by Nicky Wells
When we got dressed, I had to confront the issue of the lovely Donna Karan black number.
“Please, do take it,” Dan urged. “You look stunning in it. I can’t return it, and I would never give it to someone else. Accept it as a present.”
Once more, I fingered the silky fabric and, after everything that had happened—and the big thing that hadn’t happened—I couldn’t see any harm in taking the gift. I wasn’t certain whether I would wear it but I would cherish it as a memento of one of the most romantic events in my life.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” I agreed. “But I can’t take the pearls, honestly. That’s too much.”
Dan considered for a minute, and then relented. “Deal. Maybe I’ll return them…or maybe I’ll keep them,” he offered pensively. “But you must promise to wear pearls with the dress when you wear it.”
“Promise,” I said quickly, touched by the thought that he might hang on to the pearls.
We hugged and got ready to leave.
“So…where are you off to now?” Dan wanted to know.
“Oh, to Rachel’s,” I said. I had texted her quickly while Dan had been in the shower and she was awaiting my arrival—and the full story—any minute now. “And then on to Tim’s for our big party.”
Dan nodded. “In South Ken, you said,” he muttered casually.
“Uh-huh,” I confirmed. “He has this little house in Garden Mews. We’ll probably live there for a while together before…I don’t know, before looking for something slightly bigger. You know, when…,” I trailed off lamely, wondering if I had gone too far. But Dan just smiled.
“Good luck with everything, Sophie Penhalligan,” he said as we stepped out onto Piccadilly. “And if you do fancy coming to any of our gigs…well, we’ll always have a space for you backstage.”
I got to Rachel’s at noon and she had assembled all the usual paraphernalia for a who’s been a naughty girl chat. Usually she would be the one doing the talking, but today, it was my turn.
“Spill,” she said, eyes aglow, the second I walked into the door, and I dutifully obliged.
When I had finished, she gave me the most almighty slap on the back. “Welcome to slapperdom,” she exclaimed gleefully. “I knew you had it in you.”
“I don’t,” I explained patiently, although secretly and perversely thrilled at her bizarre accolade. I seemed to have mastered some kind of rite of passage in her eyes. “And there won’t be a repeat performance, sadly.”
Rachel sobered instantly and gave me a little hug. “I know,” she soothed. “But it’s still great what you had, isn’t it? Don’t you feel like it’s closure, in a roundabout kind of way?”
I nodded my head thoughtfully. That was a good way of looking at things. Just then my mobile phone rang, and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.
“That’ll be Tim,” I stated. “I’d better get that. He’ll be checking that I’m making the party foods…”
I cleared my throat and spoke before he got a chance to say hi. “I’m on it,” I assured him in my most competent voice. “I’ve just put the first batch in.”
“You have?” Tim was caught off guard. “But that’s brilliant.”
“Absolutely,” I continued my bluff, feeling very guilty. “Now I have to get on with the next lot.”
Suitably mollified, Tim returned to his work and I charged into Rachel’s kitchen howling in distress.
“You have to help me. I have to make an industrial-size batch of finger foods and we only have”—I took quick glance at Rachel’s kitchen clock to find out what time it actually was, then let out an even higher-pitched squeal—“two hours! Ah!”
I tore frantically at my hair because, apart from anything else, I still had to shower and change and get to Tim’s place.
Cool as ever, Rachel had a solution to hand. “There’s no time for baking, now,” she stated matter-of-factly. “We’ll raid the deli!”
“But I can’t,” I kept wailing, “I promised Tim I’d make the damn things myself.”
“Bollocks to that, he’ll never know. Plus, given your culinary skills…or should I say, lack thereof, you’re better off with some expertly presented, ready-made goodies than your own charred creations.”
That stilled me instantly. She had a point there.
