Making Your Mind Up

by Jill Mansell

  Giselle smiled. “Well, to be fair, it was a long time ago. And it wasn’t the easiest of names. Kasprzykowski.”

  “Bloody hell, it must have been love!” Bursting with questions he needed to ask her, Freddie said, “Tell me how you’re here today. I still don’t understand.”

  “You mean that for once in my life I have the upper hand?” Her eyes bright, Giselle said teasingly, “I think I should make the most of it, don’t you?”

  “I suppose I deserve that much.” Freddie was just happy to have her there. “Can I say sorry? I know how much I hurt you, and you didn’t deserve it. I behaved appallingly. I’ve always felt bad about that.”

  “Clearly.” Stroking the back of his hand, Giselle said, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have tried so hard to find me.”

  “Guilty conscience.” Freddie shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You fell out of love with me and in love with somebody else. We broke up. It happens all the time. At least you and Mary stayed together.” Her eyes sparkled. “And if it helps, I ended up making the right choice too.”

  That was a tremendous weight off Freddie’s mind. Hearing it, he felt almost physically lighter. “So you’re still Mrs. Kasprzy…whatever.”

  “Yes.” Giselle nodded. “Oh yes, I’m still Mrs. Kasprzykowski.” She paused. “Officially, at least.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Peter took me back with him to America. We got married. His parents hated me because I wasn’t Polish. Or Catholic. We shared a house with them in Wisconsin.” Giselle shook her head matter-of-factly. “I can’t tell you how much I regretted leaving home. Peter was a mummy’s boy, far too lazy to last longer than a month in any job. I stuck it out for two years working in a hardware store and saving up a few dollars every week. Finally I had enough money for my boat fare back to England. Peter had warned me that if I ever tried to leave him, I’d live to regret it. So I ran away one night, came home, and never contacted him again.”

  “All my fault.” Freddie couldn’t begin to imagine how unhappy she must have been.

  “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. At least Peter and I hadn’t had children. Anyway,” said Giselle, recrossing her legs and leaning forward, “I took a job as a nanny for a family in Berkshire. Then one day, on my weekend off, I decided to visit an old school friend in Oxford. I caught the train up. Got off at the station. And that was when I saw him, just standing there on the platform waiting for his train to come in. I couldn’t believe it. He spotted me and came over. We started talking and that was it. I never did go visit my old school friend.”

  “Who was it?”

  “The man who’s made me happy for the last thirty-six years,” Giselle said simply. “The father of my children. The man I’ll love until the day I die, even if he does have his faults.”

  Freddie was picturing the scene on the station platform, two complete strangers gazing at each other, knowing instinctively that This Was It. Just like it had been for him and Mary.

  “Love at first sight.” He gave Giselle’s hand a squeeze. “What’s his name?”

  “Hardly love at first sight,” Giselle retorted with amusement. “And his name’s Jeff Barrowcliffe.”

  * * *

  Downstairs in the kitchen Jeff was stirring his tea, trying to explain his reasons for hiding the truth from Freddie.

  “I was jealous, pure and simple. Freddie was supposed to be my friend and he took my girl away from me. That’s not to say I didn’t deserve it, what with the way I was back then, but I’d lost Giselle to him once before and I wasn’t about to let him do it again.”

  “I can understand that,” said Lottie.

  Barbara nodded. “Me too.”

  “We hadn’t seen Freddie for forty years,” Jeff continued defensively. “Then all of a sudden I get the email from you. I was curious to see him again, but I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t trust him. So I took down the family photographs and sent Giselle off to spend the day with our eldest daughter. When Freddie arrived he told me he was looking for Giselle, but he didn’t say why. All I saw was an old rival, good-looking and well dressed, still with all the old charm. He didn’t tell me he was ill.”

  Lottie was puzzling something out. “But yesterday you rang to invite Freddie to a party.”

