Chapter Seven
“Ah, they’re so cute.”
“Aren’t they?”
The birthday party was in one corner of the café, cordoned off with an archway of pink and blue balloons tied to a frame of garden canes. Eight small children — several fairies, a couple of juvenile cowboys and a pirate, and two clones of Elsa from Frozen — were seated around a table cluttered with the remains of mini pizzas and fruit jellies and multicoloured ice cream, and glasses of home-made lemonade.
“They do seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“Of course they are.” Vicky smiled at her friend. “You’ve done a great job. And Amy looks so pretty in that little dress.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Debbie beamed with pride. “Mum made it.”
“How is your mum?”
“Not too bad today. The doctor says she can come down to the café next week, but only to sit at the till.” She laughed. “I may have to tie her to the chair!” She turned as the door opened, and a sudden blush spread up over her cheeks. Bill. She glanced quickly at Vicky. “Oh... er... will you... ?”
Vicky laughed, shaking her head. “No — you serve him.”
A look of desperation flickered in her friend’s eyes, but she hesitated only for a moment then hurried behind the counter. “Hello, Bill.” A shy smile. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.” If anything he looked even more awkward. “Two pasties.”
Little Amy had spotted him and ran over to hug him. The awkwardness vanished and he picked up the child and swung her high in the air. “How’s my best girl?”
She giggled excitedly. “We’re having a party. It’s Robyn’s birthday. She’s my bestest friend.”
“Ah. Is that why you’ve got that pretty party dress on?”
“It is pretty.” As he set her down on her feet again she spread her skirt and did a little dance on her pointed toes. “Nanna made it for me.”
“That was nice of your nanna, wasn’t it? Now run along and sit at the table — I think the birthday cake will be along in a minute.”
The child ran back to her friends, wriggling into her place. “That’s Uncle Bill,” she informed them proudly. “He milks cows.”
Debbie, usually so deftly efficient, was fumbling to put two pasties into a paper bag. She finally managed it and held them out to him with another shy smile.
“Thank you.” He took out his wallet and tapped his credit card on the reader, but he didn’t leave at once. “Um... Will... will you be coming to the cricket tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Another blush. “You know I always do the catering.”
“Oh yes — of course.” He grinned, glanced away, glanced back. “I’ll see you there then. Goodbye.”
“Yes. Goodbye.”
Vicky had been clearing one of the tables. She paused as she stepped past Debbie to put the things in the dishwasher. “He likes you.”
“Um . . .”
“And you like him.”
If Debbie had blushed any deeper she would have rivalled the tomatoes on the pizza.
“So why don’t you get it together?”
“It’s not that simple.” Debbie had picked up a tea towel and was twisting it in her hands. “There’s Amy.”
“But she adores him,” Vicky insisted. “And he seems very fond of her.”
“I know. That’s the problem. If I... if we... I don’t want her to get too attached to him in case... What if it turns out like Alan again?”
“Why would it?” Vicky arched an eyebrow. “Is he like Alan?”
“No! Nothing like him — not at all. But...” Debbie shrugged, trying to smile. “I don’t think I’m a very good judge of men.”
“Rubbish. He seems like a really nice bloke. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”
“I suppose...” She shook her head, fussing with hanging the tea cloth back on its hook. “Um... It’s time for the birthday cake.”
Vicky let the subject drop. But she hadn’t forgotten about it.
The birthday cake was met with squeals of excitement. Debbie had made a plain sponge, but covered it with pink fondant icing and designed a castle gate complete with drawbridge, and arrow-slit windows all round. Set around the top were five turrets made of icing sugar, each with a candle, and in the middle was a tiny princess and a white knight.
“Oh, that’s fabulous!” Vicky exclaimed. “How did you make the little figures?”
“They’re just the bride and groom figures you get on a wedding cake. I added a few bits, and coloured them different with food colouring.” She smiled crookedly. “Actually they’re from my own wedding cake. I thought it was about time they made themselves useful.”
Vicky laughed. “Too right!”
The candles were blown out and the cake cut with due ceremony. By the time the last few crumbs had been demolished, some of the children were getting fidgety, leaving the table and starting to run around the café.
