Chapter Sixteen
‘So?’ I study Lucy anxiously as she twirls in front of her bedroom mirror, silken skirts swishing around her slippered feet. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think that it’s perfect!’ Before I have a chance to breathe out a sigh of relief, she flounces over and squeezes the air out of me in a great big hug. ‘It’s truly perfect! I’ll be the best dressed for sure.’
‘Well, that’s fitting, considering the whole event is to honour you and your books.’ I examine the back of the gown, frowning. ‘There’s a little gaping here, I’ll take it back to fix that up. Don’t worry, it’ll be ready in time for the ball.’
Lucy pulls an agonised face. ‘Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m so nervous, but hey, at least I’ll look good! I better take this off before I spill something down it.’ Carefully, she begins to unlace the gown. ‘Want to stay for a cuppa?’
‘Can’t, I’ve got to get back to the boutique. I’m dropping another dress off today, and it needs to be with the client before noon.’
‘Ah, I won’t keep you then. Thank you so much for this, Lottie. I feel like a real lady from the regency era!’
‘You look like one.’
As I watch Lucy spin around with glee, I toy with a hangnail, considering how much I should say. Opening up is never easy, especially when you’ve been burned before, but getting to know her over the last few weeks has be an unexpected joy.
‘You know … I spent the first few months in Lily Vale getting the shop ready to open and I never really spoke to anyone, but I just wanted to say I - well, I’m really glad we’re friends,’ I murmur into my chest as my face floods with heat.
When I dare to glance up, Lucy is beaming back, and that hot flush in my cheeks dissolves into a warm glow. ‘Me too.’
I never knew adult friendships could be like this, I thought the concept of a best friend was just for kids, something childish you left behind after school was done with. It pains me to think that I’ve missed out on years of potential closeness with other women. Well, now that I have a great friend, I’ll never take her for granted. I’ll never be a Zoe.
Leaving Lucy in her fluffy dressing gown, I carry the parcelled-up dress out into the early morning sunshine, shielding my eyes from its bright rays.
I wonder if Victor’s out and about, I think to myself as I stroll down Lucy’s crazy-paved garden path.
Lo and behold, he’s on his hands and knees in the front garden, weeding an already perfect flowerbed. My shadow casts over him as I approach his red picket fence and he looks up in delight.
‘Why, hello Lottie!’ Victor wipes his brow with a spotted handkerchief. ‘And how are you on this fine morning?’
‘I’m well. Thanks for lending me the cookbook, by the way. The lasagne went down a treat with my dad.’
‘Wonderful!’ Victor claps his muddy hands together. ‘I must say, I am rather enjoying my plant-based experiment, I have so much energy these days! Though I must confess, I’m much more windy too, must be all those leafy greens!’
Hmm … a little too much information there, Victor.
After saying goodbye to my gassy friend, I set off on the brief journey back to the boutique. A glance at my phone tells me it’s only twenty to ten, and as I reach the front door of the boutique, I dive in my bag for the keys. Only … I can’t find them.
‘Oh, merde!’ I curse as I rifle desperately through my handbag, but no matter which pocket my fingers scramble inside, they come up frustratingly empty. ‘No, no, no!’
Did I drop them somewhere on the way back from Lucy’s? Or did I somehow manage to leave them inside when I closed the shop door? Either way, this is a disaster. Joanie is counting on me to deliver the dress, she’s leaving for the cruise in a matter of hours!
Frantic, I try to conjure up a plan. Should I … should I kick the door in? Am I even strong enough to do that? Timidly, I touch the hard oak of the frame. I doubt I can get that to budge, and I don’t fancy shoving my foot through glass.
‘Locked yourself out?’
I recognise that rhythmic tone, that deep voice that sends quivers of lightning over my skin. Sure enough, when I bring myself to glimpse over my shoulder, there’s Kit, sporting an extremely amused expression. If only I could slap that grin off of his stupid face.
‘I’m glad you think it’s so funny!’ I rage at him, arms crossed defensively. ‘There’s a dress in there I need to deliver to a client like, right now, and I’ve no way of getting to it.’
‘Wait, so you really have locked yourself out?’ He comes closer, the smirk swiftly disappearing.
‘Locked myself out, lost the key, you choose, it’s still the same outcome.’ I slump hopelessly against the door. ‘I’m screwed.’
‘You’re not screwed, we can fix this.’ He grabs his phone and dials in a number. ‘I’ll call a locksmith.’
And before I can argue, he does just that. Kit parrots the address as I watch with bated breath, not daring to hope that they might be able to come in time.
‘Can you come as quickly as possible?’ His shoulders relax some, and I allow myself to release the breath I’ve been holding in. ‘Great. We’ll be waiting.’ He hangs up and turns to me. ‘They said they’ll be here within the hour.’
