23. Chapter 23
23
K atie glanced at her face in the mirror. Smoky eyes stared back at her, full, bright red lips gleamed. Her hair was loose, moving about her shoulders in soft waves that she prayed would make it to the end of the night. Long, slender gold earrings with tiny diamonds at the ends brushed against the base of her throat.
On the outside, she was the epitome of glamour, a woman in her prime looking forward to a night out. On the inside, she felt like she was clinging on by her fingernails. She had raised the spectre of that night with Tom and suggested what she thought was the most logical explanation for what had happened. Logical or not, it wasn’t the explanation she wanted. It wasn’t how she felt. But every time she thought it might be something more , a little voice in her head popped up.
That’s what everyone on the rebound thinks.
Then he had agreed with her. The hollow of disappointment spread in the pit of her stomach when he said, ‘You’re probably right.’
She had been so ready to be persuaded differently. Ready for Tom to shake his head, tell her she had this all wrong. This was more than a rebound fling. There was something more there, something they should explore. She had wanted to say, ‘No, Tom, that’s not how this goes. Prove me wrong!’
Instead, he had had no trouble agreeing that, yes, it was likely a rebound thing. Which, she supposed, just proved her logical assessment right—that’s all it was, all it could be, even if she wished otherwise. His words, one-night stand, had echoed in her head multiple times a day since they had last seen one another in the pub. The finality of that assessment of their time together had hurt more than she could say. All week, she had been distracted and irritated, picking at her food and struggling to keep on top of her work appointments.
‘One-night stand.’
Tonight, she would see him again, possibly for the last time. The business dinner was the last event they had agreed to go to together. The thought that there might just be hours left to spend with Tom had her hand trembling as she applied another coat of mascara.
Maybe they’d stay friends. At least until one of them met someone else, then they’d drift back out of each other’s lives until he was just someone she knew once. A character in an old story about how, years ago, she was cheated on, and she and this guy made a pact to help them through it. And once in a blue moon, she would think about Pisa, about the stairwell, about the apartment. She would stop and blush and wonder about what could have been.
She sniffed and tossed her head vigorously to snap herself out of it. She owed tonight to Tom. To be on glittering form and support him at the awards and in the face of Ryan and Melissa, who would no doubt be flaunting their engagement news to anyone who would stand still for long enough.
She unlooped her dressing gown belt and dropped it onto the bed, turning to face the blue satin dress. Unhooking the straps from the coat hanger, she let it pool on the floor, then slowly drew it up over her hips and waist, carefully dipping her arms through the spaghetti straps and settling them on her shoulders. She did up the tiny zip on her hip that held it all in place. Slipping her feet into gold high-heeled sandals, she turned to the mirror, twisting this way and that. The deep, royal blue shimmered in the evening light from the window, the perfect foil to the loose red waves of her hair. The freckles across her cheeks and nose—there were a few more since the trip to Pisa—were golden against her pale skin.
Her phone buzzed. The taxi had arrived. She had suggested that Tom and she meet at the venue. She didn’t want him to pick her up from home with things as confused as they were.
There were butterflies in her belly as she reached for a soft honey-coloured wrap and dropped her lipstick and phone into her clutch bag.
Katie walked down the stairs carefully, holding on to the bannister lest a heel got stuck in the carpet. The taxi tooted from outside. She yanked open the door, nodded, and held one finger up—the universal sign for ‘a minute’.
The driver rocked his head—he’d seen it all before.
She paused to look in the mirror in the hall. The low neckline of the dress and the fine spaghetti straps meant a lot of smooth skin was on show. Katie smiled and took a deep breath—too late to change into something more demure now. At least this dress had straps, so she should be spared any wardrobe malfunctions.
Glancing around the house, she flipped off the hall light, snicked the door shut, and headed to the taxi.
The Town Hall, where the illustrious Barnsford and District Business Awards dinner was held, was all lit up. The little taxi rank at the bottom of the steps was one in, one out, and Katie’s driver queued to find a spot where he could drop her near the steps. In the back of the cab, Katie was taking deep breaths. Nerves were trying to get the better of her, and they were doing a great job of breeding and multiplying. She inhaled for a count of four, then out for four.
No bloody help at all.
As the taxi angled itself to pull into the rank and let her out, Katie saw Tom. He was leaning against one of the big pillars at the top of the steps of the old Town Hall in a black tuxedo. He looked like he was about to jog easily down the steps to star in an aftershave advert.
Accounting, pour Homme.