“Look,” she continued, “we’ll just whip the stuff onto some plates or silver platters, add a few parsley twigs and other greenery, and he won’t know a thing. I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
We tubed to Gloucester Road to raid our favorite supermarket-slash-deli, as Rachel suggested, and went crazy in the fresh and frozen food snacks aisles. Usually this was a little out of my budgetary league, but today was no holds barred. Rachel had wisely grabbed a trolley and soon it was full to bursting with fancy finger foods. We were careful to include a lot of vol-au-vents and cheese-pastry-bakes but we couldn’t resist a few other treats.
“Tim will never believe that I made all this.”
“Well, he’ll just have to. Plus, once this stuff is on a plate, it won’t look nearly as much. Plus,” she added triumphantly, “you had me helping of course. Trust me, he’ll be gobsmacked at your newly-discovered housewife skills, and he won’t suspect a thing.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I didn’t really have a choice. We heaved our goodies to Tim’s place, where we artfully placed them on his pride-and-joy serving platters. And I had to admit, after squashing a few and putting the whole lot together, they just about looked like something I might have manufactured, given a whole lot of time and at least three attempts.
There remained for me only the small decision about what to wear. Rachel was already glammed up in one of her usual eccentric party outfits. I thought she looked stunning—like an exotic bird transported from the wilds of Costa Rica—but I suspected Tim would be a little less thrilled. Still, never mind. What about me?
I had given Rachel the task of picking out a suitable outfit from the capsule wardrobe I now kept permanently at Tim’s, and she had spent ten minutes already taking items out, huffing and puffing, and putting them back.
“This is all…well, too office-y. Why didn’t we go shopping for this?” she grumbled. She finally settled on my slinky navy trousers and my favorite white blouse, the very outfit I had worn on my first not-date with Dan, and I blushed.
“This will have to do,” she declared, barely noticing my puce face. But then her eyes settled on the little carrier bag that sat at the bottom of the stairs, carelessly deposited there by me when we entered the flat laden with our high-calorie, perishable goodies. Why did I bring it with me?
“Ah-hah!” she exclaimed, throwing me an amused, knowing look. “What have we here?” Like a magician, she opened the bag and retrieved Dan’s little black dress with a flourish.
“Oh, Sophie,” she gasped. “You didn’t say it was this divine.”
She held the dress up against the light, then against herself to take a good, close look in the mirror. “Too bad you’re thinner than me,” she announced dryly. “Otherwise I’d swap you right away. But you’ve got to wear this. It’s perfect.”
“I don’t know,” I said doubtfully, secretly willing to be convinced. “Wouldn’t that be a bit…twisted?”
“Twisted, shmisted,” Rachel pounced. “Too late now. It’s by far the best outfit in your wardrobe. You took it, didn’t you? Tim will adore it.” It was scary how she echoed my thoughts of the previous night. There was absolutely no doubt that Tim would adore it.
“Are you sure…?” I kept hesitating, for show.
“Sure I’m sure. ” Rachel let go of her poison dart. “You wore this other outfit here on a date with Dan, too.”
I thumped her in the ribs. “You cow!” I hooted. “You picked the trousers and the blouse just so you could ram this home and then make me wear the black dress.”
“Why, I never,” Rachel objected, not perturbed she had been rumbled. “Go on, silly moo, put it on.”
I gave
in. What the heck. I might as well go for it and wear the damned dress. It really couldn’t do any harm, as the betrayal had lain elsewhere. Ugh, ugly thought. Quickly, move on, Sophie!
“But,” I gasped as I was rushing around pulling together essentials such as shoes and tights, “if I wear the dress, I must find Mum’s pearls. The dress needs pearls.”
“True,” Rachel agreed immediately. “Where’s your jewelry case?”
“I don’t have one,” I yammered, struggling into tights. “I don’t even know if they’re here or at home.”
Gold-fingered and cool-headed, Rachel rifled through various boxes I kept under Tim’s bed. She promptly retrieved the pearls at first attempt and proudly put them round my neck. She stepped back and looked at me admiringly.
“Sophie, you old stunner, you look gorgeous,” she said with sisterly pride. “I can begin to see you as a bride.”
