He was so on her wavelength. He was being strong for her.
‘Bel, I’m not going to harass you. I want to see you but only when you’re ready to see me. I must have been mad to risk losing you. I wish I could tell you why I did it.’
Bel sniffed.
‘There I go upsetting you again. Bel, we’re going to be fine. In your own time. Take as much of it as you need.’
Bel pulled in a huge breath to ask the big question, which came out of a very croaky throat.
‘What about Shaden?’
‘What about Shaden?’ Richard growled with passion and just the right amount of venom. ‘I never want to hear that name again. I could vomit when I think about her. And, trust me, I don’t think about her one bit.’
‘So, after the wedding, you didn’t go off together?’
‘NO, I DID NOT,’ he yelled, as if that was the most ridiculous thing in the world. ‘I don’t know where she is, nor do I want to.’
‘Okay,’ said Bel, hating herself for being so floppy and full of tears. She had wanted to conduct their first conversation with the stance and attitude of a world-famous boxer.
‘Honey, I love you so much. I’m going to prove that to you. Call me any time, day or night. I want to see you so much. When you’re ready. But soon, I hope.’
Bel put down the phone, unable to reply. She was a wreck. He had smashed her with his nice warm voice. She just wished time would rewind to the day when she picked up his phone in the kitchen and checked it. She should have confronted him and worked this out then, when there was merely water under the bridge, and not left it until now, when there was a tsunami’s-worth of ocean thundering under it and threatening its total collapse.
Chapter 50
Stuart came home from work an hour early with a headache. He was prone to migraines, always had been. Luckily, though, the Nurofen he took before setting off had done the trick and by the time he reached home the headache had almost dissipated. For once he wouldn’t need to go to bed with the lights off, avoiding even the slightest of sounds.
As he unlocked the door, he heard the sound of vacuuming coming from down the hallway and he felt his heart give an excited little jump in his chest. Of course, the cleaner came on Tuesday. He knew he would be disappointed if he found Sheila there and not Jenny and – God forgive him – he hoped Sheila wasn’t well enough to come back and resume her twice-weekly duties.
Jenny jumped when he pushed open the lounge door.
‘Blimey O’Riley, I thought you were a burglar,’ she said.
‘Sorry, Jen,’ he laughed. ‘I was actually trying not to scare you.’
‘You did a rotten job of it,’ she smiled, palm flat on her panting chest. ‘You okay? You look as if you’ve been whitewashed.’
‘I’m just at the tail-end of a migraine,’ said Stuart.
‘I’ve got some paracetamol in my handbag in the kitchen. Shall I fetch them for you?’
‘It’s fine, I’ve taken something,’ said Stuart, touched at her concern.
‘Mum gets those. Do you get the flashing lights ones or the sicky ones?’
‘The sicky ones,’ replied Stuart.
‘Sit down and I’ll make you a cuppa,’ said Jenny, clicking the Dyson to an upright position.
‘I’m fine, Jen. I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘It’s no trouble, honest. I’ve just this one corner to vacuum then I’m done, anyway.’
‘Tell you what, I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ said Stuart. ‘I’ll make you a cuppa instead while you finish off.’
Jenny smiled her Jenny Thompson smile and conceded defeat.
Stuart walked into the kitchen to find it gleaming, even more than it did when Sheila tackled it, if that was possible. The kettle had just boiled when Jenny joined him. She flicked her hand towards his nice suit.
‘It’s all that executive stress bringing on these headaches,’ she said.
‘I’m hardly an executive, Jen,’ Stuart laughed a little at the thought. He’d worn a suit to work for the third time ever because he had been recently promoted and would be called on to go to meetings round a table periodically. Max had seen the position advertised in his company newsletter and nagged him to apply for it. Why shouldn’t he have a better pension and more work benefits when he deserved them after seventeen years of loyal service, was her argument. His boss was pushing him too from the other side, telling him that the new job was in the bag and there would be a significant pay increase that came with it. It wasn’t a fraction of what Max brought home, of course, but he felt increasingly under self-pressure to contribute more to the household pot. He hated meetings, though. He was out of his comfort zone in a suit and making small talk. Thank goodness it wouldn’t happen all that often, but still he wished he’d stayed in his old position where he was happy and unstressed and relatively migraine-free.
