Brando was always going to leave, and she’d always known that. It was the only reason she’d begun this in the first place. She couldn’t have handled it any other way. At least now he’d gone she couldn’t look at him to test how she felt. She wasn’t sure any such test would have stood up to scrutiny. It was definitely better like this.
‘So, it’s all settled that you’re staying until the end of the week to tie up the loose ends? Then we can get everyone who’s been helping to come to a thank you party in the ballroom and we can all watch the programme together when it goes out next Sunday evening.’
Shea reeled. She’d been set on leaving, but she’d caved and agreed to stay on, in the face of Bryony’s steam-roller style persuasion.
‘Great! And after that I’m straight back to Manchester, to sort out a Mr and Mrs Cavanagh, who are downsizing to retirement accommodation.’ Shea tried to beam enthusiastically at Bryony, tried to feel happy about going back to be with her friends and family, but as she thought of waking up back in her own bed instead of in Brando’s at Edgerton, her smile failed miserably.
* * *
Champagne, canapés, big screens, invitations …
The to-do lists Bryony e-mailed to Shea on Monday were incessant and exhaustive, but Shea was grateful to have a stack of work to occupy her and threw herself headlong into it.
Music system, party tunes, balloons …
Tuesday, and still no word from Brando, though realistically she knew better than to expect it. A newsy e-mail or a chatty phone-call would hardly be his style. She knew that hoping for either was ridiculous after the rage he’d been in before he left, but she still couldn’t stop her heart lurching at every ping of her inbox. She soldiered on with each new set of challenges, but somewhere down the line, her get up and go had got up and gone.
Celebration cupcake tower, napkins, bunting, new dress …
By Wednesday she’d become used to the constant ache in the pit of her stomach and although she refused to think about Brando, she had to admit through gritted teeth that despite the workload, which would usually have kept her ecstatic all week, without him, life at Edgerton had lost its zing.
She preferred too, to forget that deep in her wardrobe she had an old t-shirt of Brando’s, scrunched up, stuffed under her stilettos. And she hated that each night, the only way she could sleep was if she took it out, and buried her face in it.
* * *
‘Here Shea! Quick, grab some bubbly before we sit down.’ Shea whipped around to see Bryony, head above the crowd, diamond earrings flashing in the light from the chandeliers, weaving her way across the ballroom towards her in skin-tight purple suede and towering heels, holding two full to the brim champagne glasses aloft.
‘Hey, thanks. It’s crazy in here – quite a party!’ Shea shouted above the din, and smiled gratefully as she took the glass from a flushed and excited Bryony.
‘Are you okay? You’re looking very pale. Pale, yet stunning, I have to say. Brando’s going to love that slinky dress, peacock blue is so your colour. I hope I haven’t been working you too hard?’
Shea’s stomach did a double flip. If she was pale, she felt herself go several shades paler, as her insides sank to the floor. She tried for a throwaway tone, and just about pulled it off, apart from a telltale squeak of panic in her voice. ‘I’m fine, really. I didn’t know Brando was coming.’
Bryony’s glanced impatiently at her watch, and tutted. ‘He’s cutting it a bit fine. We’d probably better encourage people to sit down, Edgerton’s on first, we don’t want to miss it!’ Her eyes flashed fiercely as her gaze roved around the room. ‘He’s supposed to be sitting next to you! I’ll murder the man single-handedly if he doesn’t arrive!’
* * *
Twenty minutes later Shea was resting the palm of her hand on the velvet cushion of Brando’s empty seat, eyes glued to the big screen, mesmerised. As she watched that familiar circling helicopter shot of Edgerton from the air, her throat began to constrict, and she knew it was a good thing Brando wasn’t here. She swallowed hard, stuck a thumbnail between her teeth to chew on, and promised herself she wasn’t going to cry.
A sudden shot of Brando filled the screen.
She whipped in her breath, dragged her arms around her ribs and felt one hot tear roll down her cheek and plop onto her knee. Damn.
