Because we just buried our mother, he wanted to say, but held himself back.
Instead, he sniffed one of the yellow roses. The scent reminded him of Evie, floral and fresh, like sweets and summer. ‘I didn’t know if Ben’s speech had affected you.’
Her look was one of puzzlement. ‘Why would it? It wasn’t about me.’
Had she been listening? Maybe one day Scott would cease to be amazed by his sister’s cluelessness. Today wasn’t that day.
He was about to leave when she said, ‘I do love him, you know.’
Actually, Scott wasn’t sure he did know, but he tactfully said, ‘I know you do.’
‘It’s just that I don’t …’ She seemed to search for the appropriate word. ‘I don’t need people. I don’t want them to need me either.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘It puzzles me that people can’t accept that.’
There were so many things Scott could have said at that moment. But bone-deep tiredness and a recognition that his sister was incapable of changing dampened his desire to fight. ‘We’re not talking about people, Lisa. We’re talking about family. There’s a big difference. Life is about loving others as well as yourself. I’m sorry to break it to you, but you gave up the right to be selfish when you fell pregnant. Love is about compromise and sacrifice, something you’ve never understood.’ He waited until she met his gaze. ‘And it’s something Mum did her entire life.’
If she’d been about to say something, he’d never know. Nicole appeared, changing the dynamic. Lisa moved away. Scott didn’t follow.
Mirroring his actions just a few moments earlier, Nicole leant in and smelt one of the roses. ‘So beautiful,’ she said, snapping its head off.
Scott’s mouth dropped open.
Nicole twirled the rose between her fingers. ‘Isn’t nature wonderful?’
Scott pointed to a row of plaques. ‘These flowers have been planted by relatives of loved ones buried here, Nic.’
She nodded, trying for compassion, falling a little short. ‘A fitting memorial.’
He’d forgotten how insensitive she could be. ‘I’m not sure you should be picking them.’
She smiled. ‘One little flower won’t make a difference.’ She tossed the rose away, slipping her arm though his. ‘How are you holding up?’
He shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess. Glad it’s over.’
She smiled. ‘Me too.’ Her expression turned coy. ‘I’ve missed you.’
He looked at her lovely face. ‘You have?’
She nudged him playfully. ‘Of course I have, silly. It was horrible being apart.’
He blinked. Was she serious? ‘We were only apart because you left me, Nic. You broke off our engagement because you didn’t want me to care for Mum.’
She leant into him. ‘I know, but things have changed. It’s different now.’
Why, because she’s dead?
She fiddled with his tie. ‘I think we should try again.’
Had he heard correctly? ‘Try again?’
‘You know, get back together.’ Scepticism must have shown on his face, because she added, ‘We were happy, weren’t we?’
He nodded. ‘I thought so.’
‘Exactly.’ She beamed, happiness radiating from every pore … even though they were at his mother’s funeral. ‘And there’s no reason why we couldn’t be like that again. I love you, Scott. I always have.’
Jesus, he’d wanted to hear those words so many times. And yet a searing pain sliced through him.
Her eagerness bubbled over. ‘You could move back to London and get a decent job. It’ll be like old times.’ She kissed him. It was warm, soft, filled with promise. It should have been wonderful, but something felt wrong. He was mourning his mother, he reasoned. That would put a dampener on any romance.
She blinked up at him, her expression full of love and wanting. ‘There’s nothing stopping us now.’ She rested her head on his chest.
For two years he’d dreamt about this moment, having Nicole back in his arms. And here she was, wanting him, telling him she loved him. They could be together … now that he didn’t have to care for his mum. There was no getting away from it – that last part grated.
‘We’d better join the others,’ he said, unsure of how he felt. ‘The reception will be starting soon.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Wednesday, 11 June
When Evie arrived at Cordelia’s she hadn’t expected to find herself agreeing to a makeover. But as her appearance woefully needed addressing, and the woman clearly knew more about fashion than Evie did, she decided it might be fun.
