by Katie Fforde
Elsa stayed silent for a minute before changing the subject. Bron really didn't seem herself tonight. 'I've got to take the bridesmaid's dress back to Mrs Lennox-Featherstone,' she said brightly.
‘Oh, a bit scary. But she's really nice underneath all that posh voice and stuff, isn't she?'
‘Yes,' agreed Elsa, 'it's just a bit daunting, that's all.'
‘I'd offer to come with you but I'll probably be working, I'm afraid.'
‘It'll be OK. I'll ring up and find a good time.'
‘Do you like working for yourself, Elsa?' asked Bron, refilling the glasses. 'I've wondered about going freelance again myself.'
‘Well, in lots of ways I love it. I don't have to get dressed to go to work-'
‘Sorry?’
Elsa laughed. 'I live on the job. I rented a floor of a warehouse and me and my dad made a little flat in the corner. I just wander out from my sitting room into my workshop. I'm very strict with myself about not bringing my toast and marmalade though.’
Bron giggled and then looked a bit anxious.
‘Are you all right? You don't need to go and make Roger's supper or anything?'
‘Oh no – we had a huge lunch and then tea with his parents. I'll make him cheese on toast at about half-nine and he'll be fine.’
Elsa didn't speak. She was afraid that if she did she'd say something very uncomplimentary about Bron's partner. Even if Bron didn't seem entirely happy with the situation, it wasn't for Elsa to comment.
‘So,' went on Bron, 'what are the downsides?'
‘Loneliness, obviously. There's no one to bounce ideas off, unless I get someone in to help me with the handwork. And I do work stupid hours sometimes. But basically, I love my work, so that's OK. I go round to my parents for a proper bath from time to time. I'm very lucky.'
‘But no boyfriend?’
Elsa shook her head. `Nope. Not all that much social life, either. None of the friends I knew as a child still live round here – they've all gone and got careers elsewhere. Finchcombe isn't really a big enough town to employ too many people.'
‘No,' Bron agreed.
‘I really don't mind though,' Elsa went on. 'My mother thinks I waste my life stuck in my workroom but I'm fine with it.' She caught sight of Bron trying discreetly to look at her watch and got up. 'I'd better be off. Oh, I nearly forgot, here are the clips.' She stuffed her hand in the pocket of her jeans and produced them. 'You look tired, Bron.'
‘Mm. Maybe a little.' Bron smiled as she stood to walk Elsa to the door.
Elsa set off towards her parents' house in the older part of the town. They would need details of the wedding too, and her mother would have to see her new hair sooner or later. Her mother would give her supper too. On reflection, she didn't really want to ring Ashlyn's mother on a Sunday night. She would still be tired from the wedding and, more to the point, Elsa had drunk nearly half a bottle of wine. She didn't want to risk slurring her words – she'd ring in the morning.
As she walked, Elsa thought about Bron. Roger seemed rather domineering. He certainly had Bron firmly under his thumb and presumably wanted it to stay that way. Far better to be single than to be attached to a man like that, but then who was she to comment on someone else's relationship? Maybe he had had a bad day.
*
The next morning, having called Mrs Lennox-Featherstone, who'd said come straight over, Elsa dressed very carefully. As a gesture to the beautiful, early summer morning, she wore string-coloured linen trousers instead of her uniform black, but with a black fitted T-shirt, so as not to stray too far from her comfort zone. Her new hairstyle shone with health and she put on make-up in honour of the occasion.
The house was a little way away from the town and Elsa admired it as she drove slowly up the drive, putting off the shy-making moment as long as possible.
It was a house worthy of admiration, with classic, Queen Anne proportions. Small for a manor house, it was huge by any other standards, with two storeys over a basement and tall sash windows. There was a flight of steps up to the front door. Going by the size of the stone walls that surrounded the property, it also had a huge garden.
Eventually Elsa had to stop the car and get out. She had steamed the dress and inspected it closely for marks or signs of wear. Only the keenest eye would recognise that it had been worn, and it definitely qualified as having had 'one careful lady owner' in the best tradition of secondhand cars. She still felt terribly nervous although logically she knew she had no reason to be.