An hour - that’s just enough time to parcel up Joanie’s dress and bring it to Simmons Farm before she and Abe leave for the cruise ship - so long as the locksmith is true to their word, that is.
The scent of his heady colonel dizzying my senses, Kit leans against the brick wall beside me, legs crossed and head impishly cocked to one side.
‘We’ve got a bit of a wait ahead of us, haven’t we?’
I squint at him. ‘We?’
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Thought you might want the company. Did I presume incorrectly?’
I don’t reply, at least at first. But that maddening half-smile dancing across his lips won’t abate, and so with a reluctant and slightly exaggerated sigh, I cave.
‘Okay, fine. It would be boring waiting all alone, anyway.’
At the first sign of my agreement, Kit plants himself down on the floor, and pats the gritty ground beside him, indicating for me to sit. I roll my eyes dramatically, but I bend to sit beside him. As I squat down, my heavy handbag shifts on my shoulder and falls to the floor. The impact scatters its contents across the pavement and I stoop to grab them, but Kit is faster. With impressive speed, he gathers my belongings and quickly slots them back inside the bag, all except for the pink design folder. His eyes light up with curiosity and he flicks through it, grinning wryly.
‘Hello, what’s this?’
‘Hey, give that back!’ I snap.
‘Okay, okay. I’m not a schoolyard bully, you know, I wasn’t planning on playing piggy in the middle with it.’
He passes it over, and I try to ignore the spark of energy between our fingers as they lightly brush. It was probably just a static shock, right?
‘Those are your designs, I take it?’
A little discomposed, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and nod. ‘Every dress I’ve ever made starts off in here. Well, technically it starts in a sketchbook, but the decent designs end up in my folder before they become the final gown.’
‘So, how’s Zoe’s dress coming along, then?’ Kit asks, his tone surprisingly inquisitive. ‘Has she tried it on yet?’
‘We haven’t got that far. She still hasn’t settled on a design, but I’ve drawn an updated one to show her tomorrow that I think she’ll like.’
‘Can I see it?’
Frowning, I hold the folder out of his reach. ‘Certainly not! It’s bad luck.’
‘No, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, not the dress. Especially not a drawing of the dress.’
‘Whatever, it’s still a no.’
I’d braced myself for an hour of stilted conversation and awkward silences, but it’s not like that at all. There’s no pauses, awkward or otherwise, no lulls, the conversation flows like honey.
Who knew we’d have so much to talk about!
‘So, Tanya tells me you’ve known Zoe for a few months.’ I speak nonchalantly, wary not to appear too nosy. ‘She must be pretty special to you if you put a ring on it so quickly.’
‘Yeah well, we met on set and just hit it off.’ His mouth twists and he averts his gaze. ‘I guess some people would say we’ve moved a little fast, but it makes sense for us, you know?’
‘I get it.’ Though I don’t at all . ‘You’re a fashion photographer, then?’
‘Not really, that was just a freelance job I landed, I get a few of them a year. But my full-time position is at the local newspaper, the Lily Vale Post.’
‘Oh, Zoe never mentioned that.’
He rubs at his neck. ‘It’s because she wishes it wasn’t my job. She’s been on at me to get into fashion photography, and don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy it, but it’s just not me. I prefer to get in there with real people, you know? Share their stories and be a part of something that can make a difference to the community, no matter how small.’ With haste, he blinks the passion from his eyes and gives an embarrassed chuckle. ‘Ah, that probably sounds cheesy as hell to you.’
‘No, it makes total sense to me,’ I assure him with a smile. ‘I can understand that.’
‘Well, I’ve asked one of my buddies from the paper if he can do us a favour and take pictures of the wedding. I don’t fancy playing photographer and groom all in one day.’
‘It would be difficult!’ I snigger. ‘Aw, I bet your parents are excited about the big day.’
Kit’s hazel eyes turn glassy and he slowly brings them to his feet before him. ‘They died, four years ago. Car accident.’
I cover my mouth with my hand, horrified. ‘I - I’m so sorry.’
I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been for him, and for Tanya. She would have been ten when they passed, old enough to understand, but young enough to need someone to be strong for her. I guess Kit’s had to be big brother, mum and dad, all rolled into one.
He offers a pale smile, though it fails to reach his eyes. ‘It’s been hard, but we’re getting through it, me and Tanya. Together.’
Hearing him talk about his sister thaws what little frostiness I had reserved for him. It’s clear how much he cares for her, and anyone can see the bond they share is unbreakable.