  “I know.” Looking shamefaced, Jeff said, “It took a while, but Giselle finally made me see sense. The thing is, meeting Freddie again was…great. Catching up on old times, hearing about the life he’d led. It got us thinking, after he’d left. We decided to track down a few old friends of our own and throw a big reunion party before Christmas. And Giselle told me I had to invite Freddie. She promised not to run off with him. And of course I knew she was right. We couldn’t have a party without Freddie.” He paused, took a sip of tea, and carefully placed the cup back onto the saucer. “Although now it looks as though we’ll have to. I felt terrible after I spoke to you yesterday. As soon as I told Giselle she said we must come up and see him.”

  “So she isn’t your wife,” said Lottie. “She’s still Mrs. Kiddly-Iddly-Offski.”

  “Her husband would never have given her a divorce back then. The family was devout Catholic. We’ve just lived together for the last thirty-six years. In sin,” Jeff added. “Although everyone calls her Mrs. Barrowcliffe.”

  “That’s why the private detective couldn’t find her.”

  Jeff chuckled. “Private detective? Blimey, you meant business. She’ll be flattered when she hears she’s had a private detective on her tail in the mean streets of Exmouth.”

  “Except she hasn’t,” said Lottie. “He hasn’t managed to tail her anywhere. Between you and me, I think he’s a bit rubbish.”

  Wiping her eyes, Giselle came into the kitchen and said, “He’s getting tired now. Jeff, he wants to see you before he goes to sleep.”

  Jeff was on his feet in a flash. “How’s he looking?”

  “Just like himself. Only dreadfully ill.” Giselle fumbled in her pocket for a fresh tissue. “Oh dear, I wish we could have seen him sooner.”

  “Never mind,” said Lottie as Barbara went to refill the kettle. “You’re here now.”

  * * *

  So that was that. He’d found Giselle at last. Well, he hadn’t, but one way or another they had managed to find each other. A bit like losing your reading glasses and turning the whole house upside down, then finding they’d been in your jacket pocket the whole time.

  Freddie opened his eyes. It was dark outside now, which meant he’d been asleep for some time. The inky-dark sky was bright with stars and an almost-full moon was out, reflected in the still, glassy surface of the lake. Had the doctor called in again earlier? Freddie had a vague memory of him murmuring to Barbara while he had been dozing. His head wasn’t hurting, but he suspected that if he tried to move it, it would. Never mind, he was fine right here, comfortable enough. Under the circumstances, who could ask for more?

  “Freddie? Are you awake?” It was Barbara’s voice, low and gentle; he wasn’t alone after all. She was sitting in the chair pulled up next to the bed. Now her warm hand was resting on his arm. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?”

  Sensing that if he attempted to speak it would come out all wrong, Freddie imperceptibly moved his head from side to side. There was nothing he needed. Giselle and Jeff had forgiven him. He was sleepy again now. Sleeping was so much easier than trying to stay awake. And when he slept he was able to dream about Mary. While he waited to doze off, Freddie returned to one of his favorite memories—the one that made him shudder to think it could so easily not have happened. But that was fate, wasn’t it? That was serendipity. The tiniest decisions were capable of changing your whole life…

  * * *

  It had been a gloriously sunny June morning, and Freddie was on his way to a meeting wit
h his bank manager. Early for his appointment and finding himself with thirty minutes to spare, he debated whether to stop off at the coffee shop or to wander down to the car showroom at the other end of Britton Road to harmlessly ogle the cars he couldn’t afford.

  Harmless ogling won the day, and Freddie turned right instead of left. Moments later he encountered a girl standing on the pavement rattling a collecting tin. Feeling in his trouser pocket, he found only a couple coppers. Aware of the girl’s eyes upon him, Freddie approached her and did his best to disguise the fact that he was sliding such a paltry sum into her tin.

  Sadly his sleight of hand wasn’t up to Magic Circle standards. The girl looked him straight in the eye and said bluntly, “Is that all?”

  Freddie was nettled. He’d bothered to contribute, hadn’t he? Other people simply walked on by. Torn between apology—for he wasn’t normally mean—and irritation, he said, “It’s all the change I have.”