Then just as she was brushing it off the hem of her dress, the jarring tones of Gloria Rutherford gushed through the air from the speakers like a shower of iced saccharine, and saved her. Shea shuddered back to normality, sniffed, scraped a finger under her lashes, praying that her mascara hadn’t run, and began to concentrate on the screen again, only this time, thankfully, the images left her unmoved.
A sudden jab from an elbow landed in her ribs, and Bryony hissed at her in the gloom.
‘Watch! This bit’s new!’
Shea’s eyes widened, as she saw a three second shot; Brando, with the deepest scowl ever, leaning over a table covered in postcards, picking one out. The camera zoomed in, and she let out an involuntary gasp as Brando held the card up to the camera, and the image of the telephone with a lobster receiver filled the screen. A sudden fizz of excitement infused her.
‘My card! That was my card! So he did pick me!’
‘Of course he picked you, silly!’ Bryony’s laughing voice was warm in her ear. ‘Why else do you think you’re here? You’re here because he chose you! And I know your card said you had no matrimonial aspirations but I knew as soon as we spoke that you were just what Brando needed. That’s why I was so insistent that you came.’
The rest of the film went by in a blur. Even though Shea was watching herself, it was as if she were watching someone else, and in no time Gloria’s searing trill was ringing out in final conclusion.
‘Brando’s absence is clear indication that he has no interest in Edgerton, while Shea Summers has proved that she is capable of working miracles. Anyone else with a stately home in crisis, who would like to take advantage of her talents, we’d love to hear from you. She’s a wonder woman, and we’d hate to see her qualities go unappreciated.’
And then it was all over, and a roar of applause rang out, and everyone got to their feet and cheered.
Chapter Eleven
The chauffeur driven car arrived at six o’clock the next morning, and an icy wind tore at Shea’s hair, blowing it across her face as she hurried down the steps towards it.
Leave quickly and quietly in the dark, no looking back, no thinking how much it’s going to hurt.
‘You take care, and make sure you come back and see us.’ Mrs McCaul gave Shea’s shoulder a last pat as Bryony handed her bags to the driver.
Shea’s lip trembled, and she chewed it hard, looking up, sticking her chin in the air as she swallowed away the saliva. She’d promised herself she was not going to cry, but now it came to it, leaving was going to be very hard. As she hugged herself to stem the ache which was gnawing in the pit of her stomach, through the blur of her tears she made out the flash of headlights racing between the trees on the drive and heard the roar of an approaching vehicle.
Her heart gave one huge lurch, then began to bang violently against her ribcage.
Only one person she knew made an engine scream like that, but surely it couldn’t be? Wanting it so much, yet terrified at the same time.
There was a hideous squeal of brakes, and a shower of gravel, as the car screeched around the last bend, and skewed to a halt in front of them.
Shea forgot to breath.
And suddenly Brando was there, springing out of the car towards her, t-shirt flapping, dragging his fingers through his hair, turning her bones to jelly.
‘Damned helicopters, damned fog! I should have been here twelve hours ago!’
Then he caught her in his arms, and she fell into the muscled wall of his embrace, as his hot mouth landed on hers and set her head spinning uncontrollably.
How she’d missed that.
She gave herself up to the glorio
us thrust of his tongue, let him draw her into his tumult of pleasure, until little by little her sensible self took over.
How she was going to miss that – that was the truth she needed to remember.
The sting of stubble dragged across her cheek as she pushed against his chest and broke away from his kiss. She drew in the dizzying smell of him, as she traced a finger across the familiar jut of his jaw, the amazing shadows of his cheekbones. Tried to pretend this was not for the last time.
‘What the hell are you doing out here at this time of the morning anyway?’ His rough tug on her hair jolted her back to earth, and as he gazed penetratingly into her eyes, she read a sudden desperation in his.
