Guilt tinged her expression, but only momentarily. ‘Can you blame me? You lied.’
‘So bloody what? It’s none of your business. This is my life, my family, and it’s my decision who I share that information with.’ How dare she judge him – she knew nothing about what it was like to care for someone after a stroke. He’d lied because he chose to keep his private life and his work life separate. Work was a respite, something to focus on and free his mind from constant worrying. He was not going to feel guilty about that.
Her face flushed the same colour as her shoes, which he now saw were two large strawberries. It wasn’t enough to dispel his anger. She’d invaded his privacy.
She moved away from the sofa. ‘I apologise for interfering.’
It was his turn to fold his arms. ‘You said it.’
She headed over to the door, pausing to address Billie. ‘Thank you for inviting me over for tea, Mrs Castillo.’
Scott blanched. His mother had invited her?
‘I’m going now, but I’ll be sure to pop by again.’ She glared at Scott. ‘When I know your son won’t be here.’ She walked out of the door. ‘Marlon, we’re leaving!’
The dog nuzzled Billie’s hand, but then followed his mistress, too scared to disobey.
Ben looked at his uncle. ‘What the frig was that all about?’
Scott didn’t answer, he couldn’t. His mum was looking at him, her eyes radiating confusion and annoyance. Unable to deal with the disappointment, he headed back into the garden.
He didn’t stop walking until he found the broken bench seat, which was still waiting to be replaced. He began kicking it, then jumping on it and then punching it. As the wood splintered, coming away in chunks, he used it to lever away the frame, all the while punching and kicking and swearing until a woman’s voice said, ‘I’m guessing you’re not from the council?’
He swung around to discover one of the residents staring at him with an amused expression on her face. She looked older than Billie, but with a lot more life in her. She was wearing an elaborate kaftan and large hoop earrings. He dropped the piece of wood he was holding, registering the throb in his knuckles. ‘I’m really sorry. Was this your bench?’
‘No, dear. But it’s about time someone dismantled it. Though perhaps not with quite so much vigour.’ She thrust out her hand. ‘Cordelia Harrison-Walker.’
He wiped his hand on his jeans before accepting her greeting. ‘Scott Castillo.’
She assessed him, nodding in approval. ‘Carpenter?’
He shook his head. ‘Plumber.’
‘You’d better come in.’ She gestured for him to enter her flat through the open French doors. ‘I have a vintage bottle of Jack Daniels and a blocked sink, both in need of attention.’
For some inexplicable reason Scott followed her inside.
‘Good boy.’ She patted his arm. ‘Open the whisky. I’ll fetch the wrench.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Thursday, 8 May
Marlon yelped as he was sent hurtling against the van window. Evie immediately slowed down, annoyed with herself for allowing a stupid, selfish man to get under her skin … again. Crashing the van and injuring her precious dog was not the way to handle her agitation.
‘Sorry, baby.’ She tried to tickle Marlon’s chin but he was having none of it. He turned his back on her, disgusted by her errant driving skills.
As she exited the roundabout, a roll of ribbon rolled past her shoulder, reminding her she was supposed to be arranging flowers for Cordelia and not heading home. Blast it!
Instinct overrode any promise to concentrate and she braked sharply, sending Marlon scrabbling for balance and then into the footwell of the van. His expression conveyed the closest thing she’d seen to a snarl.
‘I’m a bad mistress, I know, but we’ve forgotten to visit Cordelia.’ This explanation did little to appease Marlon, who climbed back onto the seat and refused to look at her.
Waiting for a gap in the traffic, Evie turned the van around and headed back to Peacock Court, irritated that her altercation with the plumber had impacted on her ability to do her job properly. Infuriating man.
She was still smarting over the way Scott Castillo had spoken to her. His anger was way out of proportion. And anyway, what did he have to be angry about? She was the one who’d been lied to. If he hadn’t given her such baloney about being ‘free as a bird’ then she wouldn’t have assumed he was a lowlife flake who didn’t look after his poorly mum. The fact that he wasn’t was immaterial. He shouldn’t have lied. This was his fault, not hers.
