A Winter's Wedding (8 page)

‘Okay. I see.’

‘And that’s why I don’t go home to Belfast any more. I didn’t go over at Christmas, by the way. Because somehow it’s worse at Christmas, when you know your family unit just doesn’t
work
. I sat in the flat, watching telly. And they didn’t even answer the phone when I rang them.’

‘Oh, Emily …’

‘I don’t want to see Mum at the minute – either of them, really. I mean, it’s all in the past and I don’t think I need to talk about it. Yes, I’m over it, Dylan. I’ve moved on. I just feel afraid sometimes, that’s all. I feel afraid that you’ll get bored of me the way they did. And then I get annoyed with myself for projecting all the time, because I know I should just stop worrying and let things happen. But it’s so hard for me to let go of my self-doubt. It feels like jumping out of an aeroplane, every time.’

‘Oh, Emily,’ Dylan said again, wrapping his big strong arms around her.

Then he kissed her softly on the lips. It was a serious-about-you sort of kiss. Emily’s eyes were moist with tears.

‘I don’t think you have moved on,’ he said softly. ‘Not yet.’

‘Well, I want to move on,’ she said defiantly.

‘And I want you,’ he replied.

Arabella phoned her solicitor for the sixth time that week to see if there had been any developments in her case.

‘There is nothing to report as yet. We said we would let you know if anything happened, Mrs Harrington,’ the solicitor told her patiently.

‘So he hasn’t been in touch? Really, not even an email? I can’t believe he hasn’t been in touch yet,’ Arabella said.

‘After the baby is born, maybe?’

‘But he’ll be even busier then.’

‘I think we should give it another while. I’ll turn up the heat in May or June.’

‘I can’t believe he hasn’t called you. It’s like he’s trying to deny I exist,’ Arabella said darkly.

‘People sometimes react like that, by going into denial until they’re ready to deal with the issues.’

‘But I forward all his personal mail to the office, so he can’t have forgotten me completely. He’s still paying the mortgage on our house.’

‘Yes, and that’s all good news. It shows that he’s aware of his responsibilities.’

‘What about his responsibility to me? This is ludicrously unfair.’

‘Mrs Harrington, please don’t concern yourself any further. We’ll discuss a divorce just as soon as the baby is born and your husband can concentrate on other matters.’

Other matters, Arabella thought to herself.

That’s all she was to David nowadays: other matters.

At the beginning of June Arabella’s solicitor finally summoned her to his office, and told her that David had agreed to a divorce. Arabella was very upset – even when she was informed that David was signing over his share of the equity in their home to her, along with a very generous cash settlement. It would be enough to pay off the mortgage. David had told the solicitor he wanted a clean break with no protracted negotiations, and that he wished to have no further communication with Arabella.

‘All you have to do is sign these papers,’ the solicitor said, sliding them across the desk towards her and offering her a pen.

‘I still feel kind of short-changed,’ Arabella said, looking over the papers and accepting a cup of tea. ‘I just wish I knew why he left me.’

‘Do you want me to give you some details about David’s situation?’

‘Might as well.’

‘We had a civilized little chat, actually. David said he was very sorry to have hurt you the way he did, but he had fallen in love with a woman called Mary Barone. And he didn’t feel able to tell you about it.’

‘That figures; I’d have stabbed him.’

‘Quite … He said he hadn’t planned to have an affair, but when it began he could do nothing to prevent it,’ the solicitor added.

‘Bully for him,’ Arabella said.

‘And there’s more. David and Mary are now the proud parents of twin girls named Venice and Paris.’

‘They had twins? Venice and Paris … oh, my word … what silly names, actually …’

‘And so David and Mary want to get married just as soon as they are legally free to do so. And then they are moving to Italy to live.’

Arabella just nodded. Barone was an Italian name, and that would explain the woman’s good looks.

‘Mary is Italian – she wants to bring up the children there.’

‘Yes, I see. I figured that.’

‘The glass house by the river is a rental. They are currently on a month’s holiday in Cornwall.’

‘There was no mention of how long the affair had been going on before the pregnancy happened?’ Arabella asked.

‘No mention of that, no. Mary was one of the secretaries where David worked.’

‘Was?’

‘She’s a full-time mum now.’