We piled downstairs to chill a little before the party. I felt…happy, glamorous, excited, and confident. Yes, I tested my emotions gingerly, there it was, my love for Tim. Perhaps Rachel had been right, and perhaps getting Dan out of my system had been an essential prerequisite for a happy life with Tim. I was strong, invincible, and beautiful. And I was determined to have a great time that night.
We had rolled up most of the rugs, removed the breakables, and arranged tables and chairs just as Tim had requested by the time he finally got home at five-thirty. Obviously we had restricted ourselves to doing things that involved only shoving or pushing, but no lifting. We didn’t want to spoil our glam appearances by working up a nice lather of sweat.
Tim was delighted at the progress we had made and let out a completely uncharacteristic wolf-whistle at my appearance.
“Soph, you look stunning,” he screamed in delight, then gave me a careful hug lest he should crumple the dress. “Have you been shopping, naughty girl?”
“I have,” I said girlishly and with only the faintest blush, which I was sure Tim would put down to embarrassment about the expense. “Do you like it?”
“It’s fabulous. I am so proud of you,” he reconfirmed and devoured me wholesale with his eyes. If a simple dress had that kind of impact on not one, but two, grown men inside of twenty-four hours, I would definitely have to rethink my wardrobe.
“And you,” Tim addressed Rachel graciously, “look terrific, too. Thanks so much for helping Sophie set up.” Golly, he really was at his most charming. My heart swelled with emotion, and I gave him a big, smacking kiss. I felt feather-light and continuously, deliriously happy. Rachel beamed back at us, and for just one minute, we were a perfect trio of friends, a definite Kodak moment.
Tim sprang into action. He sampled all the finger foods and found them to his satisfaction, and I inwardly hugged myself with glee. More brownie points for me tonight. He moved the rest of the rugs and briefly disappeared upstairs to get himself spruced up. By the time the guests arrived, the place was a party heaven.
Soon I glided elegantly through the thronging people, marveling at Tim’s outgoing demeanor tonight and his relaxed attitude toward the big red wine stain now on his otherwise polished wooden floors. I mingled and sipped at my champagne and encouraged people to partake in our party foods, mostly by setting a good example and munching away myself. Eighties music was playing on the stereo in the lounge, and club anthems were blasting in the kitchen. Yes, we had even managed—completely unpremeditated—to create different kinds of party zones. Every now and then, Tim and I came together and hugged and grinned at each other conspiratorially. “What a success,” his eyes said. ”What a blast,” mine responded. The hours flew by, it grew dark outside, and still more people were arriving. Tipsy to a substantial extent, I nonetheless noticed that there were more people there than we had invited, and a few faces that I had never seen before. We had managed to attract gatecrashers.
Eventually, another one of my hostess-with-the-mostest circuits led me past Rachel, who was cozily ensconced in a corner of the lounge with a handsome, dark stranger. I had noticed the two of them chatting away animatedly a little while ago and wondered if she had smuggled in her most recent conquest. I had been eager to investigate but kept getting sidetracked by friends. This time round, I was determined to meet Rachel’s mystery man.
As I gently fought my way through the crowd, I noticed Tim joining Rachel and her man. Rachel seemed to be making introductions and the two guys shook hands rather formally, then launched into a conversation. How very odd. Usually so disapproving of Rachel herself, it was a miracle that Tim should be drawn to one of her conquests and my intrigue was thoroughly piqued. Just then, Rachel’s date turned to face the lounge and I went stone cold with surprise.
Dan.
He hadn’t seen me yet and obviously hadn’t been looking for me either because he had been talking with Rach for…oh, at least half an hour. I was rigid with surprise, indignation, terror, and jealousy. Surprise—what was he doing here? Indignation—what was he doing here after we had agreed not to see each other again? Terror—what on earth did he think he was doing here? And jealousy—what was he doing here talking to Rachel?
Oblivious to my presence or my turmoil, the Dan-Tim-Rachel trio was laughing and chatting away. Then, to my great dismay, Tim pulled Dan by the arm and led him to the CD collection, thumping Dan on the shoulder in a bloke-to-bloke kind of way. This very picture galvanized me into action and I launched myself onto Rachel with a vengeance.
