Love at the Northern Lights

by Love at the Northern Lights (retail) (epub)

  But not today.

  Not any more.

  Something inside her had changed.

  ‘Rolo, everyone else will get over this but we won’t. Not if we make a mistake. I don’t love you the way I should. I care about you but I’ve been drifting along with all of this, doing the so-called right thing and thinking I could live with it. This morning, when it all became real, I woke up. I’m so sorry for the mess I’m leaving behind but I can’t do this. I can’t stay.’

  He frowned then nodded slowly. ‘You’re serious about this?’

  ‘I am.’

  Am I?

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bugger! Nothing I could say to change your mind?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Well… I’ll still go on the honeymoon, Frankie. I’m not missing out on that.’

  ‘You do as you like, Rolo. And I really am sorry to leave you in such a bind.’

  But as they hugged quickly, their lower bodies arched outwards so they didn’t touch as they rapidly patted each other’s backs, Frankie knew that Rolo was already far away, working out what to tell people and how to turn the situation to his advantage. He was good at that. Perhaps it was the lawyer in him, used to creating convincing arguments to support his clients and to finding the best in a situation when a case had been lost. Their relationship had been a lost case from the start, the verdict a forgone conclusion, and if it hadn’t happened today, then it would have happened somewhere down the road. Possibly with far worse consequences, like hurt or abandoned children. For Frankie, the idea of abandoning or upsetting any future children was a physical pain and one she would avoid at all costs.

  ‘Goodbye, Rolo.’

  ‘Wait! Uh… Before you dash off… What shall I tell people?’

  ‘You’ll think of something.’

  He nodded, his brow furrowed with concentration.

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I do need to get away.’

  He huffed. ‘Yes, because Helen is going to be baying for your blood. Probably send the hounds after you!’ He laughed at his own joke but Frankie knew it had been bandied around, in certain circles, that Helen Ashford had a team of private investigators – nicknamed ‘the hounds’ – whom she used to look into people she was considering going into business with, or even associating with. In fact, she’d apparently used them to vet all the prospective wedding guests before inviting them.

  Frankie winced at the use of her grandmother’s name. She’d been trying not to dwell on how furious the older woman would be at losing face, money and control over her granddaughter.

  ‘So I’d better get going.’

  ‘Take care, Frankie.’

  ‘You too.’

  She lifted her hem and made her way back out of the maze then dragged her suitcase out from under the hedge. This was the hardest thing she had ever done but she knew it was for the best. Rolo hadn’t even seemed upset, not at all. In fact, as his expression had changed to become the one she thought of as his court face, she was sure she’d seen a flicker of relief in there too. He’d made no sweeping declarations of love, no heartbroken pleas and seemed to care more about the idea of losing the honeymoon than about losing her. She straightened her dress, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. Then paused. Was that a female voice coming from the other side of the hedge? She shrugged. It was probably the wind howling through the leaves, and if it was anything else, like a woman who’d been hiding in there as she’d spoken to Rolo, then what did it matter?

  She had definitely done the right thing for both of them.

  But Rolo had asked a good question.

  Where the hell was she going to go now?

  Chapter 4

  Just as Frankie was heading down the drive, she heard the crunching of gravel behind her. She turned around and her heart plummeted.

  Grandma!

  In hot pursuit.

  She thought about speeding up but knew that would only delay the inevitable showdown, so she’d just as well grit her teeth and take it on the chin here and now.

  She let go of the handle of her suitcase, pushed her shoulders back and watched as Grandma approached, surprisingly fast in her three-inch heels and lavender two piece, her antique pearl and peacock feather fascinator bobbing on the side of her head.

  ‘Frances!’ Grandma’s chest heaved as she reached her. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m… I’m leaving.’

  ‘Don’t be so beastly! You can’t leave… this is your wedding day. Oh blazes! What have you done to your beautiful, beautiful dress?’ Grandma pressed her veiny hands to her mouth in horror, and Frankie saw that her long nails matched the colour of her suit.