She slowed down to negotiate the roundabout, careful not to dislodge Marlon again.
Despite feeling aggrieved, she couldn’t deny the sense of guilt she felt. According to Ben, who’d followed her out to the car park after she left, apologising for his uncle’s reaction, Scott adored Billie, not only providing for her health needs, but supporting the family financially as well.
For Billie’s sake, Evie was pleased. The woman clearly deserved loving and devoted carers. From her own perspective, it was bad news. Partly because it meant her assumptions about Scott were wrong. Discovering her plumber wasn’t a shallow git but a kind and caring man wasn’t helping to keep her feelings in check. Ben waxing lyrical about how Scott ‘looked after them all’ and was the ‘best uncle in the world’ didn’t help either. In fact, this additional information had caused something inside her to shift – and she didn’t like it. Feeling contempt towards Scott Castillo was the only thing stopping her from falling for him big time. And her heart couldn’t take that.
She pulled into the car park at Peacock Court and killed the engine. Turning to Marlon, she tried to tickle his tummy, but his gaze was fixed sideways. ‘Marlon, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.’ She rubbed his back, hitting the spot just above his hip that made his leg twitch. Succumbing, his head tilted in pleasure. ‘I have treats.’ Opening the glove compartment, she dug out a chew. He made a brief show of ‘I can’t be bribed’ before taking it and munching it down.
Evie headed into the flats, armed with a tray of orange germini, Marlon trotting behind, his good mood restored. Balancing the tray on her hip, Evie knocked on Cordelia’s door, apologising profusely the moment it opened. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late …’
‘Come in, come in.’ She was ushered through the doorway.
‘It was my fault entirely …’ And then she stopped. Sitting on the sofa, looking flushed and enticingly dishevelled, was Scott. ‘What are you doing here?’ The irony of the role reversal wasn’t lost on her.
Cordelia moved away from Marlon, evidently disliking the way he was checking out her flamboyant kaftan. ‘Evie, my dear, this young man is my neighbour.’
Evie placed the tray down on the table. ‘Sorry, yes. I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’
Cordelia smiled. ‘We didn’t. Do I take it that you two are also acquainted?’
‘Mr Castillo is my plumber.’ Opting for a more formal approach helped to dampen the butterflies causing havoc in her tummy.
‘And Miss Armstrong is the reason for my shitty mood,’ Scott responded, standing up. ‘Thank you for the whisky, Cordelia. I needed it.’ He glowered at Evie before kissing the old lady’s cheek. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you.’
Cordelia positively beamed. ‘The pleasure was all mine.’ She was also swaying. ‘Thank you for mending my sink.’ She gave Evie a sly smile. ‘Do you by any chance have Italian heritage, Mr Castillo?’
The change of topic seemed to confuse him. ‘Er, yes, on my father’s side. Why?’
‘Oh, no reason.’ Cordelia’s mischievous grin widened. ‘You remind me of an Italian film star I once had a fancy for. Are you sure you won’t stay for another drink?’
‘I’ve had too much already.’ He turned to face Evie. ‘I left a hammer in your shop yesterday. I’ll be in touch about picking it up.’ He ruffled Marlon’s hair, causing the dog to quiver with delight. ‘Oh, and thank you for visiting my mother. It was k
ind of you.’ He couldn’t quite meet her gaze. ‘I’m sure she’d like to see you again.’ This last sentence was muffled as he made his way out of the door.
Evie stared after him, thrown by the contrast between his words and the way he’d delivered them. He was a complex character.
Cordelia picked up a near empty glass of whisky. ‘Such a hunk, don’t you agree?’
Evie removed the protective wrapping from the flowers. ‘Not my type.’
‘Really? That does surprise me.’ She sipped her whisky. ‘I rather wondered if he was the hunky Italian film star you’ve been referring to of late.’
Evie busied herself looking for her cutters. ‘I hope you like the flowers. I’ve gone for something quite bold this time.’
‘Now I’ve met him I can’t help think you might’ve misjudged him. He seemed delightful. A deliciously firm bottom.’ She giggled.
