by Nicky Wells
“Let’s be friends. Forever. But you must promise me something.” She looked at me hopefully, and I nodded encouragement for her to continue.
“But you must promise me to hang on to you,” she continued. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get beyond mere tolerance for Tim. I can’t bear the thought of him turning you into a trophy wife.” I piped up to protest, but she held up a calming hand. “You don’t see it, or you don’t want to admit it, but it’s there. And there is another but—if he ever hurts you or treats you badly, you can expect me to go after him with a vengeance.” She grinned wickedly and with spirit.
We looked at each other for a little while. Her words echoed around my head but I knew I couldn’t open the discussion again. This would be the status quo. Cautiously, we hugged again, showing mutual acceptance of the situation. Nothing more needed to be said. This agreement was final. I knew Rachel would be behind me every step of the way from now on, and I understood that one day she might expect me to do the same for her. Unspoken between us was the hope that one day, in the dim and distant future, we would laugh about all this stuff in our shared room in a fancy old people’s home, having long survived our husbands and the hiccups and upheavals in our respective relationships.
Chapter Eighteen
The following weekend passed in a blur. I spent most of Saturday curled up on Tim’s sofa patiently reviewing the sample invitations he had collected from the shop near his office to inform our friends and family about our upcoming engagement party. They were all a bit formal, but eventually we settled on one that I found cheerful enough while Tim found it tasteful enough. Tim did an awful lot of research about wedding venues and expanded his parameters to include a few places in Cornwall—probably more for form’s sake than with true intent, but I was pleased nonetheless.
Eventually, the Friday before our engagement party arrived and brought all sorts of last minute trials and tribulations that I had to manage from work. Tim had decided that we should cater the party ourselves. For the past few days, we had been slaving away in the evening preparing little finger foods and cakes, freezing whatever possible. Late last night, Tim had taken stock and suggested that we might want to do a whole fresh batch of vol-au-vents and cheese-pastry-parcels. He had found some recipes in a lifestyle magazine and was eager to try them out. Eager to impress our guests in the process, no doubt. He had given me a shopping list for ingredients to procure from the little deli near my office, and had promised to pick the stuff up mid-afternoon to take it all to his house. I would be spending the night at home in Tooting to get some peace before the storm.
Tim popped in, as promised, at three o’clock, and gave me a big, fat, proprietary kiss. Such PDAs would have been unheard of in the past, but since we had become engaged, I had received them left and right. I wasn’t about to complain. Everyone in the office gave an appreciative “Ah” at our little newly-engaged-couple’s display. Well, everyone but Rachel, whose “Ah” sounded more like “Ugh.”
“Are you sure you want to play at being single tonight?” Tim asked just before he was about to leave, clutching the shopping bags against his chest.
“If you don’t mind…I’d just like a little bit of time on my own, just a little bit of space. Is that all right?”
Tim nodded reflectively. For the time being, he had agreed that he wouldn’t be upset if I wanted to retreat to my flat every once in a while. “Okay, no worries,” he said finally. “But you’ll come round tomorrow lunchtime and help me set up, as promised, right?”
“Of course I will, silly. I’ll come round first thing, in fact,” I promised again. Tomorrow, we would have to defrost our prepared treats, set up tables, decorate the house with tasteful silver and white garlands, roll up rugs, remove breakable items from side tables and window sills, and generally party-proof Tim’s downstairs.
Three hours later, Rachel and I were in the throes of packing up and leaving work together. We were discussing grabbing the teensiest gin and tonic somewhere en route before I reclaimed my flat and she headed off for her date when the receptionist buzzed me to announce that there was a gentleman waiting for me in reception. Odd. Tim had only just been and gone, and anyway, Dory knew him quite well by now so why was she being so coy?
“Just send him up then,” I instructed. “Tim’s back again,” I informed Rachel, whose face fell immediately, fearing I would be whisked away.
“Don’t worry, he’s probably just forgotten something,” I soothed. “Look, I just need to nip to the loo. I’ll be back in a sec. Can you keep him entertained for a minute or so?”