  ‘Grandma, I can’t do this. It was a mistake. I thought I could, but marrying Rolo isn’t what I want.’

  ‘What you want?’ Her grandmother chuckled. ‘Jolly good, Frances.’

  ‘Why is that amusing?’ Frankie put her hands on her hips.

  Her grandmother’s slate-grey eyes bored into hers. ‘This wedding is a union of two families. It is a demonstration of our wealth and a joining together of two names that mean something in this country! It is not about a spoilt little girl and her foolish dreams. Wake up, Frances, and stop acting like some seedy romantic.’

  Frankie’s legs were trembling as she stood there trying to be brave in the face of her grandmother’s wrath. Throughout her entire life, she’d given in to this woman, allowed the matriarch to bully her into doing whatever she wanted, even allowed her to destroy her own dreams of becoming a fashion designer. Grandma’s word had been law and Frankie had rarely questioned it. And where had that got her? She was twenty-nine, in a career that had been a compromise because she’d needed something outside the home and family, and she’d agreed to marry a man she didn’t love. She didn’t know her own mother and had even allowed Grandma to prevent her from trying to find out more about her.

  Frankie was, she had to admit it now, terribly unhappy.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t.’

  Grandma’s face turned red right up to the roots of her white hair – that sat in a style she’d copied from the Queen, and that she’d had for as long as Frankie had known her – and she raised her hand. Frankie instinctively stepped back, fearing a physical blow or that Grandma might grab her arm and drag her back to the house, but instead it was a barrage of words that hit her full force, and a shaking finger that cut through the air between them, the lacquered nail at the end like some sort of blade.

  ‘If you go now, Frances Ashford, you will be leaving everything behind. If you embarrass me by walking down that drive and putting me in the awful position of having to explain where you have gone, then I will never forgive you. I will cut you from my will, throw you out of my house and you will be penniless. Do you hear me?’

  Frankie glanced down the driveway to where freedom beckoned, then she glanced up towards the stately home where a lifetime of unhappiness awaited, then, finally, she met her grandmother’s cold gaze again.

  ‘You can do what you like with your money. I truly am sorry that you will be embarrassed but I can’t see another way of dealing with this situation. If you like, I’ll stay and face people. I’ll tell them why I can’t marry Rolo and let them see me… like this.’ She gestured at her stained gown. ‘Is that what you want?’

  Grandma’s lip curled and she bared her teeth.

  ‘Get out of my sight! I should’ve known you’d end up being as much of a disgrace as your mother!’

  Frankie opened her mouth, a thousand recriminations on the tip of her tongue, but she knew that venting them would make nothing better. Grandma had never listened to what she had to say; why would she start now?

  So she pulled the handle of her suitcase up again, lifted her chin then set off down the driveway, trying to ignore the insults that Grandma muttered in her wake, and trying to ignore the ache in her heart.

&nbs
p; * * *

  At the airport, Frankie made her way to the toilets. The Uber driver she’d called hadn’t blinked when she’d got into the back of the car still wearing her wedding dress. He’d just popped the boot and put her suitcase in there then chatted about the weather and latest headlines as he’d driven her to Heathrow. It made Frankie wonder how often he actually picked up runaway brides from the bottom of the driveway of stately homes. Waiting there had been hell, as it had been busy as guests arrived, so she’d spent the thirty minutes diving behind a nearby hedge every time she heard a car engine, until finally the Uber driver had pulled up and beeped the horn. She’d sprung from her hiding place like a highwayman in wait, and hurried over to the vehicle; another thing that the driver hadn’t commented on. After her exchange with Grandma, she hadn’t wanted to encounter anyone, knowing that seeing Frankie in her soiled and torn gown would only fuel the gossip when Grandma and Rolo announced that the wedding had been called off.