Evie really didn’t want to think about Scott’s bottom, or any other part of him, for that matter. ‘I’ve named this design Citrus Burst.’ Evie used the water jug to fill the vases. ‘Apt, don’t you think?’
‘You know, a good man can make you feel strong, full of energy, able to take on the world.’ She twirled around, spilling the remnants of her drink over the carpet. ‘Or maybe that’s whisky?’
Evie raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Keen to change the subject, she nodded at the photos on the wall. ‘I’d love to hear more about your career as a photographer. Where was this one taken?’ She pointed to the grainy black-and-white image of a Chinese man standing in front of a burning building.
Cordelia studied the picture. ‘Brussels, 1954. Rebel militants stormed the Chinese embassy. It was a difficult photo to take. Shots were flying all around, but I held my nerve.’
Evie could barely imagine. ‘Weren’t you afraid?’
Cordelia held the glass to her chest. ‘Goodness, yes. I feared for my life.’
‘But you did it anyway?’
She thrust out her arm, the cut-glass tumbler pointing in Evie’s direction. ‘As I keep telling you, sometimes in life you need to take a risk. That photograph brought me to the attention of several large newspapers. My career rocketed. I met my second husband as a result of it. A risk worth taking, wouldn’t you agree?’
Evie nodded. ‘I can see that.’
She sighed. ‘I do hope my handsome neighbour allows me to photograph him some time. Such photogenic cheekbones.’
Evie arranged the germini and delicate salal foliage, not wanting to engage in a conversation about her plumber’s cheekbones.
‘I could create a modern-day New York kiss.’ Cordelia leant against the piano.
Evie turned to look at her. ‘A what?’
Cordelia pointed to another photo, the famous shot of a wartime sailor kissing a girl in a white uniform in Times Square. ‘You could be the girl.’
Evie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Cordelia frowned. ‘Why so resistant? The sexual chemistry is palpable.’
Evie nearly knocked over the vase.
‘As someone who’s been around as long as I have, I know when two people have a connection. I’m surprised the lights didn’t start flashing in here, the current was so strong.’
Evie concentrated on the flowers. ‘I think you’ll find that was dislike. We had a bit of a disagreement earlier.’
‘I know, he told me.’
Evie stopped what she was doing. ‘He did?’
Cordelia slumped against the piano. ‘Not in any detail. He simply said that he’d had a difficult morning and he’d taken his bad mood out on the wrong person.’ A look of confusion fleeted across Cordelia’s face as she realised her glass was empty. ‘He’s very worried about his mother, you know.’
Evie sighed. ‘I’m sure he is.’
‘Her health isn’t good.’ She ambled over to the drinks cabinet. ‘He’s also the guardian for his teenage nephew.’
Evie didn’t know this.
‘I think it all gets rather overwhelming at times.’ She topped up her drink, the whisky bottle shaking in her hand. ‘Such a lot of responsibility for someone so young. I can only imagine the sacrifices he’s had to make. Sad, really.’
‘Billie has a nurse, though,’ said Evie, in a vain attempt to ease her growing sense of guilt.
‘Not the same as the bond of family. A nurse may care for a charge, but they don’t worry or lose sleep over their wellbeing. Not like a family member would.’
Evie disagreed. The family bond hadn’t stopped her parents cutting her loose as a teenager, had it? They’d put themselves first, each choosing a new life in preference to sticking with the existing one. Would either one give up that new life to care for her if she became ill? She wasn’t sure.
Cordelia took a gulp of her drink. ‘But then your experience of family might not be so positive. I sense trust issues within your family set-up. A lack of …’ She searched for the appropriate word. ‘Attachment. Yes?’
Was the old lady a mind reader? Evie nodded.
‘I thought as much. You know, both my children live abroad.’ She moved towards Evie, surprisingly stable considering the consumption of alcohol. ‘I’ve encouraged them to flee the nest, make their own lives and not feel obligated to care for an elderly relative. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I also know that should I ever need them, they’d be here. One day that will happen. Not yet. Not while there’s whisky!’ She raised her glass.
Evie reached out to catch her. ‘Are you drunk?’
