by Katie Fforde
‘I'll write to her myself, of course, but if I don't get round to it straightaway, do tell Sukie how pleased we are. You are clever to have found her.' Sarah had sighed with satisfaction. Having people she could rely on made her job so much easier.
The few little misunderstandings about waiting and bar staff had been sorted out and now all she had to do was check that everything was all right at the end and make sure that anyone who needed to be paid, was. Sarah had a worryingly fat wad of notes she wore under her clothes in a travel wallet.
‘Here,' said a voice.
She jumped and turned to see a glass of champagne held by Hugo.
‘Hello.' As she didn't need to ask him anything at the moment, she didn't know what else to say.
‘Drink?'
‘No thanks. I'm working. And so are you,' she added with mock severity.
‘It takes more than a couple of glasses of champagne to fuddle my head and I haven't had one yet. Here, drink it up and stop being bossy.’
She was about to protest at the 'bossy' but realised that she was, because her job demanded it. Whether the job or the bossiness came first she didn't care to speculate.
She smiled a thank you. 'Why are you still here?' she said, having taken a welcome sip. 'I'd have thought you'd have had somewhere else to go.'
‘There're the going-away shots, and all sorts I haven't taken yet. Besides, I'm staying over – my sister and her family live not too far from here and I need to see my nephew.'
‘Need?'
‘Oh yes. He's just painted a really good dinosaur. I need to see it.'
‘Oh.' This surprised Sarah. She didn't see Hugo as an adored uncle, being scrambled over by little children and enjoying it.
‘And just now, I want to share a quiet drink with you.’
This was rather a surprise. 'Why me? Wasn't there another unattached female you could find?’
The corner of his large, humorous mouth lifted. 'Weddings are full of unattached females. I chose you because while you're possibly unattached, you're not noticeably needy.’
Sarah laughed. 'I'm not needy at all! I don't need a man to complete me as a woman, thank you very much. The idea!'
‘I wouldn't dream of suggesting that you did, Ms Spiky,' he said.
Sarah looked sideways at him. She suspected that Hugo was far too adept at flirting and far too used to getting his own way with women for anyone's good. But was he flirting now? If he was, she could think up a suitable put-down, but if he wasn't, and she said something emasculating, he would realise she thought he had been flirting. And then he would probably think he wanted her to flirt with him. She took a gulp of champagne that made her choke. He patted her on the back while she snorted into her handkerchief.
‘Are you all right?' he said, when she had finally recovered.
‘I just choked, all that spluttering wasn't an expression of my feelings, you know. It was just the bubbles going down the wrong way.'
‘That's OK then.’
The next sip was very small and very carefully drunk. She put her glass down.
`So, fancy a dance?' Hugo asked in a way that made Sarah wonder if he was expecting her to say yes or no.
Actually, Sarah's feet had been twitching under the tablecloth and she longed to confound him by accepting. But she wasn't a guest, it would be inappropriate. 'Better not. I'm working.’
He must have noticed her silent sigh. 'I'm quite sure no one would mind if you took a few moments off to enjoy yourself. Although I suspect you don't do that much, even when you're not on duty.'
‘You really have no idea what I'm like when I'm not working, Hugo. And you shouldn't speculate, either.'
‘Oh, I don't think you can stop people speculating if they want to.’
Sarah thought she detected a slight edge to his voice, but perhaps she had imagined it. 'Of course not, but you can hope they have the manners to keep their speculations to themselves.' She made a careless gesture. She and Hugo had worked together often but they didn't get a chance to chat and she realised she didn't know him very well at all.
‘Hope springs eternal, obviously,' he drawled now, 'but be prepared to be disappointed.'
‘I am always prepared to be disappointed,' said Sarah, 'and I am never-' She stopped abruptly, aware that somehow he'd backed her into a very stupid corner. She bit her lip to hide her smile.
‘You're never disappointed in your disappointment?’
‘No! People are always disappointing, that's all.' She shrugged.
