Conditional Love (35 page)

I tapped viciously at the computer to bring it back to life.

‘Yes, I’m brainstorming my ideas for the Valentine’s Day Wedding Proposal promotion,’ I said brightly. Cheesy, but you had to give the public what they wanted.

Donna ran an impatient hand over her platinum bob, which as usual was lacquered to within an inch of its life.

‘On my own. Just in my head,’ I added as the boss eyed up my blank computer screen.

‘Hmm,’ she said, losing interest and turning her beady eye onto me. ‘Sorted out your plus one?’

‘Er.’

I knew I had to be very careful here. She was referring to our table at the Property Awards. This glittering affair was to be held on February the fourteenth in Nottingham’s most prestigious hotel and was attended by everyone who was anyone in the property industry.
The Herald
was the main sponsor and not only had Donna commanded that the entire department be there, we had to bring a ‘useful’ guest with us. If I didn’t come up with a name soon, Donna would choose one for me.

‘That’s my very next job,’ I said, wishing I had one of those rolodex filing systems at my fingertips. Instead, I pulled a scruffy stack of business cards towards me and flashed Donna a smile which I hoped said ‘You can rely on me.’ It seemed to work, she swished over to Jason and jabbed a finger at him.

‘And you. You’ve got two hours to bring me your names or I’ll do it for you both.’

Jason dropped his head onto his desk. His shirt had come untucked and I could see at least a third of his underpants. Spending Valentine’s Day at a work event had not gone down too well with his new girlfriend.

‘What about that girl from the landscape gardener’s?’ I suggested.

‘Nah,’ he mumbled, ‘already asked her. She’s busy.’ He lifted his head and grinned at me. ‘I thought about asking Leanne from accounts.’

‘She’s not useful!’

‘She is to me!’ He winked salaciously.

I tutted and went back to shuffling my business cards. So much for love’s young dream.

I couldn’t have taken Emma or Jess even if I could have pretended that they were useful; the National Silver Awards were on the fifteenth of February, in London. Jess had wangled a day off school and they were travelling down the night before. I was really proud of Emma; she had intended to invite her dad as he had been her main motivation for entering in the first place, but she had decided that a party was just what Jess needed to cheer her up. Besides, with me already out for the evening, I don’t think Emma wanted to leave a jilted and pregnant woman on her own, on the most romantic night of the year.

Not that I would be having a romantic time of it, I thought as I discarded card after card.

I wondered what Nick would be doing? Nick would be my ideal ‘plus one’. A leading young architect could easily be classed as ‘useful’, not to mention being sophisticated, well-informed and very passionate about property. Donna would love him.

I wanted to invite him.

I puffed my cheeks out. Finally. I had admitted it. I allowed myself a few moments to explore the thought fully. It had been tiptoeing round the edges of my mind, waving furiously at me, for days. Jess had been coming up with convoluted excuses to get back in touch with him. This was perfect. And it wasn’t as if I had any better ideas.

Don’t overthink it, Sophie, just do it. Pick up the phone.

I dialled Nick’s office and Poppi answered. I couldn’t decide whether this was good or bad.

‘How was the New Year’s Eve party? Sorry I couldn’t make it,’ I said. No harm in mentioning it. You never know, she might repeat the conversation to Nick.

‘The best!’ said Poppi. ‘The police didn’t come ’til five, by which time the vodka jelly in the bath had gone, the fireworks had finished and the fire brigade had put the flames out in next door’s shed, so we called it a night. You missed a good party!’

I shuddered, reminding myself never to attend a student party, no matter how tempting the invitation. And not that I knew him very well, but somehow I couldn’t imagine Nick enjoying that sort of thing either.

‘Nick didn’t come,’ said Poppi, echoing my thoughts. ‘Went home to his mum’s. The wimp.’

‘Is Nick there?’

‘No.’

Silence. Poppi’s dedication to customer service knew no bounds.

‘Do you know if he’s free on the evening of February the fourteenth?’

‘Valentine’s Day? Ah, that’s so cute! I’ll just check his diary.’

‘It’s business.’ Even so, that didn’t stop my cheeks blazing like her next door neighbour’s shed.

‘Course it is,’ she chirped in a tone which managed to convey that she was only humouring me because I was a client. ‘Here we are. He’s got a photo shoot early evening, you know, for the dogs.’

