.”
“I’m sorry Charlotte, but they are the conditions of you having the time off; I pay.” He moved to her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Please Charlotte I feel kind of responsible. I knew you would be good together and encouraged the lunch before Christmas, and I encouraged him to take you for lunch, when you went back to his house; so please Charlotte let me treat you.” He cupped a hand beneath her chin, staring at her until Charlotte finally nodded her head.
“Okay, if you insist. Thank you very much, I really appreciate it.”
Charlotte walked to her office, eager to be off on her little holiday. She had to get away, and when she got home she hoped that Niall Devine would be out of her head for good.
“But you can’t go on your own, what will you do with yourself?” Amanda wailed down the telephone at her little sister.
“Amanda I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. I just need to get away for a few days.” Charlotte continued to throw things into her suitcase, her mobile lodged under chin,
“As long as you are sure, listen Archie wants to talk to you about Darth Vader or something, hang on…”
“Hi Arch, how are you?”
Happy that Charlotte would be fairly occupied for a few minutes, Bets went downstairs to the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea. She was also worried about Charlotte going away on her own, but Bets, more than anyone, realised the necessity of time alone when you weren’t feeling one hundred percent. She pottered around the kitchen, stacking their supper dishes in the dishwasher, while she waited for the kettle to boil. Just as she was throwing the used tea bags into the bin, Charlotte emerged in the doorway.
“Oh tea lovely,” she said, taking the mug from Bets hand. “Archie has got a Darth Vader sticker for me, to cheer me up. Apparently he’s already got it in his book, so I can have the one he got in his crisps today.” Charlotte, carrying her steaming drink carefully, made the way to the lounge.
“When is Tom coming around?" Bets asked, flopping down onto the sofa next to Charlotte.
“First thing tomorrow morning.” A worried look passed over Charlotte’s face. “Will you keep an eye on him for me? I’m worried to death that he’ll get plastered one night and forget he’s staying here. Poor Petula could have starved to death, by the time I get home.”
Bets laughed at Charlotte’s concern. “He’ll be fine and so will Petula. However, if you want me to come around I will, as long as he’s not planning on entertaining a group of women every night.”
“No, I’ve warned him that he’s not to use this place as a bloody shag factory. I’ve got my reputation in the neighbourhood to think of.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both thinking and worrying about Charlotte’s forthcoming holiday. Bets was worried that Charlotte would be lonely, and Charlotte was worried that she would have too much time to think about Niall.
“I will be okay, won’t I Bets?” Charlotte said, interrupting both their thoughts.
“Of course you will.” Bets smiled reassuringly at her friend, not feeling as positive as she sounded.
The next day, at around 3 p.m., Charlotte pulled up outside the picturesque Kent hotel that Paul had booked for her. Remembering to ask for Giles, she hauled her case out of the boot, and wheeled it across the gravel towards the hotel entrance.
The large Victorian hotel was situated in its own grounds, with a small lake. It was surrounded by trees, and to the left of it was a beautiful deep green maze; something that Charlotte made a mental note to avoid. The whole of the front of the hotel was covered in ivy, making Charlotte’s heart skip a beat. The last time she had seen ivy like that it was covering Niall’s cottage.
As she walked through the large oak double doors, she instantly felt warm and protected, for some reason, she felt like this was where she should be. It was sumptuous, as at the high arched, windows hung heavy gold curtains, held back with thick pieces of rope and on the highly polished wooden, floors lay soft woollen rugs, as deep as an un-mown field. The reception area had large comfy sofas, laden with cushions, and were arranged with mahogany coffee tables placed in front of each one.
The smell of rich coffee and wax polish hung in the air adding to beauty about the place.
Charlotte moved into the reception and struck the little gong when she could see no one to help her. Appearing from another room behind the desk, two extremely smart receptionists smiled widely at her.
“Good afternoon, madam,” they chorused.
“You must be Miss Price.” The taller lady, with a high bun in her hair, outstretched her hand to Charlotte. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Willow and Madge, the receptionists, booked Charlotte in quickly and efficiently. They explained everything that the hotel offered, gave her the meal times and handed over a complimentary pamphlet all about Canterbury. Finally, Peter the Porter appeared, whisking her case away to her room, with Charlotte following close behind.