‘I had this tattoo for them.’ He points to the ink on his calf. ‘The sun is Dad, the moon is Mum, and the stars are Tanya.’
Unexpectedly, my eyes brim with tears, and I have to wipe them away with a finger. ‘That’s so sweet.’
Kit exhales shakily then turns to me. ‘So, what about you?’ He pokes me gently in the ribs. ‘What’s your story?’
‘There’s not much to tell, really.’ I rest my chin on my knees. ‘I spent my childhood on the Eurostar, living between my mother and father. That’s it, really.’
‘That’s it?’ He scoffs. ‘There’s more to the story than that, Lottie Bell. I can tell.’
‘Fine, if you’re going to force it out of me.’
I give him a playful shove, and he responds in kind until we’re both laughing like twin hyenas.
‘Well, it wasn’t easy growing up around my Mama. We never really got on and I’d miss my dad so much, but he couldn’t afford to move countries to be close to us, so I savoured what time I got with him.’
‘That sounds rough.’
‘It was, but fashion was my main escape. The hours I spent travelling flew by when I had my sketchbook and an idea.’ I blush when I realise Kit is smiling at me. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a fashion designer.’
‘Well, you made that dream come true, didn’t you?’
‘Sort of.’ I shuffle beside him, suddenly more uncomfortable than ever on the hard ground. ‘I - I used to work for Hélène Laport, back in Paris.’
Understandably impressed, his eyes widen. ‘Wow, so why did you come here, then?’
I have no answer for that, or, at least, no answer I’m willing to give. The truth is that I was ashamed, outcast, disgraced for a mistake that could never be forgiven. My budding career as I knew it was in tatters, and the only way I could see moving forward was to literally leave the country and run to the arms of my dad, the one who’s always been there for me, even when there was a whole sea between us.
He must sense my uncertainty, because he fidgets at my side and throws me an apologetic, sideways glance. ‘Sorry, did I put my foot in it?’
‘No, no. Well, not exactly.’ I sigh, not sure how much I should divulge. After all, this is the fianceé of my client, and the client is the snake who got me fired. Despite everything, I really don’t want Zoe to cancel her gown, not now that I’ve come this far. ‘It’s complicated.’
Thankfully, Kit seems to take the hint and doesn’t poke any further.
In just under an hour’s time, the locksmith’s van pulls up beside us. It takes mere moments for him to open the lock and I linger in the doorway, glancing shyly at Kit.
‘Thanks for waiting with me.’ My voice comes out inexplicably shaky and soft, and I clear my throat in an attempt to regain composure. ‘It was a lot more fun than sitting by myself.’
‘No worries.’ His eyes seem to glitter in the dappled sunlight. ‘It was nice to get to know you. You’re a pretty interesting person, Lottie Bell.’
Warily, I scan the comment for any trace of sarcasm, but it comes up clear, and the smile on his lips seems genuine too. I allow myself to smile back, and a weird stirring starts up in my gut, as if hundreds of butterflies are emerging from their chrysalises, all at once.
And right now, it feels as if they’re all about to lurch out of my mouth.
‘Well … I-I’ll see you later.’
I turn my back and hurry inside the boutique, but I hear him softly respond, ‘See you later,’ before I shut the door.
Once alone, I do a mad dash around the boutique, in search of the key. Ah, there’s the bloody thing! Bang slap in the middle of my desk, its position almost mocking me with how obvious it is.
Ugh, what is wrong with me? I must be getting sick, or something.
Before my illness progresses further, I hastily parcel up Joanie’s powder blue gown in silver tissue paper, pack it into a gift box tied with a pink bow and head out the door, remembering to stuff my key inside my jeans pocket this time.
As I stroll through the farm gates, I’m greeted by a large shaggy dog and Joanie, accompanied by a man who must be Abe, her husband.
‘Ah, so you’re the lass who’s been making my Joanie’s dress.’ Abe’s grin shines amid his salt-and-pepper beard. ‘I’ve heard lots about you, Lottie Bell.’
‘The same, Abraham Simmons.’
He laughs heartily, weathered hands resting on his flannel-covered belly. ‘So, do I get a preview of this famous dress, or what?’
With a raised eyebrow, I promptly hand the ivory box to his wife. ‘I think you should wait until she can model it. But believe me, sir, you won’t be disappointed!’
I wink at Joanie and turn down the winding country lanes, dodging the muddy puddles along the way. I accidentally step into a couple, but I don’t mind that my best jeans get splashed with dirty water.
My heart feels … light, my feet as though they are prancing through fluffy clouds. I could dig deeper into what’s got me so giddy, but I don’t want to mess up my mood with complications.
Just for now, I want to be a girl strolling down a country road, a skip in her step and butterflies in her tummy.