‘What, all people, all the time? Hell, I knew you were cynical but surely you have some faith in human nature?’
She let slip an exasperated sigh. 'I have infinite faith in human nature, it's just…' She shook her head, searching for a way of expressing herself clearly.
‘What? Dogs? Cats?… Men?' he added more softly. 'Yes, if you must know.' If he could be direct, so could she.
‘So tell me, how many times has your heart been broken?’
This was not territory she was prepared to put even a toe on. 'I'm not speaking personally – at least, not me, personally. But I've known – do know – lots of women who've been very let down by men.'
‘And these women were perfect, were they?'
‘Well no, but – no one's perfect, obviously.'
‘Except you, of course.’
Although she was used to their banter she was not sure if he was still teasing her. 'I'm not claiming to be perfect, of course I'm not,' she said. 'But I am good at my job.' It was only after she heard the words that she realised it sounded as if she were justifying herself.
‘And I'm not?'
‘No, that's not what I meant. Of course you're good at your job. I just think I'm better.' He laughed. At her, not with her, she was certain. 'Oh shut up,' she muttered. 'Go away and annoy some other poor woman.'
‘I'll go away and get you another drink. You seriously need to lighten up, Sarah. And then, we're having that dance.' He headed over to the bar.
Sarah decided there must be something that required her immediate attention somewhere. It had to be a real task, or she'd just look pathetic. While she was thinking, Mrs Lennox-Featherstone came up on the arm of her husband.
‘Darling Sarah!' She was obviously just a little bit drunk. 'I do hope you're enjoying yourself. I know you're working but you must have some fun too. It's all going so well. Oh, Hugo!' She kissed him. 'Are you looking after Sarah? Not that she needs looking after but she does need a little break.'
‘Just what I was telling her, Vanessa,' said Hugo, handing Sarah another glass of champagne.
‘I am on duty,' said Sarah firmly.
‘But you haven't got to drive anywhere afterwards! I've booked you a room, remember. I'm sure it'll be a broom cupboard, but as we've taken over the entire hotel they were perfectly happy to let us have it for half nothing.' She kissed Hugo again. 'Come on, Donald. When we've checked everyone's enjoying themselves I'm going to get you on that dance floor.'
‘Oh, Nessie, must you?' muttered the bride's father. 'Deffo,' said Vanessa and led her husband away.
‘So you're staying over?' said Hugo, when Donald and Vanessa had gone.
‘Yes. It's lovely of Vanessa to do that. I have to check everything is in order at the end and it saves me having to drive home too late. As she said, the hotel were quite happy as they could hardly put someone not involved with the wedding in it.'
‘Is it a broom cupboard?’
Sarah shrugged. 'Well, it was probably a powder room or something once upon a time. It's quite narrow and definitely only a single. The bathroom's nice though. Slightly bigger.’
Hugo chuckled. 'I haven't been to see my room yet. I'm sure it's fine. It's handy for me as it's quite a way from where I live to my sister's and this is halfway.'
‘Have you lots of nieces and nephews?'
‘One of each, but the niece is tiny. Jack and I are sticking together, boys against the girls.’
Sarah laughed; it was nice hearing h
im talk about his family like this, but she found his use of language significant. She doubted the girls would win.
‘So, come on. Let's dance.’
As they approached the dance floor she realised it was a slow dance and everyone on the floor was clinging to their partners, resting their heads on shoulders wherever possible. Never mind, she thought, it'll change in a minute, and if I back out now it'll look like I'm scared to wander round in Hugo's arms for a few minutes. Which would be the truth, she added. She liked him as a friend, but attractive though he was she didn't dare even consider him as anything else.
It had been a long time since she'd been this close to a man. Hugo smelt of party: a little alcohol, a touch of tobacco and, underneath that, some very luxurious aftershave. Sarah wished she could dislike it but was grateful she didn't. He held her firmly to him, one hand on her back, the other holding her hand. She put her own free hand on his shoulder and they danced.