  And that was when it happened. The girl’s mouth curved up at the corners and what felt like a hand in a velvet glove simultaneously closed around Freddie’s heart. Her tone playful, she said, “I’m sure you could do much better if you tried.”

  Feeling oddly breathless, Freddie turned out both trouser pockets to show her how empty they were. Then he turned and made his way down Britton Street, tinglingly aware of her presence behind him.

  The cars in the showroom weren’t able to hold his attention. He went into the convenience store opposite and bought a box of matches.

  “That’s an improvement.” The girl’s dimples flashed as he dropped a series of silver coins into her collecting tin. She had bright blue eyes and long straight hair the color of corn and was wearing an above-the-knee purple shift dress that showed off a glorious pair of legs.

  “Good,” said Freddie. This time he walked past her in the opposite direction for almost a hundred yards before turning back and sliding another handful of two-shilling pieces into her tin.

  “Now you’re getting the idea,” said the girl.

  Freddie looked at her. “Tell me your name.”

  She smiled playfully and jangled her tin at him. This time he took a pound note from his wallet, rolled it up, and fed it into the slot.

  “Mary.”

  “Mary. You’re costing me a fortune.”

  “Ah, but it’s for a good cause.”

  If he’d gone to the coffee shop in the first place, their paths wouldn’t have crossed. Freddie double-checked that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “I’ve got to go see my bank manager now. Will you still be here when I come out?”

  Mary raised one eyebrow. “Might be, might not.”

  Another pound note into the tin. “Will you?”

  Her eyes danced. “Oh, all right then.”

  “And when I get back, can I take you for a coffee?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  Freddie panicked. “Why not?”

  “There’s a problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t drink coffee. I only like tea.”

  His skin prickled with relief. “Can I take you for a cup of tea then?”

  Mary, breaking into a huge smile, said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  * * *

  Freddie’s eyes were closed again now. Every moment of that summer’s morning was engraved on his heart. He and Mary had met for tea—it was a wonder he’d been able to afford it after dropping so much money into her blasted collecting tin—and that had been it. From then on there was no going back. They had both known they were meant to be together for the rest of their lives.

  And they had been, for the next thirty-four years. The last four and a half years without Mary had been an ordeal, but she seemed so close now. Freddie felt as if all he had to do was to allow his thoughts to drift away and there she’d be, waiting for him…and yes, here she was, smiling that dear familiar smile and reaching out toward him…

  Filled with indescribable joy, Freddie relaxed and went to her.

  Chapter 55

  Pulling into the driveway of Hestacombe House the next morning, Lottie saw Tyler outside the office waiting for her, and she knew.

  “Freddie’s gone. He died in the night,” Tyler said gently when she climbed out of the car.

  It was expected. It was inevitable. But it still wasn’t the news you wanted to hear. Lottie covered her mouth.

  “Barbara says it was very peaceful. He just slipped away.”

  Freddie hadn’t been in pain. He’d made his peace with Giselle and he had stayed compos mentis until the end. As deaths went, who could ask for more?

  “Oh, Freddie.” It came out as a whisper.

  “Come here.” Tyler put his arms around her and Lottie realized tears were sliding down her cheeks. Taking shameful comfort from the feel of his hands on her shoulders and her wet face against the soft, much-washed cotton of his denim shirt, she mumbled, “I’m being selfish. I’m just going to miss him so much.”

  “Shhh, it’s OK.” Tyler’s voice, soothing and in control, broke through Lottie’s defenses. Silent tears gave way to noisy, uncontrolled, chest-heaving sobs.

  Finally, when she was feeling like a wrung-out floor cloth and doubtless looking like one too, Lottie’s outburst subsided.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Of course he was used to comforting bereft women, he’d had months of practice with Liana. Except Liana wouldn’t end up in a mess like this, Lottie thought, with her eyes all puffy and her whole face streaked with mascara.

