‘You haven’t forgotten everything you learned,’ remarked Manolo, when he came in to see her. ‘In fact you’re doing surprisingly well for someone who’s spent the last few years at a desk instead of a workbench.’
She smiled at him. ‘You were so strict with me when I was here before that it was impossible to forget,’ she said. ‘Although I’ll never be as good as you.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to be.’ Manolo smiled in return. ‘But it is nice to have you here again and nice to have some of your designs to sell. We still sell the snowflake, you know. It’s popular at Christmas.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Bey. ‘It’s good to know that wherever I am, the design lives on.’
‘Not just our designs,’ said Manolo. ‘Those you did for Van Aelten too. I’ve watched your career, Bey. You were doing some lovely work for them. Are you sure this is really what you want?’
‘Very sure,’ she said, and he accepted it.
She was anxious about moving back in with Lola yet again when she finished in Córdoba, afraid her presence would cramp her mother’s style and that the two of them would find it hard to live together after such a long time apart. But Lola was adamant that Bey should stay with her and Bey herself was more than aware that she couldn’t really afford to set up a workshop and a flat at the same time. Accommodation costs in the city had been increasing relentlessly over the past few years, and even though the economy was growing steadily after the recession, getting a small business loan was difficult.
It was Terry, her mother’s boyfriend, who arranged a meeting with his own bank manager that resulted in her getting the money she needed, and Terry who found a small premises close to St Patrick’s Cathedral that he thought might be suitable for her.
It had originally been a car mechanic’s lock-up and over the last decade had variously housed a furniture repair shop, an antiques store, a dog-grooming parlour and a Pilates studio, but following a refurbishment it now contained the offices of a security company, a small electrical suppliers, and the unit Terry thought Bey could use. As she stood in the middle of it, she visualised where she would put her workbench and her tools, her mood boards and her desk. And she smiled. Because even though it wasn’t a beautiful office at Van Aelten and Schaap, she knew it was right for her.
Lola had long since made an uneasy peace with the choices she’d made and the outcome of them. She still had regrets, but she tried to live in the present, not the past. Nevertheless, she knew that if she could change only one thing, it would be that stupid decision to insist on Bey spending Christmas with the Warrens. She could have said no. She should have said no. But she’d been selfish and pig headed because she’d wanted them to see what a success she’d made of raising her daughter on her own. She’d piled the pressure on Bey and her little girl had cracked. She could never get over the guilt she felt about it. She knew her daughter had come back from London because of a failed relationship, and it broke her heart to think that it was all her fault.
‘It’s not all about you,’ Eilis told her when she rang her one night. ‘You and Bey are very different people.’
‘I want to fix it,’ said Lola. ‘I need to fix it.’
‘Don’t you dare interfere.’ Eilis’s voice was stern. ‘You never listened to me in your life before, Lola Fitzpatrick, but you can listen to me now. Leave Bey to sort out her own problems. She can do it. She’s the only one who can.’
For once Lola followed her mother’s advice. Even though she didn’t want to. Even though she was afraid it was another mistake.
Bijou
Two years later
Chapter 31
Aquamarine: a precious light blue or green-blue gemstone
Bey shook the raindrops from her umbrella and unlocked the door to her workshop. She turned off the alarm (an advantage of sharing the building with the security company was feeling that it was well protected) and plugged in the kettle. Then she hung up her coat and put her bag away before sitting down with a strong coffee and looking around her with satisfaction. The walls of the room were covered in drawings, posters and photos. The drawings were her own; the posters and photos were of images that inspired her. She’d added Post-it notes to some of them in case she used them in the future, jotting down phrases or ideas as they came to her. Her tools were hung neatly on the preserved tree stump in the middle of the floor, just as they had been at Jurado’s. It was, she thought with a sense of fulfilment, a proper workshop. And it was hers.
She opened her laptop and checked her orders while she sipped the coffee, giving thanks for people who liked to do their Christmas shopping in advance. Sales were running ahead of the previous year, which was positive – with a bit of luck, she thought, as she drained her cup then rinsed it in the small sink, Bijou by Bey would actually make a profit this year. The idea of finally making money filled her with immense satisfaction.
A different type of satisfaction than she’d got from designing truly beautiful pieces for Van Aelten and Schaap, she admitted to herself. But still satisfying. Her time at the high-end jeweller’s had been purely creative and artistic, based around using only the best and most beautiful stones that money could buy. The past couple of years had been about tapping into her inner creativity and using it to make beautiful things that ordinary people could afford, using the skills she’d learned from Manolo and Martín Jurado, but also the business expertise she’d acquired from her months working with Tina Garavan.
She’d kept in touch with Vika, who was running a small business and who devoted her mornings to making jewellery and her afternoons to her children. A year after Bey’s return to Dublin, they took a stand at the Birmingham Jewellery Fair together and immediately increased their orders. It was definitely a case of back to the future, Bey remarked when Martín and Manolo Jurado dropped by to say hello. Just that they were all a little older.
‘And wiser,’ Vika said.
Bey liked to think she was wiser. But she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure about that.