‘I see,’ Arabella said again.

But considering the settlement David was offering, the solicitor advised Arabella to accept the terms right away. She had no children to support and a very good career of her own, so getting the house in Twickenham was a very good outcome indeed.

‘Fifteen years together,’ Arabella whispered. ‘Fifteen years together. And suddenly he doesn’t wish to communicate further. Fancy that.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Harrington. I’d advise you to accept this deal now, as Mr Harrington may not be feeling quite so generous in the years to come. I hear it’s not as cheap as it used to be, living in Europe. We’re expecting a rush of expats wanting to return to the UK and chucking out their sitting tenants before the leases are even up.’

Arabella signed the divorce papers, and then left the solicitor’s office without speaking another word. Outside the sun was shining brightly and the streets were full of people enjoying the weather. Arabella felt as if she had left her own body and was floating six feet above the footpath. She felt as if she would never be happy again. She caught the Tube and walked along the river to David’s rented house. She went round the back of the house, broke in using a brick she found lying beside the garden shed, and stood in the middle of the sitting room, wondering what to do next. And while she was thinking about it, she got out her cigarettes and lighter. The house was quite untidy and smelt of garlic, red wine and baby powder.

It was a very happy sort of house – and Arabella couldn’t bear it.

Dylan and Emily were relaxing on the sofa in Emily’s flat. It was late at night and the television was switched off. The only light came from some scented candles flickering on the coffee table. They were sharing half a bottle of Chenin Blanc.

‘I think I love you, Emily,’ he said suddenly.

Emily’s heart skipped a beat.

‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she said quietly.

‘I do not say it to all the girls. I’m not like that; you must know it by now. I’m no Casanova. I mean it, Emily.’

‘Do you really mean it?’ she asked, noticing a definite surge in hormones somewhere near her stomach.

‘Yes, I never say things I don’t mean,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve never felt like this before; I’ve never cared about anyone this much before.’

Then he kissed her tenderly. And somehow, despite his general gorgeousness and her general feelings of self-doubt, Emily believed him.

‘Have you ever been in love before?’ she asked him nervously.

‘Yes, I have,’ he said, gazing up at the ceiling. ‘But it didn’t last.’

‘Why not, if you don’t mind me asking … ?’

‘Rachel was her name. We got on really well. But she wanted more from life – a better career for me in banking, a better address for us both, and that sort of thing.’

‘And you loved her?’

‘Yes, I did, very much.’

‘Then why didn’t you stay in banking and give her the life she wanted?’

‘Because I hated every minute of it, that’s why. It was driving me round the twist, just making money like a robot – more and more and more money. Never enough money, though. No matter how many hours of overtime you’d put in, it was never enough for them. Endless meetings and endless phone calls, endless back-slapping and endless talk of bonuses; it gets very dull after a while, believe me. Not a thought to the morality of it all, Emily. Not a worry for the savers and investors who might lose out, or a care for the workers being paid a rubbish wage in other countries. I knew the whole thing would come crashing down eventually, it couldn’t go on the way it was … So I told Rachel I was getting out. And she told me she was leaving me; it was as simple as that. We did part as friends, though.’

‘Okay.’

‘And no, I am not still secretly in love with her.’

‘Ha! Fair enough, I’ve always found managing money very boring myself. It does seem to be a rather stressful occupation. Arabella’s husband, David, was a stockbroker. I mean, he
is
a stockbroker. I mean, her
ex
-husband is a stockbroker and he’s very clever and very wealthy. But she hardly saw him in recent years, because he spent so much time at the office.’

‘Did you say her ex-husband?’

‘Yes. Look, it’s still a big secret at work, but they’ve split up. David and Arabella are living apart, and that’s why I’ve been so busy at work lately. He’s met another girl and she’s having his baby. I’ve been covering for Arabella when she’s been at home crying all day.’

‘Poor Arabella …’

‘Yes, poor Arabella! Now, remember – tell nobody about this, in case you tell somebody who knows somebody at
Stylish Living
. Because Arabella would die if this got out. She would honestly die.’

‘She can’t pretend she’s married for the next fifty years.’

‘She can. Trust me.’

‘Right, okay, I won’t say anything if we bump into each other.’

