by Fiona Harper
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Nicole still didn’t know how to do what her mother had said to her. She did, however, know something else she needed to do, and that was to face Saffron. Peggy had offered to meet with her in Nicole’s place, but Nicole had refused. It was her mess and she needed to deal with it, not try to buff it away and hope it didn’t show, the way she had done with all the other things she didn’t like about herself for so many years.
Knowing that didn’t make it any easier as she approached the little Italian cafe just off the King’s Road where she’d arranged to meet her former client. To be honest, she’d been surprised that Saffron had agreed. Or maybe there’d be some paparazzi waiting to snap the inevitable catfight and the whole thing would go a second round in the papers. Who knew?
She was five minutes late, having got caught up by a delay on the Circle Line, but she assumed she’d probably have at least fifteen minutes to choose a table, sip a fortifying espresso, before Saffron turned up. It was a surprise, then, to walk into the cafe and find her sitting at a table near the window.
She looked up as Nicole walked through the door. The expression she wore wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t that welcoming, either. Nicole drew in a shaky breath through her nostrils and walked over to her. Saffron motioned for her to sit down and she took the chair opposite.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ Nicole said, as she tucked her handbag under the table. Not a designer one this time. Just a little patchwork floral thing she’d picked up in Clerkenwell market. And she hadn’t dressed in her usual uniform of expensive neutral shades, either. What was the point in trying to out-Saffron Saffron? She was never going to win.
Saffron didn’t say anything, just summoned the barista to come over and take their order. Nicole guessed this wasn’t the sort of place that usually did table service, but no one was going to argue with Saffron, were they?
‘I want to put the record straight,’ Nicole began.
Saffron gave her a superior look. ‘I don’t want to hear a string of excuses.’
Nicole nodded. She so wanted to give them, to make herself look better, to explain why none of it was her fault, but she was trying to nix that habit. ‘Firstly, I want you to know that whatever Celeste Delacourt may have told you, nothing happened between Alex and I while you were a couple.’
Saffron blinked. ‘Alex said as much. I’m tempted to believe him.’
‘Alex?’ Her stomach dropped at the mere mention of his name. ‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Yes.’
The barista brought their coffees, cutting any further conversation on the subject off. It was only then Nicole realised just how hungry she was for details about him. Was he okay? Had he seemed upset? Angry? A thousand questions flew through her mind, but she knew she couldn’t ask Saffron any of them.
‘I should have told you the truth after that first meeting with Alex,’ she said, stirring a lumpy sugar cube into her espresso. She’d worked out that that had been where things had taken a wrong turn. She might not have been able to control the fact that fate had thrown Alex back into her life again unexpectedly, but she’d had the chance to be totally open and honest up front, and she’d chickened out.
‘Then why didn’t you?’
Nicole looked at the grey marble tabletop, followed one of the feathery veins as it flowed across the table, connecting her and Saffron. She looked up again. ‘Because I was proud. I didn’t want you to think badly of me, not when Hopes & Dreams really needed your business.’
Saffron raised her eyebrows, a look that said she didn’t necessarily like what she’d heard, but she couldn’t fault Nicole’s honesty.
‘And I really didn’t think it was going to be an issue at first—or maybe I just kidded myself into thinking that.’ She’d made a lot of bad judgement calls throughout this whole mess of a situation, hadn’t she? ‘After all, I believed that you and Alex were a very serious item and I was just a blip—a moment—in his past. Not even a relationship. It shouldn’t have made a difference.’
Saffron sipped her coffee. ‘But it did.’
‘I know.’ She exhaled. ‘Even though I tried very, very hard not to let it. I really want you to believe that.’
Saffron gave her another one of those looks. Nicole hung her head. Yes, she knew. Lame. Stupid. She seemed to be excelling in these things at the moment. And she’d worked out why—she hadn’t only been lying to everyone else about who she was; she’d been lying to herself too. No wonder she’d got so badly off track.
