‘I thought you had a steady thing going with Connor?’
‘So did I! Not only did he dump me - he dumped me by text darling. The cheek of it!’ He exclaimed.
‘Ooof, that’s pretty harsh, you poor thing.’
‘You know, I think it was a good thing. I wasn’t sure about him, so really it was more that he got in first. Just not nice to be on the end of someone telling you they don’t want to be with you, is it?’
‘Tell me about it. My ex-husband decided he liked our neighbour more than me and wanted me out, and her to move in,’ Sallie said laughing, ‘I can laugh now, but I wanted to slit my wrists at the time. Well, not quite, but you know what I mean.’
‘Gosh, and here I was feeling sorry for myself!’ Lucian chuckled and pulled out a chair for her by the computer. He pulled up a calendar on his tablet, opened a spreadsheet and they started to work on a timeline. The first thing was to set a date, then they would work back and both announce the competition on their social media accounts within a few days of each other.
Next Lucian would broadcast a whole episode of his podcast focusing on Pretty Beach Weddings, the Orangery and the competition announcing that they were looking for a very special bride who would be able to handle the surprise, wanted a magical Winter wedding and deserved a treat.
It would take a lot of interviewing and vetting - they would need to make sure everything was right including the expectations of the party, what the bride wanted, how far along the couple were in their relationship and a multitude of other things.
As they sat there and talked about it, little doubts had started to creep in - was she crazy to do this? Had she taken too much on? There were so many things that could go wrong, the flip side being the massive social media interest. Lucian had already started to put the feelers out with influencer agencies and PRs he knew and the interest had already started flooding in. He’d worked before with the tourism department of Pretty Beach council and they were interested in talking about a grant. A national paper who had done a feature on his podcast had already asked for first rights on the story.
Sallie kept having to tell herself that her input in this was no different to what she had been doing with Pretty Beach Weddings already. It was simply a case of using all of her usual contacts and contractors - the caterers offered to do their part at a reduced rate and Loretta at All the Beautiful Brides had said she would be able to get the place in Hong Kong who had made Sallie’s cathedral dress to make something up for a good price.
All she needed to do was ask Felicity about flowers, and even that would not be a huge cost as it would mostly be a Christmas tree, fairy lights and Christmas decorations as the main decor. All the other stuff was already done - the Orangery was decor in itself. She’d filled it with lovely vintage tables and mismatched chairs, had collected vintage tablecloths from charity shops for pennies, and she’d sourced old English china by hunting around online, at boot sales and at the Pretty Beach Annual Jumble Sale. The result was a wonderfully eclectic mix that tied in beautifully with the vintage feel of the Orangery.
Sallie would also need to start sourcing a Christmas tree. She knew one thing; it needed to be enormous. It would be the star of the show, just behind the bride and it would make, or break, the whole thing.
Lucian had proved interesting - while giving off the impression that he was a bit flighty, and not too serious, in business it was proving to be the opposite. He had worked out costs, a marketing strategy, a media kit and had prepared a website just for the event.
‘You’ve really gone gangbusters on this,’ Sallie said as she sat there with him looking over his plans.
‘This is great for my business - the interest will be phenomenal if I’m correct,’ Lucian replied, leaning forward on his hands. ‘I’ve been right so far in all of this.’
‘I’m sure you will be, you know your listeners,’ she smiled at his frowning face.
‘Oh, they will be so into it, darling. I just need to nail a sponsorship on this. Everything will then be worth it.’
‘I can’t help you there I’m afraid - sponsorship hasn’t been on my list yet.’
‘Sallie, you’ve provided more than enough, there is no way I could’ve sourced a venue like the Orangery on my own. Your business and my reach will hopefully be a very successful combination.’ Lucian said, patting Sallie on the knee.
Chapter 22
Sallie stood up from her seat as the fast train chugged over the last few sleepers and pulled into the old Victorian station. With her bag over her shoulder and gloves on she queued up behind a woman in a long camel coat and matching hat and admired the immaculate outfit as they waited for the doors to open.
She strolled down the platform as all the commuters hurried past her, then she stopped at a bench outside a sandwich shop and watched Ben on the phone as he walked across the concourse in his navy-blue coat, carrying his brown leather case in his left hand and one of his pilot’s hats under his arm. She raised her eyebrows as she watched him and his confident walk and thought to herself how very lucky she was to have found him.
He finished the call, walked up to her, kissed her on the cheek and pulled her up from the bench and into a huge hug under his coat.
‘My oh my, my mother has finally lost the plot - you made the right call not coming to that dinner!’ He exclaimed, putting his phone back in his bag and taking Sallie’s hand.
Susan had called them a few days before and asked Ben to come to a family dinner before he went to Alaska, but at the last minute Sallie had made up an excuse about needing to do an interview at the Orangery and so Ben had gone up to London for the evening, stayed the night in town and Sallie had come up the next day on the train for an early dinner.
‘Come on Sals, let’s go, follow me I’m ravenous. You didn't eat, did you? Like I said.’
‘No I didn’t - I’ve only had a coffee and a biscuit on the train. Where are we going? You’re up to something I can tell.’
