Best Laid Plans (6 page)

‘You love yourself more, my angel. Like me, you are selfish and like me, your heart belongs to France. You should have married a Frenchman. They know how to treat a woman.’

‘Really?’ It seemed an odd thing to say coming from a woman who had married and divorced two of them.

‘The English are cold. They have no passion in their souls. Look, Monique, I am at the end of the telephone if you need to discuss things. Why don’t you come to stay with me for a while?’

‘In Paris?’

She smiled briefly. ‘That’s where I live and you needn’t make it sound such an unpleasant idea. We must stay in touch anyway so that we can sort out the finances and so on. You are aware of the terms of your mother’s will?’

‘Only that she left it all to you. Any money she had and the house she had here and the one in France. What is
there to sort out?’

Sylvie shrugged, one of those wonderful Gallic shrugs. ‘Did you ever see the cottage in Normandy?’

‘No. I knew she inherited it years ago but I don’t think she ever stayed there. Did she?’

‘Once or twice. And I’ve been there too. But your mother was not interested in property and so I’ve been taking care of it for the last few years. A local couple look after it for me. Here.’ she rummaged in her handbag. ‘This is a photograph.’

Monique glanced briefly at it, not really interested. ‘It looks lovely,’ she said grudgingly, attempting to hand it back.

‘No, keep it.’ She sighed. ‘I feel very cross with Isabelle. There was no reason to cut you out of her will. She should have left you something. She was such a vindictive woman and I have no idea why. What was your quarrel about?’

It was Monique’s turn to shrug. ‘I can’t remember. I know she was opposed to my marriage even though she never met Mike and she thought I was stubborn just like my father.’

‘That’s no reason to disown you. What was she thinking of? Perhaps her mind was a little unbalanced. She was always far too sensitive a creature.’

‘We shall never know,’ Monique said flatly, for it was true. There was no point in having regrets and she was not going to twist herself into becoming a bitter woman by trying to unravel the reasons why her mother had disowned her. She had to live with the fact that she was born late in life to a couple who wished they had never had a child and that was one of the reasons why she had decided long ago that she was never going to inflict that emotional neglect on a child of her own. She thought fleetingly of the child she might have had. What a blessing losing it had been. ‘Nevertheless I feel badly about it.’ Sylvie sighed and patted her hand.

‘Don’t.’ For once she was unconcerned about the money.
She didn’t feel very much emotion, was incapable of that where her late mother was concerned.

‘I mean it, Monique. You are most welcome to come and stay with me.’

‘I can’t leave Mike for any length of time.’

‘Why not? It will do him good, make him appreciate you that bit more. Believe me, a little time spent apart from him will be time well spent and you might get somewhere with your paintings in Paris. It’s always been the place to be for the budding artist and I have connections, my dear. You would, however, have to stop painting those dreadful bleak scenes of yours.’

‘They sell.’ Monique smiled a little. ‘But I know what you mean. I want to get back to portrait painting. I think I have a talent for that.’

‘You could paint me. How wonderful. I would love to have my lovely niece stay with me for a while. I’ve never had a daughter of my own, you see, so you are the next best thing.’

For a fleeting moment a shadow passed over her face and Monique saw that, underneath the glossy exterior, lurked a lonely middle-aged woman. It begged the question, though, of why women, particularly older ones, always wanted to mother her when her own mother had never cared a fig?

‘Take care, my dear,’ Sylvie had said, embracing her as they parted. ‘And take my advice. Life, as we can see, is short and you owe it to yourself to be happy. So if all else fails, take a lover. It will spice things up. Believe me it can only be good for your marriage as long as your husband does not find out. That was the mistake I made. Henri was stupidly jealous although it was rather divine having two men fight over me.’ She laughed but a rueful grimace accompanied it.

‘A lover?’ Monique felt her heart thud, knew her cheeks were blazing, knew also with a jolt that Sylvie was aware she had already found one.

So much for keeping a secret.