Once she thought she felt his cheek on her hair but then dismissed the idea. Why would he do that? But the thought made something in her respond. It was probably because she was a healthy young woman who hadn't been in a relationship for a long time. Her body was bound to respond to a man who held her close. Once she'd sorted this out she relaxed into the dance, and even closed her eyes. This was nice!
‘Hey! Can I cut in?' A large and determined uncle (Sarah recognised him) prised her from Hugo's arms and set off with her forcefully, leaving an amused Hugo behind. 'Didn't know you were part of the party,' he said into her ear. 'Thought you were staff. Damn glad you're not.'
‘Oh, I am staff!' insisted Sarah, delighted that this might make him let her go.
‘No,' said the uncle firmly. 'The precedent's been set. You're on the floor, you're dancing.’
For the remaining minutes of the dance Sarah realised that in spite of being a healthy young woman who hadn't had a relationship for ages, she was not responding to this man clamping her to him. Entirely the reverse, in fact.
*
Sarah didn't accept any more dances. She worked for the rest of the evening. Now, at nearly midnight, all the wedding party had left and the family had all gone up to their rooms. She was having a final trawl through the room, looking for anything left behind, when Hugo joined her.
‘When do you clock off?'
‘Not until I've made sure there are no abandoned handbags or shawls or shoes, even. I've nearly finished now, though.' She was about to add that she was longing for her bed but stopped herself in time. It would have resulted in a lot of unnecessary banter and it was too late at night for that.
‘Good. The barman is still there and prepared to give us brandy. I think you need it. I know I do.’
Sarah had not kept herself out of relationships for more than four years without knowing how to do it, but her technique relied heavily on 'having to get back', 'not wanting to drink and drive' – simple logistics, in fact. But Hugo already knew she didn't have to go anywhere and he was only offering her a friendly drink. She couldn't deny she'd finished her work and the thought of a brandy was very tempting. Her will power, so necessary to keep a calm and efficient head when on duty, was all spent.
‘Oh, OK,' she muttered.
‘It's all right, no need to sound grateful,' said Hugo, laughing, and steered her towards the bar.
There was a small sofa in the window embrasure with a little table in front of it and a view of the garden beyond. Hugo directed Sarah there and went to the bar.
The barman was Sarah's last hope. If he wanted to go off-duty – and he surely must – Sarah could say so. She could just drink up her brandy and go to bed – she'd sleep like a top.
She sat back and looked at the garden which was lit with occasional flares, making it look exotic, almost foreign. She felt content. The day had gone brilliantly. There was quite a lot of post-wedding administration to do tomorrow, but she could handle that. She didn't have to sort out any major upsets. This was the biggest wedding she'd done so far and she felt very satisfied with herself.
Then Hugo put a bottle of brandy on the table. 'Don't worry, it's nearly empty. I thought it was easier to just buy the lot. Then when the barman's finished setting up for tomorrow he can go to bed.'
‘Oh. I'm quite tired too,' said Sarah, managing not to say the 'b' word.
‘I expect you're completely shattered. Here, drink this. It'll help you unwind.’
Sarah sighed and then sipped the liquid. It felt like molten gold running down her throat. She settled back into the cushions of the sofa.
Hugo sat next to her and sipped from his own glass. 'That is truly delicious brandy,' murmured Sarah sleepily. 'Thank you very much.'
‘It's a pleasure. Have some more.' He tipped some more into her glass.
They settled into the sofa, not talking. The garden in front of them was beautiful and in the distance, from some other room, came some jazz, sensuous and poignant, just perfect. Sarah savoured the stillness after a long day full of bustle and noise. Then her glance caught Hugo's. She couldn't quite read his expression in the soft lighting and for a tiny moment she was confused. And then he smiled. In spite of all her personal barricades, she felt a flutter of anticipation.
He took her glass out of her hand and put it on the table, and then he turned her head and brought his mouth down to hers.
