by Karen Swan
She ran over the terrace, startling Suzy, who was rocking Cupcake in her arms, through the French windows into the drawing room and beyond, into the library.
It was dim in there. Only a table lamp was lit and she could feel the bass of the music vibrating through the wide old oak floorboards beneath her. Quickly she began scanning the shelves. Decades’ worth of Gardens Illustrated magazines were lined up next to horticultural tomes and glossy coffee-table books paying homage to the gardening greats, Bunny Guinness, William Kent and Charles Bridgeman.
But the book she was looking for, and eventually found, was nothing like as grand. It was small and somewhat tatty, with yellowing pages and charming line illustrations. Language of Flowers, illustrated by Kate Greenaway.
She thumbed to the front page. It was a first edition – 1884 – and the pages gave off that wonderful smell she loved so much. She read a message that had been written in pencil in a young hand:
Happy 40th, Mum.
Love, Henry xxxx
She flicked through. It was like an index, running alphabetically, and there were soiled thumbprints at the corners of the pages. A few pages had been marked, some by a felt-tip pen, obviously wielded by a very young child, but others were ticked in the margins with a pencil, firm and sure. Her answers were here, she knew.
With shaking hands she went to M.
‘Madder; Magnolia; Magnolia, Swamp; Mallow . . .’
It wasn’t there! She took a deep breath and tried to focus. Then she remembered Cuisse De Nymphe. She went to C.
No luck.
‘Oh, come on,’ she murmured . . . R! It was a type of rose. It had to be sub-classified under rose.
She flicked through the pages as quickly as she could, but it was tricky – the book, though small, was hardback and the pages thick. But she knew she was on the right page before she even saw the letters. A tiny silver key was taped in by the spine, a miniature tag swinging from it that read:
‘Yours if you want it.’
It was the key for her padlock. It wasn’t lost at all. Had never been lost, simply withheld, and she could have it back now – could get the necklace back – if she wanted it.
She pulled the tape off carefully and dropped the key into her bra. Well, why wouldn’t she want it? Who in their right mind would willingly leave a solid silver Tiffany’s necklace padlocked to a bridge in Paris?
Her eyes scanned the opposite page.
‘Rose, Guelder; Rose, Hundred-Leaved; Rose, Japan; Rose, Maide—’
Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of it and she slid her finger slowly over the page, the slightly furred texture tingly beneath her skin.
‘Rose, Maiden’s Blush . . . If you love me, you will find it out.’
Words rushed at her, ghosts clamouring. If you love me, you will find it out. If you love me . . . Not nothing . . . Everything. Unconsummated love . . . Find it out . . . find it out.
The book fell from her hands and she was back in Venice that first night, checking her make-up in the mirror. His gaze swept into hers. And just for a moment, before the shame and humiliation came crashing down upon her, she felt a current pass between their reflections, a power-surge that threatened to slam her against the wall and knock all the air and sense out of her.
In a thunderbolt of realization, she suddenly understood that it hadn’t been embarrassment that had made her run that day. It had been the look that had passed between them – it had been the moment of truth.
‘There you are!’ Gil said from the door, and through her shock she could hear the possession in his voice. ‘I was about to do a head-count of the groomsmen and start searching the camellia bushes.’
Cassie heard him place his drink on the table and walk over to her, his eyes drinking her in before he placed his cool, smooth hands on her. Slowly, he turned her around.
‘Darling, what is it?’ he exclaimed, looking startled. ‘You’re as white as a sheet.’
She was quiet for a long time, and when she did speak, she felt dazed, remote. ‘You’re exactly the same.’
‘I am,’ he soothed, rubbing her hands as though to warm her up.
‘And that’s the problem. You’re frozen. Stuck. Whilst you’ve been busy staying the same, I’ve changed every aspect of my life. It’s been completely terrifying – but also exhilarating.’
She looked at him, watched him balk at the pity in her eyes. ‘You and Wiz gave me back my freedom, and, thanks to my friends, I grabbed it with both hands. You are the one left without choices in all this.’