Once she was alone in her room Charlotte was fairly relieved that Paul was paying; it was extremely large and very expensive looking. Charlotte thought that it would have probably cost her a month’s salary to stay for just a few short days. Even the complimentary bathroom products were more extravagant than those she had at home, and Charlotte didn’t skimp on things like that.
Once she had unpacked her case Charlotte decided to take a long soak before dinner. She lay in the bath, sipping from a glass of wine from the fridge, trying to imagine all her worries floating away into the soapsuds. After a while, she started to resemble a walnut and decided that although she had enjoyed the quiet time, the worries were still there. Niall was constantly in her head.
Once Charlotte had made a couple of calls home, and beautified herself, it was time for dinner. She examined herself in the mirror. She wanted to look good even though she were dining alone; the man of her dreams could be down there. The Karen Millen top and trousers with the Faith shoes looked good, and she felt good, ready to face her fellow diners.
Charlotte entered the dining room with some trepidation, Willow had told her that there was a conference going on in the City, and some of the delegates were staying in the hotel. Charlotte shuddered with the thought of a room full of sales men wearing shiny, creased suits with their mobiles clipped to the waistband. She was quietly impressed as she approached the headwaiter, looking around she could see that they were actually very smart, mostly bespectacled, middle-aged ladies and gentlemen.
“Ello Mees Price, ‘ow hare you thees hevenin,” greeted Luca, the headwaiter, in his strange cockney/Italian accent.
Charlotte looked astonished that he knew her name. “Oh, err, hello.”
“Ees hokay, Mr Giles tell me to hexpect you. Phleese, follow me.”
Charlotte followed behind, fascinated by the way Luca’s bottom bounced up and down in his tight black trousers, all the time straining against his jacket as he walked. He sat her down at a table near to the patio windows, not so out of the way that she felt like a leper, but not conspicuously on view either.
She enjoyed a beautiful meal of avocado salad to start, followed by an extremely delicious piece of chicken stuffed with seafood and then a caramel basket of fresh fruit and cream. Charlotte declined the cheese and biscuits due to the strain on her waistband, and decided to retire to the bar for one drink before bedtime.
As she walked into the bar Charlotte noticed that the only other people in there were a distinguished looking couple sitting at a small table. She smiled at them, looking for a friendly face; she was a confident person but sitting alone in a bar wasn’t something she did a lot of. The man smiled warmly, but his bejewelled wife simply stared straight ahead. Somewhat put out, Charlotte walked past them towards the smiling barman. She ordered her drink, a large brandy, and unnecessarily looked around for somewhere to sit; the room was empty except for the couple.
“Please dear, come and join us.”
Charlotte looked around; unexpectedly, the bejeweled lady was smiling at her and beckoning her over. Charlotte walked across as the man stood up and held out a seat for her.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at them both.
“We noticed that you were alone at dinner, and you can’t drink alone as well. It's just not right is it Margaret?” The man sat down and patted his wife’s hand that was resting against her knee. “I’m Frank, by the way, and this is Margaret.” He held his hand out.
Charlotte took it and shook it. “I’m Charlotte and thank you for inviting me.”
“I should tell you that Margaret is blind,” explained Frank as he guided Margaret’s hand to Charlottes.
“Oh,” said Charlotte, not really sure what else to say.
She’d always assumed that sightless people wore dark glasses and used a stick; never in a million years would she have imagined this very refined, statuesque, jewelled lady would be blind.
“Hmm, I may be blind Francis, but I see a lot. Don’t let him flirt with you Charlotte; he tends to do that with beautiful young ladies. So,” she said, shifting in her seat, “tell me all about this person that you are trying to escape from.”
“Margaret!” Frank blasted. “Don’t be so nosy.”
Charlotte blushed profusely but somehow didn’t mind being asked. “Well there isn’t much to tell really.”
“See I knew there was a story to be told.” Margaret patted the chignon on the back of her head.
