The Wedding Invite (Lakeview) (Lakeview Contemporary Romance Book 6)

by Melissa Hill

  “Superior?”

  “Yes. There you were, abandoned, a single mother, struggling to come to terms with losing everything you held dear, and there I was madly in love with a man who I knew loved me back, and didn’t want to lose me.” She gave a little laugh. “In a way you did me a favour, because when Neil confessed what had happened and was so cut up about it, I knew his feelings for me were real. If anything, it brought us closer and it made our feelings stronger. Meanwhile you were left with no-one. So, yes, I felt that little bit superior.”

  Helen looked at her. “Wow – we’re not exactly candidates for a remake of Thelma and Louise, are we?”

  Laura shrugged. “You and I know both know that it doesn’t always happen that way. We don’t all go around sobbing on one another’s shoulders and hugging like they do in the movies. Real friendship isn’t just about the soppy bits, it’s warts and all.”

  “I wonder if Nicola feels that way – about me, anyway?” Helen said pensively.

  Laura smiled. “Now, Nicola is a different kettle of fish altogether. You can’t keep her down.”

  “I didn’t help though, did I? After the accident … I mean, I rarely even visited her in hospital and when Dan left she really needed her friends around her and –”

  “Helen, Nicola’s fine. She didn’t need help from anyone – she never has. That girl decided from day one that she was going to get through it, and she did.”

  Helen nodded. “Where does she get it from, Laura? I don’t know if I could have dealt with it – actually I do know – I couldn’t have dealt with it.”

  “Helen, none of us know how we’ll deal with what life throws at us. All we do is get on with it, same as Nicola did.” She paused, smiling. “Wow, aren’t I being terribly philosophical today? But no, Nicola isn’t mad at you, Helen – neither of us are.

  Helen gave her a sideways glance. “You’re sure? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk to me like you did the other night, you know – it was a bit scary, actually. But you really made me think.”

  “Good,” Laura smiled, but then her tone grew serious. “Still, I suspect you had a lot of thinking to do.”

  “Yes. But not just about myself.”

  “Kerry?”

  Helen nodded over the rim of her coffee mug. “I shouldn’t have tried to deny her like I did.”

  “Did you tell Paul eventually?”

  Helen shook her head. “I just told him I didn’t think we were ‘going anywhere.’” She made quotation marks in the air with her fingers.

  “Really?”

  “There was no point, Laura. Anyway, he was a bit of a dope.”

  Laura bit back a grin. “If you say so.”

  “Admit it.”

  “OK – maybe the American accent was a bit over the top for a culchie from County Cork.”

  Helen chuckled “It got to me after a while too.”

  “Oh well, I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually.”

  “Laura, at this stage, I’m not too bothered.” She gave a watery smile.

  “So how is Kerry?”

  “Well, that’s another thing,” Helen’s expression darkened. “I found out the other day that she’s being bullied at school,” she admitted guiltily.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure, but I suspected as much. She hates school, Helen, in the same way that she hated playschool. I’m sure she finds it hard to make friends and her confidence is shot because of her stutter.”

  “I know. But I’ll have to try and help her with that, and with her confidence too, I suppose.”

  Laura smiled. “Kerry’ll be pleased. She adores you, you know.”

  “I’ve made a mess of that too, haven’t I?” Helen looked pained.

  “You have to start somewhere.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, what about you? Did the exhibition go well the other day?”

  Laura shook her head sadly. “Ah, I think I’m wasting my time. I’ll never be successful at this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you were right from the very beginning. I’m just not cut out for this kind of life.”

  “Laura, I might not have shown it, but I was always behind you. Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of giving up on this. After everything you’ve achieved already, surely you have to give it a chance – make a real go of it.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Absolutely,” Helen agreed vehemently. “I don’t have the same attachment to my work as you do, nor a clue how it must feel to create something from nothing, show it to the world and let them decide whether or not it’s worth anything. I suspect it isn’t easy. But success? Laura, I don’t think you should get bogged down in all that kind of thing. Why can’t you just be proud of what you’re doing?”

  To her surprise, Laura felt tears in her eyes. “Because I don’t know if it is something to be proud of. I mean, my parents, Cathy, everyone in Glengarrah – they all think I’m nuts, they think that I’m only playing at being in business.”

  “Well, stuff them,” Helen said. “Who cares what they think? As long as you know that you’re doing your best, then what does it matter? And I’m very proud of you, Nicola’s proud, Neil is – we’re all behind you. What more do you … oh, I get it – it’s your mother, isn’t it?”

  Laura nodded. “I know it’s stupid. I mean, I’m nearly thirty years of age but I just want my mother to be proud of me, to say ‘Fair play to you, Laura, for taking a chance’. I don’t know why I want it so much but I do.”

