With that she moved to the next table, leaving Catherine stunned.
Not because Magda was so ridiculous.
Because she might be right.
She had been turning Paul into the type of man she’d like to be with, from the refined tastes in wine and food to a love of the Impressionists to his manicures and well-timed compliments.
And a woman with less life experience than a mayfly had figured it out before her.
‘Are you all right?’ Paul was staring at her. ‘Ya look funny.’
Her phone rang. Saved by the bell.
It was Sarah. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ She hurried from the ballroom. There was no way she’d tell Paul what Magda had said.
‘Hi Catherine, are you at Richard’s wedding?’ Sarah asked.
‘Yes, we’re at the reception now. Is everything okay?’
‘I’ve lost my keys and can’t get into the house. Can I come get yours?’
‘Where are you? Did you come home last night?’ She’d still been out when Catherine went to bed.
‘Erm, no. Can I come get your keys? Rachel is at her parents’. You’re in London, right?’
‘Yes, we’re at the Dorchester at the bottom of Park Lane. Ring me again when you get to the hotel and I can come out to the lobby.’
At least waiting for Sarah would distract her from the news that she was Dr Frankenstein.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rachel
‘Have you seen James’s drawings?’ Rachel’s mum asked over the family dinner table.
Rachel nodded, fighting down her emotions. Not about his drawings. They were good, and probably better now that his professor had helped him, but they weren’t what was giving her the sleepless nights.
Every time she thought about him she thought about Sarah, and what they might or might not be doing together.
But she didn’t have the headspace to let the fact that they might be boffing distract her. She hadn’t worked so hard for a decade to derail herself now, especially because of a man. Let them have mad, passionate monkey sex. They could swing from the light fixtures for all she cared. That’s exactly what she told herself every time that sick feeling rose up to ambush her.
‘They’re good,’ she told her mum. ‘He’s working with his prof on them.’ She waited for her reaction to this obvious cheating.
‘So he should,’ Genevieve said. ‘I’ve offered to help you too. I wish you’d let me.’
‘But I don’t want your help!’
She knew how ungrateful that sounded. ‘I mean, I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I want to do this on my own.’
‘Sweetheart, even with someone else’s advice they’re still your drawings, your designs. You’re the only one who can translate your vision onto the page.’
Rachel felt herself caught up in her mum’s direct gaze.
‘You have this idea that buildings are created in a vacuum,’ Genevieve continued. ‘Do you think that Christopher Wren came up with St Paul’s from his imagination alone? He was heavily influenced by French Baroque, you know.’
‘Maybe,’ Rachel conceded. ‘But he didn’t have Jules Hardouin-Mansart looking over his shoulder, telling him how to design the dome.’
‘That’s not what I’d do with your drawings,’ her mum murmured. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having a sounding board. I wish you’d stop trying to do everything yourself. Don’t you think I’ve had advice along the way? All architects do, if they’re honest. That’s not cheating. It’s using the knowledge that the design community has built up over decades. And in a way, the building isn’t really even yours. It becomes part of the fabric of the city.’
‘I just don’t want to feel like I’m not able to do it myself.’
Genevieve reached out and squeezed Rachel’s hand. ‘All I’m saying is that you don’t have to, and there’s no shame in that. Will you let me see?’
‘I don’t have them with me.’
‘Next time you come then.’
Rachel knew her mum was right. She was designing a public space, not some private indulgence to prop up her ego.
That didn’t calm her nerves when she showed Genevieve the drawings a few days later.
Her mum stayed quiet as she looked at them. It was worse than when Rachel had presented her master’s project to her prof. He’d sat at his desk peering into the scale model and studying the drawn plans that she’d sweated over for months. He’d seen drafts, of course, but that didn’t make waiting for his pronouncement any easier. Every second that ticked by convinced Rachel she wasn’t going to make the cut. He’d break it to her gently because he liked her. Then Rachel would thank him and wait till she got outside to cry.
But he hadn’t failed her. He said her design showed a solid grasp of the brief, and a nice flair for aesthetics.
Maybe her mother would give her a pass too.
Genevieve took her time. She gave nothing away with the few questions she asked.
Finally Rachel couldn’t take it. ‘Mum, are you going to say anything?!’
‘You said you don’t want advice, so I’m trying not to give any. But I do like it.’
That wasn’t as bad as she feared. ‘But?’
‘There’s no but. I like it.’
That wasn’t enough. ‘What would make you love it?’
Genevieve’s eyes widened. ‘Do you want advice? I thought you didn’t.’
‘I’d like to know what would make you love it,’ she said carefully.
Over the next two hours Genevieve gently made suggestions. Rachel left full of advice about improving her building. She just didn’t know if she’d use it.
By the time the Zigler meeting came round, she’d worn down all her rubbers, tweaking her designs. She felt punch-drunk. She just wanted the day to be over.
Of course, she wouldn’t tell James that as he studied her design in the few minutes they had to wait before Zigler arrived.
‘I’m glad you didn’t show me these earlier,’ he finally said. ‘They’re seriously good, Rach.’
‘Thanks.’ She was too close to the project now to trust her own judgement. But she did think they were good. ‘May the best man or woman win.’
