‘Have you seen your friends yet?’ asked Trevor as Faye poured tea, tipping the pot gracefully over the cups, like a lady of the manor.
‘No, that’s my next job.’
‘Hang on,’ said Trevor, suddenly recapping. ‘If Emily was rented out, where did you stay? Surely not Charlotte?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Bel. ‘It was okay. Functional. Needs a tin opener in the drawer, though.’ She smiled at her private joke and felt a strange pang inside her that she couldn’t explain.
‘I’m selling the cottages,’ said Trevor. ‘Just to let you know. I’ve been thinking of doing it for some time, to be honest.’
‘Selling them?’ Bel was horrified.
‘Oh Bel, we don’t go up there any more;they’re sitting empty and it’s a shame. They’re a developer’s dream. But I haven’t got the energy to oversee another project – not with the business expanding into the continent – so I’m letting them go.’
Her dad was right. He and Faye never went there these days and it would make a beautiful retreat for whoever bought it. Still, the sale of Bronte Cottages would mark the end of an era. There had been so many lovely weekends spent there with her dad:the wind howling outside while they were cosy within, logs burning in the stove, warming their hands on giant mugs of hot chocolate . . . She had taken Richard up there once for a cosy weekend, but he had turned up his nose at the basic accommodation and booked them into the nearest swanky hotel instead. He had never known the deprivation that a missing tin opener could cause. A ghost of a smile visited Bel’s lips at the thought of her spats with Dan Regent.
‘What’s tickled you?’ Trevor nudged her.
‘I was just thinking about the guy who was renting Emily. He’s a doctor – and a writer.’
‘I know,’ said Trevor. ‘John North. I’ve read all his books. I heard he’d lost the plot, if you’ll excuse the pun. Woman trouble. Had a bit of a breakdown.’
‘Really?’ said Bel.
‘Oh yes. His fiancée ran off with—’ Trevor stopped, realizing that maybe he shouldn’t talk about unfaithful partners.
‘It’s okay, Dad. Go on,’ Bel was thirsty for more details.
‘Well,’ began Trevor cautiously, in case he upset his daughter, ‘she ran off with his best friend. He’s a friend of Bob Rogers, from the packaging company we use. Well, Bob’s stayed at Emily before and asked me if I’d rent it to John North for a couple of months because he wanted to hole himself up in the country. He was absolutely heartbroken apparently.’
‘Poor man,’ said Faye, handing over a plate of biscuits. ‘Did you see much of him, Bel?’
‘A little,’ said Bel, trying not to let thoughts of Dan Regent into her head. He was a closed chapter now. Cathy had wanted to talk to him and that could only mean that she had realized her mistake and wanted him back. Just as Richard had realized his.
‘You should eat something, Bel. You’re so thin. Can I make you some pasta?’
Faye’s cooking was lovely. She always took such care over it, but Bel wasn’t hungry. She wanted to go and see the friendly faces of Violet and Max. Then she needed to go home and think about what she was going to do about Richard.
Chapter 46
Lydiana Bosomworth-Greaves was slightly tiddly. She’d had far too much wine at the ladies’ luncheon, and when that happened her voice lost all control over its volume button.
Talk had bent round to the big story in the Melbourne Star that day: the Barnsley bride who ran away after dumping her new husband so spectacularly at their reception. Someone had mentioned that Lydiana came from the same Yorkshire town of Barnsley, didn’t she? One of the lead dramatis personae was called Bosomworth too. The story was deliciously tacky.
‘Are you related to the “Blonde Beauty”, Lydiana – or is Bosomworth a very common name in Yorkshire?’ asked Carolyn Huggins with a snigger.
‘It certainly is not common,’ bristled Lydiana. ‘It’s very rare. As far as I know there is only the one family called Bosomworth in the whole county.’
‘Oh so are you related to the people in the story?’ said ex-Leeds lady Mary Philipson, who was delighted that the stuck-up Lydiana had links to a sex scandal. From what she could see the ‘Blonde Beauty’ looked more like a little scrubber to her. The story had obviously been sold by her to throw the poor bride into a very dark light.