  As she entered the bright white toilets, she looked around. Thankfully, it was quiet, so she didn’t have to deal with the curious stares of strangers. She dragged her suitcase into the disabled cubicle and locked the door, then lowered the lid of the toilet and sank onto it.

  Exhaustion blurred her edges and she closed her eyes for a moment. It felt as if this morning had happened to someone else. It was all so surreal, like something she’d heard about or watched on TV. Even her conversation with Rolo now had a dreamlike quality to it, especially the smoking. How had she been unaware all this time that he was a smoker? But then, as he’d said, there were probably lots of things they didn’t know about each other. Why he’d hidden it from her was something else she was confused about. She didn’t smoke herself and never had, except for the few cigarettes she’d tried at boarding school when one of the girls had sneaked a pack in, but she hadn’t enjoyed the taste or the dizziness it brought, so she’d left it alone. However, she’d never stressed a vehement opposition to it either, so Rolo’s secrecy was odd. Unless… perhaps he’d wanted to have secrets from her. Rolo liked people to see him a certain way, depending upon who they were, and it was highly likely that that applied to Frankie too.

  She opened her eyes and stared at her suitcase. She’d packed it for her honeymoon on a tropical island and a quick mental recap informed her that it held tiny bikinis, sarongs, silky slips and her ereader – well, she had suspected that she’d have time to read as the passion between her and Rolo hadn’t exactly burned brightly, so she’d known she’d need something to while away the hours. She recalled packing some linen trousers and shorts and T-shirts as well, but hoped she’d included some jeans and a jumper, or at least a hoodie. It was really cold outside and waiting for the Uber had confirmed that for her, as she’d stood there shivering in her strapless wedding dress.

  ‘Just as well open it and find out,’ she muttered, as she knelt next to the suitcase then unzipped it. ‘Oh, Jen, what have you done?’ she screeched as the contents of the case burst out and rolled off onto the cubicle floor. ‘I was going on honeymoon, not auditioning for Fifty Shades of Earl Grey.’

  ‘Are you all right in there?’ A voice from outside the disabled cubicle made her freeze. ‘There’s a cord you can pull if it’s an emergency.’

  ‘I… I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, quite sure, thank you. Just reading my texts.’

  ‘While you’re on the toilet?’

  Who was this person and why wouldn’t they go away?

  ‘Uh, yes.’

  ‘That’s not very hygienic, you know. Your mobile will be covered in all sorts of germs.’

  ‘Uhhh… thanks for that. It’s a habit but I’ll conquer it.’

  ‘I should hope so.’

  Footsteps informed her that the disembodied voice was heading away, so Frankie sat back on her heels and surveyed the carnage that was her suitcase contents. Jen obviously thought this was funny, or kind, knowing Jen, but it certainly wasn’t. What about when the case had gone through the airport scanner? If Frankie had been stopped with it then this would have been incredibly hard to explain. It would be even worse now that she was alone and didn’t have the excuse of being part of a honeymoon couple.

  She started picking through the offending items. The Earl Grey teabags she put back in the case, but the other items that Jen had packed on top of her clothes she put into a small pile. Frankie had never seen the like of some of them before, from the lacy black teddy to the electric-blue vibrator with a pink tip to the black leather crotchless panties and the edible nipple tassels. Her best friend had obviously had a field day as she’d shopped. There were hold-up stockings in all colours of the rainbow, furry handcuffs and what seemed to be a rubber mask.

  ‘Bloody hell, I was going on honeymoon but this makes it look as though I had every intention of committing a saucy bank robbery.’