  Helen sighed. “Oh Laura, I really don’t know what to say to you, but you should try not to worry about what other people think. It’s pointless – believe me I know all about Glengarrah, and how narrow-minded and unforgiving the place can be. And if your mother is impossible to please, then she’s impossible to please. If she’s unwilling to lend you her support then you’d be better off just forgetting about her.” Helen put down her coffee mug. “Look,” she smiled, “if we’re being philosophical, I might as well add my two cents. Other people’s opinions don’t matter, as long as you feel that what you’re doing is important and you’re enjoying it. You may or may not be successful in other people’s eyes, but the very fact that you followed your dream, the very fact that you took the chance – means you have been successful and it’s all been worthwhile – to you.” She sat back and grimaced. “Did that make any sense?”

  Laura laughed, but she knew what her friend was saying. “Sometimes I wish I had half of your resilience,” she began, then stopped when she saw Helen grin. “Darnit,” she said sheepishly, “there we go again.”

  She heard the phone ring in her office and at this Helen got up from her chair. “I’d better let you get on with things,” she said. “I have to meet Kerry’s teachers again today – see if we can come up with something that will put a stop to this bullying.”

  “I hope it works out,” Laura said, on her way back to her workshop. “Let me know if I can do anything.” She got to the phone just before the answering machine clicked on. “Laura Connolly Design – good afternoon?”

  Helen mouthed a silent goodbye, and slipped quietly out the front door.

  “Laura Fanning?” enquired an efficient British voice.

  “Speaking.” It wasn’t a business call, then, Laura deduced, not when the caller was using her maiden name.

  “Can you hold for a call, please?”

  “Sure.”

  Laura listened expectantly to ‘Candle in the Wind’ as she waited for the call to be picked up.

  Then another – Irish – voice came on the line. “Laura?”

  “Yes, hello.”

  “Hi, it’s Amanda Verveen here, we met recently.”

  Amanda Verveen? The Irish fashion designer Amanda Verveen? What? Laura had never met her.

  “I’m sorry, I – are you sure you have the right number?”

  The other woman gave a little laugh. “Well, I’m pretty sure – you do handcrafted jewellery,
right?”

  “Well, yes.” Laura’s thoughts were going a mile a minute. How on earth would someone like Amanda Verveen have heard about her jewellery? She wouldn’t have been at the Crafts Exhibition. International fashion designers with customers the likes of Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta Jones wouldn’t be attending lowly crafts exhibitions. She’d be mobbed! And didn’t Nicole Kidman wear an Amanda Verveen dress at last year’s Golden Globes?

  Laura wrinkled her nose. This was obviously some kind of joke.

  Despite her misgivings, her heart kept racing.

  “You really don’t remember me?” Amanda asked.

  “I’m sorry, I really don’t.”

  “I was there the day you and your bridesmaids were at Brid Cassidy’s for your final fitting. Brid’s a good friend of mine, we were at college together.”

  Brid, her wedding dress designer? Then it hit her. Brid’s assistant. Well, Laura had presumed she was her assistant – she had no idea that ‘Amanda’ was actually The Amanda Verveen. Laura could pinpoint any of Amanda’s designs in seconds, but had never known what the woman actually looked like. Unbelievable. But what … what did she want with Laura?

  “Well, I know you’re probably very busy, but I was hoping you might consider doing some work for me.”

  For a long moment, Laura couldn’t move. This had to be a joke, a dream – something!

  “Work?” was all she could say.

  Amanda laughed again. “Yes, I’m sorry but did I catch you at a bad time?”

  Laura quickly recollected herself. Was this was really happening? No, no, you’re fine. It’s just …well, I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest.”

  “Well, that makes two of us then, because I was completely overwhelmed by your work that day.”

  “Really?” Laura could feel the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Then she sat up straight in her chair. For goodness sake stop sounding so bloody pathetic, she admonished herself. “Well, thank you – thank you very much,” she said, in the calmest voice she could muster.

  “You’re welcome.” Amanda sounded all business. “Now, I was wondering, could you pop over to the Pembroke Street office sometime soon? I’m in London at the moment, but I’ll be back in Dublin later this week. The thing is, next season I’m doing something with a heavy ethnic influence while at same time keeping my gothic signature, and I’d love to incorporate some of your jewellery. I know this might be a little last-minute for you but … ”

  Next season? Was she talking about next season’s collection? London, Milan, Paris?

  “No, no, it’s not last-minute at all, I’d be delighted – I’d –”

  Amanda went on, talking a mile a minute. “The thing is, Laura, I was hoping we could vary the materials to suit the fabric. Would you or your staff have any problems working with soft metal instead of silver? And it would be great if we could use, well, not quite ivory, but possibly something equally primitive – wood or stone, perhaps?”

  Laura felt her mouth moving, but it was as though someone else was uttering the words. “Well, I’ve already worked with those materials, Amanda. In fact I’ve already come up with a few ideas incorporating variations of black metal and stone and I think they might work well. I’d have to take a look at your own concepts of course, but I could pop over maybe Thursday or Friday?”

  “Terrific. I’ll give you the number for Jan – he’s my personal assistant and he’ll give you all the details and arrange the appointment. Now, I’m sorry I can’t chat for longer, I’ve a meeting with Harvey Nicks which should have taken place … oh, about half an hour ago.”

  If anyone had been watching, they would have been convinced by Laura’s terrified expression that she was being given the worst news of her life.

  “No problem.”