Out of the corner of her eye Lydiana could see that Elle White, Fiona McCarrick and Ruthie Hunnerton were equally enjoying watching her squirm.
‘My sister married the father of the bride, Trevor Candy.’ Lydiana decided to deflect attention away from her errant niece and on to something that would make them all shut right up. ‘They have a multimillion-pound fortune in chocolate. More than multi. The newspaper has grossly underestimated the worth of the company. And I do believe that Trevor is up for a knighthood. My sister is actually in negotiations to move the whole operation to the States,’ she lied, enjoying the sight of Mary Philipson’s smirk drying up. ‘Or Switzerland. Possibly both.’
Interesting, thought one of the group. What a very small world it really was. And one which would soon be traversed with a flight, if what she had just heard was true.
Chapter 47
Max didn’t say a word when she opened the door to Bel. She just threw her arms round her friend and squashed her.
‘You silly cow,’ she said, pulling Bel to arm’s length. ‘We’ve been worried sick about you.’
Violet gave her a gentler hug, which was good as Bel’s ribs were now bruised.
‘I’ve opened a bottle of wine,’ said Max. ‘And got some nibbles in. Sit – and talk. We’ve got the house to ourselves because Stuart is out with his best mate, Luke, who should be, as we speak, trying to persuade my stubborn fiancé into a top hat and tails for the wedding. Oh Bel, I am so glad you rang.’
Violet was glad too. It gave her a perfect excuse to get out of the house. Glyn was in one of his planning moods, talking about futures and children and how he planned to convert the spare room in the flat to a nursery. And though she wanted to scream at him that he couldn’t even make it as far as bloody B&Q to pick up some wood, it was easier just to let him ramble on. Getting a text from Max, asking her if could drive up to hers because Bel was coming round, was a blessed relief and worth all the sulking she would have to endure when she got home.
Bel sat down on Max’s black-leather sofa next to Violet while Max poured her a drink. She recognized it as a very pricey wine.
‘That stuff is twenty quid a bottle; put the cork back in immediately.’
‘I will not,’ said Max. ‘You deserve it.’
‘Oh heck, I wish you hadn’t told me that. I’ll go and spill it now,’ said Violet in a panicky voice. ‘I’m starting to shake with fear already.’
‘Get it down your neck, then, and steady your nerves,’ said Max, raising her glass. ‘A toast. To Bel. For being the bravest woman I know.’
Bel huffed. ‘I’m not brave. I was vengeful. What drove me to do what I did was hate, not bravery.’
‘Or hurt,’ put in Violet. ‘It must have hurt a lot what Richard did behind your back.’
‘When did you find out?’ asked Max, savouring a mouthful of wine. It was lovely. She was glad she wasn’t driving, as the other two were.
‘Two months ago. I swear I have never looked at Richard’s phone messages before, ever, but that day his phone was charging in the kitchen and I can’t explain it – I just felt that I had to look at it, as if I was drawn there by some force or intuition . . . I don’t know what it was. And I found loads of messages from “S”: “S” couldn’t wait to see him again, “S” had had such a good time with him, stuff like that.’ Bel didn’t tell them about the seedier messages: that “S” was wearing crotchless knickers while waiting for him and how “S” really enjoyed their weekend in Las Vegas together. She knew that if she ever did get back with Richard again, that would only give everyone more to forgive him for – and they had too much already, thanks to her. ‘I could have put
Miss Marple to shame with all the detective work I did after that little discovery,’ she went on.
‘Like what?’
‘Going through his pockets, hacking into his email.’
‘I can’t believe he saved stuff on his computer without deleting it,’ said Violet. ‘At least that shows he’s too thick to have had an affair before.’
‘Or that he’s totally cocksure,’ said Max with a huff.
‘He’d saved all her emails in a file,’ said Bel, coughing away some rising emotion. ‘I mean, you save things you want to look at over and over again, don’t you?’
