Chapter Seven
The rest of the day passes like fine-milled sand through my fingers. Still in a state of shock, I shut up shop half an hour early and beetle upstairs to my flat.
What are the chances that the woman I befriended in New York, the one who took everything from me, turns up in the village I escaped to and asks me to design her wedding dress? It’s got to be some sort of cosmic joke, the universe’s idea of entertainment.
For hours, I sit cross-legged on the sofa with my sketchbook open before me, praying for inspiration to strike. I sketch out a few tentative designs, only to tear out the pages and screw them up in frustration.
Have I lost my touch? Maybe the mess I created back in Paris has tailed me all the way to England, and it’s been biding its time, waiting until the opportune moment to rear its ugly head and tear down everything I’ve worked so hard to build.
I glance at the form poking out of the top of my handbag, the one with Zoe’s contact information. Maybe I should call her and let her know she’ll have to find someone else to make her wedding gown. I mean, I have the right to refuse service, don’t I? And if I’m to refuse anyone’s, well, she’s definitely top of the list. It’s sort of audaciously impressive that she has the gall to even ask me to help her, after what she did to me. But that’s Zoe - fearless, ballsy, ruthless. I only knew her for the couple of weeks we were in New York, but it didn’t take a detective to glean that information from her.
Stupidly, I admired her for those qualities. I even wished I were more like her - until she did what she did. I’d never do that to anyone, least of all someone who thought they were my friend.
Before I can question the decision, I reach for my mobile and dial in her number.
‘Hello?’ Her sing-songy voice calls out.
My throat runs dry, and my mind goes blank. ‘Erm, Zoe? It’s - it’s Lottie.’
‘Oh, hi!’ Those sickly sweet honeyed tones she speaks in are enough to make me gag. ‘How’s the design coming along? I know you were having a bit of trouble earlier, weren’t you?’
The false sympathy, the condescension, it’s too much to handle …
‘It’s going great,’ I swallow hard as my tongue twists out lies of its own accord. ‘In fact, I was wondering if you were available this coming Saturday to come and have a look at what I’ve come up with.’
What am I doing?
‘Oh, fabulous! I just knew you had it in you, hun! Hm, let’s see.’ I can hear her flicking through the pages of a diary. ‘Well, I’m back in London tomorrow, but I’m supposed to come down and stay with Kit for the weekend, there’s some silly fair in the village on Sunday he’s desperate to go to.’ She barks out a sharp, scathing laugh. ‘I’m sure I can pop into your little shop on Saturday, let’s see if you’re up to the task.’
I grit my teeth. ‘Great. I’ll see you then, say ten o’clock?’
‘Perfect!’ I cringe at the fake enthusiasm in her voice, too fake for me not to take as an insult. ‘See you then.’
The line goes dead.
Muffling my screams, I bury my head into a cushion, wishing I could disappear inside of it and live amongst the stuffing for the rest of my days. What the hell did I just do?
Ugh, Zoe just got to me, with her insincerity and her subtle jabs that sting like a knife’s edge. Quitting now would have felt like surrender, and I just couldn’t give her the satisfaction.
So instead of telling her where to go, I’ve brought the deadline for the preliminary design forward.
Nice one, Lottie. Real nice.