‘So you moved?’
She laughed. ‘No one could believe it; I didn’t really believe it. It was the most impulsive thing I ever did. Well, until a few weeks ago anyway.’
‘Are you happy there?’
There was a long pause. Nimbly she skirted a large group of tourists taking photos of a mime artist and the window shoppers milling outside the many boutiques.
‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘I am.’
‘Not everything needs to be planned out,’ he said softly. ‘Sometimes just going with your instinct is the right path.’
She stopped and stared at him. ‘Are we still talking about Hopeford?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Just making conversation.’
‘Well, don’t.’ She gestured at a glass door, sober and discreet in a Georgian building. ‘We’re here. Meet me afterwards? We still have to talk about work, remember?’
‘I’ll come in with you.’ The words were out before he had a chance to think them through. ‘There’s always a lot of hanging around at these places. We can talk inside.’
* * *
Polly knew she should be attending to everything that Dr Vishal was saying but it was so alien she couldn’t get a grip on it.
Was this really her body? Her future? Now the nausea was dying down she looked and felt the same as always. Maybe she had made a really embarrassing mistake and it had been a bug after all?
‘You’re fine, but I want you to make sure you do everything I am recommending.’ The doctor broke into Polly’s thoughts. ‘Vitamins and rest and midwife appointments. Careful blood-pressure monitoring, some light exercise and proper food,’ she said, frowning at Polly. ‘You’re too thin, Polly. If you can’t or won’t cook then there are some good meal-delivery services. Lots of protein and vegetables.’
‘I’ll arrange it,’ Polly promised. It was almost a shame Gabe was moving out; he took food seriously enough.
‘Are you ready?’
‘For what?’
‘To see your baby of course. If you go with Sasha she’ll get you ready for your scan. We do them in house now although once your hospital referral goes through they’ll want to scan again and sort out any extra blood tests.’
Polly followed Sasha, her brain whirling. A scan. Her hand fluttered to her stomach again. This was going to make the whole thing horribly real—unless it was a phantom-bug-baby after all.
Gabe was sitting on a chair in the corridor, his long legs sprawled out before him, frowning at the phone in his hand as he briskly typed out a message, but as Polly came close he shoved the phone into his pocket and got to his feet.
‘Everything okay?’
‘I think so. I have a long list of instructions. You’d like them; they use words like exercise and vitamins.’
‘That’s my language,’ he agreed. ‘Are you ready? We’ve still got an hour and a half until the meeting.’
‘I’ve just...’ Polly waved towards the nurse. ‘A scan. To check everything is, you know, okay. I won’t be long.’
‘You’re very welcome to come with us,’ Sasha said with a bright smile. ‘Ready to meet baby?’
Confused words of refusal rose to Polly’s lips but when she started to speak nothing came out. Of course she didn’t need company but it might be nice to have some backup, someone to reassure her that she wasn’t imagining the whole thing.
Indecision was writ clearly on his face as he ran a hand over the dark stubble. ‘Why not?’ he said after a moment.
‘No, don’t worry,’ she began but he was already on his feet.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see who’s been causing you so much trouble.’
* * *
Gabe had seen more than his fair share of scan pictures. From the moment of his eldest niece’s conception it felt as if he had been asked to admire thousands of fuzzy pictures of alien blobs. It wasn’t just his family; more and more friends and colleagues were replacing their social media ID photos with what, he was fairly sure, was an identikit picture.
Secretly Gabe wondered if the whole thing was a scam, if there was just one photo that had been mocked up several years ago and was palmed off on every expectant couple. They probably made a fortune out of it.
The nurse led them into a small room. A chill shivered down Gabe’s spine and his stomach clenched. The dull green walls, the blind at the window, the metal bed surrounded by machinery. It was a different country, a different patient and yet utterly, achingly familiar.
Old pains began to pulse in his limbs, scars to throb. He swallowed hard, trying to control his breathing. A cool hand touched his arm. Gabe braced himself for pity.
But all there was in the clear blue eyes was understanding. ‘You can wait outside,’ Polly said softly. ‘It’s fine.’
How did she know? How could she know?
He took a deep breath. ‘I’m okay. Makes a nice change to not be the one on the bed.’
The hand lingered, squeezed. ‘Thanks.’ She didn’t say anything else, just sat on the bed, her hands clasped, and waited for instructions.
Gabe folded himself into a chair while Polly was fussed over, the moment before frozen in his mind. He didn’t often speak of his time in hospital, those days were over, but when it did come up there were usually two reactions: cloying pity or brisk heartiness.
It wasn’t often anyone showed tact and understanding. He hadn’t expected it from Polly; she was such a cat that walked alone. Why did she hide it? The sense of humour, the love of vintage accessories, her compassion? Did she feel that the human made her weak?
‘Okay now, can you just lift your top?’ The nurse’s voice broke into his thoughts. The language was different but the tone exactly the same as the many, many nurses he had interacted with over the years: brisk, matter–of-fact.