‘If you’re a girl, you do,’ said Violet. ‘Maybe he put them in a file so he could delete them all at once.’ It was a lame counter-argument; she knew that as soon as she had said it and so moved on quickly to another question. ‘Have you heard from him?’
‘Oh yes. He’s left lots of texts and messages. He wants to talk. I haven’t replied yet but I’m going to have to meet with him, seeing as I married him.’
‘Are you married? Is it legally binding?’ asked Violet. ‘I mean, you haven’t consummated it, have you?’
‘I’m guessing it’s all legal,’ said Bel.
‘Maybe you can have it annulled.’
‘Why didn’t you walk out before the bloody vows? I hope he’s not entitled to half your money now,’ snapped Max.
‘I don’t know if he is or not. I obviously wasn’t thinking that straight when I planned all this,’ said Bel, taking a throatful of wine. ‘I thought I was but, as I now find, I was totally blinkered, with no real sense of my true course.’
‘Anyone would have been, in your shoes,’ said Violet in a soft, kind voice.
‘What happened after I left? At the reception?’ asked Bel.
‘Carnage,’ replied Max, through a mouthful of stuffed olive. ‘Richard followed you out and didn’t come back; your aunt wrapped herself round your slaggy cousin like a human shield and they disappeared. Your dad and stepmum gave an announcement that the day was probably over but the drinks were on the house if anyone needed a brandy for the shock—’
‘Your stepmum was brilliant,’ Violet butted in. ‘She bustled around everyone and calmed everything down. She got rid of the cake and spoke to the hotel staff. I think your dad was a bit too overcome to do much.’
Bel dropped her head into her hands. When she concocted her plan, she hadn’t thought about the fallout left in her wake. The fantasy in her head had ended with her flouncing magnificently out of the reception, leaving a sea full of agape gobs.
‘I wish we could have helped you through it,’ said Max, proffering a bowl of Japanese crackers. ‘I wish you’d felt able to talk to us.’
‘Yes, I should have. But I didn’t,’ said Bel. ‘Alas, I’ve always been the same. I always think I know better than anyone else how to deal with things. I bury myself away and then emerge to find out that, actually, I don’t know that much after all.’
‘Where did you go?’ asked Violet, reaching for a Parmesan twist.
‘My dad has some cottages on the edge of the Haworth moors,’ said Bel. ‘I stayed in one of those.’
Next door to a doctor with an equally smashed-up heart. A doctor who imploded instead of exploding, like me. A doctor whom I’ll never see again so I really ought to stop thinking about him.
‘Anyway, cheer me up,’ said Bel, turning to Max. ‘What’s happening with your wedding plans?’ If anything could chase Dan Regent out of her head for an hour or so, it would be Max’s plotting.
‘Ooh yes, do tell,’ added Violet.
‘Well,’ began Max with a smile as wide as the River Nile – and soon Bel and Violet wished they’d never asked.
Chapter 48
Violet pushed open the door quietly, hoping that Glyn was in bed and fast asleep. She should have known better.
‘Where’ve you been? I’ve rung you loads of times,’ he said, coming from the kitchen holding a mug of tea and a half-eaten cream doughnut.
‘You know where I’ve been – at Max’s house,’ she said. ‘Bel’s come back home.’
‘I was getting worried. Why didn’t you answer the phone?’
‘Because I was talking to my friends,’ snapped Violet. ‘And my phone going off every two minutes is really annoying, Glyn.’
‘I only wanted to check you were okay,’ said Glyn in a hurt tone. ‘Pardon me for caring. It’s dark and drivers on the roads up there are mad. There are always accidents happening and being reported in the Chronicle. There was a fatality not that long ago.’
Violet bit her lip. It was too late for an argument and if she started shouting she might not be able to stop.
‘I made you four teas that went cold,’ said Glyn.
‘Well, why did you do that?’ Violet said with a dry laugh that was empty of humour but full of exasperation. Who in their right mind did that?
‘Because I thought you’d be home earlier than this,’ was his answer. ‘You know I had a headache earlier.’