Stuart poured boiling water over the instant coffee in the mugs. Max had bought a huge fancy Krups machine but he had never mastered how to use it. Not that it mattered, because he didn’t want a throat-punching espresso or a fluffy cappuccino, anyway – a bog-standard cup of instant Douwe Egberts had always been good enough for him.
‘I thought you weren’t supposed to drink coffee when you had migraines,’ said Jenny.
‘Mine aren’t triggered off by food,’ Stuart replied, tipping milk into the mugs. ‘I get stress-heads.’
‘The smell of oranges can set Mum off,’ said Jenny. ‘And cheese. Shame, really, as she loves cheese but she just can’t have it.’
‘How’s your mum’s back?’ Stuart handed the coffee over to Jenny.
‘She’s doing okay. She’ll be up on her feet again soon. It’s killing her lying down and having to rest.’
‘I would have thought it would be killing you, doing her jobs for her as well as your own.’
‘We’re a team,’ Jen said. ‘She’d do the same for me. Look.’ She reached into her coat pocket. ‘We’ve just had these printed.’ She handed over a pretty pink business card with the company name: Two Women and Their Mops.
‘We’ve even got an accountant now,’ beamed Jenny. ‘We’re doing really well. We’ve got lots of customers.’ The pride was bursting out of her.
‘That’s brilliant, Jen,’ said Stuart, impressed. ‘Don’t overwork yourself, though.’
‘No, I won’t do that. A two-woman cleaning business is about as ambitious as I’m ever likely to get. I like being at home with Alan in the evenings too much. I don’t want to be one of those people that never has any free time.’ Jenny looked up at him with her pretty hazel eyes. ‘I bet that sounds really sad to someone like you.’
‘No, no, it doesn’t at all,’ said Stuart, and he meant it. ‘Lucky Alan.’
‘Why don’t you have any pets? You’ve got enough room for a herd of Great Danes in this place. Or is it a flock?’
Stuart smiled at the thought of a flock of Great Danes. Jenny really was sweet and funny.
‘Max doesn’t want any pets,’ he replied. Something else Max had got her own way on. But change was afoot, thank goodness – better late than never.
‘Mind you, your lovely white rugs wouldn’t stand a dog or a cat trailing in muck from the garden. Even Alan’s hairs stick on the cushions,’ chuckled Jen. ‘Listen to me talking like a nutter about a rabbit. Anyone would think we sat down at the end of the day and had a discussion about politics.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ grinned Stuart. ‘I know what you mean. It’s just nice to have another living breathing presence in the house.’
‘If you haven’t got the alternative of a living breathing partner,’ added Jen.
‘Yeah,’ said Stuart, thinking that he might as well classify himself as living alone for all he saw of Max these days. Right on cue the phone went off in his pocket. A text from her.
Won’t be home until late. Eat without me.
‘I’d best get off,’ said Jen, draining her mug.
‘Got another job?’
‘No, I want to g
et to a shop before it shuts,’ said Jen.
‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift,’ said Stuart.
‘No, you’ve got a headache. I’ll get the bus . . .’
But Stu wasn’t going to take no for an answer. It was going to be another long lonely night. Taking Jenny home would at least drag it out a little less for him.
‘Four six five.’
Sitting at her desk, Max dictated the security number of her Visa card down the phone. She had just bought a honeymoon – a weekend in a gorgeous country spa hotel in Stow-on-the-Wold. Personally she would have liked to have gone somewhere hot and sunny, but Stuart hated going abroad. He burned so easily and got bored, whereas Max could have vegged out all day by a pool doing nothing but reading and sipping cocktails. He was probably going to be a bit cross that she had booked a honeymoon behind his back, seeing as they had planned to spend the weekend quietly at home – but after seeing her swaggering down the aisle in her lovely gypsy wedding dress he would figure she had more surprises in store. She knew him inside out after many years of courting, and was confident he’d ride with it and grudgingly enjoy it all. Nothing surer.