  When she’d rooted around inside the case and didn’t find anything else that appeared to be of the sex toy/fetish kind, she shook her head. If she had actually got these through customs – albeit totally oblivious to their presence – and pulled them out at their destination, what would Rolo have said? He might have begged for an annulment, as never once in their time together had he asked her to dress up or try anything remotely risqué. She’d wondered about it sometimes, as wasn’t that what couples did? Didn’t they enjoy adventurous sex lives where they sometimes wore costumes and used titillating toys, especially when they wanted to spice things up a bit? That’s what she’d heard her friends laugh about and what she’d seen on TV and in movies, but she’d never wanted to do it and Rolo had never asked. If they had been a bit more exploratory in their love life, would they have been closer? So many questions that would never have answers…

  Now, what to do with them? She eyed the sanitary bin. She could throw them in there then leave the cubicle and never come back, but what if someone found them? Some poor unsuspecting person who couldn’t open the lid properly, or a cleaner? Frankie would surely be captured on CCTV entering the toilet with her case and they might trace the items to her. Cold sweat prickled her armpits and trickled down her spine. She was in a pickle all right, and wondered if the day could get any worse.

  * * *

  Frankie stuffed the erotic paraphernalia into a tote beach bag that she’d packed for sandy flip-flops – thinking that she could decide what to do with it all later – then rifled through her clothes. She settled upon a pair of soft black lounge pants that she remembered packing for the flight home, expecting to be cold after spending two weeks in a tropical climate, and a black T-shirt that she covered with a pretty purple crochet cardigan. It wasn’t perfect for the November weather but it was preferable to a wedding dress, then she exchanged her heels for a pair of purple pumps. Thank goodness she’d packed them just in case, even though she’d expected to spend most of her honeymoon barefoot or in her flip-flops.

  Once she’d stuffed the wedding dress into the case, she zipped it up then hooked her bag over her shoulder, picked up the tote bag and grabbed the handle of her case. There was no one outside the cubicle now, so she went to the sinks and met her eyes in the mirror.

  She looked at her reflection. Her make-up was not as flawless as it had been, so she pulled a pack of wipes from her handbag and wiped off as much of it as she could, then swilled her face with cold water. But as for her hair… there was so much hairspray in it and so many clips that she despaired of managing to get them all out. Even the tiara was welded to her head, so she decided to leave it for now. Besides, in spite of her anxiety about the whole situation, she realized she was hungry. She’d drunk all that champagne on an empty belly and needed to eat something before she zonked out completely.

  ‘You can do this. You can do anything, Frankie. You just need to decide where to go now.’

  A thought struck her.

  Did she have her passport? She couldn’t recall giving it to Rolo, even though he’d asked her about fifty times, but she just
kept forgetting. Or did she? Was it a subconscious thing that she’d done because she didn’t want to hand him that bit of control too?

  She dropped the tote bag and placed her handbag on the sink unit to peer inside. She flicked through the main compartment then the one side pocket and another. She heard people enter the toilets but panic was surging through her so she carried on searching. Finally, inside her year planner, she located it. She pulled it out and pressed it to her lips as tears filled her eyes. If she’d had to return to their London house now, she knew her grandmother would probably be there already, likely having been helicoptered home so she could deal with her wayward granddaughter then force her to return to the stately home and her wedding, even if she had to pick up an off-the-peg wedding gown on the way. Grandma probably would assume that Frankie would go home, and would possibly want to change the locks before she got there just to punish her properly.

  At least she wouldn’t need to go home; she could go wherever she liked. As far away from Grandma’s fury as possible.

  ‘Look, Mama!’ A tiny child toddled across the floor, chuckling as she went. ‘A wiggle toy.’

  Frankie turned to watch them, admiring how the woman crouched down to smile at her child. ‘What have you got there, sweetheart?’ The mother held out her hand.

  Frankie’s heart ached then, for all that she had never known, for the mother who had abandoned her when she was younger than the little girl in front of her.

  ‘Oh my God! What is that? Where did you get it?’ The woman stood upright and held the offending buzzing item aloft. It was the electric-blue vibrator and the woman stared at it in horror as the tip twirled round and round, flashing like the lights on a police car. She scanned the toilets and her eyes landed on Frankie. ‘Is this yours?’