Rachel nodded. She had practiced what she called her tolerant behavior toward Tim and could now be trusted to remain civil even when left on her own with him.
To my greatest surprise, I heard her chatting and laughing animatedly as I was walking back up the corridor. What was going on? Her best efforts at tolerating Tim never stretched to outright gaiety. Wasn’t that just a hint of flirtatious giggle in her voice?
I turned the corner and my heart nearly stopped. There was Rachel, indeed chatting gaily and not a little flirtatiously with a guy seated at my desk, in my chair. But she wasn’t chatting with Tim. Oh no.
No, no, no. No.
I didn’t know whether to go for fight or flight and dithered in the doorway, but I had already been spotted.
“Sophie,” Dan drawled and rose from my desk chair in one fluid motion. “Hi.”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, completely at a loss as to what to think or do or say. Dan was strolling toward me in giant strides. Rachel was gesticulating wildly behind his back…a thumbs-up and a big grin. I shook my head to dispel the images she was conjuring up in my mind and turned my attention back to Dan, who now stood in front of me in all his glory. Brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, trademark silky blue shirt—top buttons undone, like always. I so wanted to reach out and touch the little soft curly hair on his chest. He didn’t say anything, just looked and looked, and I could feel a slow blush rising from my toes all the way up to my ears as his eyes practically undressed me where I stood.
I felt hot, cold, and dizzy all at once. It seemed I had temporarily forgotten how to breathe because the blood was roaring in my ears and my lungs kept expanding and periodically emitting great big snorts of air. The room started spinning slowly as my knees turned to jelly. And yes, there was an odd, warm, exciting sensation low down in my stomach that I had last felt…well, when I was last with Dan. Help!
The office was deserted apart from Rachel, Dan, and me. Although the paper hadn’t quite been put to bed yet, editorial and writing staff had disappeared somewhere—probably to have some kind of urgent conference. Rachel and I were off the hook for the late shift this week, and so there was nobody to witness my little drama except Rachel, who stubbornly refused to yield, watching my every move and facial expression with ardent glee and insatiable curiosity. The words “I told you so” seemed to flash on her forehead, and she was enjoying herself immensely.
Dan was still looking at me with those great, kind, ocean-deep eyes.
“Sophie,” he said again softly.
I still hadn’t said a thing. I had no words to utter. I didn’t know what I was thinking or what I was feeling. Well, that wasn’t strictly speaking true. I was feeling a hot, lusty attraction and the familiar old Dan-induced crazy exhilaration. As always, I wanted to rake my fingers through his hair and bury my head on his chest. But…
Since the last time I saw him, there had been a significant change. A change that could not be ignored. A commitment whose token was currently singeing the delicate skin of the ring finger of my left hand.
How…after all my love and affection and my excitement about getting engaged to Tim…after I had so passionately and sincerely defended my engagement to Tim in the face of Rachel’s doubts and concerns…after all the plans we were making…how, after all of that, could I possibly be feeling what I was feeling right then?
How was it possible that I could be so attracted, so keen, so
eager to go with this man, who, by his own admission, was bad news? Who hadn’t called me in six weeks?
How?
Why?
How could I be such a bad person? Was I a bad person?
And still I hadn’t said anything.
I became dimly aware of some movement behind Dan’s back and tried to focus my attention. Rachel sat atop my desk frantically waving a sheet of paper on which she had scribbled something. I narrowed my myopic eyes to be able to make out her message. There it was, in her big bold handwriting:
GO FOR IT!!
Her Tim tolerance was apparently pretty fragile still. As I was looking, she crossed out the “IT” and replaced it with “HIM.” I let out an involuntary laugh. Dan, intrigued, turned around to see what was amusing me, but Rachel swiftly whipped the sheet of paper behind her back and looked her most innocent.
Somehow, this little action of hers had broken the ice and I was finally able to speak.
