by Susan Lewis
‘I’ve just told you.’
‘But not why you were there.’
He took a breath, let it out slowly, then pressed the remote to open the underground parking.
‘I’m sorry, but if you don’t tell me what’s really going on, I’m calling off the wedding,’ she said rashly. The words echoed in their own horror. She immediately wanted to take them back, but it was too late now.
After pulling into his parking spot, he switched off the engine and turned to face her. ‘I swear to you, nothing is going on. There’s no other woman, I just needed some space for a while, so I took it.’ She started to speak, but he continued. ‘OK, I didn’t handle it well, and I’m probably not now either, but you know how bad I am at these things. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, it just means that I needed some space.’
A part of her wanted to go on fighting, needing to make him understand that it wasn’t all right to disappear like that, but another part just wanted an end to it, a return to how they were before. ‘Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?’ she said. ‘Why keep it a secret, where you were?’
‘I guess I don’t really have a good answer for that,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear, that’s the last thing I want to do.’
She gazed anxiously into his eyes, certain he was telling the truth, that he didn’t want to hurt her, yet knowing too that he was still holding something back. She wished she knew what to say, how to get inside his head so that she could find out what it was, but even if she could did she really have the courage to hear it? She looked down to where her hands were bunched in her lap, and heard Andraya’s words echoing in her mind: ‘Have him followed … A man with a secret is not to be trusted.’
Feeling his hand on the back of her neck she turned her face into his shoulder and started to cry.
‘Sssh,’ he whispered, stroking her hair. ‘It’ll be all right.’
‘Will it?’ she said, looking up at him.
He smiled and used a thumb to wipe away her tears. ‘Of course,’ he said, and kissed her on the mouth.
‘I wish the wedding was over,’ she said miserably. ‘The stress is killing me.’
He laughed. ‘Come on, I’m ’ank Marvin, me,’ he said, mimicking Stan’s accent and lingo. ‘Let’s pick up something from the Chop House, then maybe we can rehearse the honeymoon night.’
Chapter Seven
IT HAD TAKEN Sherry all of one minute to decide that Karima Ghosh was very possibly one of the most unpleasant characters she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Even the most condescending editor, in a world full of condescending editors, couldn’t match this pompous ice queen for sheer dislikability, and not many were cursed with such foul breath either. It was an abomination, particularly in a woman whose middle-aged face still bore the residue of an earlier beauty. Now her features were cramped in a mask of sourness and resentment, with a sharpness to them that was actually quite scary.
Twenty minutes or more had passed since she, as Tara Green, fashion buyer, had entered the four-storey building on New Road, and climbed the most putrid of stairwells, which appeared to be used for anything from dossing to shooting up, or even for letting go of bodily waste, to this large, desolate workshop. It was on the first floor, over a rank of partly derelict, partly run-down shops, with dull concrete floors and walls, exposed overhead pipes netted by cobwebs, cracked, painted-over windows and a sad-looking workforce of six, all Asian and all male. It was a depressing place indeed, with no colour except in the boxes of cotton reels and bolts of fabric, though even they were dreary, and no sound apart from the staccato bursts of machines. No-one spoke or looked up from their work, not even when Karima Ghosh addressed them. After going through the many racks of clothing that were stacked up along one wall of the workshop, like carriages in a siding, Sherry and Karima Ghosh returned to the office to write up ‘Tara Green’s modest order. As she waited Sherry looked around at the steel-grey filing cabinets, the scratched wooden desk, the handwritten notes pinned to a board, the old-fashioned Rolodex, the shelves of directories and fabric swatches, wondering if in there somewhere she might find some evidence of a secret workforce, a hint of the existence she was here to prove. Since she could hardly rummage through with the dreaded Ghosh woman right there, she directed her gaze out of the office window to watch the men at their machines. She wondered what their lives were really like, working in this sweatshop, living in a country that wasn’t their own, struggling to speak a language they barely knew. It couldn’t be easy, though she didn’t imagine for a minute that their boss, the woman sitting in front of her now, in her bright yellow sari and exotic red dot, could have cared less if she tried.
