He hopped under the shower for a couple of minutes to freshen up, then got dressed and went outside. It was already getting dark and the late-afternoon air carried a winter chill. He walked briskly along the canal, then turned onto the Rathmines Road. After a cup of soup and portion of bread from the nearby deli, which warmed him up and staved off the pangs of real hunger, he continued down the road to the shop.
As always when he stood outside Herbal Matters, he felt a glow of pride and satisfaction. This was something that he’d built up himself, that he’d worked hard to achieve. With a little help from Freya, of course.
The shop looked exactly like a regular chemist. Ben believed it was important to look like a mainstream shop instead of a niche store. He wanted people who wouldn’t normally think about herbal remedies and supplements to feel as though they were taken as seriously in Herbal Matters as they were in their local pharmacy. So like the latter, they also had a display of shampoos and make-up, cotton wool, and bits and pieces. In their case, though, everything was made from natural ingredients. Sometimes people came into the shop without realizing its speciality nature, but very often they left with a natural remedy for their sore throat or bruised arm or feeling of general exhaustion.
Ben pushed open the door and was greeted by a waft of warm air. He flexed his cold fingers with relief.
“Hi, Susie.” He smiled at the girl behind the cosmetics counter. “How’re you?”
“Ben!” She beamed at him in return. “I’m great. How was the trip to the States?”
“Very interesting,” he told her. “I’ve ordered more of that lip balm you said that everyone liked and they’re doing a range of it with enhanced sun protection. Not that you’d actually need it today.” He glanced out of the window and made a face.
“No,” said Susie, “but it’ll be an excellent seller in the summer. That whole range just walks out of the shop, it’s brilliant. And the new cotton-rich shampoo is doing really well too.”
“So sales last week were good?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Thank God for that.” He smiled. “Is Freya about?”
“Yes, she arrived a few minutes ago. She’s in the office.”
“I’d better go up and talk to her,” said Ben. “I’m sure she’ll have a few things to say about my extended trip abroad.”
“Why?” asked Susie. “You were paying for it, after all.”
Ben laughed and walked through the shop to the narrow stairs at the back which led up to the office area. He pushed open the door marked PRIVATE and walked in. His sister was sitting behind the gray steel desk, her eyes focused on the computer screen in front of her, her long blonde hair caught back from her face with a wooden clip.
“Hello, there,” said Ben.
“Hi,” she said, without looking up at him. “Hang on a minute, I’m just updating this.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard for a moment and then she leaned back in the chair and supported the back of her neck with her hands. “So you finally decided to come home. That was nice of you.”
“Tsk, tsk,” he said. “You sound a bit peeved.”
“I am,” she told him. “You leave here for a two-day meeting with clients and disappear for almost a week. The only communication I get from you is a very brief e-mail telling me that you’ll be back soon. If you were an employee I’d fire you.”
He grinned. “But I’m not an employee, I’m the managing director. So you can’t fire me.”
“Joint managing director,” she corrected him. “And I could organize a boardroom coup! However, since you haven’t had any holidays in about two years I suppose I can forgive you. What were you up to? Anything exciting?”
“Well, yes, actually,” he said awkwardly. “I got married.”
Shock flowed from Freya like a physical force. She sat up straight in the chair and stared at him.
“You what?” she asked eventually.
“Got married.” He extended his hand and showed her the ring on his finger. “Till death us do part and all that.”
“Ben Russell, you’re having me on.”
“No,” he said. “I truly did the deed.”
“How?” she asked. “To whom? Why?”
“In a chapel,” he replied. “To a girl called Carey. Because I love her.”
“I don’t know anyone called Carey,” said Freya accusingly. “You never mentioned her before. And what about Leah?”
“I never mentioned her before because I’ve only just met her,” said Ben.
Freya got up from the chair and perched on the corner of the desk. “You’ve only just met her?” she repeated. “You’ve only just met her and you married her?”
“Why not?” asked Ben. “I love her.” He put his hand into his pocket and took out the photos of their wedding day. He handed them to Freya, who looked through them wordlessly. When she’d finished she went through them all over again.
“You actually did this?”
“Proof positive,” said Ben.
“Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“I didn’t have time.”
“You could have made time.”
“We were in a time bubble,” Ben told her. “Nobody existed but ourselves.”
“Oh, come on.” She looked at him irritably. “That’s bullshit.”
“No,” he said. “We were together. Nothing else mattered.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ben!” Now her blue eyes were angry. “You went off and got married to a perfect stranger and you think that nothing else matters?”
“At the time nothing else did. Of course other things matter. Now that we’re home we have to get on with life. But I love her, Freya. I really do. And that’s all that really counts, isn’t it?” He looked at his sister defiantly.
She picked up the photos again. “The Chapel of Everlasting Love?”
“It’s in Las Vegas,” said Ben. “Actually it was a lot nicer than you’d think. They were really good to us. Afterwards we went over to Caesar’s Palace for a meal.”
“Oh my God.”