Sarah let herself go. It was just a kiss – and yet what a kiss! Hugo's lips held hers with just the right degree of firmness and later, gently opened her mouth. Brandy, tiredness, relief from stress and possibly years of abstinence caused Sarah to respond to everything his mouth demanded. It went on for ever; dawn could have broken while it continued and Sarah wouldn't have noticed. At last Hugo broke free.
Sarah's eyes opened and at the same moment she realised how very much she had enjoyed kissing him. A long sigh went through her and she cleared her throat. 'I think I'd better go to bed now,' she whispered. Reluctantly, the sensible part of her took charge once more.
Hugo sighed too. 'It's probably wise. There's no need to rush things, after all. I'll take you up.’
Sarah protested, but he took no notice. At the door of her room he kissed her again. Sarah chided herself for letting this happen again and then she thought: Why not? A kiss is just a kiss, after all.
Chapter Five
Bron drove home slowly, not really wanting to arrive. She had so enjoyed getting everyone ready for the wedding, especially Elsa. She really had felt like a fairy godmother cutting her hair and putting her make-up on, and even helping with that lovely dress. The end result was fantastic. The fringe had made Elsa look wonderfully waif-like. That, and the make-up, had made a woman who was pleasant and attractive into one who was almost stunning. And she was leaving all that girly fun behind.
There would be a row or possibly a sulk. Roger was a better sulker than he was a fast bowler, or whatever his specialty was, and a row would be almost preferable, except it would end in tears, her tears, as it had when she had left that morning.
The trouble was, he hated her working at weekends, and weekends were when she could do freelance work, in particular for weddings. He hated her doing freelance work too. He liked her to work regular hours, at the local salon, so she could be at home when he needed her to be. It was fair enough, she realised. Most women would grumble if their husbands worked all week and then freelanced at the weekends, but as Roger played so much cricket, Bron felt she might as well be working. Except that he wanted her to watch him play, and it bored her stupid.
And she hated her day job. She didn't get on with the owner of the salon, which meant she did more hairwashing and less cutting and styling than by rights she should have done. And although she'd told Roger this, explained why she wanted to leave and try her luck as a mobile hairdresser, he just said she should learn to stand up for herself. People often told other people to stand up for themselves, Bron reflected, although they'd be horrified if they stood up to the person telling them to do just that.
Now she pulled
her shoulders back as she locked the car and checked her watch. It was four o'clock. She should have a couple of hours before he was home and perhaps, if he'd done really well, he might have forgiven her for not being there to watch him play. She would have to wash his whites, but that was nothing new.
There was a note on the kitchen table that was still covered with the remains of his cooked breakfast: You were on the tea rota. You owe Edna a haircut.
Bron sighed. It wasn't that she particularly minded doing Edna's hair for nothing, it just seemed rather heavy payment for standing in for her tea duty. Unlike Bron, Edna lived for cricket. Even without the need to make sandwiches and bake cakes she would have been there, watching the chaps, clapping at the right time, knowing what the score was.
As Bron collected the dishes and put them in the dishwasher she wondered how she could have not realised that getting involved with Roger meant giving up her weekends to cricket. He'd asked her to go and watch him on their second date, and he'd looked so utterly wonderful in his whites that she had fallen in love with him – or maybe, in hindsight, it was just in lust. Either way they had both faded into habit and convenience now.
As she had got into her white Rolls-Royce to go to the church, Ashlyn had added her pleas to her mother's and begged Elsa to stay on for the wedding. Sarah had to be there anyway, Elsa too, now she'd been promoted from dressmaker to bridesmaid; it seemed a shame, Ashlyn had said, for her to be left out. 'Besides, my lip-gloss may need reapplying after a few glasses of fizz.’
Bron had told Ashlyn she was perfectly capable of reapplying her own lip-gloss and sadly waved the bridal car away.
Bron would have much preferred to stay at the wedding. She had worked very hard to help everyone look beautiful and she got on well with Sarah and Elsa, although she hadn't known them long. Bron had done the hair for a couple of weddings organised by Sarah, and because Bron was reliable, Sarah said she would always encourage brides who didn't have a favourite hairdresser to use her.