Sitting in Cordelia’s bedroom felt odd, although the word ‘bedroom’ didn’t adequately describe the older woman’s sleeping quarters. ‘Boudoir’ would be more appropriate. The room was painted a soft putty colour with gold velvet curtains and matching bed linen. The carpet was bouncy and thick, covered in a large white rug. A rug Marlon was currently sitting on.
Despite Evie insisting that he should stay in the living room, Cordelia was adamant that he be allowed to see his owner’s ‘transformation’. ‘Otherwise he might not recognise you,’ Cordelia said, draping a white sheet around Evie to blank out any ‘pre-existing colour influences’. Amongst her many other talents, Cordelia had trained in colour analysis. The woman had packed a lot into her ninety-four years.
Concealing Evie’s hair under a towel, Cordelia placed a bright pink square of fabric under her chin, followed by a yellow one. ‘Your skin has a pink base, so we’ll discount the warmer tones.’ Cordelia tossed the yellow swatch away.
Marlon looked confused as to why his mistress was dressed like a ghost. Uninspired by what he saw, he lowered his head onto the fluffy rug. Evie prayed he wouldn’t dribble.
Cordelia had dressed for the occasion, her outfit one of a Parisian beautician, complete with matching toolkit strapped around her middle. ‘Did you speak to Scott at the wake?’ she asked, nonchalantly placing a range of blue swatches across Evie’s front.
Evie shook her head. ‘Only briefly. I offered my condolences, but we were interrupted by his sister. She needed a lift to the airport, so he had to leave.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Cordelia changed the swatches for a set of red ones. ‘Have you decided to follow your heart and tell the man how you feel?’
Evie was about to deny having any feelings for the plumber when she stopped herself. Why keep pretending? She’d been falling for Scott ever since meeting him. Kissing him senseless had only confirmed that, reminding her of what she’d been missing out on for so long. She was tired of being an emotional prisoner. Denying herself might have kept her heart safe, but it hadn’t made her happy. ‘Maybe.’
‘At last, a positive development.’ Cordelia rubbed her hands together. ‘You clearly both like each other. He frequently looked for you at the service.’
Evie felt herself blush. ‘I’m sure he didn’t.’
Cordelia looked affronted. ‘I assure you he did. You might’ve been oblivious, but I wasn’t.’ She changed the red swatches for greens and yellows. ‘Now, the question is, what are you going to do about it? Personally, I favour the direct, no-nonsense approach.’
Evie smiled. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
Cordelia studied Evie in the large ornate mirror. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
Evie raised an eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’
Cordelia’s astute gaze fell upon Evie’s eyebrows. ‘We need to do something with those.’ Removing a pair of tweezers from her toolkit, she began plucking. ‘It’s better to regret something you’ve done than something you haven’t.’
Evie’s eyes watered. ‘Like letting you loose on me with these implements? Ouch!’
‘Keep still.’ Cordelia continued, unperturbed, ‘I’m no psychologist, but I suspect you lack the confidence to allow yourself to be attractive.’
Evie frowned.
‘Don’t frown, dear. It bunches your eyebrows.’ She moved to the other eye. ‘A part of you believes
the irrational jealousy displayed by your ex was partly your fault. Somehow being attractive and showing confidence fuelled his insecurities.’ Cordelia glanced at Evie. ‘Would I be correct?’
As usual, the woman was spot on. ‘I used to enjoy looking nice.’
‘Luckily, nature took care of the essentials. But as my mother used to say, beauty is twenty per cent nature, eighty per cent effort.’ She produced a little brush and smoothed down Evie’s eyebrows. ‘Now, if you don’t care about how you look, that’s fine. But if you’re actively subduing your appearance so as not to attract attention, that cannot continue.’ She pointed to Evie’s reflection. ‘There comes a time when one needs to let go of the past and be the person one wants to be.’
Evie inspected her eyebrows. ‘I can’t imagine you ever lacking confidence.’
Cordelia returned to the swatches. ‘On the contrary.’ She placed a selection of muted tones across Evie’s front. ‘It took me a long time to recover from my last love.’ She paused, struck by a painful memory. ‘She was a woman, you know.’
Evie must have looked surprised.
‘Shocking, I know.’ Cordelia looked wistful. ‘Her name was Virginia Fanning. We met on a photo shoot in 1983. She was an eco-activist with a fiery temper and beautiful soul.’