Polly obediently rolled up the silk T-shirt, wincing as she did so, and Gabe tried not to laugh as he caught her expression—the carefully chosen top was going to get horribly creased. She was dressed for a board meeting not a doctor’s appointment. Resolutely Gabe dragged his eyes away from the long legs lying supine on the bed, only to find himself staring at a flat stomach, the colour of warm honey.
It was a completely inappropriate time to stare but he couldn’t help himself. She was on the thin side of slender, her ribs clearly visible. The cream fitted top set off the remains of her holiday tan; Gabe could hear her words echoing in his head: ‘swimming naked in the sea’. Just how much of her was honey brown?
He looked away quickly, trying to cleanse his mind of images of long limbs in clear waters, the hair floating languorously on the sea’s surface. A lithe mermaid, dangerously desirable.
‘This may be a little chilly,’ the nurse warned her—‘it’ll be utterly freezing’, Gabe translated mentally and by Polly’s quick shudder as the gel touched her belly knew he was right. ‘Okay.’ The nurse was smiling at him. ‘Ready to say hello?’
The language was cloying, the situation somewhat surreal and the nurse evidently under the assumption that he was responsible for Polly’s situation but any embarrassment dissolved the second the nurse ran the scanner over Polly’s stomach. The screen wavered for a second and then there, in sharp focus, there it was.
Gabe stared at the screen. People used the word ‘miracle’ all the time until it lost any meaning but surely, surely this alien person floating around in Polly’s body was a miracle?
He was so used to associating hospitals with pain and death he had completely forgotten what else they represented: life.
‘It’s still tiny,’ the nurse told them. ‘But perfect.’
Gabe looked over at Polly. Her head was turned to the screen; she was utterly transfixed. He didn’t know if she had even heard the nurse.
‘Is everything okay, as it should be?’ he asked.
‘It’s still early days, you’re what? Eleven weeks? But everything looks like it’s right on track. The hospital will want to scan you again in about two to three weeks. All the details are in your pack. Do you want a photo?’
The ubiquitous photo. Suddenly Gabe could see the point of them after all. Why wouldn’t you want to monitor every second?
He looked over at Polly but she didn’t respond. But of course she would. Wouldn’t she? ‘Si, I mean, please.’
Polly still hadn’t spoken.
‘Polly? Is everything okay?’
She blinked, once, twice as if released from a dream and then turned to him, her face transformed, lit up with an inner joy. It almost hurt to look at her.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Everything is perfect.’
* * *
The contrast was completely surreal. One moment she was lying down, almost helpless as she deferred to the judgement and expertise of others, less than two hours later she had been on her feet, standing in front of a group of suited, booted, note-scribbling board members. Here she was the expert, the one in control, setting the pace and the agenda.
If she couldn’t still feel the chill of the gel, sticky on her stomach, if she hadn’t glanced down to see, with a shock of surprise, that she was no longer wearing the cream, fitted silk top but a sharply tailored pink shirt, she would think she had imagined her morning.
This was her future. A world of contrasts.
‘That went well.’ Her grandfather was sat at the head of the table. If his gaze lingered a little longingly on the bookcases that used to be filled with his belongings, if he eyed the pictures on the wall with barely hidden nostalgia then Polly couldn’t blame him. The store was his life, his legacy.
As it was hers.
‘Really interesting presentation, Pol,’ Raff said. Her twin had spent his first meeting as a member of the Rafferty’s board watching and listening intently but not jumping in. Not yet, although he had asked a few penetrating questions.
Polly knew him too well to think that he didn’t have decided opinions—or that he wouldn’t voice them—but he had been a supportive presence for her first official meeting as CEO.
She smiled at him, a rush of love for him flooding her. Despite their past disagreements and the long absences he was still part of her. And he would be part of her baby’s life too, unconditionally, that went without saying. ‘Thank you, Raff. For everything.’
‘I love the pop-up idea—both in store and out. Where do you think you’ll start?’
‘In store,’ she said, dragging her mind back to the matter at hand.
‘We can use the centre of the Great Hall. It’s mostly used for themed displays anyway. I’ve found this great designer who uses vintage fabrics and jewellery and reworks them into a more modern design but still with a hint of history. They’re something really special and tie in brilliantly with the building and best of all she’s completely unknown. We would be a great launch pad for her and it’s exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for. Unique and creative.’
‘And start branching out with the food when?’ Her grandfather might sound casual but his gaze was as sharp as ever.
Much as she wanted to get started, Polly knew this couldn’t be rushed. ‘Next year. We’ve left it too late in the season to start properly—all the best festivals are booked up and there’s no point starting anywhere else. But we are investigating doing a few surprise pop-ups locally so that we can test some concepts—Hyde Park, South Bank, Hampstead Heath. Picnics and Pimms, that kind of thing. We’re in the process of applying for licences.’
‘Dip your toe in, eh? Not a bad plan.’ Her grandfather shifted his gaze over to Gabe, who was busy packing up his laptop. ‘That’s all very well, but I still don’t know about this digital strategy of yours. It’s risky.’
‘Not mine, Gabe’s,’ Polly corrected. ‘I agree, it is a lot of money—but you were the one who told me to hand all digital concerns over to him.’
‘What’s your gut instinct?’
