B01ESFW7JE

by Cathy Bramley

  She changed the subject to break the silence. ‘So how is my delightful god-daughter? Coping without her mum?’

  Jo had quite liked Melissa, Patrick’s ex; she was clever, good fun and had a wicked sense of humour. The two of them used to stand outside with a cigarette and have a laugh together at work parties. For some strange reason, over the last couple of years, Melissa had grown less chatty, hostile even on some occasions. Nevertheless, it had been quite a shock when Patrick had announced they were getting a divorce and sharing custody of their daughter.

  Jo remembered when Holly was born and they had asked her to be godmother. She had accepted, of course. How could she refuse? But really? Couldn’t they have found a more suitable woman than a workaholic smoker with no idea about kids and debatable moral standards?

  ‘She’s great.’ Patrick’s face softened into a gooey smile. ‘She does miss her mum, but they FaceTime each other when Melissa can get Wi-Fi, or speak on the phone. God knows what it costs to call Nepal. Holly seems to think that I’m the one in need of parenting half the time and that she’s in charge. She made me go clothes shopping last weekend.’ He tutted and shook his head, but Jo could see the pride on his face.

  So she had Holly to thank for today’s improvement. At least she wouldn’t be presenting the Josephine Gold collection to the impeccably dressed, pulse-racingly attractive Ed Shaw with a scarecrow as her side-kick.

  They entered Nottingham’s one-way traffic system and she felt a knot of tension ball in her stomach; Ed literally held the key to Gold’s’ survival in his hands. She was glad Patrick had come with her; he’d be a good calming presence. Even if it did make orchestrating a date with Ed more tricky.

  It was a filthy morning and the world and his wife had decided to drive into Nottingham instead of hang about in bus queues. Patrick spotted a parking space outside Shaw’s, but Jo waved him on.

  ‘You’ll have to park in a side street, around the corner,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  She shot him a cheeky smile. ‘I don’t want to be seen getting out of this heap.’

  The shop was looking fantastic; even Patrick whistled under his breath with admiration as they walked through to Ed’s office.

  Jo allowed herself a little smile, remembering the last time she had seen Ed outside the coffee shop. He’d been late for an appointment and hadn’t had time to linger, but there was definitely a spark of interest there. Were her pupils dilated today, she wondered. In her all-black suit, she was aiming for sexy seductress; she hoped he picked up on the signs. Her stomach fluttered with nerves and she tried to put her personal feelings to one side. For now, it was on with the show.

  ‘The original muse for the designs was a quirky Italian woman in her late forties,’ said Patrick, ‘but we worked with our own designer to put a British spin on the collection.’

  Jo kicked him under the desk. What was he saying, for goodness’ sake? She had wanted to give the impression that the collection was inspired by Kate Middleton or someone. What did he have to bring Italy into it for?

  ‘An, um, quintessentially English twist,’ said Patrick, rubbing his ankle, ‘which you can see reflected in the choice of style names.’

  Ed nodded appreciatively, turning a dove-grey court shoe round in his hand. He set it on the desk and bent down to examine the shoe in profile. Jo’s heart was thumping. With his thick black hair and navy eyes, he was looking dangerously sexy in a tight-fitting grey suit, black shirt and another pair of expensive black brogues.

  ‘The balance of the heel at the back and the delicate flower on the instep is magical.’ He stared at Jo. ‘And sexy.’

  She stared back.

  ‘That’s exactly the effect I was hoping to create,’ she said huskily.

  Patrick cleared his throat and picked up a tan knee-length boot.

  ‘We also want to remain practical. The Gold’s customer needs to know that her boots are going to withstand British winters. That’s why we’ve made sure that on all our boots, any fabric panels are placed higher up the leg, to protect the wearer from the rain.’

  ‘I’m speechless.’ Ed rocked back in his chair and then went on to say in detail how excited and impressed he was with the collection. Patrick snorted faintly under his breath and Jo treated him to a sour stare.