“Oh dear.” Debbie watched them anxiously. “I hope none of them are going to be sick.”
“Don’t worry — their mums will be here soon to pick them up.”
As she spoke the door opened. But it wasn’t a parent — it was Jeremy and Jayde. And at the precise moment they walked in, a miniature Wyatt Earp ran towards them — and threw up a virulent amalgam of pink cake, jelly and ice cream all over Jeremy’s highly polished shoes.
“What the... ?” He leaped back, roaring in anger. “Get away from me, you disgusting child!”
Wyatt Earp promptly burst into tears.
Vicky hunkered down to put her arms around the child. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She glared up at Jeremy. “Really, Jeremy, there was no need to get angry with him — he’s just a child.”
“I’m not angry.” The thin line of his mouth belied his words. “But these are new shoes. Anyway, we just came down to see if you were coming home yet.”
“Not yet. There’s still some clearing up to do.”
Debbie had run to grab a roll of paper towels from behind the counter to clear up the mess. “Here — let me wipe your shoes.”
Jeremy snatched the roll from her. “Don’t bother. You’d do better to clean the floor up before someone slips on it.”
“Oh . . . yes.”
Vicky could see that Debbie’s eyes were filling with tears as she hurried to fetch the mop and bucket. The little cowboy was still wailing, and several of the other children were ready to join in.
The door opened again. Tom. He took in the scene in one swift glance, and swooped to swing the weeping cowboy up onto his hip. “What have you been up to, you unspeakable brat?”
The insult brought an instant beaming smile to the child’s cake-smeared face. “I was sick,” he announced with pride. “As sick as anything.”
“I’m not surprised. I bet you’ve been stuffing your face all afternoon, and then whirling around like a screaming banshee. I’m sorry,” he added, his apology taking in both Debbie and Jeremy. “Are there any damages?”
Jeremy glared at him. “My shoes. Just look at the state of them.”
“They’ll clean.” Vicky’s voice was sharper than she had intended. Not just because of Jeremy’s arrogant manner but...
Tom — and his son.
Of course — she should have known he’d be married. A man like that — there was no way some woman wouldn’t have made sure of him. Well, so what? She’d acknowledge that he was superficially attractive, but that was all. She’d put him out of her mind easily enough — after all, she was only staying for another few days.
Anyway, he shouldn’t be smiling at her like that, his eyes warm with humour as if they were sharing a private joke. He had a wife, and a child. That told her a lot about the sort of person he was — not the sort that any sensible woman would want to get involved with.
And besides, she was engaged. She slanted a guilty glance at Jeremy, but he was still busy wiping the vomit from his shoes and didn’t seem to have noticed.
“Come on then, brat.” Tom had put the child down, but kept a firm hold on his hand. “Let’s get you home and get you cleaned up before your mum sees the state of you. Thank Auntie Debbie for the party, and say sorry to the gentleman for being sick on his shoes.”
The child obeyed, though the thanks were rather more enthusiastic than the apology. “Can we watch Pirates?” he demanded as they left.
“If you behave yourself.”
As the door closed behind father and son, Vicky let go the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. At least seeing them together should put an end to her silly fantasies. Even if she wasn’t engaged herself, married men were strictly off limits.
More parents had arrived to collect their little ones, and there was a general melee of goodbyes and thank yous. Each child left with a party bag and one of the balloons from the arch.
Debbie surveyed the remaining debris with a wry smile. “Well, that wasn’t too bad. Only one of them was sick. Thank you so much for helping.”
Vicky laughed, snaffling a leftover scrap of icing from the birthday cake. “No problem — it was fun. Their little faces — especially when you brought out the cake.”
“I hope... I mean, I hope your sister’s friend is okay, after what happened.” Debbie spoke quietly, glancing back over her shoulder to where Jeremy had seated himself at one of the tables. “It’s not very nice to be sicked over.”
“Ah...” Vicky managed a crooked smile. “He’s not Jayde’s friend — he’s my fiancé.”
“Oh . . .”
And he had behaved appallingly. She felt as if she should apologise to Debbie for his attitude, but why should she? It was on him. But he never apologised. He was always right — somehow it was everyone else who was wrong.