‘Yeah, about that,’ he said, pulling at his shirt collar where his tie cinched his neck. ‘Let’s agree that, no matter which design they choose, we go out after work tonight to celebrate, okay?’
She was tempted to make a quip about celebrating with Sarah, but stopped herself when she saw his expression. It reminded her of the old days. ‘Agreed,’ she said just as they heard footsteps on the stairs.
‘Show time,’ James whispered. ‘Good luck.’
Eric, George and Philip trudged up the stairs. They sounded as out of breath as last time. Ed herded them from behind. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘You remember James and Rachel?’
‘Of course,’ said Philip, head of the Ziglers. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again. We’re looking forward to seeing what you’ve got today.’
They moved to the conference room. James and Rachel sat next to each other on one side of the table. United front and all.
They’d each have five minutes to introduce their design and then turn over the drawings for the clients to dissect.
Rachel went first. Her voice shook as she talked through her interpretation of the brief and the influences on her design. ‘We’re all magpies,’ she finished. ‘We snatch ideas from everywhere.’ She didn’t look at James when she said this, in case he took that as a judgement.
Then she slid her designs across the table.
Her mum had been full of ideas. They were the kind of ideas that won design prizes, ideas born out of decades of experience. Some day Rachel wanted to have ideas like that.
But she didn’t have them yet.
She knew her mum was right. Nobody was completely free from outside influences. But that was different from consciously using another architect’s advice to improve your design.
So she didn’t do
it.
The clients were examining the cleaned-up designs that Rachel had shown to her mum. She just hoped it was enough.
She waited, hardly breathing.
Would this little stroll along the moral high ground be worth it if she lost the commission? What if she had the wrong idea about morality in the first place? Her mum said she’d take the help if it was offered. James already had taken it from his prof. What would Ed have done? She couldn’t ask him. It might cast doubt on her designs if he didn’t believe she really was asking for a friend. Or it might make him suspicious of James. And no matter what she thought, she wouldn’t be the one to rat him out.
Philip finally spoke. ‘This is really very good.’
At his words the other two clients nodded emphatically.
‘Ha!’ Rachel half shouted, clapping her hands together. Possibly not the most professional response. But what a relief. She glanced at James, who was grinning at her. She wasn’t sure she’d have been as gracious if roles were reversed.
She soon got the chance to find out.
She watched the clients’ faces as they considered the competing design. How much of it was James’s and how much was his prof’s? She felt bad even thinking that but she couldn’t help it. She knew he was a good architect, but was he that good?
Philip thought so. ‘I love this design,’ he said after a few minutes. ‘It’s functional and innovative at the same time.’
There was more emphatic nodding and Rachel’s heart sank. Last time nothing seemed to quite please them. Now they acted like James and Rachel farted rainbows. She just hoped her congratulatory smile to James looked real.
‘This is going to be a tough call,’ Philip continued. ‘Thank you, both, for your efforts. We’ll take some time to look at the designs in detail and get input from some of the others, and come back to you, all right?’
More waiting?! She wanted to grab Philip by the lapels and scream in his face, Just make a freakin’ decision! Her nerves couldn’t take much more of this.
Instead she calmly said that she looked forward to talking with them again.
And the Oscar goes to …
‘Look at the bright side,’ said James later as he set her wine in front of her. ‘At least they won’t go to a competitor for the design.’
Except that James was a competitor, Rachel thought. ‘Yeah, I guess. Ed wins either way.’
‘Your design is really good, Rach. I wasn’t just blowing smoke up your skirt.’
‘So is yours. Ditto the skirt.’ She wanted to ask him about his prof’s help. Instead she said, ‘I showed my design to my mum.’
‘You said you’d never do that. I’m glad you changed your mind. What did she say?’
‘She liked it … she had suggestions though.’
‘Well she would, wouldn’t she? She’s a great architect.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Was it hard to take her advice?’
‘I didn’t take it. I listened, but I didn’t make the changes. I used the same design I showed her.’
He nodded, gazing around the pub. The project was taking its toll on him too, she noticed. There were dark circles under his eyes. Or maybe the late nights with Sarah were to blame. ‘I’m not surprised,’ he said. ‘You’re the most independent woman I know.’
‘You mean stubborn.’
He laughed. ‘Completely pig-headed, but also self-sufficient and secure. You know your own mind, what you want and what you don’t.’
She wasn’t so sure about that any more.
‘I admire you a lot, Rachel.’
She waited for the punchline but it didn’t come. He was serious. ‘Thanks.’
‘This doesn’t feel much like a celebration, does it?’ he asked. ‘I’m just relieved it’s over. When they do finally make up their minds, what do you say we go out to properly celebrate?’
Again she wanted to mention Sarah. It was the perfect in. But she didn’t want to sound petty, or worse, jealous.
She’d been biting her tongue for weeks now anyway, every time she saw Sarah. She had no right to tell her not to go out with James. Besides, she was the one who got him to sign up for RecycLove in the first place. How unfair would it be to try to tell him who he could date?