‘Thanks. I’ll be relieved when this is all over. David didn’t give her a reason for leaving her, you see.’

‘Wow.’

‘Yes, wow. So Arabella can’t analyse what went wrong with their marriage – because she didn’t change over the years, and neither did David. She’s stuck in a kind of limbo. Maybe when they divorce she’ll start to get over him. I don’t know anyone who’s happily married,’ Emily said.

‘My parents are very happy,’ Dylan said at once. ‘Still like moonstruck teenagers, they are. Cuddling all the time; it’s ridiculous.’

‘What’s their secret? I wonder.’

‘Being nice to each other, Dad says. They’re just nice to each other.’

‘Ah, that’s lovely,’ Emily said.

‘Your parents are still together too? Not ideal parents to you, possibly, but they’re still together?’ Dylan said.

‘Yes, but I think that’s only because they can’t be bothered filling out the forms to ask for another council house,’ Emily said dryly. ‘And Mum would never get around to packing up all her stuff, and Dad doesn’t know how to open a can of beans.’

Dylan decided to leave it there for the time being.

‘You know, I really think we’ve got something special going here, Emily. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, I promise you. I know that’s such an awful old cliché to say to a girl, but in my case it is true. I’ve fallen for you in a big, big way.’

‘You say the nicest things.’

‘Have you ever been in love before? Like, really madly in love?’ he asked.

‘No, I haven’t,’ she told him. ‘Not even close.’

She snuggled up to him then and closed her eyes, breathing in the delicious scent of his peppery aftershave. As if on cue Emily’s mobile phone began to ring.

‘I’d better answer that,’ she said. ‘It might be Arabella. Oh, it is her.’

‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ Dylan said, going into the kitchen to wash their empty wine glasses.

‘Hello, Arabella?’ Emily said.

‘Emily, sweetheart, I know it’s really late. But can you do me a massive favour?’

‘Of course I can. Where are you? Are you in a bar somewhere? How did the meeting go today at the solicitor’s? Do you need a lift or something?’

‘I’m fine, I don’t need a lift. The thing is, I need to get away for a few days,’ Arabella said.

‘Well, okay. But why?’ Emily said.

‘I just need some time out, that’s all. And that’s why I need you to get into the office nice and early tomorrow morning.’

‘Why?’

‘Why do you think? Can you take over for me until I get back? I’m giving you full authority, Emily, and you can fire Jane Maxwell if she gives you any nonsense. No need to call me for advice, and so on. I’ll be in touch. Bye.’

‘Arabella, wait a minute,’ Emily said. But Arabella was gone. ‘For pity’s sake, what’s going on now?’ Emily said loudly.

She tossed her mobile into her handbag and sat with her face in her hands.

‘What’s happened?’ Dylan said, coming back and kneeling down on the floor beside Emily.

‘Arabella’s going away somewhere. She didn’t say where. And I’m to take over for a while. And that’ll be a complete laugh, because Jane Maxwell is no fan of mine,’ Emily said crossly.

Then she burst into noisy tears. Dylan held Emily gently in his arms until she had stopped crying.

‘What’s the problem, Emily? Arabella’s promoting you.’

‘Yes, I know that. But this is so weird, because Arabella just lives for her job. It’s so unlike her to go away like this. And let me take over the magazine? Or let
anyone
take over the magazine? She’s usually such a control freak. It’s just so strange. I know I held that one meeting, but this seems open-ended.’

‘It’ll be okay,’ he said tenderly. ‘Arabella will be okay. Anybody can act a little strange from time to time. It happens to the best of us. There’s no law against it.’

‘I know,’ Emily said. ‘I’m fully aware of that. But I’m not a major fan of strange. That’s why I came to London in the first place, do you see? To get away from strange. Oh no, I hope Arabella isn’t going to go and attack David or something.’

‘Don’t be daft, she’d never do that,’ Dylan smiled.

‘She might.’

‘She wouldn’t.’

‘You don’t know Arabella the way I do,’ Emily said darkly.

8. In the Mood

Dylan didn’t set out to seduce Emily that night, and she didn’t intend to seduce him either. But within minutes of Arabella’s unsettling, late-night phone call they were tearing each other’s clothes off and making love furiously on the sitting-room floor.

