A Very Merry Manhattan Christmas

by A Very Merry Manhattan Christmas (retail) (epub)

  “That was quite a dinner, eh?”

  “Your mother’ll never want me to come back.”

  “Rubbish.” He shook his head. “She won’t blame you for that. In fact, she’s thrilled that we’re finally together.” He air quoted the last word and Lucie blushed.

  “I hate deceiving them, Dale.”

  “Me too. But like I said, Mum just assumed that we were a couple and I didn’t want to hurt her. We can tell them the truth in time. It won’t be that hard to pretend to be my girlfriend will it?” He looked at her from underneath his thick, dark lashes.

  “No. Of course not. It’s only until we get back from New York though, right?”

  He glanced away for a moment before meeting her eyes. “Of course. I mean, I could never live here with you full time anyway. It’s like the Sahara!” He made a choking noise and fell backwards on the sofa, loosening his shirt and wiping his brow dramatically.

  “Dale, stop it!” Lucie laughed at him. “I don’t know how you can stay in that big old house of yours without central heating.”

  He shrugged. “I have jumpers, thick socks and a duck-down duvet.”

  “Even so. It must be freezing at night, Dale.”

  “The new boiler’s going in soon, so it’ll be fine. Lucky the old couple who lived there had that electric shower or I’d be really stinky by now.”

  “Did you know about Ieuan? At all?”

  Dale sat upright and straightened his shirt. “I don’t know. I mean… kind of, I guess. Now that he’s admitted it, I can see that he’s said and done things over the years that could have been his way of dropping clues. All those women he was seeing… we never met them. Not one. They were always models off on assignments abroad, or businesswomen travelling the country with their jobs. But now I think it was all a front. He was hiding who he really was, yet, I suspect, still trying to get us to see him properly. We just didn’t read the signs.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well the absent girlfriends, for starters. Then there were other things. Like, he FaceTimed one of his male friends a lot over Christmas last year. And on Christmas day too! And when he was in uni, he had photos of him and this guy in his room. They were all over the walls… and I mean all over. And he’d check out other men if we went to the pub then make out like he was joking, but now I guess I can see that he was testing my reactions to it all.”

  “Poor Ieuan.”

  “Well, at least it’ll give Glenda someone else to fuss over at Christmas when I’m in NYC with you… making sure that you don’t get yourself into any trouble.”

  “True.” Lucie paused then realized what Dale had just said. “Hey! I will not get into any trouble.”

  “Not with me there you won’t, but if I’d let you go alone…” He shook his head.

  Lucie grabbed a cushion and whacked him over the head with it. “That’s it! Pillow fight!”

  And for the next ten minutes, Lucie forgot about feeling worried or guilty, forgot about Ieuan’s situation, and forgot about all her other worries as she and Dale chased each other around the flat until they collapsed in laughter on her living room floor.

  Exhausted.

  Happy.

  And more than a little bit excited about their upcoming trip.

  Chapter 5

  “Lucie, darling!” Petra waved from the other side of the central London bridal boutique. Lucie closed the door behind her, causing the old-fashioned bell above the door to tinkle again.

  She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and plastered on what she hoped was a confident smile.

  Here goes…

  She strode across the shiny shop floor, acutely aware that the harsh lighting would be emphasizing her every flaw, and that the team of fluttering women surrounding Petra would no doubt be assessing her as she approached: *Age. Weight. Height. Wealth. Occupation. Worth knowing? *

  Lucie had encountered some of Petra’s friends before, back when they were at university together, but only for short periods of time, and she’d been younger, slimmer and angry enough at the world not to give a damn then anyway. But now… insecurity wobbled at her edges. She didn’t want to be the odd one out, the short, plain bridesmaid who made the rest look good. And boy, did they look good! It was like walking into the backstage area of a catwalk show. Every single one of them was tall, slim, polished, perfect.