‘There, you can authorize,’ Karima Ghosh stated, turning the order pad round for Sherry to see.
Sherry looked it over. Half a dozen strapless dresses with matching bolero jackets and four evening tops with faux-fur trim. Hideous, but cheap enough not to make too big a dent in Laurie’s budget.
‘When can I expect delivery?’ she asked, after signing the order.
‘We don’t have much work on at the moment,’ Karima Ghosh informed her. ‘It could be done in two weeks, if you’re prepared to pay more.’
Sherry smiled sweetly. ‘Let’s keep the price the same, and do it in two weeks,’ she said, handing over a freshly printed business card. ‘I’m told Mr Cribbs’s workshop has a reputation for fast turnaround, as well as quality and reliability.’
The mention of her boss added an even flintier edge to Karima’s tone as she said, ‘You were told correctly.’ Then after a pause, ‘May I ask who recommended us?’
Sherry wrinkled her nose. ‘You know, I talked to so many people before I drew up my shortlist, I can’t actually remember now. But I’m sure I can look it up, if it’s important.’
Karima’s eyes returned to the order book.
‘I was hoping,’ Sherry continued, ‘to meet Mr Cribbs. I always like to know who I’m doing business with.’
Karima’s head came up, her eyes gleaming like a cobra’s. ‘I am in charge of the workshop. All the business is done through me.’
Sherry cocked an eyebrow. ‘I could be putting a lot more orders your way, if my plan to join with a national chain comes off. Do you think you could cope?’
‘It would depend on the quantities, but these are not prosperous times for our industry, so we can always get the workers.’
‘How many workshops do you have?’ Sherry enquired.
‘Just this one.’
‘Oh? I thought Mr Cribbs had two or three.’
‘You are mistaken. There is only this one.’
Sherry was still smiling benignly. ‘OK. Well, I guess I should be going,’ she said smoothly. ‘Please mention to Mr Cribbs that I’d like to meet him,’ and before the woman could respond she was heading back into the workshop.
As she passed through all the workers’ heads stayed down, eyes fixed on the hems and seams they were pushing through the loudly thumping machines, but she knew they’d hear as she turned round and called back to Karima, ‘Are there no women working here?’
The reply took a moment to come. ‘No. This is all the staff we have at the moment.’
‘Pity,’ Sherry responded. ‘I’m looking for a girl to do alterations at the shop. If you hear of anyone …’
Karima was coming towards her. ‘Here is a copy of your order,’ she said, handing her a pink sheet.
Sherry took it, wanting to kick herself for such a stupid oversight. She was about to thank her when her mobile rang. To her surprise, the readout told her it was Elliot. She’d call back once she got outside. Shaking Karima Ghosh’s hand, she said, ‘Thank you, it was a pleasure.’
As she left Karima Ghosh’s eyes stayed with her, watching until the door swung closed behind her, then, scowling at a worker who was re-threading his machine, she went over to the window to look down into the street. A moment later Sherry emerged from the building, took out her mobile and started to
dial. Not until she had turned the corner on to the main road did Karima Ghosh return to her desk and pick up her own phone.
‘Hello,’ she said to the voice that answered. ‘It is Mrs Ghosh. Please inform Mr Cribbs that I would like to see him.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘I am not sure.’
‘Hi, Elliot? Did you call me?’ Sherry was saying into her phone.
‘Yes. Where are you?’
‘I’m …’ She drew back and grimaced at a cloud of fumes blown out by a bus. ‘I’m on Whitechapel Road,’ she answered, after the roar died down. ‘Sorry about the noise. Is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine. I just thought … Well, I’m not sure you’ll want to know this … Laurie said you probably would, but …’
‘Know what?’ she cut in, with a tremor of unease. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Well, after the other night, when we were talking … well, I ran into Nick van Zant earlier. At Davey’s.’