Once the booking had been confirmed, Max started googling the finest country house in the area for their reception.
Chapter 51
‘Just drop me off here, will you, please?’ asked Jen, pointing to the chip shop on the edge of the Money Box estate.
‘Wonder what you’re having for your tea, then?’ smiled Stuart.
‘I’m going to get fish and chips and peas on a tray and eat them as I walk home.’
‘And how are you going to manage that and your mop and bucket?’
‘Ah,’ Jen clicked her fingers. ‘That’s why I was never in the top class at school.’
‘Tell you what,’ Stuart suggested. ‘How about we get two trays and sit and eat them in the car? I haven’t had fish and chips for ages.’ He was salivating at the thought.
There was a fancy baguette waiting for him in the fridge at home. French cheese and salad and bollocks. He could eat that alone in the cavernous kitchen or have fish and chips and a chat with Jenny.
‘Your lovely car will stink of vinegar,’ warned Jen.
‘Sod the car,’ said Stuart, clipping off his seat belt. ‘Scraps as well?’
After he had dropped Jenny off, he drove over to call in on his mum and dad, who still lived in the small house in Rose Lane they had bought when they were first married. He didn’t want to go straight home and rattle around in Max’s big house by himself. He was a people person and always had been. He liked living on an estate and seeing things happen outside the window. And he was an animal person too. After the wedding he was definitely going to get a cat or a dog or something. Or a rabbit – like Alan.
He sat in the fish-and-chip-scented car for a few minutes after pulling up outside his parents’ house. He caught sight of his face in the rear-view mirror and saw that he was smiling. And he knew that smile was a direct result of thinking about Jenny Thompson and Alan. He had no right storing them both in the part of his brain where his best thoughts were kept, not when he was getting married in just over a month’s time. And so he was here at his mum’s house to try to herd himself back on course.
‘Hello, love,’ said Sandra Taylor, as her son came in through the door. A homely smell of beef hash cooking on the hob greeted him. ‘Cuppa?’
‘Go on, then,’ said Stuart. The kettle was always on at his mam’s house. He threw himself on the sofa next to his dad, who was reading the racing results.
‘I wish I’d bet on that bugger Big Fat White Wedding,’ said David Taylor. ‘It came in at twenty to one.’
‘Tea, David?’ called Sandra.
‘Aye, go on, then,’ replied David, still shaking his head slowly from side to side.
‘Why didn’t you bet on it?’
‘Because it’s his first race and the stupid bloody racing pundit said it had no chance.’
Funny that his dad should be talking about weddings, thought Stuart. Was it a sign that what he was about to ask was the right way forward, after all?
‘Mum, can I ask you a favour?’ he said, when Sandra delivered two cups of milky tea to him and his dad.
‘Course you can, love.’
‘Any chance of you making me a small wedding cake?’
‘For you and Maxine? I thought you weren’t having any trimmings. When I asked you before if you wanted me to make you one you said no—’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he cut in. ‘Nothing too fancy. And I think I might book a meal after the ceremony at the Lamp for us all. As a surprise. I was in there the other day with Luke and they’ve redecorated it. Looks nice.’ Not to Max’s standards, but okay to mine.
‘Of course I’ll bake you a cake,’ said Sandra, clapping her hands together with delight. ‘You know I’ve wanted to do that from the off.’
‘Good,’ said Stu. ‘Don’t say anything to Max.’
‘Well, we hardly see anything of her, really,’ said Sandra, unable to keep the disappointment entirely out of her voice.
If Jenny were going to be her daughter-in-law, she’d always be round here, Stuart said to himself, before he reprimanded himself for thinking that. He did wish his fiancée and his mum were closer, though. Considering how many years he and Max had been in a relationship, she and Sandra hadn’t met as often as they should have. It wasn’t as if they didn’t get on, but he knew his mum felt awkward in the posh surroundings of Max’s big house, so she visited them less than ever these days. And Max never had any time to go visiting because she was always working. A wedding reception would be a nice place to do a bit of bonding, Stuart thought.
