A Winter's Wedding (15 page)

‘No way, absolutely not.’

‘Please?’

‘No! When my parents are around I feel like I’m ten years old. Besides, you’d better take it easy for a while – you’ve eaten so much food.’

‘Okay, okay. So why would I think you’re a liar, then?’

‘Because I told you they were always a bit difficult. Yet so far today they’ve been very nice to you,’ she said crossly.

‘Of course they were nice to me. I bought them a lovely dinner,’ he said simply.

‘And they were chatting away to you non-stop. Usually they can’t wait to get away from me,’ she complained. ‘When I ring them they pretend there’s a caller at the door, or the toast’s on fire – any excuse to get me off the line. Once they even said there was a bomb scare in their street, and they had to evacuate to the community centre.’

‘I’m a new face. I’m a novelty,’ Dylan said kindly.

‘I guess so …’ she said sadly.

‘Yeah, I reckon they just find life a lot more difficult than the rest of us. They’re a nervous little pair, aren’t they?’

‘You’re a good man.’

‘You’re worth it.’

‘No, you’ve a good heart,’ she said generously.

‘Ah, come on, it’s easy for me to be kind to them, because they aren’t my parents. I might be cross with them too, if they were my mum and dad. Just try thinking of them as endearingly hopeless rather than deliberately awkward, yes?’

‘Okay, but I think tomorrow is going to be tough on you,’ she added.

‘No, it’ll be fine; I’ll take them to the shop for the day, if the roads are going to be a problem,’ Dylan said. ‘I can bring them to the stables another day. Yeah, I’ll take them to the shop and let them have a good old smash-and-grab on the new donations.’

‘I wonder, would they be offended, though?’ she asked.

‘I’ll tell them it’s a new sort of boutique, and not a charity shop as such. You know it looks great nowadays,’ he said, undoing her buttons and kissing her shoulder again. He slid one leg across Emily’s knees and pulled her closer to him. ‘You look really sexy in those flowery pyjamas. All 1950s and so hot, hot, hot …’

‘I do not look hot. Don’t talk utter rubbish.’

‘You’re gorgeous; those pyjamas are doing things to me,’ he whispered huskily.

‘I told you, I cannot undress with them in the next room,’ she hissed.

‘Okay, then – we’ll compromise,’ he said.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ she asked.

‘I can be very discreet when I want to be,’ Dylan said, slipping one hand inside Emily’s pyjama bottoms. ‘Just a little something to relax you, Miss Reilly, after the stressful day you’ve had today?’

‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she told him. ‘Don’t you dare touch me, I’m warning you.’

But she knew she’d die if he didn’t. Then she couldn’t protest further, because he was kissing her tenderly on the lips – and she was discovering that Dylan could indeed be very discreet and incredibly sensual when he wanted to be. She had to put her own hands over her mouth so as not to make any sound …

‘Goodnight, gorgeous,’ he said five minutes later. ‘See you in the morning. And don’t worry about the meeting. It’ll be fine.’

But Emily was already fast asleep.

Outside the snow continued to fall, and once again Londoners issued a collective groan as the gritters and snowploughs and salt depots geared up for another long and difficult winter. By midnight the city was fully blanketed in a thick layer of icy frost and glittery snow.

But Emily slept through it all, snuggled up to the lovely warmth of Dylan’s body.

That night she dreamed of happy things: enjoying her work at the magazine, holding hands with Dylan as they watched TV on the sofa, and kissing him tenderly by candlelight. Not once did she dream of her boss committing arson, or a surprise visit from her parents.

When she opened her eyes in the morning she felt so happy, she didn’t even care that the old sofa bed had almost crippled her back.

16. And the Award Goes to …

Emily stood on the doorstep of Arabella’s smart Chelsea town house and rang the buzzer for a second time, then a third time. She had been sure Arabella was going to be at home that day. Her car was parked nearby, but there was no sign of her answering the door. Emily knelt down on the mat and peered through the shiny gold-coloured letter box. She thought she could smell cigarette smoke; Arabella must be back on them, she thought to herself.

‘Arabella, are you there? It’s me, Emily. I’ve got great news.’

After a minute, Arabella came trailing down the stairs in her dressing gown and unlocked the heavy wooden door. She was indeed smoking a cigarette. Emily didn’t mention it, however.

‘Hi there, sleepyhead,’ Emily said, breezing into the cavernous hallway. ‘Those tubs could do with a bit of water. Shall I sort them for you?’

She went to the cupboard under the sink, fetched and filled the watering can and gave the tubs a much-needed drink.

‘What’s the great news?’ Arabella asked half-heartedly.

She was sitting on the bottom stair, looking quite desolate. Emily set down the watering can and took a deep breath.

‘Oh, Arabella, you’ll never believe it but we’ve won an award!
Stylish Living
has been nominated for an award, and I’ve been told on the quiet that we’ve actually won it. So buy yourself a new dress, because you’ll soon be posing on the red carpet. Isn’t that brilliant news?’

‘What’s the award?’ Arabella yawned. ‘What do we have to do?’