Jayde had finished cleaning up Jeremy’s shoes. “There you are — good as new.”
“Thank you.” He slanted a chilly glance at Vicky — a glance clearly meant to inform her that it should have been her cleaning his shoes. “So, are you ready to come home?”
“I’m just going to help Debbie finish clearing up — I’ll be about half an hour. Would you like to stay and have a coffee?”
“All right.” It was a grudging concession, but probably as much as she was going to get.
* * *
Vicky eased herself carefully in the bed. Jeremy was beside her, his back to her, and she didn’t want to risk waking him. She had been uncomfortable about sharing the bed with him, but she hadn’t been able to think of an excuse not to — especially as it would have meant one of them sleeping downstairs on the sofa.
Fortunately, after a rather stilted evening — dinner in the restaurant of the Carleton Hotel, followed by a few drinks in the pub and a slow walk home up the hill — he had bestowed a casual goodnight kiss and had been asleep by the time she had returned from the bathroom.
A glance at her bedside clock told her that it was almost two o’clock. In London there would still be the roar of traffic on the busy main road, but here the only sound was the occasional gust of wind rattling the window.
She slipped silently out of bed and crept over to the window, and parted a narrow crack between the curtains. In the pale glimmer of moonlight the garden was a fairy kingdom of silver and shadows.
The soft night breeze drifting up from the sea rustled in the leaves and the long grass, swirling around this old cottage — and on to the rambling stone farmhouse a few hundred yards up the lane.
Where Tom would be sleeping.
Lying in bed, that lithe male body totally relaxed, those long dark lashes shadowing his cheeks. What did he wear in bed? Pyjama pants? Boxer shorts? Or... nothing at all...
But of course he wouldn’t be alone, she reminded herself sharply. There would be a wife in bed beside him. And his son sleeping in another room nearby.
So, no more silly fantasies. Tom Cullen was strictly off limits.
Drawing in a long, slow breath to steady the rapid beat of her heart, she tiptoed back to bed. Jeremy was still fast asleep, snoring quietly. Slipping under the duvet she closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep.
* * *
She must have drifted off eventually, waking as Jeremy began to stir beside her. She slipped quietly out of bed and picked up her clothes, and escaped to the bathroom before she had to face him.
She needed these few moments to gather her thoughts. This situation couldn’t drag on any longer — she had to face the truth. It wasn’t just arrogance — Jeremy was a bully.
When had he started to get like that? He hadn’t always been like it. When she had first met him he had been charming, considerate. Confident, yes, but not arrogant — and certainly not a bully.
He had always known what he wanted — and she had been happy enough to go along with him, because there hadn’t really been anything she felt strongly enough about to argue with him.
And somehow, imperceptibly, that had slipped into a situation where he dominated the relationship, assumed she would agree with whatever he wanted, and got petulant if she disagreed.
And she had been letting him get away with it. But no more. It was time to stand up for herself, refuse to be manipulated. Tell him that their relationship, their engagement, was over. Start a new life.
It was a scary thought — it would alter the whole course of her life.
The image in the mirror above the sink gazed back at her. “Come on,” it scolded. “You’re a grown woman. You’re twenty-six-years-old — you’re intelligent, you’re not bad looking even if you’re a bit on the skinny side and your hair isn’t quite blonde. You can do this.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Oh Lord, as if it wasn’t bad enough arguing with her satnav — now she was arguing with her own reflection. Was that worse?
A tap on the door brought an end to the debate. “Vicky? How much longer are you going to be in there?”
“Just coming.” She flushed the loo, washed her hands, and opened the door. “Sorry. It’s all yours.”
Jeremy merely grunted and stepped past her. He was never at his best first thing in the morning.
* * *
They met again at the breakfast table. Jeremy was wearing a clean white shirt — he always wore a clean shirt every day, perfectly ironed. He ironed them himself, being very particular that it was done correctly.
“Good morning.” He bent to drop a brief kiss on her cheek, and took the seat opposite her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” How formal, how polite! Beneath the table she twisted the diamond ring on her finger. Should she take it off now, hand it to him, end their engagement — quick and clean?
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Bacon and eggs?” she offered.
