“Shit.”
She’d have to go shopping and had precisely eight pounds and fifty pence in her purse. It would have to be another stealth attack on the credit card.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Josh asked.
Flick looked down at the respectable shirt-style, knee-length, blue linen dress. He raised an eyebrow. “Underneath?”
“Damn. Can you tell?”
“No, I just know you.”
Flick unfastened the buttons. Josh gulped when he saw the short cape, light blue dress with a plastic belt and a white apron. A cardboard watch hung from Flick’s left breast.
“I’m a nurse. I’ve got the hat in my pocket.”
“She’ll kill you.”
“I’m going to keep the other dress on. This is a private joke for Henry.”
* * * * *
Josh dropped Flick at the Hall on his way to the church. As she walked up the drive she could see the caterers racing around like kids in a playground with occasional collisions and lots of shouting. The scent of flowers and the mouth-watering aroma of well-cooked, expensive food drifted through the air. Dozens of bottles of champagne sat in buckets of ice and water. Young men wearing starched white shirts and black bow ties were setting out glasses on a long table. Violins tuned up in the marquee. The sun shone brightly. Even the sky had been decorated, full of those huge, fluffy white clouds Flick liked to watch while lying on her back in the paddling pool. The forecast said more of the same. What could go wrong?
Even as that thought slipped into her mind she spotted Beck sprinting up the drive.
“I need a ladder,” he shouted.
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“There’s one in the dogs’ yard. What’s happened?”
“Giles has fallen in the bathroom and banged his head. He’s against the door and I can’t open it. I need to get in through the window.”
“Oh God, have you phoned for the ambulance?”
“Yes. There’s one on the way and the fire brigade. Would you go and wait for them?”
Flick ran down the drive. She didn’t want to waste time waiting. She assumed Giles was in the bathroom she’d climbed into and dashed to the back of the house. The window was ajar, as it had been before.
“Giles,” Flick shouted. “Are you okay?”
No reply. Anxiety surged through her. He could have swallowed his tongue or be drowning in his own blood. Or maybe a poisonous spider had bitten him, having escaped from Roundhay Park’s Tropical World. Giles could need heart massage.
“Giles,” she shouted again.
Nothing. Admittedly it would have been a long walk from Roundhay to Ilkley for the spider but seconds could count. Flick looked at the wheelie bin, sighed and ripped off her blue shift dress. She’d never climb in that, it was far too tight. All she had to do was repeat what she’d done the other day. After a short amount of scrambling, a large amount of swearing and one loud yelp, she had her shoulders inside the room. There was no sign of Giles.
“Flick, what the hell are you doing?” Beck yelled below her. She squeezed a couple of inches more of the top half of her body through the window as she tried to run up the wall in her strappy open-toed sandals.
“Stop looking at my underwear and do something.”
“Black lace? Ohh, God.”
The ladder banged against the wall at her side.
“What idiot thinks about sex at a time like this?” Flick muttered and wriggled forward half an inch.
The sound of sirens filled the air.
“Flick, there’s a ladder on your left,” Beck said. “Come back down and be careful. I’m going to the front of the house.”
She could feel the ladder by her right leg but couldn’t swing herself onto it. Her belt buckle had wedged itself into the window catch. At least she wasn’t going to fall, although the plastic had begun to stretch.
Flick could hear all the commotion inside the house, but the door of the bathroom remained closed. She wondered whether to shout for Beck. Maybe if she could unfasten the belt she could pull herself in, but she held onto the window sill with both hands and was afraid to let go. Her arms ached and the belt grew longer. She’d have to do something soon.
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Beck raced up the stairs followed by two firemen and two paramedics. Moments later the door to Giles and Willow’s bathroom had been broken off its hinges. Giles had his eyes open but a trickle of blood ran down his cheek. Beck stood back and let the paramedics work.
One of the firemen tapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t need us anymore. We’ll be off now, but could I use your bathroom?”
“Second door on the left.” Beck winced as the paramedics attached a heart monitor to Giles. Willow was going to kill them both.
Flick froze as the door opened and the fireman came in. Without a glance at her, he headed straight for the toilet, unzipping his fly as he went. Flick coughed. His head shot round and he gaped at her.
“Super Heroes Incorporated. Flying Nurse Rescue Service,” she said in a crisp tone.
“Only I’m stuck.”
Moments later she stood in the bathroom, her legs shaking. She adjusted her cape, pulled her dress over her hips and tightened her belt. The fireman bent over, creased up laughing. Flick opened the door to find herself face to face with Beck.
“I got my belt caught,” Flick said. “Henry’s present.”
Beck gaped.
“Maybe yours too, if you play your cards right. How’s Giles?”
“He’ll be okay. They’re checking him over.”
“The wedding car’s arrived,” the other fireman shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ll go and distract them,” Flick said.
“You’ll do no such thing. Wait here, I’ll get your dress.”
“I’m not sure there’s any point. I sort of ripped it off, like Wonder Nurse.”
Beck laughed and then the smile died on his face. “You’re bleeding.”
Flick looked down. She’d scraped her knees and toes.