Katie’s stomach turned over, and the nerves multiplied some more. As she watched, Tom adjusted his cuffs and checked his watch, looking around. For her, she assumed and her pulse jumped.
The taxi driver jerked to a halt, and Katie paid the meter. Her palms felt clammy as she shoved at the door and exited as elegantly as she could in her evening dress.
Bouncing the taxi door closed with her hip, Katie turned to face the steps. Tom was shaking hands with a couple who had just arrived and hadn’t seen her yet.
As she approached the bottom of the steps, Tom waved goodbye to the couple and turned his head. He looked at her, and his mouth fell open. He stood for a moment at the top of the steps, staring at her.
Katie gave a tentative smile and lifted her hand in greeting. Reaching for the wide stone balustrade that ran up the side of the steps, she moved forward.
Tom bounded down the steps two at a time.
‘Hi’, he said, in a low voice when he reached her.
It was good to hear that voice again.
Leaning into her, Tom offered her his arm to ascend the stairs.
‘Here,’ he said, bending his head so the word brushed against her ear.
He offered his elbow.
‘Thanks,’ Katie said softly, not daring to turn her head and look up at him yet, and they started to climb the steps.
Around them, people were arriving in a noisy din, car horns tooting and people shouting greetings.
As they climbed, Tom covered her hand with his, where it rested in the crook of his arm, and said softly, ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’
Katie felt a flush of pleasure in her belly. ‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ she replied.
It sounded snappish, and she wished she could wind back three seconds and try again.
Tom didn’t flinch from her side. After a moment, he said, ‘Well, I’m really glad you’re here. And you look incredible.’
Katie was glad they were walking side by side so he couldn’t see her face.
‘So do you,’ she said. ‘Like James Bond.’
They reached the top of the steps, and Katie went to slide her hand out, but Tom held it in place with his, and they moved in sync through the huge oak doors into the grand foyer of the hall.
Gloved event staff took their names and directed them to their table. Katie knew from reading the local paper that Tom’s firm had bought an entire table and was in the running for the Best Local Business and Best Community Engagement Award. Tom’s friend, Martin, had been nominated for the Best Mentor Award.
An usher offered to take Katie’s wrap and returned a moment later with a ticket.
Inside the huge function room, a wooden vaulted ceiling arched high above them and echoed the sound of chatter back down. Coats of arms ran all the way around the top of the room, above the lavish polished oak panelling. Row upon row of large, round, white-cloth-covered tables filled the space. A stage at one end held a lectern, microphone, and a table full of awards.
As a freelancer, Katie didn’t go to many events like these. It was a strange new world. They passed two red-faced men clutching glasses of whiskey, braying about achievements in estate management, speaking over one another in attempts at one-upmanship. People’s plus ones sat awkwardly and alone at tables while their spouses networked at the bar. A stiff-backed woman in a navy ball gown at a table alone berated her husband through gritted teeth when he returned, apologetic about the time he’d been gone. Waiters circulated with hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne. Tom took two glasses, one for each of them.
Tom was attentive, leading her to his firm’s table. Little name cards at each place announced who was supposed to sit where. A larger card in a holder in the centre of the floral arrangement in the middle of the table informed everyone that this was Franklin-Smith and Co Chartered Accountants.
Tom pulled out a chair and indicated for Katie to sit. Katie gathered her dress under her and sat down as Tom gently pushed in the seat.
‘Hmm, this is all very formal and highfalutin,’ she said with a smile, hoping now to thaw any frostiness between them.
Tom took his seat beside her, angling his body towards hers. His eyes ran over the front of her dress before climbing slowly back to meet her eyes. She couldn’t read his expression, but a muscle in his cleanly shaven jaw twitched, and he swallowed.
‘The Barnsford and District Business Association thinks rather a lot of itself,’ he said. ‘They get snippy about being as good as the business associations in bigger cities. It’s like they are in competition with them all the time, but no one else knows the competition exists.’ He sipped his drink. ‘Hence all this.’ He took in the room with a sweep of his hand. ‘They charge a pretty penny for these tables, but everyone coughs up because if they win, they get featured in the local paper, so it’s free publicity.’
He smiled and rested his hand on the table in the space between them.
This was the most they had said to one another in a week. Katie could feel the awkwardness falling away.
‘Better start saving then,’ Katie said, offering up a smile. ‘You’ll be buying your own table next year.’
Behind them came the sound of shuffling and some chairs being moved. Tom turned, and his face broke out into a broad grin. He stood and shook a man’s hand. Beside the man was an attractive woman in a loose-flowing pink dress.
‘Martin and Gemma,’ Tom said, ‘let me introduce Katie.’