F
or Christmas Daniel had bought them each a bottle of the newest, hottest perfume ‘Bella-Sophia’. It was extravagant to say the least, particularly as she and Janet had agonized about whether or not it would be appropriate to buy him anything at all before settling for a joint present; a silk tie, chosen with the help of Marcus in Menswear. They despaired of Mr Coleridge in that department for he chose not to take up the offer of help with his attire insisting on going his own sweet way and in their opinion letting the side down big time. They were men of smart suits in that department and Mr Coleridge’s ubiquitous jeans teamed with a casual jacket and open-necked shirt did not cut the mustard.

The handing over of gifts in the office had been a touch awkward, his little speech unexpected but sweet for all that.

‘This is just a small thank you to you ladies for all you’ve had to put up with these last few months,’ he said, reaching for the gifts, which they instantly saw had been professionally wrapped. ‘I hope you like this. It had better be good because it’s cripplingly expensive,’ he went on, saying the wrong thing, his nervousness odd but strangely endearing. ‘But Beatrice Galloway recommended it and what she doesn’t know about perfume isn’t worth knowing.’

Beatrice?

She and Janet exchanged a knowing glance.

Brian was not a good front-seat passenger but then she
knew few men who were. With the seat pushed back as far as it would go, he stretched out his long legs in a vain attempt to look as if he was relaxed. He had complained already about the size of the car, the colour – yellow – the bumpy ride, the lack of acceleration and just generally been Mr Grump. Finally his ‘Are you sure we’re going the right way?’ had really got up her nose because she had done this particular journey so many times that the car very nearly knew the way itself.

‘It’s Christmas. Lighten up,’ she told him, perversely almost wishing now that she had taken him up on his offer to use his much bigger and far more luxurious vehicle but
she
had invited
him
and it seemed important that she should provide the transport.

Despite his annoying sharp intakes of breath whenever she overtook, she accomplished the task of getting them there without mishap. It was a long drive and she intended to use it as an opportunity to chat; it was time she knew more about him. All the passion and lovey-dovey stuff was all very well but it did not give you much chance to actually talk as a couple and to dig a little deeper into his background. Having things in common was important, like it or not, and just now she was struggling to find anything that they might share or do together aside from the obvious.

The pre-holiday traffic was predictably busy, though, and it took all her concentration to drive safely so their conversation on this trip was of a general nature and she found out nothing more about his childhood, his earlier life or the women he had maybe loved and lost. He was older than her so there must be an interesting back story but other than saying he used to live in the southeast he was giving nothing away.

She was curious, not excessively so, but she had talked a lot at the beginning and given away a fair number of her own worries and concerns and perhaps with hindsight she had been a little indiscreet about her work. She saw what
they meant by pillow talk because it was so tempting to talk about things to the man in your life, things that ought to be kept quiet. He was a good listener and it beat talking to herself, which, being on her own in her flat, happened a lot.

She wanted Brian to open up a little so that she knew more about what made him tick because his unwillingness to talk about his life was beginning to make her think that all was not as it appeared. In the meantime, she thought it necessary to warn him that, even though they were just friends, her parents might think they were serious about each other.

‘Thanks for coming,’ she told him once they were on a quieter road. ‘They are looking forward to meeting you.’

‘Me too. Christmas is all about families,’ he said.

She did not take her eyes off the road but she detected in his voice a strange wistfulness and waited a moment for him to elaborate but he did not.

‘My dad will want to know all about your prospects,’ she went on, keeping cheerful. ‘I hope you don’t mind but he thinks I’m still about sixteen. Just humour him, will you?’ She laughed at his muttered grumble. ‘I hope you’ve brought your tax return form. He might want to check it.’

Her attempt at humour was lost on him. ‘I have no intention of spoiling things by talking about work,’ he said stiffly.

‘It wouldn’t spoil things for me. I am willing to do anything to stop them from bringing out the family photographs. Incidentally …’ this time she stole the quickest of glances at him, ‘where are yours? You don’t have any at your place.’

‘Any what?’

She stopped a sigh. Was he being deliberately obtuse? ‘Family photographs,’ she said. ‘There are no photographs anywhere in your house.’