The dress was in a special bag hung over her arm, the train caught up so it couldn't trail on the ground by mistake. Elsa took a breath and pulled at the bell-pull; she heard the bell ring through the house. So as not to appear too anxious, she turned to admire the perfect lawns and the roses that lined the distant wall and rambled up into neighbouring trees. When she heard footsteps, she turned back and took another calming breath.
A young woman wearing an apron over her slacks and polo shirt opened the door. 'Miss Ashcombe? Mrs Vanessa is expecting you.' She had a middle-European accent and a friendly smile. 'Follow me.’
Elsa, holding the dress high, followed the maid through parqueted corridors until they reached a large, sunny room, with French doors open to the garden. Mrs Lennox-Featherstone was on the telephone and waved an arm towards a table and two chairs that were over by the windows, looking out into the garden. Elsa went in their direction but stayed standing, holding the dress so it wouldn't crumple on the floor, trying not to look as if she could hear every word an increasingly irate Mrs Lennox-Featherstone was saying.
‘That's just too irritating for words!' said Mrs Lennox-Featherstone into the telephone. And then, 'How am I expected to do that? It's ridiculous!' She put down the phone abruptly.
‘It's maddening! Bloody insurance won't cover an empty property.'
‘Won't they?' asked Elsa politely.
‘Apparently not. We've got a little cottage nearby that we're getting done up in the autumn, but if it burns down between now and then, we'll get nothing! Just because it's empty! Surely it's more likely to catch fire if there's someone in it?'
‘I would have thought so,' said Elsa.
‘Hm, well, if you hear of anyone who needs somewhere to live for a couple of months, let me know. Really, that's far too short a let for anyone and it's not fit for holiday accommodation.' Elsa's hostess gave a final huff and then turned her full attention to her guest.
‘Where should I put the dress?' said Elsa, feeling rather self-conscious under the spotlight of Mrs Lennox-Featherstone's enquiring gaze. 'It should be hung up, really.'
‘Oh I'll take that.' The bag was draped over a chair without quite sufficient reverence for Elsa's sensibilities. 'Now, let's have a look at you… I knew it,' declared Mrs Lennox-Featherstone after a moment's critical scrutiny of Elsa's face. 'Black really is quite the wrong colour for you. I think you might be a summer person, but we'd need to check. Sit down.’
Obediently, Elsa sat at the indicated chair, wondering if her hostess was speaking in tongues.
Mrs Lennox-Featherstone took the other chair. 'You really are a lovely girl. That fringe is adorable – very Audrey Hepburn. That hairdresser was really talented.'
‘Yes she is,' said Elsa, glad of an opportunity to say something. 'She's a friend of mine.' After last night, she felt this was true.
‘Is she? Does she do much freelance work? I have an idea to take a party of my old ladies – one of my charities – to the theatre. I think it would be great fun to give them all a mini-makeover first, so they feel pampered and special. She'd need to bring a colleague,' she added thoughtfully. 'Have you got a number for her? Or better still, a card?'
‘I haven't a card, but I've got her mobile number in my phone. I'm not sure if she's actually doing much outside her normal working hours, apart from weddings.' While Bron had hinted that she would like to do more, Elsa didn't want to push her into something she wasn't ready for.
'Pop it down there for me.' Elsa
was handed a pad and a little gold pen. 'Ah, here's Olga with the drinks. Lemon green tea all right for you? It has anti-cancer properties. You could have water, if you'd rather.’
Olga set the tray down on the little table and Elsa saw there were glasses and a bottle of water on it as well as a pot of tea and two china cups and saucers.
‘Oh, the tea will be fine, thank you, Mrs Lennox-Featherstone,' said Elsa, wanting to please her hostess; it seemed safer.
‘Oh, call me Vanessa, do. My name always makes me think someone's taken a bite out of a pillow and it's gone down the wrong way.’
Elsa smiled. This did pretty much sum up her hostess's surname.
‘Good girl,' said Vanessa. She picked up the teapot and began to pour. 'Now, I want to give you a present. No, don't protest, you deserve something for standing in for that little cow at the last moment, but I'm afraid I'm going to be frightfully bossy and tell you what you should have. There's your tea.’