It all happened very suddenly. Emily was getting up to repair her make-up, after her crying had made her mascara run again, when she tripped over Dylan’s ankles, landing on top of him quite heavily. In the resulting tangle of arms and cushions, Emily’s T-shirt rode right up and Dylan caught a glimpse of her polka-dot balcony bra. Emily realized at once that he’d seen it, and that he was very turned on. And seeing just how much he fancied her did something magical for Emily’s libido in return. They were alone, it was late, they were both consenting adults, and for once in her life Emily decided to be spontaneous. The poor guy had waited long enough to see her without her clothes on – almost six months. Nowadays if a nice man was prepared to wait for six months before making love to his girlfriend, it was so romantic it was almost newsworthy.

‘Are you in the mood, by any chance?’ she asked him, biting her lip with anticipation.

‘I’m always in the mood when you’re around,’ he said hoarsely.

‘Well, then. What are you waiting for?’ she said playfully. ‘I’m all yours.’

Five seconds later, they were undoing each other’s jeans. Emily was so glad she’d worn her most expensive lingerie that evening. It had come from a designer boutique, the result of a recent gift voucher from Arabella. Good old Arabella – her gifts weren’t all unwieldy kitchen gadgets, Emily thought happily. And when it came right down to it, wasn’t modelling balcony bras and French knickers a far better way to spend one’s time than winding endless lengths of pasta through a mini-mangle?

But soon the very expensive designer lingerie had been discarded by Dylan, as if it had just come from the bargain bin at Primark. He didn’t even notice the labels as he peeled the delicate items from Emily’s trembling body and dropped them on to the wooden floor. Then he pulled off his plain black shorts, and Emily could see he definitely wasn’t lying about always being in the mood. As for Dylan’s naked body – well, Emily was incredibly impressed. All his recent extra sports training certainly hadn’t gone to waste.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ she said before she could stop herself.

‘Ha, thanks! But guys can’t be gorgeous in the way that women are – the way you are,’ he replied gallantly.

‘Yes, they can.’

She kissed him softly on the lips as he eased the ponytail out of her hair.

‘I’ve never slept with an editor before,’ Dylan said mischievously.

‘So you’re only with me for the power?’ she laughed.

‘Not just the power,’ he replied in a serious voice, ‘but also for a free ticket to the next Ideal Home Show.’

‘You can have all the free tickets you want,’ Emily said, laughing again as Dylan pulled her down on top of him and lovingly caressed her body all over.

She began to have tingly feelings in places she’d never had them before. Even in the backs of her knees. And for once she wasn’t embarrassed by her modest cleavage. For once she felt truly sexy and attractive and comfortable with what was going on. Even when she’d been with Alex, she’d never felt this sexy – or, indeed, this happy.

Then Dylan flinched with pain as his heel came down sharply on the plug from Emily’s mobile phone charger.

‘Usually I prefer to do this kind of thing in a bed; it’s a lot safer,’ he said.

‘Come on,’ she said, pulling him up and leading him into her bedroom. ‘It’s always cold in this flat, even in summer.’

They fell into bed, kissing again, and Emily thought she would die if they didn’t make love in the next five minutes.

‘Have you got a thingy?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Whatever do you mean.’ He laughed.

‘You know what I mean. Protection …’

‘Just so happens I have,’ he laughed, racing back to his jeans pocket to retrieve one.

Emily watched his perfect bum as he went. It was so firm it didn’t even wobble. She was tempted to nip out of bed herself and put on some more mascara and perfume, but there wasn’t time. And since Dylan hadn’t stopped to admire the lingerie, he probably wouldn’t notice a little bit of mascara or perfume either. She lay down and tried to relax. And tried not to faint when she saw him coming back to bed; he was truly gorgeous from top to toe.

He kissed her again, all over, and Emily just gave herself up to the moment. She let Dylan lead the way and prayed that the retired couple in the flat below were already in a deep sleep and unlikely to hear her various expressions of ecstasy.

‘Just tell me when you’re ready,’ Dylan said, exploring every inch of her with his fingertips and his kisses.

‘I’m ready, I’m ready,’ she gasped.

‘Emily, I do love you.’

‘Yes, yes, same here,’ she whispered. ‘Oh yes … oh yes … oh yes!’