She spent the morning listening to the gentle hiss of rain on the window as she worked. She was adding to her spring collection for the following year. She had moulds for her most popular pieces, which meant they were easy to replicate, and she knew that floral designs were always popular. Having previously collaborated with Martín on a small collection they’d christened Jasmine, she’d added Crocus and Daffodil. She would’ve liked to include a Snowdrop too, but she was pretty sure that the Warrens would sue her if she did. Her use of floral names had been entirely unconscious at the time, but she sometimes wondered if there had been a demon in the back of her mind pushing her towards them, even though her simple designs were a million miles away from the extravagant Adeles.
Liesel Mieders arrived at lunchtime. The younger woman was working with her as part of an intern placement scheme, and Bey was determined to help her new assistant gain as much experience as possible. She set her to polishing some of the small charms she’d made for a Christmas bracelet, and the two of them worked steadily until there was a tap at the door and the owner of the electrical repair shop came in to ask if they had any spare milk, as he’d run out. Jim, a kindly man in his early forties, had taken Bey under his wing when she’d started the business.
‘I have two young daughters myself,’ he’d said when they first met. ‘I like to see women getting on. You’re a role model for them.’
Anyone less like a role model than her would be hard to find, Bey thought, but Jim had become a good friend.
‘On a day like today, I bet you miss the glamour,’ he said as he looked out the window. ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely to have someone like your Duquesa phone up now and offer to fly you to the south of Spain to knock up a nice necklace for her?’
‘Yes.’ Bey grinned. ‘But even if she did, I wouldn’t be able to help her. I designed that tiara but the real experts were the people who made it. Their craftsmanship was awesome.’
‘But you make awesome things too,’ said Liesel aft
er Jim had gone. ‘I’m learning so much by being here. This is really pretty.’ She looked at the silver ring with a raspberry-pink cabochon at its centre that she’d finished polishing. ‘It makes me feel joyous just to look at it.’
The same thing had been said to Bey at Van Aelten and Schaap by the wife of a Formula 1 driver when she came to collect a ring that her husband had commissioned specially for her. It had been a yellow diamond to match his team colours. Will had spent three months looking for the right one.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ she told Liesel. ‘I’m hoping it’ll be our big seller.’
‘How can it not be?’ said Liesel. ‘And,’ she added as Bey’s mobile began to ring, ‘maybe that’s a customer to buy it.’
Bey grinned and picked up her mobile, already aware that the call was a personal one.
‘Hi, Lorcan,’ she said. ‘How’s it going?’
Lorcan Keneally was the first man she’d dated since she’d come home. They’d met at a young entrepreneurs’ conference held by Dublin City Council about six months after she’d first set up her business, and when he’d asked if she’d like to meet for a drink, she’d agreed. She knew that her acceptance was based as much on the fact that her mother had complained that she was turning into a total recluse, only happy when she was working, as it was on her enjoyment of Lorcan’s company. But it had been satisfying to return to the house in Ringsend and tell Lola that she had a date. And the date itself had been a lot more fun than she’d expected. She was halfway through the jar of coffee, and so far they were still together.
‘I’m back in town for a couple of weeks,’ he said. ‘Want to meet tonight?’
Lorcan ran his own IT company. Bey had no idea what it actually did, but she did know that he spent a lot of his time FaceTiming people in California and going to meetings in various European capitals, which all seemed very buzzy and exciting to her. He had a duplex apartment in Dublin’s Smithfield and was never short of money. She liked having him in her life because his need to be with her was as flexible as her need to be with him. As far as she knew, they were exclusive to each other, but they also tacitly accepted that they had other priorities in their lives.
He was five years younger than her and at least ten times more successful. But he was easy to be with and never made demands. So she said she’d be delighted to see him and ended the call with a smile.
Almost immediately the phone rang again, and when she heard the voice at the other end, she dropped it to the floor.
The screen was cracked but the call was still active when she picked it up again.
‘Hello,’ she said, and then, because it had been a long time and she couldn’t be absolutely certain, ‘who’s calling?’
‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘Your father. Philip. What the hell happened there?’
‘Oh, nothing. I was distracted for a moment. Um . . . why on earth are you calling me?’
‘I want to meet you,’ said Philip.
‘What? After all this time? Why?’
‘I’ll explain when I see you. Is tonight OK for you?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t make it tonight.’ Bey had recovered her equilibrium a little. ‘I’m busy.’
‘If you’re out with Lola, I’m sure she won’t mind.’
‘Actually, no,’ Bey said. ‘I have a date.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Philip sounded flustered. ‘Tomorrow night, then?’
‘Can’t you just tell me whatever it is over the phone?’
‘I’d really rather talk face to face,’ said Philip. ‘It would be better.’
‘Where?’ asked Bey.
‘The Westbury?’ The five-star hotel was off Grafton Street and a short distance from the Warren’s store.
‘OK.’
‘Six o’clock,’ said Philip.
‘Six o’clock,’ repeated Bey and ended the call.
She was too gobsmacked to do any more work that day.