  “Lucie!” The women parted and Petra emerged, clad in just a white basque, stockings and a scrap of lace that served as her underwear. She held out her hands and Lucie took them, relieved that her friend offered a warm welcome. “Thank you so much for coming. I know it’s short notice but once Harry proposed, I thought I’d get the old ball rolling and all that! Oh darling, come here. Mwah! Mwah!” Petra kissed the air either side of Lucie’s head then took a step back and smiled down at her. “Don’t you just look fabulous!”

  Lucie shrugged then smiled. Petra’s friends were still staring at her as if she had two heads. Which today she did; a large spot had appeared on her chin overnight. Even toothpaste and concealer had done nothing to disguise the hideous protrusion. It was a greasy volcano ready to erupt at any moment. She had a brief image of aiming it at the other bridesmaids then pressing the tender flesh either side of the spot and coating them all in sticky white pus. That would show them. They wouldn’t be so perfect then.

  She shivered. Why was she being so defensive? These women could well be perfectly nice and she was just probably just being overly sensitive; a product of her own insecurities.

  “Thank you, Petra. And you look… well…” Too skinny. Too tanned. Too tired. “Gorgeous as ever!”

  Petra ran a hand over her platinum blonde hair and smiled broadly, flashing pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. But as she smiled, Lucie couldn’t help noticing that the rest of Petra’s face remained frozen. Her forehead was unlined, flawless. Her eyes had no crow’s feet; not a line in sight, and her lips were full and pouty.

  Oh Petra! You’ve succumbed…

  During their time at university, Petra had always been outwardly confident and self-assured, but Lucie knew the real girl beneath the veneer. The nineteen-year-old Petra had been troubled, insecure and desperate for love and approval. She’d been the girl who’d binged on chocolate bars and pizza then gone straight for the toilet to throw it all up before she could absorb any calories. She’d exercised frantically every morning and evening in the gym, pounding away at the treadmill in her quest to remain waif-like. Lucie had worried about her; a lot.

  When Petra had met Harry, she’d calculated his worth as a long-term investment, as husband material, and done everything in her power to impress him, snag him, then keep him. Lucie knew that even back then, Petra had turned a blind eye to Harry’s philandering, and she could only hope that Harry had turned over a new leaf now that he was more mature and about to marry his long-suffering girlfriend. They’d had their breakups and makeups but whatever sins he committed, Petra always took him back. It wasn’t exactly the recipe for a perfect relationship, but then what did Lucie know about relationship success?

  “Come say hi to Mummy!” Petra took Lucie’s hand in her own, her slim fingers long, cool and smooth, and guided her through the other women and over to the changing rooms. “Mummy!”

  “What?” The sharp tone of Mrs Barnsley came from behind a red satin curtain. It reminded Lucie of the curtains at the theatre that hid the stage from the audience. Petra and her mother both played their parts well, Lucie knew that; she’d seen the family charade before.

  “Mummy, come on out. Lucie’s here.”

  “Lucie who?”

  Petra cast Lucie an apologetic glance. “Lucie Quigley. You know… my friend from university. She’s going to be one of my bridesmaids.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  Petra looked like she was holding back tears. Lucie reached out to hug her, but thought better of it. Petra had never been one for hugs, always trying to maintain that stiff upper lip that had been drilled into her since c
hildhood.

  The curtain rattled back and revealed a woman who could have been Petra’s slightly older sister. Her hair was the same shade of blonde, her eyes were the same cornflower blue and she was just as skinny as her daughter as she stood there in nothing more than an ivory slip. For a woman who had to be in her late fifties, Joanna Barnsley appeared to be very well preserved indeed. Perhaps too well preserved. A bit too angular and flawless.

  “Mrs Barnsley.” Lucie held out a hand. “Nice to see you again. We did meet, many years ago, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. Congratulations, by the way!”

  Joanna Barnsley’s hand was papery and limp as a dishrag; and she made no effort to return Lucie’s firm, solid shake. Lucie fought the urge to rub her palm on her jeans.

  “Congratulations?” Joanna looked surprised.

  “Well, yes… on Petra’s engagement. As mother of the bride, you must be thrilled.”

  “Oh!” Joanna gave a small nod. “Yes, of course. Ecstatic.” As her features remained frozen, it was hard to ascertain whether she was happy or not.