“And it was great. At the ceremony the pastor spoke very thoughtfully, not at all schmaltzy. And when we got to Caesar’s there were other people who’d just got married too, and it was all great fun.”
“Great fun,” repeated Freya faintly.
“Absolutely,” said Ben.
“And who is this girl exactly?” asked Freya.
“I told you. Her name’s Carey, she has a sister and a brother, and she works at the airport.”
“How old is she?” Freya peered at the photo. “She’s not some flighty teenager, is she?”
“Come on, Freya.” He smiled at her. “You can see that Carey’s not a teenager. She’s not some silly gullible girl that I picked up —”
“I’m more concerned with you being the silly gullible bloke,” interrupted Freya.
“She’s a very lovely, very intelligent woman in her early thirties,” said Ben. “She’s a mature person with a responsible job.”
“She’s not lovely,” said Freya dismissively. “Look at her, Ben. All arms and legs. She hasn’t got a pair of boobs to bless herself with despite wearing a dress which appears to be slashed to her navel.”
“That’s enough.” Suddenly Ben was annoyed with his sister. “You don’t have to slag her off, just because you haven’t vetted her first.”
“I don’t need to vet your girlfriends,” said Freya acidly. “I just thought it’d be nice to meet your future wife before you actually married her.”
“Why?” asked Ben.
“Because — because that’s what people do!” cried Freya. “Oh, Ben, I’m not trying to say that you were wrong to marry her. How can I say that when I don’t even know her? But even you have to admit that meeting her and marrying her in a couple of days is sheer madness. What happened anyway?”
Ben explained about sitting beside Carey on the plane and her invitation to the party and their sudden realization that they wanted to be
with each other forever.
“But, Ben…” Freya stared at him in amazement. “She’s not even your type of girl.”
“What d’you mean ‘not my type’?”
“Her looks, her job, her lifestyle…she’s not like anyone you ever went out with before. She’s not in the slightest bit like Leah.”
“Yes, well.” Ben looked stonily at his sister. “Maybe that’s why I married her and not Leah.”
The phone rang and both of them jumped. Freya picked it up. Her glance flickered towards Ben as she listened to the caller.
“Actually, yes, and we were just talking about you,” she said. “I’m sure he does want to speak to you.” She held the receiver out to her brother. “Leah.”
Chapter Four
ROSE ABSOLUTE
A floral oil with a delicate perfume
Carey stood in The Piggery sipping a cup of coffee. She was on the first break of her shift and she was glad to have a few minutes to herself. Fog in London that morning had delayed a whole heap of flights and every single pilot wanted their particular plane to be given an early slot for landing. She knew that the pilots were under pressure to keep to their timetables, but on days like today it was impossible. Peeling the paper from a Cadbury’s Snack she began to nibble the chocolate from around the biscuit. She’d swallowed the last bite when Chris Brady walked in.
“So, Carey Browne, what’s all this about rushing off to get married?” Chris poured himself some coffee and looked at her inquiringly. “And why didn’t you tell me you were thinking about it?”
Chris was one of the longest serving members of the team. Carey had worked with him when she’d first started in air traffic control, and of all the people she worked with, she respected Chris the most.
“It was a love at first sight sort of thing,” she explained. “I didn’t tell anyone I was thinking of it because I didn’t know I was thinking of it myself. I was only supposed to be going to New York for a party!”
“Some party.” Chris pulled up a chair. “What happened to make you run off with him?”
“I didn’t run off with him,” Carey said patiently. “When we left the party I spent the night with him and afterwards he asked me to marry him. So I did.”
“Wow.” Chris leaned back in his chair. “The sex must’ve been good.”
She made a face at him. “The sex was brilliant,” she allowed. “But it wasn’t — isn’t — just about sex, Chris. I love him. It’s that simple.”
“And what does your family have to say about it?”
“Nothing yet,” said Carey. “I only got back a couple of hours before my shift. I haven’t had time to tell them yet.”
Chris laughed. “We normally have engagement parties and pre-wedding drinks and all that sort of stuff. I’m not sure what we’ll have for you, Carey.”
“Nothing,” she said. “You know, Chris, I was never into the whole wedding thing. My sister, Sylvia, made such a bloody fuss over hers — it was lace this and satin that and music and menus and God knows what from morning till night every single day of her engagement. So I’m quite happy to have given it all a miss, to tell you the truth.”
“I thought you were only a kid when your sister got married.”
“I was thirteen. I saw enough to put me off completely.”
“You still could’ve come home and done it,” Chris said gently. “You didn’t have to rush into it.”
“Look, Chris, you’re my friend and I really like you. Always have. But it’s none of your business how I chose to get married.” Carey crumpled the gold foil from her biscuit into a little ball and threw it at the wastepaper bin, where it bounced harmlessly off the side and onto the floor. Chris leaned over and put it in the bin.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I was concerned.”
“Too late to be concerned!” She grinned at him in forgiveness and waved her left hand in front of him. “I’ve done the deed and I have to live with it.”
As she finished the sentence the door opened again and some of the administrative staff walked in.