  ‘I asked Gold’s for something fresh, British designed and quirky. Footwear to generate shoe envy amongst women,’ he continued. ‘You’ve delivered it in spades.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jo. ‘I’ve played our conversation over and over in my head during the past few weeks. I tried to imagine what you’d really want from me.’

  She ran the tip of her tongue lightly over her top lip.

  A shoebox fell off the desk and the corner of it hit Jo’s ankle.

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Sorry. That might have been my fault,’ said Patrick, bending to pick up the box.

  She couldn’t prove it but she had a suspicion that he’d done that on purpose and that Ed was holding his mug up to his face to hide a laugh.

  ‘I’ll have to take a few days over my formal decision,’ said Ed, nodding and smiling confidently from Patrick to Jo. ‘But I think we can safely say that Josephine Gold will take centre stage at Shaw’s from September.’

  Yes! Jo’s face was wreathed in smiles. She contemplated kissing both men, but settled for clapping her hands together instead. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders. They had done it! She forgave Patrick for the Italian thing. They made a great team. This was going to make a massive difference to the future of the company.

  ‘This is great news for Gold’s and I personally look forward to developing our relationship further over the next few months.’ She gave Ed a lingering look. He gave her a friendly smile in return and swallowed the rest of his coffee down in one.

  ‘Me too.’

  She chewed the inside of her lip, wondering how she could get a moment alone with him.

  ‘Patrick,’ she said with a flash of inspiration, ‘did you want to take a look round the shop while we’re here, before we go?’

  ‘Saw it on the way in, thanks.’ He stood up and started jingling the change in the pockets of his new trousers. ‘We need to get back really.’

  It was no use; she’d just have to go for it with him in the room. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, Ed, but I feel like celebrating. How about we put a date in the diary to get together over dinner? Somewhere special. My treat.’

  Patrick stopped jingling. Ed appeared to think about it, and then his face broke out into a lazy smile.

  ‘Great idea,’ said Ed. ‘I’ll bring my wife, Lisa, along if you don’t mind. Don’t want to sit between you two like a gooseberry.’

  ‘No need,’ Jo blurted out a little too loudly.

  Ed and Patrick both stared at her and she flushed.

  ‘I mean, you wouldn’t be a gooseberry. Patrick and I aren’t … But of course Lisa is very welcome.’

  What was she saying? Jo had to stop herself from gnashing her teeth together; she was mortified. ‘I’ll just pop to the little girls’ room before we leave.’

  Five minutes later she pushed the door of Ed’s office open and paused. The air between the two men was thick with tension. They were squared up to each other, chests puffed out like a couple of peacocks. What the hell had they been talking about? Jo stared at them both and prayed that Patrick hadn’t cocked up the deal as soon as her back was turned.

  Ed broke the silence.

  ‘So,’ he said, clapping a hand on Patrick’s back. ‘I was just saying to Pat, I’m looking for a new General Manager, someone to help with the day-to-day running of the business, to allow me to carry on expanding and rebranding the other shops. Must have footwear and managerial experience. Can you think of anyone?’

  Patrick’s jaw was rigid. Jo’s mouth twitched; he hated being called Pat.

  She sucked in sharply. ‘No one comes to mind immediately.
Patrick, any ideas?’

  Ed was looking at Patrick and raising one eyebrow, James Bond style.

  Patrick shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. ‘Nope.’

  ‘If I come up with anyone,’ she said, breathing in Ed’s lime aftershave one last time as she air-kissed him, ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Patrick shook Ed’s hand and said a curt goodbye.

  The rain was pelting down outside and Jo regretted making Patrick park so far away.

  ‘What the hell was all that about between you two?’ she asked when they finally made it into the car.

  Patrick’s nostrils flared as he threw all the samples into the boot and refused to meet her eye. ‘Let’s just say he and I have differing opinions about working for a woman.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means the man’s an arse,’ said Patrick. He pressed his lips together, closing down the conversation, and drove too fast all the way back to the office.