Elsa took the cup, aware that she'd hardly opened her mouth and yet unable to think of anything to say that would be worth the agony of saying it. Mrs Lennox-Featherstone was flitting from one topic to another like a demented butterfly.
‘I want you to have your colours done.'
‘I'm sorry?'
‘A wonderful woman I know will tell you what colours work for you and which ones don't – clothes, make-up, that sort of thing. I'll come with you, so you won't be on your own. It'll be huge fun. I'll set it up and let you know the date.'
‘Really, it's extremely kind of you…' Elsa protested. It sounded like another form of torture and anyway, what was wrong with black?
‘No, dear, don't thank me. It's a bit of a mission. I'm like it with underwear too. Not that you need help on that score. Your bra has obviously been properly fitted. But if you knew how many women are ignorant of the fact that the nipple should be halfway between the top of the shoulder and the elbow. You see more nipples at elbow height than you can shake a stick at.’
Elsa, struck by the combination of shaking sticks and nipples wanted to giggle. It was partly nerves, she knew, and took a couple of deep breaths to help her relax.
‘You mustn't mind me, darling,' said Vanessa, 'I do get bees in my bonnet about things. I'm a woman with a mission. I should have been at the top of a multi-national company really, but I gave it all up for love.' She smiled. 'How are you liking the tea?'
‘It's fine – lovely.'
‘I know one can get quite hung up on health kicks and superfoods but I do think green tea is worth drinking.'
‘It's very pleasant,' repeated Elsa. She took a couple of large sips. Just as soon as she was finished she could leave. She'd stayed the polite amount of time, after all.
Just then the telephone rang again, and while Vanessa got up to answer it, Elsa finished her tea in one.
‘Can't talk now, darling, I've got a guest,' said Vanessa. 'I'll call you later.’
Feeling churlish for gulping her tea, Elsa got to her feet. 'It's been lovely, Mrs… um… thank you so much. You've been very kind,' she said quickly, in case she was interrupted.
Her hostess smiled warmly. 'It's been a pleasure, and I'll be on to you as soon as I've arranged for my friend to sort out your colours. Oh, by the way..
'Yes?' It was uncharacteristic of Vanessa to pause, which made it significant.
‘Laurence Gentle, the best man, asked me for your telephone number. I said I had to check with you that it was all right to give it to him.'
‘Oh.' Why on earth would he want her telephone number? Unless of course his sister wanted one of her dresses – if he had a sister that is. 'Yes, I suppose it's all right.'
‘He is a really nice man, I can assure you of that.’
‘Yes. He seemed nice.' He had.
‘By nice I mean decent, in the old-fashioned way. Bit set in his ways, of course, but he is a bachelor and that can happen.'
‘Can it?'
‘Of course. If men aren't gay and don't have partners they can get quite odd. But I'll give him your number then. Oh, and thank you for bringing back the dress. Not sure what I'll do with it.'
‘You could sell it on eBay,' suggested Elsa.
‘Oh, darling, I really don't think I could do that. No, I'll think of something.’
As Elsa drove away she decided that whatever else Vanessa did with the bridesmaid's dress, she wouldn't put it in a bag and hang it in a cupboard until it turned to dust.
Chapter Seven
When Sarah had woken that Sunday morning, she'd been instantly, uncomfortably aware that she had not slept well. She rarely did after a big event, and Ashlyn's wedding was definitely that. Her head tended to take a while to stop seeing table plans, floral arrangements and potentially inefficient staff. But this morning she had an extra reason to feel as if she'd been up all night – Hugo.
She'd gone off to sleep all right but then she'd kept waking up. It was nothing to do with the room. It might have been tiny, but it was a good hotel: the sheets were silky, the towels were fluffy and the mattress was just right. No, it was what nearly happened that disturbed her.
She really shouldn't have let Hugo kiss her. The drink and the dance were all right. That would have been fine. But it should have stopped there.