‘Okay, it’s for you and one guest for a black-tie dinner at The Dorchester; it’s the Women of the Year Awards held by
Good Housekeeping
magazine, and you’ve won the award for excellence in publishing. Thank heaven we didn’t run that feature on Daisy Churchill in the end. It might have knocked us right out of the competition.’

‘Well, that all sounds lovely. But I’m sorry, I can’t go.’

‘What?’

‘I just can’t go, Emily.’

‘How do you know you can’t go? I haven’t told you the date yet.’

‘Look, you can accept the award and take Dylan with you for the experience. I’m sure he’ll look gorgeous in a tux with those broad shoulders of his. You deserve a night out, darling, for keeping things running so smoothly at the office. I owe you one, big time. And I’m
so
not in the mood for a red carpet do.’

‘Arabella, are you feeling all right?’ Emily asked, sitting down on the stairs beside her friend. ‘You’re very pale.’

‘I’m okay. I just haven’t slept all night. My solicitor was here yesterday,’ Arabella said.

‘Okay, and what did he say?’ Emily patted Arabella’s hand gently.

‘Well, it’s all very complicated, of course – lots of legal speak. But, in a nutshell, I have to pay for the rebuilding of the house I burned down.’

‘Oh no, how much will it cost?’

‘About half a million pounds. And it’ll take six months to complete, so they’re adding on the lost rental income – as if I care about another twelve thousand on top of half a million.’

‘So you’ll have to sell this house?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Arabella said again, and then she began to cry fat, silent tears.

‘Will you still have to go to court?’ Emily asked.

‘No, I won’t, which is the only chink of light in the whole sorry saga.’

‘Oh good, that’s such a relief.’

‘The solicitor – he’s called Reginald Blakelock, by the way, what a great name! – he says I could still go to court and argue that I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown at the time of the fire. But if the judge rules against me, I could still end up liable for the damage. And I could go to prison, and my professional reputation would be ruined into the bargain. You can see how arson wouldn’t look so good on the CV of an interiors expert. The owner won’t press charges if I pay him in full within six weeks, which is very generous of him when you think about it. I mean, the guy did have a heart attack. So I either lose my home, or I go to court and run the risk of losing everything.’

‘Oh, Arabella, I’m so very sorry. This is awful, just awful news.’

‘Thanks, Emily, you’ve been the best friend to me always.’

‘What has David said?’

‘He said he can’t possibly afford to bail me out now he has a new family to support.’

‘I see.’

‘I’ve only got myself to blame for this great big fat mess, Emily.’

‘Well, I should have helped you more, to get over the shock of David’s treachery.’

‘Oh no, missy; I will not allow you to take the blame for any of this. I made this mess all by myself, and I won’t have you shouldering
any
of the blame. Do you hear me? Boy, did your parents do a number on you, Emily. You’re riddled with guilt. Speaking of which, where are they today?’

‘They’re going home tomorrow, so Dylan’s taken them into town to do the tourist stuff – and no doubt he’s paying for everything. He’s been great about their visit; he’s taken them somewhere nearly every day. Luckily Sylvia was around to keep the shop open! They were helping in the shop at the weekend, did I tell you? They got some new clothes there, and Dylan even treated them to new haircuts at the
Rock & Fairy
. My parents have had the same hairstyles for thirty years, but of course Dylan was able to talk them into trying something new. The man is a genius.’

‘Wow, he certainly is.’

‘I know,’ Emily said, hugging her knees with happiness. ‘I do love him for being so kind to my parents.’

‘And I love this house,’ Arabella said then.

‘Yes, I know,’ Emily agreed.

‘I’ve pored over every inch of it. It’s taken me years to get it looking this good. I’ve decorated every room with care and consideration and, well, love. This house is worth much more than money to me.’

‘Will there be anything left over, do you think? When the debt is settled, will you have enough to begin again with a little apartment or something?’

‘Oh, there’ll be something, yes. I might be able to buy a bedsit in Hackney. How long do you think my tubs will last around that neighbourhood?’

‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart,’ Emily said again.

‘Not to worry; I’ve learned my lesson. Every cloud has a silver lining, and I’m a much wiser woman now. I did need a wake-up call – and, heck, did I ever get one. David and I ran out of steam about two years ago, but I couldn’t admit it, not even to myself. I don’t loathe him any more. I don’t love him any more. And I won’t contact him ever again, or send him emails or texts, or set fire to anything he owns. Ha, ha … Don’t worry about me on that score.’

‘Nobody at the office has any idea, you know. I promise you that. The fire hasn’t been on the news. And they all think you’ve been lying low because you’ve had a major face lift or implants or liposuction.’

‘Do they really think that? Do they really think I
need
a face lift or implants or liposuction?’

‘No, they don’t think you need anything, you silly mare! Petra told me that’s what they’ve been saying, that’s all. They don’t think you need any work; they just can’t think of any other reason for you to be away from the office like this.’

‘How is Petra?’ Arabella asked.

‘She’s fine – been a bit frosty towards me in recent weeks, but she’s back to her old self again. We had a quiet cup of tea together yesterday, and she told me she was very upset when I was promoted instead of her. But then she realized she’d rather be a stylist than a manager. And that’s when she confessed that everyone has decided you’re in a Swiss clinic or something, being totally overhauled.’