Martin raised an eyebrow.
‘So you’re Katie,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘Good to meet you.’ A look passed between the two men, and Katie could have sworn that Tom’s cheeks flushed slightly before he glanced at the floor.
Katie stood and took Martin’s outstretched hand. She had the distinct sense that she had been a topic of conversation between the two men. Tom was still studying his shoes.
‘Katie,’ Martin said, ‘this is my wife, Gemma.’
Gemma took Katie’s hand. ‘Very good to meet you,’ she said with great warmth, pressing Katie’s hand between both of hers. ‘Martin has told me about how you and Tom met. Well done to both of you for getting to the bottom of what was going on and making a good fist of it afterwards. If Martin ever did that to me, he’d be walking bowlegged for the rest of his days and living in a tent.’
Katie laughed and was about to turn back to her seat when Gemma added, with a conspiratorial grin, ‘And it sounds like you managed to have some fun along the way.’
Katie panicked. What did Gemma mean? Had Tom been talking to people about that night?
Then Gemma added, ‘That spa trip really did sound like a hoot. Though I’m not sure I’d have lasted the night, I think I’d have packed up and headed home!’
‘Oh yes.’ Katie breathed out after holding her breath for the past eight seconds. Chortling overly loudly like a madwoman, she said, ‘You mean the spa! Yes, that was fun. Funny! So funny!’
A static-filled announcement crackled over the sound system, asking guests to please take their seats and the venue lights flashed. Martin and Gemma inspected the name cards and found their seats. Tom, now more composed than Katie, who was trying to get her breathing to calm after finding Gemma’s comment about the spa far funnier than warranted, gently touched Katie’s arm. He was standing beside her chair, ready to push it in for her. A stray lock of dark hair had fallen forward towards one eye. His charcoal-coloured eyes were fixed on her, waiting.
If he wasn’t such a thoroughly decent man and if he could stop looking like he was about to beckon a barman and ask for something shaken, not stirred, this evening might be a whole lot easier. She settled into her seat and smiled at Martin and Gemma seated across from them.
The crowd was moving at a snail’s pace from the bar area to the tables, people trickling through, stopping every few paces to greet people or to peer at name cards on tables. Shouts of, ‘This is us!’ and, ‘Where’s our table?’ and ‘Are you sure this is right?’ rang around the room.
From the corner of her eye, Katie suddenly saw a familiar figure. It was Ryan, moving down the far side of the room. Marching, in fact, towards the Home&Place estate agents table. She knew that walk—he was cross about something. Watching as he pulled his chair out, she smirked to herself as he abruptly sat down and shimmy-slammed the chair in tight to the table, knocking over his neighbour’s wine glass in the process.
Katie felt a light touch on her forearm and shivered as Tom’s hand grazed her bare skin.
‘Our friends are here,’ Tom said, nodding towards the same far side of the room but further back, where Melissa was sashaying along, nodding and clasping at people’s hands as she went, like a member of the royal family at Wimbledon.
Tom’s arm was now resting along the back of Katie’s chair. She could smell his aftershave and feel the warmth from his body as he leaned slightly into her. They watched as Melissa approached the Home&Place table and placed her hand on Ryan’s shoulder. He shrugged his shoulder with his whole arm to brush her off, and she snatched her hand away like it had been burnt.
‘Uh oh,’ Tom murmured. His voice was so close to her ear that she had to resist the temptation to lean into him. ‘Trouble in paradise.’
Yes, uh oh. But not for the reasons he meant.
With Tom so close, Katie’s mind had catapulted back to that night in Pisa. To the memory of his mouth on hers as they pressed themselves into one another in the street, to him leading her up the stairs, to barely making it into the apartment.
‘Um, I need to visit the loo,’ she said abruptly, feeling her cheeks flame and her neck flush.
She needed to get away from Tom. For all the most sensible reasons.
‘You okay?’
Tom reached out as she stood a little shakily. His arm shot out, and he grabbed her chair to stop it from tipping over backwards into the path of a portly man with trousers slung low under his belly.
‘Yes, yes, fine,’ she said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile as she batted his hand away and pushed through the crowds towards the back of the room.
As the tables parted and the room opened up to the bar area, she could breathe again.
Relax, she urged herself. Let go. If this is all there is to be, enjoy it. Don’t spend the evening moping.
She could do that, she decided. Smile and chat and flirt and take whatever joy and fun she could from this evening, even if it all ended with carriages at midnight.
Then she came face to face with Ryan.
‘Katie, just give me two minutes. Please, hear me out.’