‘I don’t understand . . .’ he said warily.
‘You’re still the husband I knew, Gil. But I’m not your wife.’
‘You are in law,’ he retorted obstinately, too flummoxed by the turn of conversation to remember to tread softly.
‘The law’s an ass. Isn’t that what they say?’
He stepped towards her, cupping the back of her head with his hand and gazing into her eyes passionately . . . but he saw that they weren’t his any more. They had belonged to him for the longest time, holding all the uncertainty and insecurity that he had fostered in her, the very thing Luke had first noticed and been attracted to in her. But all he saw now was purpose and confidence; a woman who knew herself. He pulled back, knowing somehow that, in the time it had taken to buy a drink, he had lost her.
‘I don’t want to be without you, Cass. I want you back.’ It was his final card – pleading, without pride.
Cassie looked at him, her gaze level. ‘But I don’t want you to want me, Gil. The only thing I want from you is my divorce.’
Chapter Fifty-One
Henry was sitting at the same table, his cheek resting on the palm of his hand, when Cassie walked back into the marquee. The brunette was chattering excitedly about something, but Cassie could see, now that she looked, that he seemed more bored than enthralled by her.
She watched for a moment, wondering how to cut in, how to start this . . .
Then she walked across the matting floor, weaving between the tables towards him. He saw her approach from three tables away, her eyes locked on to him, and he lifted his head automatically – just in time for the glass of water she threw over him, which drenched his hair and shirt and left the brunette squawking pathetically. Archie and Anouk, nearby on the dance floor, burst out laughing, absolutely delighted, but Cassie didn’t stay to join in. As quickly as she’d soaked him, she turned on her heel and fled from the marquee, kicking her shoes off so that she could run faster, barefoot, through the meadow and down towards the lake.
After ten seconds, during which Henry sat there, stunned, he was up and straight after her. She could hear his outraged breathing advancing closer with every stride. She knew she could never outrun him and stopped abruptly, whirling round to face him so that he had to jump sideways to avoid mowing her down.
‘What the . . . what the hell was that for?’ he howled, regaining his balance, water still dripping from his hair.
‘You deserved it,’ she panted, her heart hammering inside her ribs.
‘For what?’
‘For behaving like such an arse towards me since you got here.’
Henry stared at her, flabbergasted. ‘What?’
‘Don’t try to deny it. Ever since you kissed me, you’ve acted like you hate me.’
‘I don’t hate you!’ he exclaimed, seemingly unaware that his hands were repeatedly balling into furious fists.
‘Oh, I know that now!’
‘Now that you’ve thrown water over me?’ He was incredulous at her behaviour.
‘Now that I’ve discovered your secret.’
There was a pause. ‘What secret?’ He looked like she’d slapped him.
She took a deep breath. ‘That you love me.’
It was an extraordinary statement to make out loud.
He was silent for a long time. His chest heaved with adrenalin, his eyes bored questioningly into hers. ‘And what makes you think that I love you?’ he asked more quietly.
‘I found out what Maiden’s Blush stands for,’ she said, watching as he turned away from her.
He raked his hand through his hair. ‘Well, that was before.’
It was Cassie’s turn to pause. Had she misunderstood? ‘Before what?’
‘What do you think?’ he demanded, wheeling back and staring her down again. ‘Before you decided to go back to that soft-bellied, manipulative, cheating husband of yours.’
‘Can you blame me? Ever since you jumped on me, you haven’t been able to even look at me! You couldn’t get out of there fast enough! I thought you were running back to your fiancée, which was bad enough! But then I learnt you called off the engagement months ago. So why have you been lying to me about her? What is she? Your cover story for making a quick exit?’
‘You don’t know . . . you don’t know the first bloody thing about it!’ he countered in exasperation, pacing backwards and forwards.
‘So tell me then!’ Cassie demanded. ‘Tell me what’s going on with you. Because I can’t keep up!’