Afterwards they tidied up the crumpled bedclothes, plumped up the pillows and lay comfortably together in each other’s arms. The flat was indeed quite cold and they were happy to relax in a warm bed and just talk for a while before going to sleep.

They both had a lovely, light feeling – as if they had found something that had been missing for a long time.

‘That was amazing,’ Dylan said.

‘Yes, it was rather special,’ she replied, kissing his shoulder.

‘I love you, Emily.’

‘I think you do.’

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes, I definitely do.’

‘Say it, then?’

‘Okay, I love you,’ she said.

They kissed again.

‘I hope you don’t think I’m putting any pressure on you?’ he said.

‘Not at all,’ she laughed.

‘Because I just want to be sure; I just want you to know I’m serious about us.’

‘I understand. It’s all or nothing with me too,’ she said as he kissed her hand softly. ‘I think you know that by now. I’ve never been the ditsy type.’

‘Is that a fact?’

‘Yes, very funny … I know I’m a little on the serious side. But I can’t help it, and I’m probably too set in my ways to change now.’

‘I don’t want you to change. I knew you were special the day I met you,’ he said. ‘I could feel something crackling in the air between us, couldn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I thought it was all the polyester blouses in the shop,’ she teased him.

‘Ha! I asked for that one.’

‘No, I did feel something,’ she admitted.

‘I’m so glad, because if it doesn’t feel exactly right, well, there’s no point, is there?’

‘Not really, no. I didn’t think I’d mind if this turned out to be just a passing thing. I remember giving myself a little pep talk the night you rang to ask me out. I remember telling myself that I should go along to the shop for a cup of tea and a chat, and see what happened, and keep it all very simple and casual. And if we didn’t click, then that was that and no harm done. I mean, I’m not the sort of girl who hankers after an engagement ring after only two weeks. But I’m also not the sort of girl who can just have one-night stands without getting emotionally involved, if you know what I mean? But we shouldn’t say it’s something more if it really isn’t, Dylan. I mean, it’s okay if you need more time. Maybe we shouldn’t use the L word just yet?’

‘Wow, you’re certainly a cautious one. We’ve both said the L word now, haven’t we? So there’s no going back! And I meant what I said earlier. I am in love with you, Emily. This isn’t going to be like
Sex And The City
, so I’m sorry if you like the melodrama of an on-off thing. This relationship is
not
going to be terribly complicated. At least, I won’t be making it complicated. There won’t be endless break-ups and make-ups and tripping around Paris with you in a vintage prom dress, and us missing each other by seconds.’

‘I’m not a big one for melodrama,’ Emily said. ‘I imagine that sort of personality could become quite tiring to live with, for me and you both. Hey, you sound pretty familiar with the storylines in
Sex and the City
,’ she added.

‘We might have caught a few episodes over the years, me and the lads. You know, when we were all too plastered to find the remote control?’

‘Or maybe you just fancied one of the girls and were hoping to see her naked?’

‘Yeah, you’re very good,’ he said. ‘You could make a living at this.’

He turned to face Emily then and they kissed again.

‘I’ll let you go to sleep now,’ Emily said dreamily. ‘I think you’ve earned it.’

‘Okay. Goodnight, Emily. Love you.’

Emily closed her eyes and drifted off into the most relaxing sleep she’d had for years. Dylan lay awake for a long time, just looking at Emily’s face in the moonlight. Wondering what happy twist of fate had brought them together and also hoping she wouldn’t change her mind about him in the cold light of day. English girls were complicated enough, he thought. He hoped that Irish girls weren’t even more complicated. Life was a series of simple choices to Dylan Shawcross: he
didn’t
want to be a banker and he
did
want to be with Emily. He was happy to help Sylvia at the shop until his savings ran out. Then he might set up a small business of his own. He wanted to live with Emily and wondered if it was too soon to bring the subject up with her. Would Emily be pleased if he suggested they live together? Or would she think he was a bit too intense?