‘Ha, not at all Ms Chalmers... just taking you somewhere, umm, a bit special.’
‘Oh goodness,’ she said, looking down at her black jeans tucked into her velvet ankle boots and silky dark grey shirt with a ruffle down the middle. ‘Is there a dress code Ben?’
‘What? I’ve no idea, beautiful - you don’t need to worry about that.’
Ben, having been brought up in luxury and with that nonchalant confidence of his class didn’t think twice about what he was wearing and whether or not it was appropriate. Coupled with his laid-back attitude and optimistic air something as insignificant as clothing really did not even enter his psyche and whenever she asked him about what she was wearing or how she looked, he would always reply simply that she looked beautiful, which wasn’t always helpful.
She gripped onto his hand tightly as she followed him down to the tube station and a couple of changes later they emerged back up onto the street not far from the Thames.
They marched along through the damp, grey London streets as it got dark until they got to a crossing and an art-deco building on the corner with faded old black tiles, long frosted bay windows and a small black door in the middle of it all. There was an even smaller, old French lady in black cigarette pants, a thick crew neck sweater and gold silk scarf tied to the side of her neck standing outside with a clipboard.
Ben, who had obviously been here before, smiled.
‘Ben Chalmers, table for two.’ The old lady broke out into a smile, opened the door and led them into a silent, narrow stairwell, down two steep sets of dimly lit stairs until they could just about hear signs of life. They entered a small lobby area with a reception desk, an old French flag on the wall and a woman speaking French into her phone and a cigarette in her hand, who waved them in through a door on the left. They entered a tightly packed candlelit restaurant and Ben pointed to the only table that wasn’t occupied - a tiny, wonky table tucked up against the wall with a small dim wall light above it and a floor-length tablecloth.
Sallie s
tood looking at the scene, a steady hum of conversation and very low jazz music in the background, she couldn't quite work out what was going on - the place was packed to the rafters and Ben had spoken to the woman in French and it seemed as if he was a regular.
‘Where are we, Ben? Is this an underground restaurant?’
‘This, beautiful, is the best French food you’re going to get in London - it’s so good the French themselves come here. My mum has a fast-track pass to it, she’ll even travel over to this side of town to come here - only in a taxi though,’ he said, pulling out her chair, as Sallie tucked her bag under the table.
Sallie looked around. It was breathtaking, but hardly the sort of place she thought Susan would like, way too small and way too unpretentious. Tall lamps with red fringed lampshades sat on the tables, an oddment of mis-matched pictures hung on every bit of spare wall and a narrow shelf midway up the wall and going around the whole place held hundreds of bottles of French wine.
They chatted across the table. A waiter handed them an extensive wine list and a small menu and they sat there talking about Alaska, the Orangery competition and if they would ever find a house in Pretty Beach that ticked all their boxes.
Just as they were finishing an amazing duck pate they had both said was delicious Sallie’s phone buzzed - she said to Ben that she’d better quickly open it as Nina had been worse with her chest. She took it out of her bag and checked - it was from Nina.
You make it ok? Love to know where you ended up?
I certainly am ok, it’s a French underground restaurant - used to be an old theatre apparently.
Sounds right up your street.
Precisely!
How's the asthma?
Not great - been back to the doctor and I’m going to see someone more specialised.
Good, you need to get it sorted.
Yep, I know.
And Tillie - all ok?
Yep fine. BTW the papers have come back - it’s official, you’re her legal guardian, thank you again.
Sallie sent back a love heart and a thumbs up emoticon and put the phone back in her bag.
‘Everything okay?’ Ben asked.
‘Certainly is - we are now very much officially Tillie’s guardians. No pressure or anything.’
Chapter 23
Sallie tried to think about how fun the naming ceremony would be and what she was going to treat herself to wear while she was making the bed of the boathouse cottage, instead of mulling over and over the comments from the doctor, Peter Vicarage. He had sat there, his hands cradled over his desk and had proceeded to lecture her about all sorts of things when she had thought she was there to talk about IVF. It was hard to stop thinking about his attitude and he’d gone on and on until Sallie had concluded the appointment herself.
‘You see, you are over forty so I will point out to you that it’s not going to be an easy ride. The percentage odds are against you every step of the way,’ he’d said to her looking over the top of his glasses and absolutely looking down at her chest.
He’d continued to tell her that he’d seen it so many times before - women who concentrated on their careers and as their bodies were approaching menopause, they would suddenly decide they wanted a baby and expect it to happen overnight.
Sallie had sat there, her lips tightly shut and couldn’t see what he was also looking at on his computer, but she could tell by his body language, his age and by how he was dressed that she and her fertility concerns were really not the most pressing thing of his day.
Sallie had been to the doctors only a handful of times in her life, if you didn’t include the pregnancy and burn, and she’d never come across any medical professional quite so rude and quite so arrogant. She knew that Pretty Beach was desperate for GPs since Dr Founder had passed away but this guy was ridiculous. He was such a contrast too to the other staff at the surgery - they’d all been very good to her when she’d been burnt at the fish and chip shop, and Juliette had even done a home visit when the pain relief had made her so nauseous she’d had her head down the toilet for nearly a day.