  Chapter 10

  Carrie should have tried harder to come up with an irrefutable reason not to accompany Alex tonight, she mused, as they made their way towards the party huddled together under an umbrella. Jordan Lamb’s new restaurant was up ahead and the pavement outside its doors was alive with stilt walkers, fire eaters and semi-naked exotic dancers. Jordan was clearly doing his utmost to get his guests in the party spirit despite the April showers that had pummelled the streets all day.

  ‘I’m looking forward to tonight,’ said Alex, putting an arm around Carrie’s waist.

  ‘Me too,’ said Carrie, mentally adding ‘being over’ to the end of Alex’s sentence.

  ‘You look pretty, darling.’ He gave her an appraising look. ‘I’d have happily bought you something new, although that is nice and colourful.’

  ‘You can’t fail to see me in this.’

  She already regretted allowing Sarah to choose her outfit. Not only was it bright and bold, and Carrie didn’t feel bold, but it was right at the end of the Inspirational spectrum, i.e. uncomfortably tight.

  Sarah had been adamant that the dress was a winner: it showed off Carrie’s slim calves and the lightweight silk fabric would be both comfortable and glamorous. Carrie had only managed to get it on with the help of reinforcements: magic knickers and extra-brave control tights. If she got hit by a bus tonight she wasn’t altogether sure who would come off worse.

  Alex shot her a wounded look. ‘Carrie, why do you put yourself down?’

  She was saved from responding by a man wearing a bowler hat and gold lamé leggings. He ticked them off the guest list and ushered them inside. Carrie clung to Alex’s arm and tried to make herself invisible.

  Let the torture commence.

  The restaurant was pulsating with people and noise: a saxophonist and pianist were struggling to be heard over the chink of glasses, the chatter and laughter. Carrie could just make out leather banquette seating with tiny bistro tables along one side and a huge bar taking centre stage on the other. Mismatched lampshades on long cables hung in clusters from the ceiling and stainless-steel ducting hinted at the building’s previous industrial life.

  A beaming waitress held out a tray of flute glasses. ‘Bellini, madam?’

  It was fizzy and fruity and didn’t taste at all alcoholic. Carrie tipped her head back and swallowed. Just what she needed. She had no intention of getting drunk but it would be nice to feel a bit more carefree, just loosen up a bit. Her jaw for starters. If she didn’t relax soon, it would lock completely and she wouldn’t be able to speak.

  ‘Let’s head to the bar,’ said Alex. ‘I want a proper drink, G and T, I think, before seeing the man of the moment.’ He nudged her in the ribs playfully and his elbow bounced off, courtesy of her magic knickers. ‘Talk of the devil, look!’

  Jordan Lamb was holding court at the far end of the room, signing autographs underneath a huge photograph of himself dressed in chef’s whites with his piercing blue eyes watching over his new restaurant. Carrie shuddered, hoping she’d get away without having to meet him.

  ‘I’ll collar him later,’ Alex said. ‘Come on, stay close.’

  Carrie swapped her empty glass for a full one and grabbed his hand. She would just have to pray that they would be standing up all night. The car journey here had been quite painful by the end. She had felt all trussed up and breathing had only been possible through tiny in-and-out puffs. Now she was feeling dizzy with lack of oxygen.

  God knows how women in the olden days managed with those corsets that gave them their wasp-like waists. Her undies were tight enough and had only managed to give her the silhouette of a bumblebee.

  They made slow progress to the bar; Alex kept stopping to greet people, sharing a joke with some, touching the arm of others. He was so confident, so at home at this sort of do, and he seemed to know everyone. She felt a flutter of pride for her handsome husband, which was swiftly followed by a pang of regret that she didn’t provide the arm candy he deserved.

  She lost his hand as he slipped through the throng at the bar. She stood out of the way and sipped her Bellini while she people-watched. Thin women flitted past her like tropical fish with their unblinking fake eyelashes and iridescent sequinned dresses. She felt done up like a … a kipper.

  Her glass was empty again.

  She squeezed in beside Alex and tugged his jacket to get his attention. He stepped back from the bar to bring Carrie into the conversation.

  ‘And this is my wife, Carrie.’