  “But we’ll talk soon?” Amanda trilled.

  “Yes, thanks for the call.”

  “Great. I’m really looking forward to meeting you again, Laura. I feel that you and I have a very similar approach to contemporary design and I think we’ll work well together. Bye!”

  Amanda disconnected, and Laura sat staring at the receiver for seemed like an age, unable to think, not sure what to feel. Amanda Verveen, award-winning and highly revered international fashion designer, wanted to work with her – with her, dull uninteresting, Laura Fanning from Glengarrah.

  She had to be dreaming. This couldn’t be real.

  Laura picked up the handset again, and with trembling hands dialled Neil’s work number.

  “Hey, hon, how are you?” Neil asked cheerfully.

  It was then that it hit her. Hearing him on the other end, hearing her husband’s voice like that, brought Laura out of her awestruck trance.

  Laura bawled into the phone. “I did it, Neil,” she cried. “I finally did it.”

  75

  Nicola awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing in her ears. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was six thirty in the morning. She groaned. This meant that someone had called in sick at Motiv8, and she would need to arrange cover or do the job herself. It took every amount of willpower Nicola had to drag herself out of the bed. She had had a restless night, waking in fits and starts and had just begun to drift off to sleep again when duty called.

  Her car had begun to give her trouble. The hand controls, particularly the brakes, weren’t as responsive as they should be and Nicola wasn’t prepared to take any chances with it. The garage was due to collect it sometime this week, although judging from past experiences, it was unlikely she would get it back for some time. As she wasn’t an ideal candidate for a courtesy car, Nicola knew that she would be relying on taxis until at least the following week.

  Ken should have been back last night from his few days in Galway, and no doubt would be tired after it all, so she wouldn’t dream of calling on him at this hour for a lift. She hated that, not having the independence to drive where she felt like, whenever she felt like it. And it wasn’t all that easy to get a wheelchair-access taxi at early hours of the morning, which is why she was at that very moment still waiting in her kitchen when she should have been at work. Not to mention the fact that she would have to use her manual chair instead of her new power-wheelchair, the one she had laughingly referred to as ‘her new wheels’ that time Laura had called to tell her about her plans to go into business. That seemed like years ago, back long before all the hullabaloo with Dan and his new fiancée. She was glad that was all over and done with now and that Dan was finally out of her life.

  Poor old Chloe – she had got such a shock when she arrived at the house. Although by now Nicola was well used to that. Most people’s reactions to her and her wheelchair generally swung somewhere between discomfort and terror. Nicola let it wash over her now, but it hadn’t always been that easy.

  Switching on her PC, she gave a little smile and recalled how difficult it had been to get used to that in the beginning, to get used to people’s attitudes. But, she thought wryly, she had a head start on most, because the very first person to panic had been Dan.

  At first, Nicola had been relieved that she was still alive, her specialist assuring her that she had been very lucky.

  “With the speed you were hit and particularly the weight of your fall, it’s a miracle that you didn’t do more damage,” he had said. “It could have been a lot worse.”

  It was true, and at the time it sounded reasonable. Nicola knew that there would be a lot of hardship and struggle ahead, particularly when she wasn’t used to being inactive but, she believed, she was ready for it.

  Throughout the three months she had spent lying on her back in the hospital, she had plenty time to think about how she was going to approach her disability. She could lie there crying and feeling sorry for herself, and the loss of her previous way of life (as she did on many occasions) or she could make the best of it. For Nicola there was no choice to make. Of course she would get on with it, of course she would make the best of it. She was only twenty-six, there was no question
of her giving in and as far as she was concerned she had only lost the use of her legs, not the use of her life.

  For a time, this was enough to keep her going. Yes, she was flat on her back in hospital – but she was still alive.

  Inevitably, there were times – particularly throughout her difficult rehabilitation – that Nicola didn’t feel quite so upbeat about her future, but what could she do? There was no changing her situation, there was no going back to normal, so there was no point being miserable about it. Oh, she had her moments – boy, did she have her moments, days, nights, even weeks whereby she’d lash out at the driver, lash out the useless doctors and the even more useless nurses. But what was the point? She couldn’t turn back the clock, she couldn’t change her situation. Nicola recalled how lost, how desolate she had felt immediately after her miscarriage, and how she had all but withdrawn from day-to-day life, consumed by her sorrow. She was determined never to let that happen again.

  But Dan was a different story. She could see the change in him; she could sense the fear and despair every time he came to visit her. He brushed it off, protesting that he was worried about the insurance and the hospital bills, but Nicola knew it was something more. Dan was losing faith

  Immediately after the accident, he had tried his best to pretend that it was OK, that they would be OK, but Nicola could see it in his eyes that he didn’t believe it himself.

  And soon she found that Dan’s sullen visits and stilted conversation were beginning to wear down her early optimism.

  When she was finally released from the Rehabilitation Hospital, she went to stay with her mother – the reasoning being that she couldn’t possibly stay in a three-story apartment block, not when she could barely use her new wheelchair. And at the time she needed full-time care, something that Dan wasn’t able to provide and something Carmel Peters had insisted upon.