“Carey!” cried Laura Sullivan. “What’s the story, girl? I hear you’ve been tripping up the aisle.”
“True,” said Carey.
“You dark horse,” said Laura. “Let’s see your ring.”
“It’s only a plain band. Nothing special.”
“Aren’t you the brave one all the same?” Deirdre Quinn smiled knowingly at her. “Keeping him under your hat, were you?”
“She didn’t even know him,” said Laura. “At least, that’s what Gina told me. Jesus, Carey, are you not afraid he’ll turn out to be an ax murderer or something?”
Carey laughed. “More likely he should be afraid.”
“True,” conceded Laura. “Everyone knows you’ve got a bit of a temper. Remember that time you threw a cup at Elena?”
“That was an accident,” protested Carey.
“Accident my foot.” Deirdre sat down and put her hands round a mug of tea. “So, come on then. Give us the gory details from the horse’s mouth.”
Chris stood up. “I’ll be getting back,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later, Browne.”
“I’ll be back in a minute myself,” she told him. “And it’s Russell now, Chris. Carey Russell.”
“You’re not going anywhere before you tell us all about the wedding,” Laura insisted. “I’ve always wondered what Vegas was like.”
“It’s different,” Carey admitted. “But nice.”
“Photos?” asked Deirdre.
Carey nodded. “In my bag. I left it inside.”
“For God’s sake!” Laura sighed. “I’ll really only believe it when I see the photos.”
“Oh, come on.” Carey grinned. “Don’t I look like an old married woman to you yet?”
Laura tilted her head to one side and scrutinized Carey. “Maybe you do,” she said. “Or maybe you just look like a person that’s had a massive improvement in her sex-life lately.”
“Laura Sullivan!” But Carey couldn’t help laughing. She was still chuckling as she made her way back to her radar screen.
Ben Russell sat in the café and waited for Leah. He hadn’t told her about his marriage on the phone despite Freya’s dark looks and her constant pointing at the third finger of his left hand. His conversation with Leah had been stilted and unpromising, and in the end he’d told her that he had a bit of news but he really needed to see her and so would she like to meet for coffee.
In fact, the very last thing Ben wanted was to see Leah Ryder. But he knew that he couldn’t have told her about Carey with Freya listening to his every word, and he also knew that he had to tell Leah about his marriage in person and as soon as possible. It was only fair, but he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Tipping a sachet of brown sugar into his latte, he stirred it slowly. He didn’t usually take sugar in coffee, but very occasionally he needed the sweetness it provided. This was one of those occasions. He looked at his watch — she’d be here any minute. Leah was never late. His glance flickered towards the door of the café as it opened. He’d known it would be her, and he was right. She stepped inside and shook the raindrops from her bright red umbrella. Then she looked across the room and saw him, and her mouth broke into a smile.
She was beautiful when she smiled. In fact, thought Ben as she walked over to him, she was always beautiful. She was the most beautiful girl he’d met in his life. And everyone else thought so too. Leah was small, barely five feet tall. Her face was heart-shaped and her skin flawless. Her features bore the traces of an Asian origin that had been diluted over two generations: Her grandmother was Japanese, born in Osaka. She’d married an Englishman — practically unheard of in those days — and had moved to London. Her daughter, Leah’s mother, had married an Irishman and moved to Dublin. Leah was Irish. She’d been born in Dublin and had lived here all her life, but there was a fragility about her that few Dublin girls possessed.
She waved as she threaded her way t
hrough the too-close-together tables. Her hair, long and straight, fell in a black sheet down her back. She was wearing a quilted jacket in the same shade of red as her umbrella over a royal-blue cotton dress. The color brightened up the dull and steamy café. But then, thought Ben, Leah had a way of brightening up a place even if she was wearing nothing but black.
He’d met her three years ago, just after he’d opened the second shop with Freya. She’d come in a couple of days after it had opened and had asked him for an essential oil which he didn’t have on display. He frowned as he tried to remember what it was. Patchouli, he thought. Or maybe sandalwood. Whatever it was, he’d known at the time that they did have it but he didn’t know why it wasn’t on display. So he’d offered to check out the storage area and find it for her.
It had taken ages. He’d been convinced that she’d be gone when he finally found it (he was almost sure it was patchouli), but she was still waiting for him, standing patiently beside the counter, dressed that day in a red and white houndstooth check skirt and a plain red T-shirt. He’d learned, afterwards, that red was her favorite color. It was certainly her best color. It brought out the raven blackness of her hair, the tinted ivory of her skin, and the darkness of her eyes. The same color eyes as Carey, he thought suddenly. The color of bitter chocolate.
Leah was a beautician. She worked in an exclusive salon near Ailesbury Road which was frequented by the wives and daughters of diplomats and very successful businessmen. Leah had a deft touch with make-up but her speciality was massage. Ben learned this because he’d been so attracted to her that he’d asked her all about herself and had then wondered, aloud, whether or not men ever came to her salon for massage.
“Of course,” she said. “Men are as stressed as women.”
Too Good to Be True Page 6