“Dan,” I exclaimed, with rather more joy and enthusiasm than I had intended. “What are you doing here?”
He turned back to me and ran a finger down my cheek.
“I’m so sorry I’ve been out of touch since our last date.” I could see Rachel’s ears assume Spock dimensions as she tried to catch every word that was being said. “We’ve been sequestered in the studio making new songs and, somehow, the weeks just flew by. Will you forgive me?”
What a futile question. The past six weeks were wiped from my memory. There was nothing to forgive. That was what I wanted to say, but I surprised myself again—this time by acting completely counter to what I wanted to do, although for once in line with what I ought to be doing.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said somewhat pompously. “After all, it was only dinner. It’s not like, you know, we’re married.”
My mouth was still open to continue my little speech, but Dan reacted to the word married and hastily grabbed my left hand. He held it up to kiss it…felt the ring, looked at it, then me. His eyes were big and full of sorrow.
“Ah, well, that,” I spluttered, now distracted from the words that had been formulated so clearly in my head. “Yes. Well, um, I got engaged.”
Dan’s eyes softened, then clouded over, then softened again. “I guess congratulations are in order,” he whispered. “But Sophie, how could you?”
At this, Rachel fell off her perched position on my desk with suppressed giggles of glee and of vindication. She was not alone in her reaction to my engagement. Her left knee struck the feet of my chair and she grimaced in pain. Served her right for eavesdropping.
“Didn’t you know I would come back?” Dan asked, still in that gentle seductive whisper that forced me to lean toward him just so that I could make out the words.
“Err, no, actually,” I fumbled. “Tim has been my boyfriend for two years. It was natural, expected even, that we should have got engaged. Just a question of time, really.”
“That’s not what you said a few weeks ago,” Dan protested softly. I couldn’t believe my ears. I cast a glance toward Rachel, who was now back at her own desk, rubbing her injured knee with one hand and innocently scrolling through emails with her other. Her body language said I’m not paying you any attention at all, you see? Yet her Spock-ears told a different story.
“Well, it’s happened, and so that’s that. What do you want?” I asked, now managing a brisk and professional tone of voice. Inwardly, I was crying, screaming, and kicking my heels. I was making all the right noises, rebuffing this man, staying true to my commitment. Really, I was proud of myself and I obviously wasn’t a bad person. But I wanted to be. I didn’t want to say any of these reasonable things. They sounded hollow and false. What I really wanted to say was, “I don’t know what came over me, take me away and make it all un-happen.”
And still Dan was looking at me. Okay, so he was here to see me, but this deep staring was getting a bit disconcerting, like he could see right into my soul. Dan was no fool. Whether through extraordinary amounts of sensitivity or decades of shagging and manipulating women, he could read the subtext of my message loud and clear.
Dan cleared his throat. “Well, I was going to whisk you off for a night of romance and passion,” he declared with disarming honesty. Smiling wistfully, he continued, “Now it looks like we have to celebrate. How about it?” He extended his crooked arm for me to take, and before I had time to think, before I understood what I was doing, I had taken his arm and let myself be escorted from the office. As the doors to the lift closed behind us, we could just about hear Rachel shout, “Atta girl!” Atta girl, indeed.
Chapter Nineteen
Dan had come prepared with a black stretch limo waiting for us at the curb, boldly obscuring the double yellow line while its engine ticked over gently. Dan opened the door for me and helped me clamber into the back seat. I had never been in a stretch limo before, and I breathed in the heady scent of polished leather and wooden interiors—the smell of the rich.
“I feel like a celebrity,” I giggled at Dan, who had just climbed in beside me.
“Well, you should,” he replied, and then added, with just a hint of self-irony, “and you could be, hanging out with me, you know?”
With that, he tapped on the privacy glass dividing the seating area from the driver. The driver turned around and gave the briefest of greetings, then gently released the brake and pulled away from the curb.
“Where are we going?” I wanted to know.