Later that afternoon, Lorcan texted her to say that something had come up and could they take a rain check. This was a common feature of their relationship, and although his last-minute cancellations could be annoying, this time Bey was relieved. Her mind was in such a whirl that she wasn’t sure she’d have been good company. She was also relieved when she arrived home to see a note from Lola saying that she’d gone out with Shirley and her husband Ian. Bey was happy to sit in front of the TV alone and think of all the reasons her father might have for wanting to see her for the first time since Richard Warren’s funeral. But she couldn’t come up with anything sensible.
She went to bed before Lola returned, although she was still awake when she heard her mother’s key in the door. She was tempted to get up and tell her about Philip’s call, but she knew they’d end up talking about it for half the night. But by two in the morning she still hadn’t nodded off and her mind was in a whirl.
She didn’t know what time it was when she opened her eyes, but when she did, she was sitting at the kitchen table, Lola opposite her, watching her anxiously.
‘Oh crap,’ she said as she realised she was holding a carving knife and a tea towel. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Did something happen?’ asked Lola. ‘I heard noises, and when I got up, here you were, polishing like billy-o.’
Bey put the knife down. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she said. ‘It really is. I just had a bit of a surprise yesterday. But why it should have made me do this again . . .’
‘What sort of a surprise?’ Lola was still anxious.
Bey took a deep breath. ‘Dad phoned me.’
‘What!’ Lola stared at her. ‘Philip? Called you? Directly? Himself?’
‘Yup.’
‘How did he even know how to find you?’ she asked.
‘I suppose he googled me.’ Bey was properly awake now. ‘I know I hate it personally, but I’ve had to do a lot of social media stuff for Bijou by Bey. And my mobile number is on the site.’
‘What did he want?’ asked Lola.
‘To meet me,’ replied Bey.
‘He should’ve spoken to me first.’
‘I’m a grown-up, Mum,’ said Bey. ‘He’s entitled to call me if he wants.’
‘All the same . . .’
‘I realise there’s something a little disturbing about the fact that a phone call from my father seems to have triggered off a bout of midnight cutlery cleaning,’ said Bey. ‘But I’m sure it’s nothing important.’
‘I still can’t believe he rang,’ said Lola.
‘Yes, well, neither can I. But I’ll find out what it’s all about later.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock. It was four in the morning. ‘I’m so sorry for waking you,’ she said.
‘That’s OK,’ said Lola. ‘Do you . . . do you want me to come with you to see him?’
‘Of course not,’ said Bey. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. I’m not going to be fazed by my dad any more.’
Although, she thought as she replaced the cutlery in the drawer, he’d clearly fazed her already.
She couldn’t concentrate on anything. She managed to make a mess of a simple bangle with pearls she was adding to her Christmas collection and was annoyed with herself for not focusing properly on the task in hand. Eventually she abandoned her attempts at making jewellery and instead looked through her online presence to see what her father might have found out about her.
There was more than she’d expected. As well as Bijou by Bey on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, and a Pinterest page where she posted pictures of her pieces, there were links to magazine articles she’d completely forgotten about, including an interview she’d done for a luxury goods magazine when she’d been promoted to head designer at Van Aelten and Schaap. There were also feature pieces about the company itself, which included more photos. Her attention was caught by one in particular, of the management group at the Bond Street headquarters, where she was standing between Gerritt and Will. It had been taken shortly after the launch of Cascade, her first collection as head designe
r, which had been inspired by a small waterfall near her grandparents’ farm at Cloghdrom. ‘I tried to reflect the brilliance of drops of water caught in the sunlight,’ she’d explained to the reporter. ‘I hope I succeeded.’
She had. Demand for the pieces had been huge. She remembered talking to Will about the stones, his assurance that he’d source the perfect ones for her and that the cutters in Amsterdam would be able to get them exactly right. She’d gone to the workshop on the Grimburgwal and watched as they worked on the diamonds, marvelling at how the initial dull stone was turned into something of beauty. The newspaper article had been gushing about the collection, saying that in Bey Fitzpatrick, Van Aelten had sourced the best jewel of them all.
She closed the web page and opened Bijou for Bey. After the brilliance of the diamonds and other precious gems, her silver pieces looked very ordinary, and although her costume jewellery was more extravagant, it was still very affordable. Just like my life, she thought. For a few years I was immersed in the rich and happy. I basked in the success of what I was doing. I thought I had a real chance of being great at it forever. But it wasn’t real. It was never real. This is who I am. Bijou Bey. The girl who makes nice things for everyone, not just people with a lot of money to spend.
Her phone pinged with a message from Lorcan to say that he was sorry about last night and that he was now up against a deadline but he’d be in touch in a week or so. She replied that it wasn’t a problem, then forgot about him as Liesel arrived. The younger girl began boxing up jewellery for delivery while Bey herself worked on some pendants. But for the first time since starting her business, she wasn’t thinking about her customers. She was totally taken over with thinking about her father and the rest of the Warrens.
She checked out their website but there had been no additions to the Adele collections since the Pansy, although the most recent range was now complete with earrings, necklaces, pendants and bracelets to go with the original ring. She didn’t like the designs any better than she had before, and she thought again about Will’s assertion that they weren’t using the best stones any more. In fact, she thought, as she appraised the pictures critically, they weren’t using the best of anything. She wondered how Adele felt about that.
What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author Page 32