Violet growled inside. ‘I’m going straight to bed,’ she said. Glyn was at her heels a minute later, after turning off the lights and abandoning the tea but finishing off the bun.
In bed he snuggled up to her back and she totally shrugged him off for once. Her phone had shown there were twenty-three missed calls from him during the two hours she was at Max’s and she was really annoyed with him.
‘I’m too warm when you hold on to me,’ she said.
She felt him slink over to the far side of the bed then heard his head fall heavily on to the pillow with a barely stifled sigh.
She closed her eyes and tried not to scream. She felt totally wound up and knew she wouldn’t get to sleep for ages. But if she got up now and made herself a drink, he would trail after her like a hopeful puppy wanting a stroke. She lay still and hoped he would drift off soon.
When they first got together – sixteen months ago – his attentions to her welfare had been like a cold drink on a thirsty throat. She had just been dumped by her boyfriend of six months, Greg, who went back to his ex and ripped her ego to shreds in the process. She had been sitting alone in a coffee shop in Meadowhall and Glyn asked if he could share her table as there were no other places spare. He was smiley and attentive and ended up buying her another coffee and taking her number. Her savaged heart enjoyed the male attention; for a while it drove away painful thoughts of Greg.
Glyn took her to a restaurant for their first date. He opened the door for her, pulled out the chair for her, seemed engrossed in everything she said. And he paid at the end. He made her feel like a lady and it was intoxicating.
By date three she was hooked. She had never had so much attention from a man. Over cocktails that night he told her that he had just left work and was suing his ex-boss for constructive dismissal. On the day when they had met in Meadowhall, he had just been to see a therapist for the first time because he was steps away from a full nervous breakdown. He said that meeting Violet had pulled him back from the brink and he loved her for it. Violet felt so sorry for the vulnerable man, even if she did think it was a little early to be talking about love. He told her that without her in his life he knew he would slip back further than ever. Violet was a naturally caring person and she felt that she wanted to help Glyn recover from his depression; plus, she felt slightly obliged to him after entering his life and letting him consider her as ‘his rock’. But his panic attacks started getting worse not better and going outside the house was increasingly a chore for him, so they stopped going out and they spent all of their time together at his flat.
She moved in fully with him within three months of their initial meeting and at first it was sweet how he always had her dinner ready for her when she came in from work. But within a very short time the relationship started to feel cloying rather than loving. What had been sweet attention at the beginning had become a constant demand for her attention, her approval. He was always pawing her, trying to hold her hand, touching her, needing to have sex as proof
that she wasn’t going off him. And the more she pulled back, the more he swamped her. She was rooted in his life by then; she had made herself indispensable. To extricate herself would rip him apart. He told her that if she left he would be in a worse state than when she found him.
She heard him snore gently beside her and she tentatively slunk out of bed and padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. There she made herself a hot chocolate and sat at the table wondering how she could stop the conveyor belt that she felt strapped to as it hurtled towards her wedding day, because Freya’s cautionary tale had been circling in her head ever since she heard it.
Chapter 49
It took until Tuesday for Bel to ring Richard’s number. She put it back down again the first time it started ringing; her hands were shaking.
‘Come on, you silly cow,’ she gee-ed herself up. Again she pressed in the number and waited. He picked up on the fifth ring.
‘Bel,’ he said in a voice flooded with warmth and relief. ‘Are you all right?’
All the words Bel had prepared crumbled into bits like flaky pastry in her mouth. How did one answer that after all that had happened?
‘Well,’ was all she managed before her throat clogged with tears.
‘I haven’t known whether to ring you or leave you to think things through. I am so glad you rang, honey. I can’t tell you how much.’
His voice was so soft and tender and full of concern. She tried to speak but nothing came out.
‘Bel, I don’t want to rush you. You take all the time in the world. You call me all the names under the sun if it helps. But I want to make this up to you. I don’t know how, but I’m going to try and I promise you I will succeed.’
The part of Bel’s heart labelled ‘Richard’ began to thaw. He was saying everything she wanted to hear.
‘I know you’re upset and you probably can’t talk . . .’
White Wedding Page 19