  Lucie glanced at Petra, but her friend was wearing her own mask.

  “Do you want to see the dress?” Petra tugged Lucie’s hand, encouraging her to move away from her mother.

  “Yes, of course!” As Lucie followed her friend to the furthest changing cubicle, she remembered this feeling. At times, Petra could be cold and aloof, hurtful even, but a lot of it was to do with concealing her own fragility. A lifetime of loneliness, neglected by her rich businessman Daddy and alcoholic high society mother, Petra had been sent away to a prestigious boarding school as a child. She’d been happy there, she’d once told Lucie, but dreaded the long lonely summers at the family home. All she’d longed for, all her life, was a family of her own and a husband who would love her. But Lucie had a terrible feeling that marrying Harry would not be her old friend’s path to true happiness. Familiar feelings of protectiveness surged through Lucie. She’d experienced them during the three years at university, when she and Petra had formed an unlikely friendship through their shared enjoyment of Jane Austen and Stephen King. They’d even worked on their dissertations together, sharing ideas and proofreading each other’s work. And Lucie, who had grown up with her own vulnerabilities, was able to understand Petra’s. So even though they hadn’t seen much of each other since graduating, their friendship still had a solid basis. It was the main reason why Lucie knew she had to accept Petra’s invitation to be her bridesmaid; she couldn’t risk hurting Petra by declining.

  “Here…” Petra pushed the curtain out of the way to reveal a beautiful silk garment, the colour of clotted cream, that fell like a waterfall from its hanger. The top of the slim bodice was adorned with tiny seed pearls which ran diagonally from the right shoulder to the waist, then spread out like the branches of a tree down the flared skirt. It was truly breathtaking.

  “Oh, Petra, you’ll look absolutely stunning in that.”

  Petra nodded. “I know. It’s from a new French designer and cost the earth, but Daddy said I could spend what I liked. This will be the society wedding of the season, so it’s important that I look the part. Don’t you think?” She turned sad blue eyes on Lucie.

  “Yes, of course. You’ll look like a princess. Absolutely. Harry will be bowled over by how lucky he is.”

  Petra fell silent and stared into space. Lucie followed her gaze but couldn’t see anything of interest.

  “Petra? Don’t you think Harry will be delighted when he sees you in that dress?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I’m sure he will. You’ll be perfection!”

  “Nothing is ever perfect, Lucie. Nothing.”

  Lucie watched her friend carefully. She was lost for words. How should she reply to such a sad comment coming from a woman about to marry the man she loved?

  Petra seemed to return from a dark corner of her mind and straightened like a puppet being hauled upwards on its strings. “And now you need to see your dress!”

  Lucie battled a sudden wave of nausea at the thought. She tried to keep an eye on her weight, but although she didn’t see herself as chubby, she certainly was curvy – especially compared to the gazelles surrounding her right now. Were any of them under five foot eight, or bigger than a size ten? Lucie had boobs, a bum and curvy thighs. She dressed to suit her shape and didn’t bother following fashion, because a lot of the time it did nothing to flatter her figure.

  “Mariella!” Petra curled a finger at a woman holding a tape measure and she approached them promptly. “This is Lucie. She’s the last of my bridesmaids.”

  The woman eyed Lucie from top to toe. “So all eight are now present?” The woman’s English was laced with an accent, possibly German, but Lucie couldn’t be sure.

  “Yes. Could you show her the dress?”

  “Certainly. One moment.”

  Mariella marched off and Lucie marvelled at her perfectly styled grey hair. It was swept into an elegant chignon and not a hair was out of place. It must have taken a lot of strong hairspray to get that hold. Lucie touched her own hair. She’d been up at six to wash and dry it, but she knew that the walk from the station had destroyed her attempts at styling it, and that her hair was probably now lying flat and shapeless, with the usual kinks that stopped it looking sleek and shiny.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve arranged for us to have the best stylists for the wedding, so we’ll sort your hair and your… uh… eyebrows and all that once we get to New York.”