‘So? Is that a problem?’ He sounded irritated and that irritated her in turn. This relationship was all about highs
and lows with no middle ground. Honestly, it was patently obvious that it was going nowhere if, three months in, they were already on the edge of serious bickering. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t have any family and that’s the end of it. Just leave it. I don’t want to talk about it.’

She waited for him to say more, to mellow his tone at least, in short to bloody apologize, but he did not and even though she could feel her own anger rising, now was not the time for an argument as they were at last on the narrow road leading to Downill which was all twists and turns, ups and downs and she needed all her concentration as the weather had turned nasty and the rain that had accompanied them for most of the journey was turning to sleet as they climbed. Visibility was poor now and she was conscious that a lot of accidents occurred near home when you were starting to relax and beginning to think of the end of the journey at last, looking forward to welcoming warmth and a cup of tea. She took the decision to slow down as she felt her car’s grip on the road lessen and the tyres began to throw up slush and on cue, Brian urged her to be careful as there was a lot of standing water on the side of the road.

‘Who’s driving this car?’ she said tetchily. ‘Me or you?’

And at that he subsided into miffed silence.

‘You didn’t tell me it was quite so grand,’ Brian broke what had started to be an uncomfortable silence as she swung the car through the gates. She decided magnanimously to forgive him as sulking was not the best way to start the Christmas break and her mother would notice at once if the atmosphere between them seemed strained.

‘It’s not that grand.’ But she supposed through his eyes it might be. It was only a small-scale country house but the gardens were impressive and in summer were truly spectacular.

She drew the car to a halt on the gravel, pulled on the handbrake and sighed, in no immediate hurry to get out.
She needed to take a moment before she faced her mother and the inquisition that would follow.

‘How many staff do they employ?’ Brian clicked open his seatbelt and turned a little to face her.

‘Just two,’ she said defensively. ‘A gardener and Jean who helps Mum in the house a couple of mornings a week.’

‘I see. What does your mother do again?’

‘She’s good with figures and she’s always helped Dad in the business,’ she told him. It was a labour of love, always had been and she knew that her mother did not receive a proper salary for her contribution but until recently she seemed to enjoy just being there once or twice a week.

‘She’s retired then?’

‘Don’t say that. She’s not sixty yet but I think she just got tired of it.’

She was regretting her impulsive decision to invite Brian for Christmas for, to be honest, they didn’t know each other that well, had jumped into bed far too soon and a relationship based purely on sex was on a hiding to nothing. There had to be more to it than that. She suspected her parents were delighted that she had asked somebody along at last, her mother already acting as if this was it and that a wedding would be in the offing before long.

‘They’ll like you,’ she went on quickly. ‘And don’t take any notice if my mother starts to quiz you. It’s just her way.’

‘I thought you said it was your father who would be quizzing me?’

‘Both of them, I’m afraid. I don’t see them very often and they want to know everything that’s been going on since the last time. As you are something new I’m afraid you’re for it. My mother’s interrogation technique is second to none. She’ll know more about you in half an hour than I’ve found out in three months.’

It was a gentle dig but for once he did not respond negatively.

‘I can handle that,’ he said displaying that confidence
that she liked about him. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting everybody, Amy. I have nobody to call family so it’s interesting to know how these things operate.’

‘Oh no, that sounds ominous.’ She kept her voice light although something was niggling at her. ‘I hope it won’t be too much of an ordeal. My brother and I usually come to blows.’

‘Why is that?’

‘We’re just too different. It’s not unusual. It’s a brother and sister thing,’ she added with a smile.