He liked the navy walls in this bedroom, he thought to himself as Emily slept peacefully beside him. That antique wardrobe was a bit on the big side, but it was nice enough too, and the white carpet was pretty – he’d have to be careful not to walk dirt into it. He would be happy living here, he thought. Though he’d be more than willing to go house-hunting, if that’s what Emily wanted. They could look for something really unusual and fix it up – an old warehouse in Shoreditch or an airy loft in Soho would be lovely. It would depend on what they could afford, obviously. Or maybe Emily would like a more traditional house? Perhaps a Georgian terrace or a modern semi way out in the suburbs? He’d like to have a go at fitting his own kitchen, or at least a home office. Eventually, his head full of half-formed plans, he snuggled down under the duvet, kissed Emily on the cheek and fell asleep.

Several miles away, ten exhausted firefighters stood looking at the charred and mangled ruins of a serious house fire. The open-plan design of the modern building had made it impossible for them to contain the flames. The entire property was gutted, and all the contents within had been destroyed. Luckily there were no occupants in the building that night. They’d found the blackened remains of two pink cots in one of the bedrooms, but a neighbour had confirmed that the couple currently living there had gone away on holiday to Cornwall.

There was nothing left to do now but wait for a carpenter to come and start boarding the place up.

Arabella was putting the finishing touches to her make-up as the sun came up over London. She hadn’t slept all night, but she wasn’t remotely tired. She poured herself another cup of tea and switched on the television to see if there was anything about the fire on the breakfast news. There wasn’t. Luckily the main story that day was yet another MP’s expenses scandal. With an election due the TV companies didn’t want to miss a single snippet of gossip. Both of the main parties were running scared. Some people were even betting on a victory for the Liberal Democrats.

‘That was quite a night,’ Arabella told her reflection in the sitting-room mirror as she savoured a cup of PG Tips. Her hair and clothes were immaculate, as was the entire house. Arabella had been very busy in the last few hours. However, her eyes were glassy and cold-looking, and her mouth was set in a hard, determined line. She looked guilty. She reminded herself of a police photofit. Arabella’s heart began to race uncontrollably; she didn’t think she’d like being in prison. But they’d never be able to prove it was her, would they? David would suspect her, but he’d never be able to prove anything. She stared at herself until her heartbeat slowed right down and she felt in control of her emotions once more.

‘That’s it; get a grip. I may have gone a
bit
over the top, but I think it was worth it,’ Arabella said softly.

She felt purged and free, as if her heart had escaped from a locked metal box. She no longer wanted the traitorous David in her bed or in her life. She would erase all memory of his existence from her life, and she would go on to become a living legend in the magazine publishing world. People would look at her as she wafted around the room at trade events, and admire her for her dedication to the job and for her mysteriously single status. For one thing was certain now: Arabella never wanted a man to be close to her, ever again. Liars and cheats the lot of them. She would never get her heart broken again. She would revert to her maiden name as soon as it could be arranged. She would redecorate this house entirely to her own taste; all in shades of silver and beige with zebra-print armchairs and fresh orchids. She might sleep with some handsome young man the next time she was on a foreign holiday, just to conceive her much-wanted baby. Or she might do it the official, safe way at a private clinic – just as long as there was no chance of the father turning up and wanting to be a part of her child’s life. She would commit murder if that happened – some idiot man on the doorstep with a bag of toys in his hand. Men! They always played the Daddy card when they were bored with womanizing, or when they wanted somebody to cook and clean for them. Selfish creeps! She wanted no commitments now.

No, she was over all that silly, sentimental rubbish.

‘It’s just me, myself and I,’ she said in a strangely hollow voice.

Arabella picked up the phone. She confirmed her reservation at the small but luxurious hotel in Scotland that she had spotted in a rival magazine. She had already booked a seat on an early flight. She called a taxi to take her to the airport. They said they would be there in ten minutes. Arabella always kept a small suitcase packed in case she had to go away for work at short notice. She went upstairs, took the case out of her wardrobe and laid it on the bed to check she had left nothing out: dressing gown, pyjamas, slippers, underwear, novels, chocolates, tea bags, bottle of red wine (hotel prices were extortionate), packet of Digestive biscuits. She’d stay in her hotel room, read a novel and have some early nights. She’d order meals from room service to avoid any unwanted approaches in the dining room. Just a few days would see her right, and then she would get on with her life. Emily would be fine on her own at the magazine. Arabella was justifiably proud of her little protégée from Belfast. Emily had a good head on her shoulders when it came to the magazine.