  Lucie opened her mouth to reply but stopped herself. In Petra’s world, women were immaculate from the hair on their heads down to the lack of hair on their nether regions. She’d deal with any fussy stylists when she had to. She’d never waxed her eyebrows and she wasn’t about to start now.

  She hoped.

  She’d wait and see…

  Well, she didn’t want to be the only almost-monobrowed woman there, now did she?

  “Here we are.” Mariella returned with a garment draped over her arm. She pulled the tape measure from around her neck with her free hand and again eyed Lucie up and down. “I think we need to let this out. Or maybe even start from scratch.”

  Lucie willed herself not to blush but Mariella had just passed judgement on her weight and it was not an easy thing to ignore. She almost felt as if she should apologize to Petra and to Mariella for being bigger than a size ten but that would be ridiculous.

  “That’s okay though, isn’t it, Mariella? I mean… you can make the dress bigger can’t you?”

  Mariella pursed her lips and held up the garment.

  The shop fell silent and Lucie realized that everyone else was listening.

  She scrunched up her toes and fought the urge to run from the room and out onto the street, to hide herself from these skinny rich people and their scorn. But she was an adult, and running away would be ridiculous. She liked her curves most of the time, so she wouldn’t let these women’s opinions sully her confidence.

  “I can add extra material, yes. But it will cost more, obviously.” Mariella raised a silver eyebrow at Petra.

  “That’s not a problem. Daddy will cover it, of course!” Petra waved a dismissive hand at Mariella and the shop owner turned on her heel and marched away.

  “So, Lucie, are you bringing a plus one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Might I ask who it is?”

  Lucie chewed her lip. Dale and Petra had never really hit it off. They’d only met a few times, but Dale just seemed uncomfortable around Petra, and Lucie wasn’t really sure what Petra thought about him.

  “Dale.”

  “Dale?” Petra frowned. “Your old friend the gardener. Don’t you have a significant other now, Lucie? What about that Charles… What was his name again? The one you told me about with the country house and the labradors. Wasn’t he a teacher at a private school?”

  “Oh, that didn’t work out.” Lucie shook her head. Charles had lasted for almost a month, but when he’d whispered to her, over
dinner at a very nice little Italian restaurant, that he wanted to wear her bra and panties, Lucie had gone home alone. Some people enjoyed that type of thing, and they were perfectly entitled to, but it just wasn’t Lucie’s cup of tea. Besides, Charles was six foot four and at least eighteen stone; he’d have stretched her knickers beyond repair, and it was so difficult to find comfortable ones.

  “But Dale…” Petra widened her eyes and defensiveness bubbled inside Lucie. What was wrong with Dale? He was a good guy. She had to stop Petra right now, before she said anything mean about Dale, because Lucie knew that she’d be unable to stop herself from venting if he was attacked.

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “We’re together. He’s my boyfriend now.”

  “You’re together?” Petra’s eyes widened, moving her eyebrows a millimetre or two up her forehead, as her surprise defied the botox.

  “Yes. We are.”

  “How long?”

  “Oh…” How long? Dammit! Think! “A… a few months.”

  “You’re with him? He’s your lover? You’re bumping uglies?”

  Uglies? “Why is that surprising? And Dale is gorgeous.”

  “Well no… I mean… he’s easy on the eye, I can’t deny that, and I wouldn’t say no if I was after a bit of rough… but… as a potential husband?”

  Lucie counted to ten. She would not bite. Petra’s privileged, if lonely, upbringing had taught her to pass judgement on others without consideration for their feelings. So what if she wasn’t actually dating Dale; it just seemed to be the right way to shut Petra up. And his parents thought they were together, so letting Petra believe it too wouldn’t hurt. They might even look more convincing in the photographs if they had to behave like they were a couple.

  “We’re in love. Madly. Moving in together too.”

  Digging yourself deeper.

  “Oh. Well, congratulations. So he’ll be sharing your room in New York? Sitting with you for the wedding meal? Holding your hand?”

  “Of course.” Is she testing me?

  “Wonderful!” Petra recovered quickly. “He might even propose when you’re out there. How romantic would that be? A Christmas proposal in Manhattan.” Petra’s eyes glazed over.