  “Barbara’s with him,” said Tyler, “and the doctor’s on his way over.”

  “Poor Barbara. She’ll be upset too.”

  “She says you can go on up and see him if you want to.” Tyler indicated Freddie’s bedroom window, glinting in the morning sunlight.

  Lottie wiped her face with a shredded tissue and hoped Freddie wouldn’t mind her looking a fright.

  Nodding, she took a deep breath. “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  “How are you doing? Need a hand with anything?”

  Flustered and emotional, Lottie saw that Tyler was in the kitchen doorway looking concerned.

  “Um, well, the drinks are waiting to be poured and someone has to fill the ice buckets and I’m worried we won’t have enough glasses—”

  “Whoa! OK, don’t panic, let me handle it. And you only answered one half of my question.” Tyler began uncorking bottles of wine. “I asked how you were doing.”

  “The best I can. Not very well,” Lottie admitted. “I thought organizing outside caterers would take the pressure off, but two of the waitresses haven’t turned up and the ones that have are rubbish, so I’m just panicking instead, and it feels as if I’m letting Freddie down.”

  “Well don’t, because you haven’t.” Tyler shoved a glass of icy white wine into her hand. “Now shut up and drink this. Slowly,” he added before Lottie could down the lot in one go.

  Lottie nodded and obediently took a sip. She felt as if she’d run a marathon. The service at Cheltenham Crematorium had been emotionally draining, and Hestacombe House was crammed with mourners she didn’t feel equipped to deal with. It was like trying to host a huge party when you were coming down with the flu. Practically everyone from the village was here, ready to give Freddie the kind of memorable send-off he deserved, and all she wanted to do was go to bed.

  “Seb not turned up?” said Tyler. “I thought he might have been here.”

  “No. He only met Freddie once.”

  “All the same, he could have come along to support you. Wouldn’t you have preferred to have him here?”

  Lottie took another sip of wine. Yes, she would have preferred it, but Seb had told her he was busy today meeting potential sponsors for the next polo tournament, and when she’d tried ringing him earlier his pho
ne had been switched off.

  But she wasn’t going to tell Tyler that.

  “I don’t need my hand held. I’m old enough to come to a funeral on my own. Anyway, I’m not on my own, am I?” Indicating the rest of the house, Lottie said, “I know practically everyone here. Half the people out there have known me since I was born.”

  “OK, don’t get defensive. I only asked where your boyfriend was.”

  “He has an important meeting. And those wineglasses need filling up.” Lottie leaped to her feet. “Oh God, and the bruschettas need to go into the oven.”

  “Give me thirty seconds,” said Tyler. “I’ll be back.”

  He was, with a dozen or so assorted villagers in tow, Cressida among them.

  “You daft thing, getting into a flap and trying to do it all yourself.” Cressida whisked the tea towel out of Lottie’s hands and gave her a hug. “We’re here, aren’t we? Between us we’ll have everyone fed and watered in no time.”

  “Not that many of us are planning on drinking water,” Merry Watkins put in with a grimace. “Freddie would have something to say about that if we did.”

  Tyler steered Lottie out of the kitchen. “Come on, I think you can leave them to it.”

  Relieved, Lottie murmured, “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Oh, look at you with your hair all falling down!” Liana, rushing up to her, exclaimed, “And your eye shadow’s gone all creased at the corners… You look exhausted.”

  She meant awful. Which was undoubtedly true, but not what Lottie needed to be told. Presumably when Curtis had died, Liana had remained gorgeous throughout the funeral without so much as an eyelash out of place.

  “Sorry, that was tactless of me.” Liana was instantly contrite. “I was a complete wreck after Curtis’s funeral. If I hadn’t had Tyler there to look after me, I don’t know how I’d have gotten through it.” Glancing around, she said, “Is Seb not with you?”

  Were they in league with each other? Was this some kind of have-a-dig-at-Seb conspiracy? Lottie jumped as a voice behind her said, “No he isn’t, but I’m here. And I’m great at cheering girls up.”