She hesitated as Gabe snapped his briefcase shut and turned his attention to the trio at the table, his eyes intent on her. ‘Truth is I’m torn,’ she admitted. ‘I think it’s innovative and brilliant, but the technology is untried at this scale and the outlay huge. My heart tells me to go for it but my head is a lot more cautious. But, if we wait, and someone else gets in first, then we lose both the competitive edge and the PR advantage. Gabe, what do you think? Honestly.’
Gabe leant back against the wall, arms folded, and regarded them intently. Polly willed him to dig deep, to find something that convinced her, convinced her family.
‘My parents use something a little similar,’ he said after a long moment. ‘It’s not as all singing and dancing as the concept I presented but their web and digital presence is very different from their competitors’—much more interactive, presenting the vineyard, restaurant and B&B virtually just as it is in reality. Why don’t you come over and see? See how the physical matches up with the online and Natalie can talk you through click-through rates, bookings and the uplift in spend.’
Polly shifted nervously. ‘Go to Provence?’ Go to Gabe’s home. Meet his parents and sisters, see the place he had grown up in?
A further blurring of the lines she kept trying to draw—and ended up rubbing out.
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ Raff said warmly. ‘I think that’s exactly what we need, to see something similar and grasp just how it works in practice. You should go, Polly.’ He looked at Gabe. ‘If Pol agrees it’s a goer then you have my vote.’
‘I agree.’ Her grandfather was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Take your time, look at every angle and then report back. If Raff and I are a yes then the rest will fall into line. But it needs your unequivocal approval, Polly. It’s too much of a gamble for half-hearted efforts.’
‘If we go this weekend the wine festival is on.’ Gabe was checking his phone as he spoke. ‘They have all kinds of stalls—wine, obviously, food, entertainment. Could be good research for planning just what the Rafferty pop-up brand will be.’
Polly nodded, to all intents and purposes solely focused on the matter at hand—but her mind was churning. This was all a little cosy.
She had spent the last week trying to re-establish much-needed boundaries—and so evidently had he. Now they had separate offices, now he spent so little time in Hopeford, she could convince herself that her evening of weakness was a one-off anomaly. A symptom of shock.
But if that was the case then what harm could a weekend do? It was just a working weekend like any other, she reminded herself. In fact it was probably a good thing, a chance to prove to herself that she was in control, in every way. ‘It sounds perfect,’ she said. ‘Count me in.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT A SHAME we didn’t get to see some of Paris, but it was easier to fly in to Toulouse. I would have liked to have shown you around Desmoulins.’ British retail royalty meeting the cream of Parisian style; it would have been an interesting introduction.
Now they were in his country, on his turf, Gabe was back behind the wheel, waving a protesting Polly into the passenger seat, refusing to listen to her attempts to direct him; no phone sat nav could possibly know the roads, the shortcuts better than the returning native.
‘I’ve never been to Paris.’ She was looking out of the window, seemingly absorbed in the scenery. It was worth looking at, the undulating hills and bright fields of lavender and sunflowers. At one point Provence had felt too rural, too stiflingly parochial to hold him. Now his blood thrilled to the scented air. He was home.
‘You must have. A woman like you! Business, romance, shopping...’
She was shaking her head. ‘Nope. Business I conduct in London. Romance?’ She smiled wryly. ‘I didn’t really take time in my twenties for romantic
breaks and the least said about this year, the better.’ She rubbed her stomach. Gabe had noticed how often her hand crept there instinctively, unthinkingly, as if she had a primal need to connect with the life within.
‘And I shop at Rafferty’s of course. Or Milan or New York if I do want a busman’s holiday.’
‘But...’ He was incredulous. Surely everyone came to Paris at some point in their lives. ‘But what about fashion week?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s the buyers’ job. I can’t predict the next season’s hits and I don’t need to. I pay people with far more flair to do it.’
Oh, she had flair. It helped that she was almost model tall and model thin; it made it easy for her to wear clothes designed with willowy slenderness in mind. But she wore them with a panache that didn’t come from the designer. It was innate. Even today, casual in a pair of skinny jeans and a yellow flowery top, she turned heads.
‘But why? It takes what? Two and a half hours by train? It’s a day trip.’
Polly smiled. A little self-consciously. ‘It’s silly.’
Gabe turned to look at her. Now he was intrigued; what on earth made Polly Rafferty blush in embarrassment?
‘I can keep a secret.’
‘I know.’ She winced. ‘You already know far too many of mine. I can’t give you any more.’
She had a point. It was odd, knowing things not even her brother knew. Tied them together in a way that wasn’t as unwelcome as it should be. He should even the score, make them equals.
Gabe turned his concentration back to the road ahead, navigating a tight bend before answering. ‘That’s fair. How about I tell you two of mine and then you answer?’
She leant back in her seat and considered. ‘They have to be embarrassing secrets. Or deeply personal. Things you have never told anyone.’
‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath. Gabe was a businessman; he had always done what he needed to to get ahead. A little stretching of the truth here, taking a gamble on an assumption there. Nothing dishonest or illegal—more a prevarication.
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