‘Yeah, we can go out when this is all over,’ she said. ‘We’ll get a magnum of champagne for one of us to cry into.’
He clinked her glass with his pint. ‘Seriously, Rach, we both deserve this.’
Yes, but they both knew that only one of them was going to win.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sarah
Sarah felt like she could sleep for a week. How did celebs go out until the wee hours every night and not look like death warmed up? Forget the herbal tea. She was drinking so much caffeine that her blood type was probably Dark Roast Positive.
She slathered on another layer of under-eye concealer. Now it looked like Nate had trowelled on the bathroom grout. Sighing, she rubbed it off and downed the last of her cold coffee, and went downstairs.
Rachel was reading on the sofa. ‘You’re off?’
‘Yeah. See you later?’
Rachel stared at her. ‘Or in the morning.’
If only Rachel would say something. Then at least everything would be out in the open one way or the other.
On the other hand, whenever she imagined that conversation she felt a bit sick. What a coward she was.
But, she promised herself as she bolted the door behind her, if Rachel said one word about it she’d stop the whole charade. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her friend over a guy.
She probably shouldn’t be going out anyway. Not with the Bake Off audition in the morning. But every time she started a text to cancel, the boring old sofa-bound Sarah threatened to re-emerge. She didn’t want that to happen.
Which was why she found herself later at another trendy restaurant past her bedtime, stifling yawns as she explained her newest card idea.
‘So it’s for Trekkies,’ she said. ‘Live long and prosper together.’ She gave him the Vulcan salute.
He laughed. ‘And you’re constantly having to come up with new ideas like this?’
‘Yeah, but they’re almost always shot down in flames. It gets depressing. Even more depressing is when they take the idea and ruin it. Like my personalised cards. I wanted names. They just put out a bunch of cards with common initials. That’s not very personalised.’
‘I guess it’s better than nothing. And I’d prefer my initial to my name, actually. It’s so middle-England boring.’ He pulled a face.
‘Really? I quite like it.’
‘I think I like J better.’
‘Well, then I guess I can call you J, though I’m not a big fan of nicknames. I prefer Sarah.’ Just so they were clear, she didn’t find anything charming about being called Sair or, worse, S.
‘What about your sister?’
‘Sissy?’
‘Yeah. That sounds like a nickname?’
Sarah nodded, smiling. ‘And that was my fault too. Her name is Sophie but she had a lisp when she was small. She sounded so cute when she called herself Thofie that I started calling her Sissy so to get her to say Thithy.’
‘Nice sister.’
‘I know, it sounds cruel now but I swear I love her more than anything in the world. Sissy stuck. She’s had a lot of speech therapy since then, by the way.’
‘And what about the rest of her care? I guess it must be hard sometimes to look after her. I don’t have anything to compare it with but I can imagine you have to deal with the council a lot.’
‘A lot, yeah. It’s a pain sometimes. There’s so much bureaucracy and hoops to jump through but it’s got to be done to get residential care for her. Otherwise she’d have no place to live and she’s only sixteen. She’s not old enough to be on her own. Maybe she can be in sheltered accommodation one day. I’d like that for her, though she’s got lots of friends where she is. I’d hate for her to be isolated. I’m not able to see her every day.’
/> He was probably wondering if that would be an issue. She couldn’t blame him. It was a lot to ask for someone to understand. She shook herself. She wasn’t exactly being the life of the party. ‘Anyway, enough about Thithy and me. Thanks for tonight. This has been fun.’
‘It doesn’t have to be over yet. Would you like to check out an eighties night? I’ve heard it’s great. Just to prove that my Oyster card does work outside Zone 1, it’s out in East London behind an old gasworks.’
‘Oh?’ They’d never ventured further east than Soho before and even that was a stretch. He claimed that travelling outside a ‘W’ postcode gave him a rash.
But being so close to her house wasn’t part of the plan. She didn’t want him inviting himself over. That would be hard to explain. Besides, tonight was definitely not a sleepover night. Her conscience twanged again. ‘I’ve got the Bake Off audition tomorrow. I probably shouldn’t.’
‘We could just swing by though. It’s still early. If you go home now you’ll probably only stay awake worrying about tomorrow. Besides, it’s practically on your street. You’re going in that direction anyway. Tell me when I’ve given you enough reasons.’
‘You’re very persuasive.’
‘I don’t want to make you do anything you’d rather not.’
‘Oh but I’d rather! And I can always just have one drink. The espresso’s kicked in anyway.’
It was a quick Tube ride and a pleasant walk to the huge warehouse. Loads of people stood at the door in leg warmers and Day-Glo. Sarah could feel the now-familiar excitement building with the music. Her tummy was even buzzier than usual because she knew all the songs, thanks to her mum’s complete love affair with the eighties. ‘I’m going to marry that George Michael,’ she used to say. Sarah sometimes fantasised about how she’d casually introduce him to her classmates. ‘Oh, this is my stepdad, Mr Michael. We just call him George though.’
As if she’d conjured him with the memory, just as they got through the door she heard it.
What’s that? Jitterbug, you say?
‘Ooh, “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go”, I love this song!’ She grabbed his hand. ‘Come on, let’s dance.’
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