‘I’m leaving Brando, I’m going home!’ Her voice was quiet and firm, because suddenly she knew that going home was what was real. Her life wasn’t about a stately pile and an impetuous man who catapulted in and out as he saw fit.
‘You can’t do that, not now! I want you here, I need you with me, dammit!’ His voice was rising now and he took a step backwards, both hands tearing at his hair.
‘You ran out Brando, and you were right to do that. We were always set to finish, and that way made it easier.’ Her reply was low, yet decided. It could only be this way.
‘The day I found out about Greg was awful, I behaved abominably, and I can only apologise. You’re the one who’s been through hell losing your husband, and I should have been talking to you about that, telling you how sorry I was, comforting you. But instead I ran. I ran out, because I was in shock. I’m not making excuses, I just want to explain. I thought I couldn’t cope with being jealous of your dead husband. But, hell Shea, I was only jealous because I care about you. I’ve been fighting with myself. I always vowed I’d never put myself in a position where I’d feel jealousy ever again. It devours me, it makes me wild, you know that. But most of all I’m scared of it. I never planned to fall for you, dammit, I took every precaution not to. It was only when I found out about your husband that I realised exactly what I did feel for you. I was a total dumbass not to realise it before. My only excuse is I’m out of practice.’ He sent her a boyish grin that made her heart squish. ‘I left because I thought I couldn’t bear to share you with a dead husband, because the jealousy was going to eat me up, but then I realised that not being with you was going to destroy me. So now I’m here, to tell you that I love you, and that I have to be with you, because I can’t bear not to be with you.’
She planted a trembling hand on his arm in an effort to steady herself, as her chest began to constrict. He was here, he loved her. It should be perfect. Wasn’t it what she’d secretly hoped in the darkest, deepest part of her? The teasing shimmers of anxiety that had been shivering through her as he spoke were building chaotically inside her. Blindly, she brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth and rubbed a hand across her forehead, because now he’d said it, it wasn’t perfect. In fact nothing was right at all.
‘But it’s all decided. I have a job to go to, I’m going back to my life.’ She was shuddering violently now, as panic gripped her.
What the hell was happening to her? During the last week when he hadn’t been there, all she’d wanted to do was to bury herself in his arms. And every time before that it had been fine, because she’d always known he was a temporary measure, that there was no danger of him asking any more of her than she was giving, and that soon it would be over. The needling at her conscience, the low voice in her head, these told her it wasn’t right for her to be having feelings so strong for someone who wasn’t Greg … Telling herself that none of it mattered had kept her guilt neatly at bay. That was the whole essence of Brando, that was the kind of guy he was, and that was what had made him perfect, made him safe.
‘I’ve thought about it, and I don’t even mind marrying you, if that’s what you want!’
His desperate words grated through the darkness, the absurdity of his statement stemming her panic momentarily.
‘Nice proposal, great style Brando, but no thanks. You already know I don’t want that!’ He was here, laying it on the line, so how mean was she to be throwing it back in his face? But now it came to it, she couldn’t cope.
His snort suggested some people couldn’t be pleased, but his face crumpled into an agonised expression, which swiftly morphed to anger. ‘You can’t turn your back on what we’ve got! I won’t let you.’
She watched him, assessing his pent up energy, the annoyance that threatened to explode at any moment, as he slammed his toe into the gravel. A Brando who didn’t care, she could manage. A Brando who did care was beyond her. There was no way she could handle that. She hadn’t signed up for love. Love was exactly what she couldn’t do, and the thought of it made her want to run for the hills.
All she hoped for was that he didn’t start looking lost and vulnerable. If he did that she wouldn’t stand a chance. She needed to wrap this up fast and get out of here, say whatever was needed to achieve that.
‘You’ve got it all wrong.’ She half closed her eyes, braced herself to lie. ‘Let's face it – we had a fifteen minute fling that got out of hand, it was pretty much burned out anyway when you left.’
The flying punch he threw into the air with one tightly wound fist whipped his body around.