“In the olden days she would have been burnt her as a witch.” Frank smiled at his wife and leaned across to kiss her powdery cheek.
“So Charlotte, do you want to impart what there is to tell then?”
Charlotte smiled and taking a large sip of brandy, realised that it was no use. She would not get away without letting everything out.
An hour later, and Charlotte was ready for her bed, the long journey and three large brandies catching up with her.
“Well thanks for listening,” she said, standing up.
“No problem, I’m sure everything will work out for you. Goodnight my dear.” Frank also stood up, and pecked Charlotte on the cheek.
“Yes Frank is right. Everything will go your way. I'm sure. Goodnight dear and I hope we bump into each other again before you go home.”
“I’m sure we will, goodnight.”
Leaving them chatting Charlotte left the bar and walked to the lift. As she approached it, she saw someone disappearing inside, about to pull the gate across on the old-fashioned lift door.
“Hang on,” she called as she ran the last few steps and slipped inside. “Thanks for that.” She turned to thank the person who had waited for her.
As the old lift shuddered on its way Charlotte nearly lost her dinner, because standing in front of her, in all his beautiful glory, was Niall Devine.
Chapter 32
Since her conversation with Mrs Llewellyn, the previous day, Kerry was feeling much more positive about going home. Mrs Llewellyn was right; she could forgive Kelvin and hoped that he could forgive her. Tomorrow she would go home, home to sort out everything that had gone wrong in the last few weeks. If it weren’t for Esme having a poorly tummy she would have gone today.
Kerry needed to talk to Charlotte and Bets and she wanted Kelvin so badly that it hurt, so as soon as it was light tomorrow, Esme being well enough, she was off, putting Owen and the farm behind her.
Bets had received a call to say that Alfred would be able to come home tomorrow, and she was absolutely overjoyed. She missed him bouncing around all over the place. She decided to ring Tom and let him know; it was the least she could do after all that he’d done on that horrible night.
She picked up the salon phone and flicked through the list of numbers that Charlotte had left to try to contact Tom on. There was quite a list, including two pubs, a gym, three girls numbers, five of his friends, his shop number, their mum and dad's, Amanda and Dave’s, his mobile and for some strange reason, a flower arranging class; Bets made a mental note to ask Tom about that one. She plumped for the shop number and punched the buttons to dial.
“Hello, Men’s Room, Tom speaking.”
“Good morning Thomas, this is your friendly reminder call
to feed Petula,” said Bets, gaily.
“Oh hi Bets, don’t worry I’ve done it. She is fed and watered, and I even let her sleep with me last night.”
Bets smiled, knowing that Petula was probably being as spoilt as if Charlotte were at home.
“Good, anyway I also called to tell you that Alfred is coming home tomorrow.”
“Brilliant,” Tom shouted at the other end. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am about that.”
Bets shuddered as she realised what might have happened had it not been for Tom’s quick thinking.
“Listen, by way of a reward for all you did would you like to come over for something to eat tomorrow night?” Bets asked.
Tom sighed heavily on the other end. “Oh I don’t know. I've got a ready meal for one to look forward to.”
“Sausage and mash, followed by apple pie and custard,” cajoled Bets.
“If I must, seeing as you asked so nicely.”
“Eight o’clock then. Oh and by the way, why are you going to flower arranging classes?” Bets started to giggle, wondering how on earth Tom was going to get out of this one.
“I’ll kill her the bloody grass. Charlotte is one big mouth. If you must know I take Mum, she wanted to go and didn’t have anyone else to go with, so I volunteered. Promise me that you won’t tell any of my mates, please Bets,” he pleaded.
Bets was enjoying hearing him squirm. This was definitely ammunition for a later date if necessary.
“I’ll think about it. It depends on whether you ask me to do any more stupid favours for you.”
“I won’t I promise, and I’ll make you a table decoration, how does ivy, roses and carnations sound?”
“Vile, okay I promise for the time being. Look I’ve got to go, so I’ll see you tomorrow, bye.”
Bets put down the receiver, content in the knowledge that she had something to pay Tom back, for the Dastardly Des situation.