‘I’m glad you’re having a bit of a do,’ said David, folding up the newspaper.
‘It’s not that much of a do, really,’ Stuart clarified the point.
‘Is it the cost that put you off having a big wedding, because we’ve got savings—’
Stuart raised a big arresting hand. ‘No, Dad, it’s nothing to do with money.’
God knows they had enough of it coming into the house to easily pay for one of those big fat gypsy weddings that were all the rage and that every girl at work seemed to be talking about, but Stuart saw all that as Max’s money. He wanted a wedding he could pay for, not her, and he was determined to get his own way on this. He could afford a meal for a few friends and family, and a cake was a nice touch that would just set the day off right. He wasn’t a man for fuss, anyway, but he certainly wasn’t going to start off his married life poncing off his wife. And that was a non-negotiable point in Stuart’s head.
Chapter 52
In his lunch hour the next day, Stuart nipped up to the Lamp to book the very small wedding reception. The menu looked lovely: ham salad, roast beef and then sweets from the trolley. Simple but perfect in his book, especially as the new chef at the Lamp had a very good reputation. It wouldn’t be good enough for Max, of course, but it was better than the nothing she was expecting, so he thought.
As Stuart was handing over the deposit, Max, in her extended lunch hour, was just being shown round the hospitality suite in Higher Hoppleton Hall by the events coordinator, Nina.
‘We have two dining rooms,’ explained Nina. ‘This is the smaller of them.’
Max looked at the ornate ceiling and the many mirrors on the walls. Nine guests would rattle around in here. An extra twenty guests would make all the difference. Thirty – even better.
The second dining room was as big as a ballroom. Max would need a minimum of two hundred guests for that one, and she knew she wouldn’t get away with that.
‘I think the first room would be more suitable for us,’ Max decided, despite secretly wishing for the second.
‘Excellent,’ said Nina. ‘Then let’s peruse some menus.’
Coffee and petits fours were waiting in her office.
The first menu was a no-no. It wasn’t the exorbitant cost that was the guiding factor on that decision, but the food its
elf. Stuart was a man of plain tastes and the menu choices were heavy in all the things he didn’t like – foie gras, chicken-liver pâté, Stilton – and fish, which he hated unless it was battered cod. Max moved on to the second, but she didn’t like lamb and the puddings were too stodgy and ordinary for her tastes: spotted dick or apple pie and custard. School-dinner puddings had moved back into vogue apparently, but not on her planet, so she rejected it.
‘Now this one, I like,’ Max declared, seeing the third. For starter: a choice of scallops in pea froth, an Italian antipasti platter or soup. For main: Beef Wellington, Chicken Forestière or Mediterranean tarte for the veggies. For dessert: a trio of cheesecakes, a quartet of chocolate desserts or summer-fruit pudding with clotted cream. Port and a cheeseboard to follow, then home-made truffles and coffee. That menu had plenty of choice for the unfussy Taylors as well as her scallop-loving self.
Did she want flowers on the table, asked Nina. Did bears shit in the woods, she almost answered.
‘Oh yes, shocking-pink flowers,’ smiled Max, thinking of gypsy Margaret’s wedding. ‘And lots of them.’
The rein inside her that would have pulled on her and urged her to be careful had long since snapped. From now on she was booking everything she had dreamed of, everything that little princess-loving girl that still remained inside her wanted on her wedding day. By the time Max left the building, she had ordered pink champagne, pink balloons, and pink-boxed favours of pink chocolates. She had a sudden moment of panic when she started her car and thought of everything she had just committed to. Stuart was going to be really cross, she knew. But she also knew that nothing – including the whole British army, navy and air force combined – would stop the speeding snowball of her wedding arrangements.
Chapter 53
Once again Violet had lied to Glyn and said that she had a meeting with a supplier, but instead she had gone to Postbox Cottage, picking up a bilberry tart from Potts Bakery on the way.
White Wedding Page 20