As it was still only seven o'clock when she woke, she turned on her back and considered why it had happened. She sighed. It didn't take much brainpower to work it out. Hugo was extremely attractive, and she had been tired, a tiny bit drunk and forgot to be her usual professional self. She and Hugo had worked so well together up until now, it would be an awful shame if she'd spoilt it by getting carried away by the moment.
She gave a shuddering sigh, forcing her mind away from those lovely kisses, hoping they weren't addictive and that she could go back to her everyday, sensible life without difficulty. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Of course she could! She wasn't in love with him, after all, and as long as she never let it happen again, she'd be fine.
Inevitably her mind went back to Bruce, the man she'd thought was the love of her life. She saw him at the first Freshers' do at university and thought he was the most attractive boy she had ever seen apart from on a movie screen. Somehow, magically, Bruce had seen her too and was attracted to the quieter, more sensible girl she was, rather than the giddy hordes of excited teenagers around her. They had become a couple almost immediately. She'd fallen head over heels in love with him and they'd planned their future together: where they'd live, how many children they'd have and how they'd be celebrating their Golden Wedding anniversary still very much in love. She'd trusted Bruce implicitly. And although every girl on campus fancied the pants off him, it was to Sarah's side he was glued.
Until he wasn't. Walking into his flat to find the love of her life in bed with another girl had knocked her so badly she had sworn she would never make herself a hostage to love again. It had felt as if her heart had been ripped out -a man she'd thought she would spend the rest of her life with had betrayed her, cruelly. It was not as if she hadn't had enough to cope with, either. Her mother had died shortly before she went to university, she needed to keep an eye out for her father, and, of course, there was Lily, her younger and very vulnerable sister. Working through heartbreak at the same time as doing her college work and supporting her grieving family had been utter hell. If it hadn't been for her family and her friends she didn't know how she would have survived. She had vowed to herself that she would never take that risk, ever again. Not even after all this time. After all, she had a business to run now,and Lily still needed her big sister. And she owed it to herself.
She shook herself out of her remembered pain. Kissing Hugo had been lovely, she had to admit, but she couldn't afford to let it go any further. Anyway, he probably hadn't given it another thought; she'd heard the odd rumour about him, after all. She resolved to put it firmly behind her. And at least they hadn't arranged to have breakfast together or anything ghastly like that, she thought as she picked up the phone and asked if she co
uld have some toast in her room. Thanking goodness for posh hotels with high standards of room service, she was driving away within twenty minutes, keen to get home where life was ordinary and normal.
Not quite as normal as all that; her sister was sitting on the doorstep. Four years younger than Sarah, Lily had the air of a schoolgirl dressed in adult clothes, except that the clothes weren't all that adult, consisting of, in this instance, a baby-doll pyjama top over a pair of pink jeans studded with diamantè. Her blonde hair was caught up here and there with sparkly clips and more pink and diamond beads circled her neck and wrists. She could have been a tall six year-old at a dressing-up party. She looked, thought Sarah, divinely pretty and a little unhinged. Not for the first time, Sarah marvelled how two sisters could be so different.
Lily was clutching a carrier bag and looking sheepish and excited at the same time. She leapt to her feet when she saw her sister.
‘Sares! Why did you have your phone off? And where have you been? Not with a man, surely?'
‘Hello.' Fondly, Sarah enfolded her sister in her arms, thinking, as she always did, how tiny she was and choosing to ignore her teasing. 'What are you doing out of bed at this hour? A bit unheard-of, isn't it?’
'Sarah! I'm a grown-up now. Please let us in, I'm dying for the loo. And I've got such an ace plan!’
Sarah laughed. 'Keep your legs crossed while I unlock the door then. Here, you'd better take the flat key. I've got stuff to unload from the car.’
Sarah's flat was on the first floor of a very nice converted chapel. It had everything she needed: one big bedroom she used as an office; a smaller second bedroom where she slept; and a large living room with a kitchen at one end where she did everything else. The bathroom was small but for a single person it was more than adequate. Sarah loved it.
By the time she had unloaded the car, Lily had used the bathroom and was rummaging through Sarah's cupboards for breakfast cereal.
‘Sarah! You've got such healthy eating habits! Haven't you got anything here with any sugar in it?'