This man though, he’d started working about six months before and it had gone downhill quickly since then. Everyone in Pretty Beach was talking about him and his manner. He’d been rude to Holly about her face not moving, had made a comment about Jessica and Camilla and according to Juliette who had to work with him a few days a week, had an eye which didn't always look you in the face. It was crazy that he’d been getting away with it for so long. How had he come with good references?
Peter Vicarage was treating her as if she was the village idiot because she was hoping to get pregnant at forty. From his attitude, he appeared to not only not care, but also had a disdain for the whole thing. Sallie had sat there fuming, and as he’d wittered on, had decided that she would make a complaint. Not before getting a referral though - she needed that so she put up with the tail-end of his lecturing with a smile and a nod. It was a coping mechanism someone had taught her in the cafe for an annoying customer. Simple and effective; you kept your mouth closed, eyes up and smiled and nodded while in your head thinking of something else. She smiled and nodded as he continued, and he opened a drawer and flicked through a thick, blue book.
Peter reached over, pulled the wireless keyboard towards him and started to type. Sallie looked at the time on her phone; a few more minutes and she would be out of there with the referral. She managed to keep her mouth shut, smile and nod until he had finished, printed off the letter and signed the bottom with that undecipherable doctor’s scrawl they all thought kept them out of trouble. He passed it over, taking another look down her top.
She could smell unwashed skin and stale cigarettes as he shifted in his chair and followed his gaze down to her top and caught his eyes as he looked back up.
‘Looking at anything in particular Mr Vicarage?’ She asked and slowly crossed her legs.
He spluttered, his face flushed, ‘I think I have seen enough Miss, oh and it’s Doctor.’
‘I’m sure you have, Mr Vicarage, oh, and it’s Mrs Broadchurch-Chalmers by the way.’
That had taken the wind right out of his sails. Peter Vicarage had emphasised the ‘Miss’ in her title and had not realised the connection. Sallie hadn’t changed her name to include Chalmers on her documents but she knew that Peter Vicarage had a link to Ben - Peter Vicarage had messaged him a couple of times hoping for a ride in a seaplane.
‘Mrs Chalmers? As in the Chalmers family? As in Ben Chalmers?’ He looked at her, a wave of embarrassment going across the beady little eyes.
‘Yes, as in Ms Sallie Broadchurch-Chalmers to you.’
Disdain raged through Sallie’s body - she was even more annoyed that once he knew she was married to a Chalmers, his attitude had changed. She smiled and nodded. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him see she was affected and besides, she might need him on this journey with the IVF.
She had wondered how he would have behaved if Ben had been with her. If the lecturing would have been the same. She very much doubted that, but Ben was in Alaska and as they had decided, she was getting the ball rolling in all this for the New Year.
Sallie had picked up her bag from the chair, sensing his slimy eyes looking her up and down and strode to the door defiantly, feeling his gaze rove down over her legs. She’d opened the door, jutted her chin out and walked out and now as she went about getting the cottage ready for the next set of guests, she couldn’t get the slimy little toad out of her mind.
As she finished the boatshed cottage preparations and backed her way out of the door, the horrid doctor and his condescending attitude was still whirring round and round her head. She walked back into the Boat House, grabbed her coat and bag and headed down the laneway.
She felt too angry to phone Ben and too irritated to stay at home and hoped that a change of scene would do her some good.
She pulled the strap of her bag up over her shoulder, checked her phone for any missed texts and dec
ided she would stop by Maisy’s cafe for a cup of tea and a piece of cake to calm herself down.
She made her way to Maisy’s cafe. It looked warm and inviting from the outside - little fabric-covered lamps glowed in the window, hanging baskets full of pansies swung outside in the wind and a hand-painted sign announced it was warm inside and to come in for hot soup, warm tea and home-made cakes.
As she passed the bay window at the front, Sallie peered in - a few customers sat cosied up next to the fire with bowls of steaming soup in front of them and Suntanned Pete was sitting in the corner, glasses on, flicking through his tablet.
Sallie steamed in, the warmth, delicious smells and homely feel hitting all her senses at once. She walked over to the corner, next to a huge, old cabinet filled with interesting finds collected from all around Pretty Beach. She put her bag on the chair, waved hello to Pete and sat down on the sofa opposite to think more about the appointment with Dr Vicarage. He’d had the uncanny knack of making her feel both angry and small at the same time. He had assumed, probably by her accent, that she was not worth his time nor his intelligence, but then when he had realised she was married to Ben, his attitude had completely changed. It made her blood boil; she had been on the end of his kind of attitude so many times in her life and experiencing it from a doctor who was supposed to be helping her made it all the more worse.
She ordered a cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake and as she was pulling her phone out of her bag, it started ringing with Nina calling.
‘Hi, how’d it go?’ Nina asked.
‘I’m so angry. It was that new doctor, Dr Vicarage. He was rude and dismissive, especially about my age.’
‘Oh dear, that’s the last thing you wanted to hear. I had the same from him,’ Nina replied and sighed, ‘I heard about him from one of the mums at baby group - he told her she’d need to lose a few pounds. Quite astonishing, really.’
Winter at Pretty Beach Page 8