Dan didn’t respond immediately but busied himself opening a quarter-bottle of champagne from the mini fridge. He handed me a glass with a flourish, then added a glass for himself.
“We are going,” he said, clinking glasses with me, “where a charming young lady such as yourself can be wined and dined in style.”
That sounded promising. Clearly he wanted to surprise me, so I didn’t ask any further questions. We sipped in silence for a little while. I leisurely regarded the traffic and the commuters out of the darkened window of the limousine. How exciting to know that I could see out but not be seen. And how pleasant not to have to join the Friday evening commuting hell. I had a brief pang of guilt for abandoning Rachel to her journey home alone and then another, briefer-still pang of guilt for being here rather than being with Tim, which reminded me of an announcement I had to make in order to maintain some semblance of dignity and self-respect through the evening.
“Dan,” I said sternly, “I don’t know what you’re up to. I really, really don’t know what I’m doing here. But whatever it is, we can’t have a date. I’m an engaged woman now. I intend to be faithful. A few weeks ago, I wasn’t—engaged, I mean—and even then I was bad at going behind Tim’s back. But now I can’t. You must understand that.”
I paused to await some reaction. Dan obligingly nodded his head.
Encouraged, I added, “So, we’re not having a date, and there can’t be any…funny business. Right?”
Dan smiled at me.
“Sophie,” he stated solemnly. “Once more, I promise not to take advantage of you in any shape or form. If it sets your mind at rest, we are not having a date. We will just have a celebratory dinner. And I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I swear.” He raised his left hand in a scout’s salute. “Dib, dib, dib, dob, dob, dob, cross my heart.”
“Okay,” I sighed in relief.
“Okay,” he repeated.
“Okay,” I said again.
We were going, it quickly turned out, to the Royal. Dan had booked a table in the Royal Restaurant, and my mouth dropped open in astonishment when he finally explained after we had already pulled up outside the hotel’s main entrance.
“Dan,” I squealed, “I’m not dressed for this. I can’t go in there in jeans.” Because, of course, I was in dress-down Friday office-garb.
But Dan was a man full of solutions. And, obviously, full of pre-planning. Now he brandished a little carrier bag that had previously nestled by his feet.
“I know that. I�
�ve taken enough ladies here in my day to know what you can and cannot wear to the Royal.” This, with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ve brought you a little pressie.”
My eyebrows shot into orbit as I peeked into the bag, which held a Donna Karan black dress wrapped in tissue paper and a small box from Tiffany’s that contained a single strand of pearls. I gasped, involuntarily flattered and immensely frightened. This was evolving into some kind of fairy tale date. I was Cinderella about to go to the ball.
With a clunk, I came back to earth. I was Sophie Penhalligan, about to become Mrs. Renfrew.
“Oh Dan, you know I can’t accept this. You can’t give me gifts like this.”
Dan looked at me uncomprehendingly. “Why ever not?”
“Well, it’s just not right.”
“I like giving things to my friends,” he protested. “One of the perks of the job—I’ve got enough money to spoil those I care about. And it’s only Donna Karan. It could have been, you know…Versace or something.”
I grimaced at his nonchalance with money. Oh, to be so well off that something could be only Donna Karan. But that wasn’t the point here.
“Dan,” I reminded him gently. “I’m engaged to be married. Honestly, I am flattered to be treated to your entire seduction routine and…ooh…just a few months ago I would have so gone for it…especially after…Edinburgh.” I blushed, still embarrassed at having lied to him. “But we’re not having a date, remember?”
Dan looked crestfallen. The engine idled. One of the hotel porters moved to open the door for us, but Dan waved him away. “Give us just a minute, please,” he pleaded.
Porter thus diverted, Dan closed the door again and sat up straight. “Sophie, you can’t deny me this. It’s my treat. An engagement present. Have you had an engagement party yet?”
I shook my head in mute perplexity, completely sidetracked by this turn of events.
“Tomorrow,” I mumbled automatically.
“Tomorrow what?” Dan asked.
“Our engagement party is tomorrow.”