‘You really wanna know?’
‘Yes!’
‘Fine! I have been in love with you my whole life, okay? All of it! Even while you were married for ten years to him and I thought you were completely lost to me. I was convinced I’d never find any kind of happiness after y –’ His voice broke and he swallowed hard, hands on his hips, as he stared down at the ground. ‘But I met Lacey and I thought maybe . . .’
He looked back up at her. ‘And then you came back into my life again.’ He gave a small, unamused laugh. ‘I couldn’t believe it. I’d just got engaged and you were just getting divorced! It felt like some kind of fucking cosmic joke.’
Cassie watched him, silvered in the moonlight, and she felt herself begin to bruise and ache at the heartbreak he had hidden so well.
‘I tried to keep my life with Lacey on track, but I knew pretty much straightaway it was never going to work out between us. Not when there was a chance that you . . .’ He looked away again.
‘So why didn’t you just tell me you’d called off the engagement?’
‘Because for as long as you thought I was with her, I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen between us. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back from telling you how I felt, and I couldn’t do that. Not then. It was the last thing you needed to hear. You couldn’t go straight from a ten-year marriage into “happy ever after” with me.’ He inhaled deeply, and she could sense the resentment building in him again. ‘So I kept quiet. I kept away. I watched while you got it on with Luke sodding Laidlaw. And then the second I finally showed you how I felt – when I couldn’t hold back any longer and I thought maybe you could handle it – you went running back to Gil. One hint that he wanted you back, and you were right there, on his doorstep.’
‘But I didn’t go to Scotland to get back with Gil,’ Cassie gasped.
‘Oh no? So what’s he doing here, then, hands all over you like you’re newly-weds?’
Cassie rubbed her face in her hands. How could she explain it to him?
‘After you kissed me, I knew there was no going back to him. I went to Scotland to make him sign the divorce papers, but he wasn’t even there. I came back, hoping you would finish what you started, but you wouldn’t even look at me, and when he turned up, asking for a second chance . . . I didn’t think you cared.’
They stared at each other, eyes burning, hearts racing.
‘So . . . what are you saying?’ His hands were jammed in his pockets, all his usual lackadaisical ease gone.
Cassie walked towards him, cupping his face with her hands. ‘I’m saying that I love you,’ she whispered, gazing into his blue eyes, which were as bright and clear as the Arctic waters he explored. ‘I have done ever since I . . . mugged you in Central Park.’
He gave a sudden laugh, and she laughed too, but it quickly faded as he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. She felt the weight of his words through his lips as ten years of yearning was released and he wound his hands in her hair, grazed his mouth on her neck and raked his fingers up her body with an exquisite lightness that made her feel her skin must be sparkling beneath his touch.
His skin felt cold and damp through her dress, and she unbuttoned his sodden shirt, smoothing it off him as she felt him pull the ribbon-tie on her dress. It fell open, sliding off her shoulders with silky submission so that she too stood almost bare before him, in just primrose lace – the two of them marble-white in the moonbeams, like Rodin’s lovers.
A sudden glint caught Henry’s eye, and he reached down, pulling the Tiffany key from her bra. He raised a speculative eyebrow, and Cassie took it from him. She stared at it for a moment – the symbol of his secret seduction through three different cities – then, kissing it lightly, she threw it as far as she could over the glassy water, and the silver key flew through the night sky, like a tiny Cupid’s arrow.
Epilogue
New York, six months later
‘You said you’d done all your shopping,’ Archie moaned as Cassie stopped outside the Tiffany’s giant door. ‘I need to get home and check I’ve still got ten toes. I think Suzy might have sliced some of them off with her skates just now.’
Suzy walloped him in the stomach. ‘I am the wind beneath your wings, and don’t you forget it.’
‘We should get back, Cass, if I’m going to get that turkey stuffed before midnight,’ Kelly chimed in reluctantly.