One of Marlon’s ears lifted, as if waiting for more. He wasn’t the only one.
Cordelia obliged. ‘I’d never been with a woman before, but Ginny was such a delight. Funny, smart, passionate. To begin with I was merely curious. But I grew to love her very much. We enjoyed a wonderful ten years together before she died of stomach cancer.’
Marlon made a whimpering sound.
Evie stroked his head. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Cordelia.’
Cordelia took a moment to compose herself. ‘The point of telling you this is that, like you, I took a long time to recover from the loss. But eventually I did and I’m glad. How tragic would it have been to spend the rest of my days in misery?’
‘I agree.’
‘And so you should.’ She removed the towel from Evie’s head. ‘I have been widowed on three occasions and yet I still feel blessed. I’ve experienced enormous pleasures, been on adventures and taken risks. I’ve travelled, lived and loved, all without fear.’
Evie felt a pang of envy. ‘Not many people can say that.’
Cordelia rested her hands on Evie’s shoulders. ‘My dear, fear is a state of mind. You need to develop trust in your ability to handle whatever comes your way. Then fear cannot inhibit you.’ She twisted Evie’s hair into a loose up-do, securing it with a pin. ‘So, let me ask you again. Are you going to follow your heart and tell my extremely handsome, Italian movie star next-door neighbour how you feel?’
Evie smiled. ‘Yes, I am.’
Marlon barked.
Cordelia punched the air. ‘Good girl. No time like the present.’ She went to her wardrobe and produced a delicate silk scarf. ‘Your colouring is “clear winter”.’ She tied the scarf around Evie’s neck. ‘Bright navy, dark violet and icy grey.’ She stood back to admire her work. ‘Perfect. I’ll put together a full colour palette for you, but it might be a while before I can give it to you. I’m going on holiday tomorrow.’
Evie was amazed by how much colour the scarf brought to her cheeks. ‘Are you going anywhere nice?’
Cordelia pulled out a lip gloss from her toolkit. ‘The Caribbean. I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise.’
There was no question about it, Cordelia Harrison-Walker was a walking miracle. ‘I hope you have a wonderful time. How long will you be gone?’
‘Three weeks.’ She dabbed some colour onto Evie’s lips. ‘And just to show you that you’re never too old to fall in love, on my return I shall be acquiring a dog.’ She looked at Marlon.
He promptly fetched a cushion from the armchair.
Laughing, she patted his head. ‘Now, Marlon, I require your assistance.’ He tilted his head, as if listening. ‘As I have reached my twilight years there is a possibility my new companion will outlive me. In which case, I’ll need you to look after him for me when I’m gone.’ Marlon’s tail wagged so hard he almost fell over. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Cordelia turned to Evie. ‘I hope that’s acceptable with you?’
Evie kissed the old lady’s cheek. ‘No problem at all.’
Cordelia brushed the gesture away. ‘No need for sentiment, dear. Now, are you going to visit my neighbour or do I have to knock some sense into you?’
Evie raised her newly shaped eyebrows. ‘I’ll call in now and see if he’d like to—’
‘Join you in a romantic liaison?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of a cup of coffee.’
Cordelia made a tutting sound. ‘Young people today have no sense of romance.’
Evie packed up her things and made her way to the door. ‘It’s all right for you, you’re practised in taking risks. I’m new to this. I need to ease myself in gradually.’
Cordelia gave her a hug. ‘Just remember, the only failure is the failure to try.’
Evie nodded. ‘I’ll remember that. Have a wonderful holiday.’
Cordelia winked. ‘Oh, I intend to. Goodbye, my dear.’
Wearing the silk scarf and a newfound air of confidence, Evie headed over to Scott’s. Cordelia’s advice was sound. Instead of focusing on what she couldn’t control, she should focus on what she could. ‘Isn’t that right, Marlon?’
He looked around, not realising she was talking to him. Dumb animal.
On reaching Scott’s door, she paused, hoping to quell her nerves. What if he’d changed his mind and didn’t want her any more? She could almost hear Cordelia saying ‘Only one way to find out!’