“I’m all right.”
“You could have killed yourself climbing in like that.”
“You’re too big to get through the window. I thought I’d save time.”
“But I wasn’t going in through that window. The one in their bathroom is huge.”
“Oh.” Flick sighed.
By the time Beck came back with the dress, the paramedics were walking down the stairs supporting Giles, who only wore underpants, black ones with little red hearts all over them.
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“He should go to hospital to be checked out but I think I can understand why he’d prefer not to,” the paramedic said. “I’ve put a butterfly strip on the cut. But if he has a headache, feels dizzy or unexpectedly falls asleep, he needs to be seen by a doctor. He knocked himself out so you need to watch him.”
“Flick! My very own nurse,” Giles mumbled. “Come and give me CPR.”
“Yes, definitely concussed,” said Flick as Giles lurched toward her and grabbed her round the waist. “Or you soon will be, if you don’t let me go.”
Beck pulled him away.
One of the paramedics crouched down to peer at Flick’s legs.
“I could give you a concussion too,” Flick said.
“She means it,” Beck warned.
The paramedic opened his bag. “Let me clean you up first.”
Flick winced as he wiped her knees and toes with antiseptic pads.
“You’ll live,” he said with a smile and got back to his feet.
“Thank you. You don’t know how happy that makes me.”
“If you’d like a bit of job experience, I’m based in Menston.” He winked at Flick as he left.
“Maybe I could be a nurse,” she mused.
“No, you couldn’t,” Beck said. “Sit still and don’t move while I help Giles get ready.”
“Is my tie straight?
” Giles asked.
“Fine. How do you feel?”
“Headache but otherwise all right.”
“You need to get a non-slip mat on that bathroom floor.”
“Yep.”
They both knew that the mat was non-slip. Giles had been nervous and fainted.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Giles said as Beck struggled to fasten Giles’ cufflinks.
“What?”
“Are you and Flick okay now?”
“Why?”
Giles hesitated.
“What is it?” Beck asked.
“Can I kiss her?”
Beck stared at him. “Is this that fucking game?”
“X, that’s all I want and then it’s over. Just a kiss. I don’t want to…I don’t want anything else.”
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“No,” Beck said.
Giles sighed. “Well, can I ask her?”
“Go ahead.”
When they emerged, Flick smiled and did a wolf whistle.
“How do we look?” Beck asked.
“Like a pair of artful dodgers.”
“Our reputation precedes us.” Giles smiled. “Give me a kiss, Flick. One last unmarried kiss.”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“I want a proper kiss,” Giles said.
“No. Get Beck to kiss you,” Flick said.
“He won’t use his tongue.”
“Neither will I.” She grinned. “Not with you anyway. Now hurry up or Willow will have to go round twice and you know what traffic’s like in Ilkley.”
They were late setting off but not so late they had to ring and let the vicar know. By the time Flick had waved goodbye and thought about the way Beck had kept looking at her, she realized they’d locked her blue dress in the house so she’d have to manage with the nurse’s outfit. It didn’t look too bad. The dress wasn’t as short as the black skirt she’d worn as a waitress, though the top gaped more, her black lace bra clearly visible. Fuck it, Flick thought, she just didn’t care. She didn’t care about earning the money, she didn’t care what Celia thought. She and Beck were okay again and that was all that mattered. She set off back up the drive to the Hall, carrying the ladder.
* * * * *
Beck sat next to Giles on the front pew and stared in fascination at the way his friend’s hands were shaking. Giles clenched his fists and then unclenched them but his fingers still trembled.
“You okay?” Beck whispered.
Giles nodded.
Beck glanced behind him. The church was full. He recognized a few faces. A couple of mutual friends from Cambridge were ushers and the stag night lot sat with girlfriends or wives looking as though ice-cream wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Celia was in an enormous pink and black hat with a swathe of black spotted pink net billowing in every direction. Behind them Willow’s mother was in a hat so small it looked as though she had a teacup on her head. One red feather stuck straight up in the air. Beck wished Flick was with him, though not in that nurse’s outfit. He thought they were all right now, though there were still issues to be sorted, the business about her arrest for a start. He wished she’d talk to him about Grinstead’s. 241
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He’d made a few enquiries of his own and it was as Henry had told him—forty thousand had turned up in Flick’s bank account with another hundred and forty still missing. Beck had checked who’d left the company after Flick had been sacked. Four people, including her boss. On Monday, that was what Beck was going to be working on. They could manage without him at the Hall while he did a different sort of digging. As the wedding march started, Giles looked panic-stricken and grabbed Beck’s arm. Beck pulled him to his feet, standing close enough to support him without looking as though he was holding him up. They moved in front of the altar and turned to look down the aisle. Willow walked holding her father’s arm, such a blissful smile on her face, it made Beck gulp and Giles sag. Beck kept a firm grasp on the groom’s arm and then had his eightieth reassuring feel for the rings.
Giles thought Willow looked so beautiful he wanted to cry, only he knew he shouldn’t otherwise his bloody nephew manning the video camera would have the tape off to some funniest video program before the reception ended. So Giles took a deep breath, stood up straighter, moved away from Beck and thought about how much he loved Willow and how happy she made him.