‘That’s rubbish and you know it! The last night was … ’
Her heart jumped two beats as he said that. She couldn’t let him go there. Only her lightning interjection cut him off.
‘That night was not important.’
Hold it together. She owed it to them both, she had to go now. Because the moment he told her he loved her it changed everything. And now, all the guilt about Greg was rushing down on her again, tumbling like a waterfall in flood.
‘I’m leaving, Brando, I have to go, and I’m sorry, but nothing you say will change my mind!’ She took a step towards the waiting car and opened the door decisively, knowing she couldn’t waver.
‘Have it your own way, Miss Shea-do-as-I-say!’ He was yelling now, taunting, leaning forwards, his face contorted in anger. ‘Walk away if you must, but I guarantee you’ll be back. We’ve both invested too much here for you to leave. You should be with me; we belong together. Just don’t count on me giving up!’
The wind buffeted the words away, as she fumbled her way blindly into the back seat of the car. There was no way could she acknowledge any of what he was saying. He’d jumped too far, and forced her to fast forward to a place she couldn’t be. Ever. Behind her she heard a thump as he hurled the last suitcase into the boot.
Then the boot lid slammed with an ear-hammering crash, the car slid into the darkness, and just as she’d promised herself, she didn’t look back.
And that was that.
* * *
Shea picked her way across the living room with her pizza, sighing in despair at the tangle of hair-straightener cables and discarded pizza boxes. She sent her housemate Tasha the biggest smile she could muster under the circumstances, and wondered where Guy and Ellie were.
Tasha gave a return grin as she looked up from tweezing her eyebrows. ‘So Sunday night, pampering night, just like old times. Throw me that nail varnish and tell me what’s new!’
Shea picked up the blue nail varnish she’d been using earlier, tossed it to Tasha, then flopped into a chair, tucked her legs underneath her and began to rearrange the towel that swathed her wet hair.
‘Oh, same old, same old. Spending this week and next sorting out a downsize, but the good news is I’ve got a twelve week block booking with no details as yet, but that’ll take me into March.’ She forced herself to take a bite of a slice of pizza, realising her best efforts to sound enthusiastic had crashed. ‘It’s very quiet here, where is everybody?’
‘Things have changed since that Sunday we all sat here filling in those postcards. Talk about everyone getting a life! Ellie’s taken up pole dancing, Guy’s gone for a drink with this week’s Mr Right.’
Shea watched Tasha’s wistful sigh in silence, knowing Tasha
was also desperate for a Mr Right, knowing there were some Mr Rights who were best avoided because they could wring out your heart without even trying. Send you to places as awful as the one where she was now – she’d had the most awful week, trying to pick up the pieces. There was a searing pain where her chest used to be, she’d barely slept or eaten and as her clients, poor Mr and Mrs Cavanagh, were aware, she was failing to keep her mind on the job at work. The jangle of the doorbell pulled her back to earth.
‘Damn, who can that be? I’ll go, seeing as you’re in your dressing gown.’ Tasha peered out of the bay window as she passed, and Shea saw her eyes widen. ‘Wow! Some hunk who looks like he got lost on the way to a Vogue shoot.’
Shea leaned across to get a better view, puzzled as she took in the unexpected, yet unmistakable profile.
‘Brando?’ She clasped a fist to her mouth, as her insides imploded. ‘Walnut whips! What’s he doing here?’
* * *
Apart from her wide open eyes, the fact she kept opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish and had a face the colour of chalk, Brando noted as he shuffled into the room, Shea was making a good job of taking his unscheduled visit in her stride.
‘Excuse the chaos, mind you don’t get caught up in the hair-straighteners, sit down if you can find somewhere. How come you’re in Manchester?’
Brando gave a casual shrug. ‘Oh, you know, just passing.’
Not.
He stared around at the chaos of strewn towels and cosmetics, as Shea’s friend hurried out of the room, clutching her hair-straighteners, and over the thump of his racing pulse he heard the door click closed.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 66