“What the hell is going on here?” I hissed, trying to prevent others from hearing our exchange.
“Oh, Sophie, Dan’s turned up. Isn’t it amazing?” she beamed at me.
“I can see that,” I kept hissing, “But what is he doing here?”
Rachel was quite drunk herself and looked at me with those bleary eyes that usually meant she was up to no good. “Sophie,” she declared solemnly and rather loudly, “you have broken the man’s heart. He has come to reclaim you.” She wobbled unsteadily and I gripped her arm. Usually one to hold her liquor, party-girl Rachel had clearly gone too far tonight.
“Shh!” I admonished. “Will you keep your voice down? What are you talking about?”
“Dan is completely besotted with you, and he said he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting engaged to Tim so he had to…hic…come and check him out…hic!” Oh God, she had the hiccups. She would have to spend the night in the guest room. Once Rachel got the hiccups, she was beyond salvation. I gave her twenty minutes before she collapsed. I had to extract critical information fast.
“Why did you introduce him to Tim?” I continued my interrogation. “Couldn’t you have sent him away?”
“Oh no, Sophie. I couldn’t turn this lovely, heartbroken man away.” She looked at me with big, innocent, and totally unfocused eyes. “In fact, we were just looking for you. You seemed to have… hic… hic… hic…disapp-hic-eared.”
“What did you say to Tim about who Dan was?” I needed to know.
“That he was Dan, of course. Your boy-hic-friend from Tuscq!” She dropped this bombshell completely nonchalantly.
“You what?” I squeaked. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“No, I’m s-hic-erious! Ti-hic-im thought it was very funny. Hic.”
I wrung my hands and barely prevented myself from tearing at my hair. If Tim had thought it was funny, he must have thought Rachel was being facetious or winding him up. He had seen her drunk before—the experience hadn’t done anything to endear her to him in any way—so it was likely that he hadn’t paid the slightest bit of heed to the truth she was spouting. But I had to move, and fast.
“You,” I said to Rachel, grabbing her by the shoulders and steering her toward the stairs. “You have had enough to drink. You are going to bed.”
“I hic-am?” Rachel asked, surprised.
“Indeed,” I confirmed grimly and marched her up the stairs. “Right, here you are. Guest room. Bed. Now.” I propelled her forward and she flopped on the bed like a rag doll.
“Very ti-hic
-hic-red,” she mumbled before passing out.
I, on the other hand, had sobered up dramatically and had only one thought left: damage limitation. I blundered back downstairs, racing quite unladylike in my high heels, and skidded to a halt in the lounge. There they were, companionably sitting in front of the stereo, playing DJ.
I clattered across the floor, grabbing a bottle of champers and three glasses off a table as I went. Tim looked up, and then sprang to his feet.
“And here she is,” he announced to Dan with no small measure of proprietary pride. “Doesn’t she look gorgeous?”
Dan rose to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and looked me up and down. A sad smile played on his face for just the briefest of moments.
“She looks stunning, indeed. Congratulations to you both.” He walked over to me and planted a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Well done,” he said softly, and Tim beamed gratefully, completely unaware that the comment was aimed solely at me. In fact, he seemed completely besotted by Dan’s manly, famous presence.
“Dan here and I were just discussing rock music,” he informed me as though Dan were his new best friend.
I shuddered for a moment. God forbid.
“Dan has some very interesting views about the movement, you know?”
I winced and smiled a secret apologetic smile at Dan, but he was too drunk to notice anything patronizing in Tim’s comment. I had to separate the two before things got out of hand. Luckily, one of our other guests absolved me of thinking up more ruses by descending on Tim and whisking him away to the kitchen.
Dan and I regarded each other in silence.
“You do look beautiful,” Dan repeated, suddenly sounding a whole lot more sober.
I wanted to cry. “What are you doing here?” I whispered, not trusting my voice.