He returned her smile, reached for her hand and squeezed it, which made her feel a lot better. Christmas always did this to her, put her on edge, and she knew she should just learn to relax and enjoy it for once. Maybe Monique was right; maybe she did take life much too seriously. She was not going to allow Monique to annoy her, not this time, but she would have to remind herself to count to ten before she said the wrong thing. She always spoke too soon where that little lady was concerned. Monique had perfected the art of looking as if she was about to burst into tears, a look that tore at the heart of any man. It was a useful trait but not one she could emulate. Amy did not cry often but when she did it was the genuine article and she preferred to do it alone because the heaving shoulders, the funny strangled gulping sounds, snot-filled nose, and panda eyes that accompanied her crying was not pretty to behold. Just now, as she sat in the car in front of the house she knew as home, a little stirring inside came as a warning that, emotionally, the sight of it affected her deeply, so she quickly sniffed away the slightest hint of that, reverting to the brisk and business-like exterior she liked to present to the world.

‘It’s only a flying visit anyway,’ she went on, trying to reassure herself as much as Brian. ‘I can’t afford to take much time off at this time of year. We open up again the day after Boxing Day but I’m giving that one a miss. We shan’t rest until we’ve got the sales over.’

‘Don’t talk shop.’

‘Sorry.’ He was, she knew, becoming increasingly impatient with that and she vowed not to mention the store again over the next couple of days although she could not guarantee that nobody else would. Their arrival had surely been noticed and suddenly she was anxious to get the introductions over. Maybe, if she was lucky, she might actually enjoy the break. ‘Come on.’ She clambered out and slammed the car door, stretching and smiling towards the house that was still home.

‘I would never have guessed that the removal business could be so lucrative,’ Brian said, helping her lift their cases and the Christmas gifts out of the boot.

‘It’s holding its own although things are not easy just now. My grandfather started the business off with just one van,’ she told him proudly. ‘And then he was lucky to get a council contract way back in the sixties and that really helped him build things up. My father’s just carried it on and eventually, I suppose, my brother will take over.’

‘Lucky brother,’ he said with an easy smile but she glanced sharply at him all the same. He had stayed overnight at her place last night. She had prepared a meal or at least bought something from the luxury range at M&S and followed the cooking instructions to the letter. They had demolished a bottle of Merlot between them and afterwards had snuggled up beside the fire – gas, unfortunately, not a lovely log one – watching a romantic comedy on television and eventually gone to bed. Compared with his place her flat was tiny, the bedroom scarcely big enough for the bed and she was very aware that the walls were thin and that she had neighbours.

He certainly knew what was what, saying and doing all the right things, and she knew she should feel fabulous and loved but something was missing and frankly, as she awoke this morning and hastily got out of bed before it all started up again, she was having serious second thoughts. It just
wasn’t doing it for her. It was fun, sexy, a good excuse to treat herself to some pretty underwear and she hadn’t done this sort of thing for a while so it was all new again; a guilty pleasure.

And yet, aside from the more than passable sex, the way he kept buttoned up about his private life and indeed his work was becoming increasingly concerning. He had money, dressed well and drove a brand new black Mercedes; he had a fantastic house filled with expensive furniture and furnishings and he bought and sold collectibles, art and antiques. That was Brian. Trying to get any more information out of him was a lost cause akin to chipping away at concrete with a penknife and it was beginning to rattle her.

And another thing that was bothering her, one that she had hinted about on the journey, was the lack of family paraphernalia. Everybody had family of sorts but looking round his place it was like a show home with no personal items whatsoever aside from his choice of paintings of which there were many. Somebody had done the interior for him and although the whole place was beautifully warm, heated with a state-of-the-art underfloor system there was a chill about it, too.

Perhaps it needed a female touch but she had an uncomfortable feeling it would not be her. Pleasing Janet was not a reason to keep this thing on-going. She just knew it wasn’t fair on him if he thought this relationship was going anywhere. There was no mention of marriage or indeed the serious commitment of moving in together for they had only known each other a short time but neither of them was that young and at their age things could turn serious pretty damned quickly. Her whole life could change in an instant on the toss of a coin or perhaps the glimmer of a diamond ring. She knew that if he asked her that question just now she would say no or more likely she would stall and ask for time to think about it. Moving into that lovely barn conversion was tempting and she would not miss her little flat one
little bit but that was hardly the right reason to accept a proposal of marriage.