Sherry stopped walking. She knew she’d heard right, knew too that she should respond, but for the moment she didn’t know how to. Nick was in London. Here, in this city, this very minute, and he’d spoken to Elliot. A rush of emotion made her feel dizzy but she quickly suppressed it. She needed to remind herself that this was only a coincidence. He hadn’t come looking for her, so giving rein to any amount of elation could easily prove embarrassingly premature. ‘Did you …? Did he …?’ She wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. ‘How is he?’ she finally managed.
‘He seems fine. He said to say hi.’
Her name had been mentioned. What had they said? The possibilities made her heart start to thud, for Nick being here, knowing all he did … ‘Is that all? Didn’t he say anything else?’ she asked.
‘Plenty, but not about you, I’m afraid. There were other people around.’
It was the answer she wanted. ‘I’m about to go into the Underground,’ she told him. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’
The train journey back to her flat didn’t take long. When she got there, she closed the door behind her and went to stand in the middle of the room. Part of her wanted to whoop with joy, but she continued to remind herself that this was just a chance meeting, that she shouldn’t start reading things into it that were only going to crush her later, for it was highly unlikely that anything in Nick’s life had changed.
Putting a hand to her head, she took a breath and blew it out slowly. Then she started to laugh, softly, as though chiding herself for being foolish enough to think that he’d have blurted out anything about their past to someone he’d just run into. He was far too discreet, would never discuss it with anyone, she was sure, unless she’d already told them herself. But the events of that time, what had happened to her parents, and how Nick himself had come to meet Bluebell … She’d tried desperately to close herself off to all this since the day she and Nick had parted and she’d left Los Angeles, but that had been a heartbreaking time, while this … This wasn’t, and still smiling, she let the past fade to where it belonged, and began to picture him at Davey’s, meeting Elliot.
It was a pleasing image, for they were as tall as each other, with as commanding a presence, though while Elliot was dark, Nick was blond and had much finer features. It made her feel warm inside to recall how handsome he was with his liquid, laughing brown eyes, intense frown lines, and the hard, wide mouth that lit her up inside when he smiled. How had he felt, she wondered, when Elliot said he knew her? What had gone through his mind? It was impossible to know, but he surely must have felt something. Had he told Elliot how they’d met? Her heart twisted. No, of course he hadn’t, because Elliot had already told her, they hadn’t discussed her at all.
After opening the French windows to let in some air, she spent a few moments checking her plants, inhaling their scent and feeling the pleasure stealing all the way through her. Then she went to play back her messages, unable to stop herself thinking how wonderful it would be if his voice was amongst them. Of course, it wasn’t; she’d moved from the last address he’d had for her a long time ago, and she couldn’t imagine Elliot giving him her new one without permission. She wondered if he’d asked. If he had Elliot would surely have told her.
‘“He said to say hi.”’ She could hear Nick saying it, see him, even, his tousled head tilted to one side, his rich brown eyes showing his surprise at hearing her name. A moment’s unease stole through her as she wondered how long he was here for. There was every chance he’d be gone again tomorrow. Her eyes closed at the prospect, for she knew already that it would feel as though he’d abandoned her again. Since the last time she’d done all she could to shut him out, refusing to torment herself by following his career, or even writing him letters she knew she’d never send. Even so, it hadn’t stopped her imagining or hoping that one day …
As the minutes ticked by she allowed herself to think about him more deeply than she had in years. She wondered if he ever thought about her, and if he did what the thoughts were. Did he still have feelings for her, or had his died a long time ago? He’d never really spoken about his feelings, which had sometimes worried her, but she still had the letters and postcards he’d sent, reminding her of things they had done together, places they’d been; he wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t cared.
They’d packed so much into that one short month. She smiled to recall the crazy, laughter-filled drive they’d taken up the California coast to Monterey and Carmel in an open-topped Mustang. They’d stayed at the most romantic cliff-top inn where they’d made love in a four-poster bed until they couldn’t make love any more. No man had ever made her feel like that before, and none had since. He was so passionate and demanding, yet gentle and attentive. Even the male scent of him had driven her wild, and the long lovers’ looks into each other’s eyes were as potent as an intimate caress.