‘I just wanted to apologise, on behalf of Hopes & Dreams, but more importantly on my own behalf. I like you, Saffron, and I really didn’t set out to hurt you.’
There was a faint softening in Saffron’s expression. ‘Okay.’ She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. ‘I thought we were becoming friends, Nicole. That’s what hurt. I wish you’d said something…’
Nicole sighed. ‘I did try to warn you that Alex maybe wasn’t ready…’
Saffron gave a reluctant nod. ‘I know.’
There was silence for a few moments while they both sipped their coffees. Then Saffron put her cup down and looked Nicole in the eye.
‘Listen, Nicole, I do appreciate you coming here and being so honest. I wasn’t sure how I’d react, but the fact you’ve taken responsibility for your part helps, and I suppose I ought to take responsibility for mine.’
‘Really, you don’t have to—’
‘Actually, I do. It’s time I started acting like a grown-up, you see. That’s what my father has been telling me for years, and it’s finally sunk in. I thought I was doing that when I decided to propose to Alex, but it turned out I was just embarking on another stupid scheme that I hadn’t properly thought through. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed the past week or two, but I’ve learned something from it. At least, I hope I have.’
Nicole couldn’t help but smile, just gently.
Saffron gave her a wry look. ‘I’m not sure if I’m ready to like you again, but I think I have an apology of my own to make—the newspaper article? You deserved taking down a peg or two, but you didn’t deserve that.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’ It meant a lot to hear Saffron say that. That blasted article had been the worst of it, almost. Even though she’d promised her mother, and Peggy and Mia, she’d stop worrying so much about her image, what other people thought of her, it still hurt to see her reputation so thoroughly cut to shreds.
At that moment, a burly, dark-haired man walked through the door. He scanned the room then headed towards them.
‘Hang on a minute…Isn’t that…?’
Saffron waved a hand. ‘Yes. It’s Julio…the tango dancer. He was very sweet to me when he saw me crying and running through the lobby of the Hamilton the other evening.’ Julio arrived at their table. He hardly even noticed Nicole. His gaze was fixed intently on Saffron, as if she were some rare and precious jewel that he couldn’t quite believe existed. It was almost funny to see the epitome of macho swagger turned into a big cuddly teddy bear that way.
‘Julio, be a darling and get me a pain au chocolat, will you? And another cappuccino—to go.’
Julio immediately jumped to attention and headed for the counter while both women watched him go.
‘He’s been such a comfort…’ Saffron said. There wasn’t the same dreamy, besotted look in her eyes as there had been in his, but there was definitely a hint of warmth. And then she rose and swept from the cafe, leaving a dutiful Julio to follow in her wake.
Nicole sat shaking her head for a moment. Once again, Saffron had staged an exit that was both fabulous and surprising.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Hopes & Dreams stayed open during the soggy patch between Christmas and New Year. Nicole wasn’t quite ready to give up hope completely yet, but Monday the twenty-ninth was just as quiet as Christmas Eve.
At least it was until about three o’clock in the afternoon when a guy in jeans and a hoody knocked on the door. He marched across the offi
ce and looked Nicole up and down. ‘Are you her?’
Nicole was starting to wish she’d done as Peggy had suggested and started keeping a baseball bat beneath her desk. ‘Listen, I don’t know what paper you’re working for, but we’ve told them all the same thing—no comment!’
The guy stepped back and put his hands up. ‘Whoa! I’m not a journo. What made you think that?’
‘You’re not?’ Nicole replied, her eyes widening. ‘Then why are you here?’
He looked a little confused. ‘You’re that proposal-planning girl, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
He waited, as if what he’d said was self-evident, then rolled his eyes and carried on. ‘Well, I want you to do one for me.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘To plan your proposal?’
She glanced back at Peggy, still at her desk, open-mouthed, then back at the man.
‘That’s what you do, isn’t it?’