The ceremony was a bit of a blur. He spoke out in a clear voice. Beck hadn’t forgotten the rings. No one shouted “I object” when the “just impediment” bit came up though a loud cough from someone in the congregation made his heart jump and a few vicious sods laugh. The vicar didn’t get their names wrong. Nor did he subject them to an overly religious address, which Giles thought was decent of him. Everyone sang nicely, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember what the hymns were and that was it. Married. Willow’s dad had handed responsibility for his daughter over to him and Giles intended to love her and look after her until the end of his life. 242
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Chapter Thirty-Four
Flick watched from a quiet corner as the car with Giles and Willow pulled up at the Hall. Willow looked like a fairy-tale princess, her hair curled in twists and laced with pearls and silk flowers. The dress was an off the shoulder ivory sweep of shimmering material that trailed away to nothing. Giles kissed Willow with such tenderness it made Flick sigh out loud. A long-haired photographer leaped around but the pair took no notice. Flick could see that they were both somewhere else. Beck and the bridesmaids arrived in the next car. The bridesmaids’ dresses were as hideous as Kirsten had described and Flick grinned. They made Willow look even more beautiful which was exactly the point. Considering the size of the dresses worn by Willow’s four attendants, Flick was surprised Beck hadn’t suffocated. He was the last to emerge. He looked dark, delicious and dangerous, and Flick wanted to push him back in the car and suffocate him herself.
Celia and Henry arrived smiling at each other, which made a change. Gertrude was helped from the same car looking miserable. No change there then. Celia glanced around, saw Flick and her smile turned into a scowl. No change there either. Flick delivered Gertrude’s wheelchair and helped her into it.
“Was it a lovely service?” Flick asked.
“I need the toilet. My bladder is full to bursting. I think I’m leaking,” Gertrude announced in a loud voice.
“Right.” Flick propelled her back to the house.
“I blame that doctor who delivered Celia. He wouldn’t listen when I told him the stitches were too tight. It was a terrible infection. The worst they’d ever seen.”
Flick tried to close her ears but Gertrude continued even in the bathroom. Flick could hear her in real-time and over the monitor. By the time Flick pushed her back down to the garden, everyone held a glass of champagne or orange juice. Flick went to get a glass for Gertrude and then wheeled her chair toward a couple trying, with limited success, to hide behind a bush. They only emerged when Gertrude called them by name.
“There’s no need to stand so close, Felicity,” Gertrude said. “I’ll call you if I need you. The monitor is switched on.”
Flick found a quiet spot at the side of a tree and people watched. She was looking for Beck but Henry caught her eye. He handed her a glass of champagne.
“Hello, Nurse Knyfe,” Henry said with a smile.
“Hello to you, Ksiel.”
Henry frowned. Flick gasped.
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“Nope, you’ve got me,” Henry said.
“Rigid one of God.”
He burst out laughing. “Right, I owe you fifty quid.”
“Henry, I’m sorry I’m in this stupid outfit. I was wearing something respectable over it, but it sort of got lost. How’s Giles?”
“Headache but otherwise he seems fine. I think he’s rather pleased he’s done this while he’s got concussion. He’ll be able to claim he can’t remember a thing. If o
nly I could do the same.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? Enjoy yourself while you still can, Flick.”
Moments after Henry walked away, Celia approached with a face like a plate of mashed potato and gravy. She wore the excavated necklace. It looked lovely now it had been cleaned. Celia snatched the glass out of Flick’s hand and tipped the champagne on the grass.
“I’m paying you to look after my mother, not help yourself to our alcohol and what on earth are you wearing? How typical of you to go over the top. Take Mother into the marquee before there’s a rush. There’s a blanket on her chair. Wrap it around her legs and be careful. She has delicate skin.”
Flick wheeled a protesting Gertrude down the wooden pathway and into the marquee.
“You’re pushing me too fast. It’s too bumpy. I’m going to need the toilet again.”
The marquee was full of fresh flowers and looked fabulous. A string quartet played in one corner and serving staff lined the perimeter waiting for guests to take their seats. The folded napkins had the little organza bags at their hearts and Flick thought Willow must be pleased with the way the tables had turned out. The theme of purple and white ran throughout the marquee, from the striped awnings lining the roof, to the balloons and name cards tied to the chairs with purple ribbon, right down to the heart-shaped confetti on the tables.
“Push me past the cake,” Gertrude demanded.
It was a towering monster of a confection, tier upon tier of beautifully iced layers, decorated with purple flowers and an edible bride and groom on the top that actually looked like Giles and Willow.
“It looks too good to eat.” Flick sighed.
“Cost a bloody fortune,” Gertrude said. “It better be delicious.”
“The marquee is lovely,” Flick tried again.
“I’m cold.”
Yes, you are, Flick thought. Like an iceberg. As the marquee began to fill with people looking for their tables, Flick wrapped the tartan blanket around Gertrude’s legs.
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“You don’t need to stay. You’re not a guest. I’ll call you on the monitor if I need you.”
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