‘I promise I’ll just be a minute. I know exactly what I want to get,’ Cassie said, nipping into the store before anyone could protest further. Henry, Arch, Brett and Guillaume groaned and sloped in after the girls, accepting the complimentary champagne with deep suspicion, and blinking warily in the glare that comes from being confined in a small space with millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds.
‘It’s my fault. I’ve told her we should spend every Christmas at Tiffany’s,’ Henry said, leading them towards the towering Christmas tree at the back. ‘Start our own traditions and all that.’
They watched as their girls leant over a small tray of brightly coloured enamel trinkets, champagne glasses in hand, Cassie picking out items with nimble precision.
‘Look what I’ve got,’ Anouk purred to Guillaume a few minutes later, holding up a teeny pink shoe charm on a necklace chain. Kelly came over bearing a tiny shiny red apple charm on hers, and Suzy seconds later with a yellow cupcake charm.
‘What are they all for?’ Archie asked quizzically.
‘It’s my way of saying thank you to my best friends for getting me through last year,’ Cassie said, smiling round at them all. ‘Energy in the Big Apple; elegance in Paris, and cupcakes in London. It was a big year for me.’
‘Yeah, and what did you do with it – huh?’ Suzy drawled. ‘You were the poster girl for a fashion campaign, Luke’s muse in an exhibition, the muse in Vogue’s special issue, and Claude named his landmark restaurant after you in Paris. I mean, for God’s sake, Cass, why didn’t you do something with your life?’
Everyone laughed.
‘Honestly, I love this, Cass. I’ll treasure it for ever, and I’m not giving it back,’ Kelly grinned, clutching her necklace more tightly. ‘But I think we all know who really got you through last year,’ she said, holding up her champagne glass towards Henry.
‘To Henry!’ everyone cheered, and Cassie reached up to him to show her gratitude – again.
‘Tch, you’re always falling on to each other’s lips!’ Suzy groaned as they kissed for slightly longer than was strictly necessary.
‘Personally, I think he was a bit long-winded about the whole thing. Lists, flowers . . .’ Archie muttered. ‘I just got Suzy drunk.’
‘Aren’t you having a necklace?’ Kelly asked. ‘I think we should all have a memento of that year.’
‘Ah, but I already have one,’ Cassie smiled, fingering the bare chain hanging around her neck. ‘It’s just hanging from a bridge in Paris.’
‘I’m telling you, I am going to take A
rchie’s toenail clippers to it if you don’t release that thing,’ Suzy warned.
‘We don’t have the key,’ Cassie said, her eyes twinkling at the memory of her and Henry’s first night together, down by the lake. ‘Besides, Nooks and Guillaume check it for us, don’t you?’
‘Every Sunday morning,’ Guillaume nodded. ‘It’s fixed solid.’
‘I’ll never forget that moment,’ Cassie smiled, looking back up at Henry. ‘In fact, I was standing just there,’ she said, taking a step closer to the tree and pointing towards the mound of blue boxes clustered around the base. ‘Honestly, you should have seen my face when I saw my name . . .’
She fell silent.
‘What’s wrong?’ Anouk asked after a moment.
Cassie was staring at the gift boxes, seemingly lost in the memory. But then she bent down and picked one up. It was tiny, and heavy, and written upon a dangling gift tag was her name.
She stared back at Henry in amazement. ‘Again?’
‘Better.’
The question was in his eyes.
The answer was in her hands.
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘Oh yes.’
Christmas at Tiffany’s
Karen Swan lives in Sussex with her husband and three children. When the children let her, she writes her books in the treehouse overlooking the South Downs.
Visit Karen’s website at www.karenswan.com
and follow Karen on Facebook and Twitter.
Praise for Karen Swan
‘A totally original, witty, sexy and engrossing read’ Heat
‘This is a seriously saucy novel!’ OK!
‘Romantic and sexy – a real treat’ Tasmina Perry
‘The ultimate holiday read’ Take it Easy
‘An addictive read’ Woman
‘With its sizzling mix of sex, scandal and lies, this debut novel is fab’ Closer