‘Good old Petra. She always did have a vivid imagination. And how has Jane been behaving herself?’

‘Now, funny you should ask that, because there’s definitely something weird going on there. Petra thinks Jane has a new boyfriend, a real catch of some sort. Jane’s been getting her hair done every other day, and she’s wearing nicer shoes to work. Killer heels! And she’s got a new Tiffany bracelet that she rattles a lot and simpers over constantly. But she won’t tell anyone what’s going on; it’s all a big secret.’

‘She must be having an affair with a married man – or at least, a man who’s already spoken for,’ Arabella said, yawning again. ‘Knowing Jane, there’s bound to be some nonsense involved. Silly girl …’

‘That could be it, you know. You’re so clever, Arabella.’

‘Not clever enough, dear Emily,’ Arabella said, gazing around the hallway at her beautiful flower prints and limited-edition wallpaper. ‘I actually feel sorry for Jane, if she’s getting all lovesick over a married man,’ Arabella added. ‘Most of the available men out there aren’t much to write home about. Useless, most of them … You’d need to be totally brain dead to get mixed up with a
married
man. I mean, talk about commitment issues, on both sides.’

‘Yes, I expect so,’ Emily agreed.

She couldn’t really disagree. After all, Arabella’s husband had been very much a married man when he’d met his current partner, Mary.

‘What’s happened to love, Emily?’ Arabella asked suddenly. ‘I mean, real, true, till-death-us-do-part love? Where has all the romance gone?’

‘Dylan’s rather romantic.’

‘Fair point … You’re a lucky duck. And you deserve it, petal. Nobody deserves it more, after all the time you wasted on that Alex chap. But nowadays it seems to be thousands of wannabe WAGs chasing a handful of overpaid footballers, and a bunch of stuffy old actors chasing after some naive young models. And then you’ve got your single mothers on benefits, your hopeless nerds playing computer games in their bedrooms, and your bitter old wrecks like me.’

‘You are
so
not a wreck,’ Emily said loyally.

‘Bless you, my darling. But seriously, where have all the normal people gone? When was the last time you heard of two people just falling in love and getting married, with no regard to background or money or anything else? When did you last hear a simple, old-fashioned love story? Or were we always obsessed with status and money?’

‘Well, you make a good point. I mean, I was dumped for a richer girl, wasn’t I?’ Emily finally admitted.

‘What’s this, a breakthrough moment? I thought you always claimed Alex left you because he didn’t love you any more? Because you were an ugly loser and he was a golden prince!’

‘With hindsight, I do think he left me because my father was skint and my mother was a boozer. In short, Alex left me because he was as shallow as a puddle.’

‘I’m so pleased you have seen the light, my dear. Do you know, I think this calls for a celebration? Let’s have a champagne breakfast. I’ve some bacon in the fridge; we’ll have bacon butties and a glass of Moët. There’s a bottle around here somewhere. I’m pretty sure one bottle survived my recent clear-out. Oh, and don’t worry about the cigarette just now; I’m only having five a day.’

‘Wouldn’t you rather celebrate winning the award?’

‘No. It’s
much
more exciting that you’ve finally gotten over that awful man. I insist you take Dylan to The Dorchester and enjoy every minute of it.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to go yourself? You and I could go together?’ Emily offered.

‘No, really, I’m quite sure. I can’t wait to get back to work, though. Now that it’s all over. I’m going to sell this house for as much money as I can get, buy a smaller place, and then come back to work all guns blazing – metaphorically speaking, of course. Thank you for being such a good and dear friend to me, Emily … Oh, and if you find out what that idiot Jane is up to, will you please tell me immediately? I could really use a good laugh right now.’

‘Okay, well let’s make those butties now, yeah? I could murder one – metaphorically speaking, of course.’

Laughing, they linked arms and went into the kitchen.

Two days later, Dylan collected his tuxedo from the rental shop and tried it on to show Emily.

Her parents had gone home – and it was just as well, because the bow tie was barely fastened around Dylan’s neck before he was taking everything off again as quickly as he could.

‘You are so
gorgeous
in that suit,’ Emily panted, peeling off her own clothes and dropping them to the floor. ‘I insist you make love to me right this instant.’

‘My pleasure,’ laughed Dylan as they tumbled into bed, almost breaking the bedsprings. ‘You’d better not do this on the night of the awards, though; we don’t want to be late and miss your moment of glory.’

‘I’ve thought of that,’ Emily said. ‘You’ll just have to wear the tux every night until the ceremony, so I can get desensitized to it.’

‘Good plan,’ Dylan said, and he kissed her hungrily.

On the night of the awards Emily wore a full-length, olive-green gown that brought out the colour of her eyes. Dylan looked magnificent in his tux, and they had a great time pretending to be celebrities on the red carpet.

Emily went up to receive the award on Arabella’s behalf. She said a brief but amusing thank you that made her the darling of the night.

Daisy Churchill was also at the event, but thankfully they were seated at opposite ends of the room

As soon as the proceedings were over, Dylan and Emily made a beeline for the door … and bed.