She nodded. Then she remembered that she really better stop acting like an idiot or she’d scare the only customer they’d had in the last week away. She smiled at him, not her fake, ‘everything will be okay’ client smile, just a real one. ‘Yes. That’s what I do. In fact, it’s what I love to do, but…’ She frowned a little, looked down at her shoes and then back up again. ‘Can I ask you something before we start discussing it?’
He shrugged and nodded.
‘Why…why did you decide to come to Hopes & Dreams?’
He grinned. ‘I saw that story in the paper…My Shelley gets that one every day.’
Nicole’s stomach sank, but he carried on regardless.
‘And I’d been thinking about popping the question, but I want to do it with style, no expense spared. Something classy. She’s had the hump with me, you see, since I took her to see Arsenal play away to Bayern Munich for her birthday trip…’
There was a muffled snort from the direction of Peggy’s desk.
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘I thought I was killing two birds with one stone, but apparently I wasn’t being very romantic, so I thought I’d need a bit of advice—and I reckoned if you could steal a bloke from that Saffron Wolden-Barnes, then you might have a trick or two up your sleeve to help me.’
Nicole blinked slowly and her mouth hung slightly open. She had not been expecting that at all. ‘Oh…Okay…’ she finally managed. ‘That’s good to know.’ Seemed her new reputation was starting to work for her rather than against her. And, maybe, since most of their clients were men, they weren’t so worried about her stealing their fiancées-to-be, especially not now she’d been outed as a notorious man-eater.
She led him through to the meeting room. ‘And when do you think you’d like to propose?’
He did another little shrug. ‘I thought Valentine’s Day. That’s not too cheesy, is it?’
Nicole smiled again and shook her head. ‘No, that’s not cheesy at all. What could show a girl more that her man loves her than him telling her he wants to spend the rest of his life with her? I think it’s perfect.’
She kept smiling as she sat on the sofa opposite him and they began to chat about ideas and budgets. She wasn’t sure she was entirely comfortable with gaining clients through her new-found notoriety, but she’d do it. For Mia and Peggy’s sake. Whatever it took, from now on, even if it meant she crushed that glossy, polished Nicole even further into the dust.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Nicole was standing in her underwear at the foot of her bed, staring at the three outfits laid out there. She’d tried each of them on at least four times and she was still no closer to making a decision. She’d thought a lot about what her mum had said only a week ago, about showing Alex who she really was. She’d also thought a lot about what that meant.
He was going to be at the fancy-dress party at Déjà Vu tonight, and she’d decided she was going to turn up too. One last chance to see him. One last chance to prove to him she wasn’t the manipulating chameleon he feared she might be. But she wasn’t going to be able to do any of that if she couldn’t decide what to wear.
Aware that she might be dithering as a subconscious attempt at self-sabotage, she made herself go through the options once again. The first outfit was a flouncy and frilly steampunk dress in sapphire satin, complete with corset, eyelet boots and a pair of fake brass goggles. It looked great on, especially the corset bit, which pinched in her waist and pushed her boobs up in a gravity-defying fashion, and she knew Alex liked the style.
He’d been right about the people at the wedding they’d gone to. The costume they chose wasn’t about taking on another persona, but about expressing something that came from the inside, something that connected with the outside image. Unlike her, whose classy, neutral wardrobe had all been about hiding behind the facade of who she thought she should be to impress everybody else.
She looked at the three lumps of clothes lying on the bed and sighed. It seemed she was rather out of practice choosing what she wanted to wear for herself and no one else.
She picked up the middle selection and held it up against her body so she could look in the mirror again. It was the Audrey Hepburn dress from last year, the day they’d first met. He’d liked her then. Enough to try everything he could to find her afterwards. It would be a way to remind him he’d seen the real Nicole, loosened from her shell temporarily by a few too many cocktails.
Maybe.