Raising her hand to knock, she focused on the pluses in her life, like wanting to pay more attention to her appearance and preparing for the flower competition in three days’ time. Bloody hell, that’d come around quickly. And deciding to ask out the hot plumber and roll about the sofa kissing him. Here goes.
She knocked on the door. Marlon covered his eyes with a paw, fearful of what he was about to witness. Evie glowered at him. ‘Thanks a lot.’
Maybe he’d had a premonition, because when the door opened it wasn’t Scott but the attractive blonde woman Evie had seen at the funeral. She was wearing what looked like one of Scott’s T-shirts, her legs bare, her hair tousled in that ‘just got out of bed’ way, even though it was the afternoon. Evie must have looked shocked, because when no words were forthcoming, the woman said, ‘Can I help you?’
Say something, Evie’s brain told her. And close your mouth, you look like a blow-up doll. ‘Er, is Scott home?’
The woman’s eyes narrowed, assessing Evie, her eyes travelling up and down. ‘He’s in the shower. And you are?’
Evie felt the sting of bluntness. ‘Evie. A friend.’
The woman leant against the doorframe, blocking the entrance, making it clear Evie wasn’t about to be invited in. ‘I’m Nicole, Scott’s fiancée.’
The impact was hard and fast. Fiancée?
‘Can I give Scott a message?’ The door was already edging its way shut.
Evie’s brain was in a whirl. She’d seen the woman at the funeral, but hadn’t realised it was Scott’s ex. Not even an ex, but a very real, very current, and apparently re-engaged girlfriend. The disappointment was indescribable. ‘No, that’s okay. Is … is he okay? You know, after his mum … Is he coping?’
Nicole nodded. ‘He’s fine.’ It was said in such a matter-of-fact way. Surely he couldn’t be that okay? ‘He’s got me. Things will be better once we’re back in London.’
London? Another blow.
‘Is there anything else? Only I’m not dressed.’ Nicole made a point of showing off her shapely, tanned legs.
Evie knew she should leave, but her feet wouldn’t budge. ‘I didn’t realise he was going back to London.’
Nicole shrugged. ‘Nothing left for him here, is there? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting cold.’
The door closed in Evie’s face.
Marlon made a whimpering sound.
Evie looked down at the only male she could truly rely on. ‘So much for taking a risk, huh?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Thursday, 12 June
It was enlightening to realise that even in death somebody could surprise you. Scott had known his mum had made a will – her affairs had been in order long before her stroke – but what he hadn’t known, until today, was that she’d taken out a life insurance policy shortly after his dad died. Or that, according to Oshma, she’d enjoyed a brief liaison with an American solicitor called Richard Deadman, who’d been instructed to carry out the formal reading of her will.
Scott took comfort from the discovery that Billie had enjoyed a secret romance after experiencing such tragedy in life. He liked the idea of her sharing a few laughs, an escape from the stresses of being a single parent. Having said that, it made visiting the solicitor a little awkward. Especially as said solicitor was married … and owned a gun.
Richard Deadman wasn’t particularly tall, but he had a presence about him. His hair was grey and he carried a paunch around his middle. There was a touch of Harrison Ford about him. Scott could imagine Billie enjoying his company. He must have seen Scott’s nervous upward glances, because he gestured to the ridiculously long musket hanging above the doorframe. ‘A fine piece, isn’t it?’
Scott knew zilch about firearms, but nodded anyway. ‘Impressive.’ Not a lot else he could say.
The peace was disrupted by the front door opening. A chubby woman wearing golfing attire bustled into the room. ‘Honey, I’m home!’ Anyone would think they were in the Deep South, rather than the affluent suburbs of Putney. She slapped Scott’s shoulder, as if he was the intended recipient of her greeting. ‘I apologise for keeping you waiting. Betty Lou’s hip op caused havoc on the green.’
The image of a sixty-year-old woman wearing headphones and breakdancing to Jay Z filled Scott’s head.
‘She will insist on playing.’ The woman’s hand didn’t move from Scott’s shoulder. ‘Says her surgeon wants her to break in her new hip joint.’
The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop Page 27