‘Goodness, no.’ Cordelia righted herself, smoothing down the front of her kaftan. ‘A lady never gets drunk. I am respectfully tipsy.’
Good answer. She’d have to remember that one.
‘Now, you listen to me, young lady – as a woman who knows about affairs of the heart.’ She raised her glass to her lips. ‘Men are pretty terrific. Sex is pretty good too.’ She grinned. ‘Just don’t take either of them too seriously.’
Evie tried to keep a straight face.
Cordelia noticed her shoes. ‘Why do you have fruit on your feet?’
Too embarrassed to say it was because the plumber liked her wearing nutty shoes, she simply said, ‘Comfort.’
‘Dear girl, there’s plenty of time to be comfortable when you’re six feet under. No, no, no, these just won’t do. Think seduction … intrigue … glamour …’ She trailed off.
Evie turned to see what had caught her attention. Marlon was exiting Cordelia’s bedroom, carrying a silk slipper in his mouth. Evie’s heart plummeted into her stomach. Damn dog. She waited for the explosion, frantically gesturing to Marlon to drop it before Cordelia threw something at him, but he ignored her. He was paying Evie back for the car journey, wasn’t he?
Cordelia tutted and shook her head at Marlon. ‘If you think you can outsmart me, young man, you are very much mistaken.’ She wobbled on her gold mule shoes. ‘I once ate dog at a banquet in North Korea.’ She licked her lips. ‘Very tasty.’
Marlon dropped the slipper.
‘Sensible decision.’ She moved slowly across the room, aiming for the bedroom, whisky glass still in hand. ‘I am now going to lie down. Please shut the door on your way out.’
Evie started when the bedroom door slammed. She looked at Marlon. ‘What do you make of all that?’
But Marlon was heading for the door, no doubt fearing he was about to be eaten.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Saturday, 10 May
Sometimes Laura found it hard to hold her tongue. Most brides, even if they had an idea of how they wanted to look on their wedding day, would allow Laura to steer them towards a style that met their criteria whilst also flattering their shape. Brides often marched into the shop armed with a photo of a six-foot model, photographed in soft lighting, wearing Tiffany diamonds and with their hair styled by John Frieda, asking to replicate the image. Laura had become adept at curbing their expectations, pointing out that brides with a smaller budget, wider hips and a foot shorter might not look the same
as Cara Delevingne. The art was to find the equivalent look. A dress that would create the same wow factor when emerging from the dressing room.
And then there were brides like Sharon, who despite every form of flattery, coercion, and clever subterfuge could not be persuaded from choosing a completely unsuitable style. Or in this case, size.
Laura cleared her throat. ‘The colour is perfect for your skin tone.’ Always start with a positive. ‘Ivory-cream is definitely the way to go. However …’ Unless you want the whole of the Dominican Republic to witness your chesticles bouncing along the beach like a couple of inflatable beach balls … ‘My concern is that a strapless dress won’t give you the necessary support up top.’
Sharon wiggled, admiring the sight of her bra-clad assets wobbling in the full-length mirror. ‘Jamie loves my tits. He can’t get enough of them. He wants them on display.’
Jamie may get his wish, thought Laura. And he wouldn’t have to wait long.
‘He loves my shoulders too.’ She stroked her hand down one arm. ‘So the dress needs to be strapless.’
Clearly Sharon had never studied the laws of gravity.
Armed with a roll of satin ribbon and a box of safety pins, Laura approached. ‘May I?’
Sharon lifted her arms. ‘Go for your life.’
With the dress hooked over Sharon’s head, Laura removed the hanger and pinned the dress to Sharon’s outer clothing so her bride could visualise how the gown might look if it was the correct size.
Laura measured and cut two lengths of ribbon. ‘As you can see, this dress doesn’t have any support in the bust area. It’s designed for those with a smaller chest.’
Sharon’s smirk dropped to Laura’s B cups. ‘Poor cows.’
Laura continued. ‘In order to give you a beautiful silhouette and enhance your—’
‘Zeppelins.’
That was a new one. ‘Fabulous cleavage.’
Sharon nodded in agreement. ‘That too.’
The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop Page 18