When they’d returned to LA they’d filled their days with long, rambling walks through the Malibu mountains, or picnicking in the canyons, or sipping cocktails at the beach. She remembered only too well the roadside café they’d stopped at one day for fresh shrimp and Chardonnay. It was when he’d told her he never wanted any of it to end, and she’d cried, and next day he’d bought them two tickets to Hawaii. She still had the shell necklace he’d given her during those perfect, but heartbreaking last four days.
She swallowed and breathed in deeply. It was all a long time ago and nothing in the world could make her want to sit here reliving that dreadful goodbye again. It was enough to know it had been as hard for him as it had for her, though he’d had his wife and family to go home to, and by then she’d had no-one.
The phone rang on her desk, making her jump. She knew it wouldn’t be him, but it seemed her hopes had a life all their own. She looked at the answerphone and waited.
‘Hi, it’s Laurie. If you’re there …’
Sherry lifted the receiver. ‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘And still in shock.’
There was a smile in Laurie’s voice as she said, ‘I hope we did the right thing in telling you. It just felt wrong to keep it from you, especially as Elliot’s going to meet him again.’
Sherry’s heart turned over. ‘I didn’t know that,’ she said.
‘It’s next week, I think. They’re having lunch.’
Sherry wasn’t sure how she felt about that – thrilled at the length of Nick’s stay, yet afraid of its potential to hurt.
‘So, will you get in touch?’ Laurie asked after a pause.
Sherry’s breath caught. ‘No. I mean, I can’t. I don’t have his number …’
‘Elliot probably does.’
This was going too fast. ‘No,’ Sherry said, shaking her head. ‘It’s not a good idea. He’s married and I just don’t want to go there again.’
Laurie’s tone was tender as she said, ‘You’re right, it just seems such a shame when you felt so strongly about each other.’
Sherry swallowed, and, to her embarrassment, when she tried to speak she found hersel
f close to tears.
‘What are you doing?’ Laurie asked. ‘I can come over if you like.’
‘It’s OK. I’m fine. Up to my eyes, actually. I’ve got a couple of deadlines to make for tomorrow, so instead of sitting around here like some lovesick schoolgirl, I should fill you in on my meeting with Karima Ghosh.’
‘OK, but if you change your mind …’
‘I’ll call, don’t worry. And thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. Now, before you get going, have you looked at your email in the last couple of hours? I sent you a news release from the National Crime Squad about a dawn raid they carried out in Bedford this morning. Apparently they’ve arrested six people on charges connected with the illegal entry of immigrants into the UK.’
Sherry’s interest was immediately perked. ‘Any names?’ she said, turning on her computer.
‘Not yet. I’m waiting for a call back from my contact at the Yard. I know Bedford isn’t East London, but it could still be connected. It’s a long shot, of course, but did you happen to see any signs of anything at the workshop that might in some way relate to this?’
‘Not a thing. Everything looked perfectly normal to me, if you can call what I saw normal.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Apart from almost being asphyxiated by Mrs Ghosh’s halitosis, I’ve put in the first order, which should be delivered in two weeks. I also requested a meeting with Mr E.C. himself. Mrs Ghosh didn’t seem terribly up for that, so whether or not she passes the message on, we’ll see. She’s nobody’s fool though, that’s for sure. And the guys in the workshop are scared stiff of her.’
‘What do you hope to achieve by meeting E.C., if you can pull it off?’
‘I’m not sure yet. I just wanted to see how she’d react to the idea. I’ll call her again in a few days to see what she has to say for herself.’
‘With any luck Stan might have come up with something by then. Rose and the crew are getting some good stuff their end, apparently. She called about an hour ago, from Bombay, sorry, Mumbai. They’re flying up to Gujarat tomorrow to see what they can find out, and shoot some footage of the Harijans in their own environment. Barry’s dropping in around six to give me an update from his end, so if you can join us …’