“Yes, that will do.”
Focussing on the frying pan gave her a few moments to think about what she wanted to say. It’s not you, it’s me. A cliché, which didn’t even have the virtue of being true.
I don’t feel this is working. We’re drifting apart.But that would give him something to argue against, an opportunity to browbeat her into backing down. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t love you — I don’t even like you very much...
“Morning everyone!” Jayde bounced into the room, her cheerful greeting a startling contrast to her usual early morning manner. “Mmm — breakfast. That smells good.”
“You want bacon and eggs?” Vicky queried, startled.
“Yes, please.”
Apparently the diet she had been so fussy about yesterday had been abandoned. Jayde was prone to do that, then moan that she never managed to lose weight. Not that she needed to — she had a great figure, slim but with the sort of curves that Vicky had always envied.
At least her arrival meant there was no chance of settling the situation with Jeremy. Maybe she was a coward, but she was forced to admit that it was something of a relief. Later...
Or maybe when she got back to London. After all, it was a big decision she was making. It would help if she had some concrete plans in place for her future. A job, at least. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t get a glowing reference from Jeremy’s mother.
The bacon was sizzling in the pan. She shifted it onto the warmed plates, and cracked the eggs. In a moment she brought the two plates over to the table and sat down to finish her toast.
Jayde frowned down at her plate as if slightly surprised that she had asked for so many calories. Picking up her knife and fork she began to carefully trim the rind and fat from the bacon. “Are you coming home today?” she asked, cutting off a tiny piece of bacon and forking it into her mouth.
Vicky slanted a brief glance at Jeremy. “Not today. There are still a few more things I need to sort out here. I have another week of annual leave.”
Was it her imagination, or was there something in the look that passed between him and her sister? No... she was just being paranoid — maybe because of her own guilty conscience.
Although they did seem to be getting on better than usual this weekend. And what had they been doing yesterday afternoon, when they had been alone together for more than an hour... ?
She watched them covertly as she ate her toast. Every look, every smile... was she reading more into it than was really there?
Jeremy finished his breakfast and placed his knife and fork neatly side by side on his plate. “Well, since there’s nothing more for me to do here, I’ll be leaving. Forward the quote to me when you get it. And arrange for at least two more. I’ve identified several other builders who seem suitable and emailed their details to you.”
“Thank you.” Somehow Vicky kept her smile in place.
“I’ll fetch my bag.”
“Right...” Vicky began to clear the table and load the washing-up into the sink.
“I don’t suppose you need a hand with that, do you?” Jayde asked.
“No, thanks — I can manage.”
“Okay.” She swirled out of the kitchen.
At least she was in a good mood, Vicky reflected as she wiped the plates and propped them in the wire drainer. Maybe the next couple of days wouldn’t be too bad after all.
She heard Jeremy’s footsteps on the stairs and turned from the sink to say goodbye. He came into the kitchen and slid his arm around her shoulders and kissed her — a proper kiss this time, but quite brief.
“I’ll see you in a few days then.”
“Yes. Well, probably Saturday. I’d like to get everything sorted out, so I won’t need to come down again for a while.”
“Good. Don’t forget about the quote, and the other builders.”
“I won’t.” It was easier to agree with him than to argue.
He opened the door, then glanced back over his shoulder as Jayde came dancing down the stairs, bouncing her suitcase behind her. “Ah — you’re ready.”
“Bye, Vicky!” Jayde trilled. “See you at the weekend.”
“But . . . what . . . ?”
“Jerry’s offered me a lift back to London. Isn’t that sweet of him? You know how I hate the train.” And with that she was off, trundling her suitcase down the path.
Vicky could only stare, lost for words, as Jeremy piled Jayde’s suitcase in the boot with his own, and the pair of them settled into the front of the grey BMW, not even bothering with a wave of farewell as they drove off down the lane.
So... what did all that mean — if it meant anything at all? Was it entirely innocent or was there something going on — absurd as it seemed?
Whatever, she had made up her mind. Climbing the stairs to Molly’s bedroom she stood for a moment gazing out over the garden, the fields, the sea. Then with a decisive movement she twisted off her diamond ring and left it in the trinket tray on the dressing table.