  She put on her sociable smile and leaned forward to see who Alex was talking to. A shot of adrenalin coursed through her.

  It couldn’t be. It was. It was him.

  Receding hairline, crinkles around narrow eyes, and square jaw slackened with age – even with these changes, Carrie instantly recognized the student he had been twelve years ago. When he had charmed her into bed. One night of indifferent sex that had changed her life for ever.

  The shock produced sparkles in front of her eyeballs and she blinked ferociously to clear her vision. Her entire being plummeted downwards through space as if someone had cut the cable on a lift.

  His eyes flickered, there was a hint of a frown but then the smile came back.

  ‘Carrie, pleased to meet you,’ said Ryan Cunningham.

  Her hand was shaking so much that it took two attempts to make contact with his.

  ‘Hi,’ she croaked. She had goosebumps over every inch of her body, even her mouth felt odd.

  He knew. He recognized her but couldn’t believe how different she looked.

  ‘This is Ryan,’ said Alex, exuberantly, oblivious to Carrie’s rising panic. ‘He’s a Member of Parliament.’

  Ryan took his hand away and pulled a blonde woman with an impossibly angelic face into his side. ‘This is my wife, Anna.’

  Anna appeared to be wearing a dress made out of the same shimmery material as the top of Carrie’s maximum-security tights and looked stunning. Ryan placed a kiss on his wife’s temple. ‘She’s Swedish.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She would be, thought Carrie. Smug git.

  Whether it was the magic knickers, the two gulped Bellinis, seeing the man who had abandoned her in her hour of need or just the whole bloody nightmare, Carrie couldn’t be sure, but she felt hot and nauseous and on the verge of a panic attack. She mumbled to Alex about needing the Ladies and escaped.

  Ten minutes had passed since Carrie had locked herself in the loo and she knew she should really get back to Alex. Struggling back into her tights reminded her of the time she’d made her own sausages; trying to stuff soft flesh into tiny gossamer tubes. One false move and it was game over. She pulled the waistband up high until it met with her bra to give herself a smooth line. But where had the excess flesh gone? It had to be somewhere. Maybe it was billowing out of her bra strap at the back. She stretched her hand round to see whether she had back boobs to match her front ones but couldn’t reach. Never mind, she would check in the mirror.

  She opened the cubicl
e door and found Anna waiting for her.

  ‘Oh, hello.’

  ‘Alex sent me,’ Anna said. ‘You’ve been gone so long; he was worried about you.’

  Carrie’s eyeballs burned with embarrassment under the weight of Anna’s worried gaze. ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said, dipping her head while she washed her hands. ‘I’ve been constipated for ages and then you know how it is, like buses; you wait all day for one then three come along at once.’

  What the hell was she saying? Even Anna blushed. Please leave me alone.

  Carrie dried her hands. Anna was still there. ‘No need to wait for me, honestly.’

  Anna opened her mouth then closed it again and inched closer. ‘I’ll be honest, I hate these parties, I was glad of an excuse to get away. You wouldn’t believe how many events like this I have to go to.’

  She took a lipstick from her purse and reapplied it.

  Carrie smiled. ‘I would believe it actually, I’m in the same boat.’

  Anna was nice; far too good for Ryan. She looked in the mirror trying to catch a glimpse of her back view but she couldn’t see anything. Maybe if she stretched her right arm across her body on the pretext of taking a paper towel it wouldn’t be too obvious.

  There was a horrifying sound of tearing silk. Anna’s hand flew to her mouth. Carrie stared at the crescent of pale skin which had appeared behind her armpit.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she gasped.

  ‘Oh, darling, you poor thing!’ Anna seemed genuinely upset. She took hold of the flap of sleeve and tried tucking it in. ‘It’s not too bad, actually. Have you got a needle and thread?’

  Carrie blinked at her. ‘Not on me, no.’

  She could feel the hysteria beginning to mount. Anna was being kind; it was bad and they both knew it. This was the icing on the cake. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘You could perhaps tear both sleeves off?’ Anna chewed the side of her cheek.