She laid it down again and picked up the third dress. It was a little floral number with large peacock-blue flowers on a white background. She’d pulled it out from the back of the wardrobe after not having worn it for years. It had once been her favourite dress, but it had been eclipsed as her designer wardrobe had grown, consigned to the back of the cupboard for its loud colours and supermarket-clothing-range heritage. Thankfully, it still fitted. And, despite the fact the fabric wasn’t the highest quality, it was as flattering as ever.
She sighed and hung it back up in the cupboard. Even if it did look great, this was a fancy-dress party she was going to, and she wouldn’t know what to label herself as. Girl In Floral Dress didn’t quite cut it.
So it was Audrey or the steampunk effort. She tried both on again, then threw them back on the bed.
The clock said it was almost nine. She’d told Peggy and Mia she’d meet them at the club in half an hour and it was going to take her at least that long to do her make-up and hair—once she’d decided which outfit would dictate the style. And then it was another half an hour to get to the party.
Peggy had wanted to stay behind and help her choose, but she’d told her to go ahead and meet Mia. She’d join them later. For some reason she felt this was a decision she had to make on her own.
Maybe a break would help.
She went into the kitchen, poured herself a half glass of wine and flopped down on the sofa in her bra and knickers. The silence was too complete, so she reached for the remote and turned the TV on. After thirty seconds flicking through the channels, she came across one that did vintage movies. The picture that flashed up on the screen made her heart leap—Molly Ringwald, in her hideous pink dress that was supposed to be really beautiful, standing at the top of a flight of steps and looking at Andrew McCarthy, all uncertain and gorgeous in his tux.
Pretty in Pink. That had to be fate, right?
And, as she settled down to drink her wine, intending to take her mind off her wardrobe dilemma for just ten minutes, she had a flash of inspiration. She plonked the glass down on the coffee table, sloshing some of its contents over the edge, and stood up.
Suddenly she knew exactly what she should wear to the party.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Alex stood against the bar of Déjà Vu, a bottle of beer in his hand. He’d forgone being a horse’s backside for full steampunk dress this year. He thought it’d be fun, had even emailed the groom from the wedding the other week to get some tips and addresses of costume suppliers.
Rather than opting for the look of a steampunk dandy
, with embroidered waistcoats, cravats and silky top hats, he’d gone more the intrepid-explorer direction. He wore a white shirt rolled up to his elbows with a battered brown leather waistcoat over the top and a gun belt slung round his waist. A pocket-watch chain looped from one of the waistcoat buttons.
The appreciative looks he was getting from a few of the women in the club told him he hadn’t done a bad job. Pity he wasn’t in the mood for doing anything about it. All he could think about was if it were possible to invent a steam-powered device to turn back time one whole year.
As much as he was angry with Nicole, he still couldn’t help wishing that they could do it all over, that this time he’d chase her out of the bar and make sure he got her number. Then all this stuff he was feeling would go away and he’d be his normal self again. Instead, he felt as if he’d been run over by a truck.
He shook his head and took another swig of his beer.
He shouldn’t want her. Not after all that had happened. He should be content to be the easy-going guy who drifted through life with a smile for everyone, but never settled anywhere too long. Life was easier that way. Women were certainly easier that way.
Which was why he should do something about one of the girls batting their lashes at him from across the room. What about that one in the sexy kitten outfit, all soft black fur and fishnets? He glanced her direction and she smiled coyly at him.
Alex turned away and rested his elbows on the bar.
He was such a loser.
He knew he shouldn’t have let Nicole get to him like this. Every sense in his body had been screaming at him to keep away, and not just because of Saffron, but because…
He didn’t even want to face that thought.
Because you’re more wound up in her than you ever were in Vanessa.
Damn. It had sneaked out anyway. Way to cheer yourself up in the middle of a party, mate. Well done.
He glanced at the clock. It was close to eleven. One more hour. He couldn’t quite bring himself to be a total wimp and duck out of the party before then. That would be too sad. But once the new year was in and everyone was jumping around acting like idiots, he’d slip away back to his flat or maybe his studio if he couldn’t sleep.