What on earth did that mean – a photo shoot for the dogs? My mind boggled. Images of dogs posing on velvet cushions, with Nick urging them to ‘Work it baby’ sprang into my head. My newly-minted crush on him had fudged over the fact that he was a bit on the unusual side. I began to have my doubts. Perhaps there was an estate agent I should invite after all? Or a traffic warden? Or a tax inspector?

‘Oh! He’s here now,’ said Poppi. ‘You can ask him yourself.’

I caught snatches of a whispered conversation as Poppi failed to put the call on hold while she filled Nick in. I turned over a new page in my notebook and wrote ‘To Do List’ at the top.

‘Hello Sophie, Happy New Year!’

My insides went all gooey at the sound of his voice.

‘Thank you. You too.’ I smiled down the phone, meaning it.

I am such a hypocrite.

If there was one thing that bugged me about January, it was wishing people a Happy New Year every five minutes. Every phone call, every email, every time you bumped into a colleague for the first time – it really got on my wick. But somehow when Nick said it, it was full of hope and promise.

‘I’ve got your cheque,’ he said. ‘And I’ll be sending your planning application in for Lilac Lane on Friday, so it arrives with them on Monday.’

‘Great.’ I sighed quietly, disappointed in his choice of topic.

No small talk, no ‘How was your Christmas?’ Straight down to business. I had brought it on myself of course, by turning him down, but even so, it still stung. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? Maybe I should leave him with his dogs on Valentine’s Day?

‘Poppi tells me you have a spare ticket for the Property Awards?’

Was I imagining it, or did he sound interested?

A flicker of excitement made me fidget in my seat.

‘
The
Herald
has a table and I’d like to invite you as my guest.’

There was a moment’s silence on the other end of the line. I held my breath and kept everything crossed.

‘I’d be honoured.’

Nick in a tuxedo, me in a posh frock, a candlelit dinner… perhaps it would be a romantic occasion after all? Perhaps this was our chance?

‘It would be a great networking opportunity for me,’ he gushed. Gushed! Seriously! I’d never heard him so excited.

Somewhat deflated, I rang off after promising to introduce him to the business editor, the property editor and some big cheese at the property industry association.

I looked down at my list. Plus one was sorted. Only new dress, new shoes, a manicure, haircut and lose half a stone left to tick off and I was good to go.

thirty-nine

I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl in front of me: elegant and demure but at the same time ravishingly sexy. That was exactly how I wanted to wear my hair when I got married. It was pinned up into a low arrangement of curls at the back with two loose ringlets at the front, falling to her shoulders.

I smiled and she smiled back, her eyes shining with delight at her own reflection. She was me. Even though I said it myself, I was looking pretty damn fine.

I angled my tiny compact mirror to inspect the back of my head. Roberto had earned himself a fat tip and two fat kisses for his handiwork. It looked effortless. Only he and I knew that approximately two hundred and fifty hairgrips had been required. It would take me ages to take them all out. I might even have to sleep with my head hanging over the bed.

My hands were trembling as I put my earrings in and my legs weren’t doing a very good job of holding me steady either. I felt like a princess about to go to the ball to meet her handsome prince.

I shuddered, remembering that that was what Marc used to call me. And to think that this time last year, on Valentine’s Day, I had wanted nothing more than to be swept off my feet by Marc Felton! I wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole these days. My next boyfriend would have to do more than call me ‘Princess’, he would have to treat me like one too, respect my wishes, and love me unconditionally, for me and not for what he might get out of me. It wasn’t that I wanted to wear the trousers in my next relationship; I simply wanted to share them now and again.

I was highly unlikely to be sharing any trousers with Nick Cromwell, but all the same, I hoped he would appreciate the effort I’d gone to tonight.

He wasn’t interested in me in the slightest, I could see that now. I’d been building up that conversation we had in Starbucks at Christmas into something it wasn’t. He must have been swept along by the festive spirit when he asked me to Poppi’s party. Either that or I was a last resort. All I’d had from him recently was an invoice asking for money, payment for my cowshed design and an email to check the timings for tonight’s event. I had to face it: when all was said and done, I was a client. Nothing more.

Things might have been different if we had spent New Year’s Eve together. I had gone over and over it in my mind, but there was no way I could have accepted his invitation.

Dinner with Mum and Dad had been a necessary evil. It had been seriously weird for all three of us, but they had made the effort for my sake and I should have been grateful.

After an hour of them both talking round in circles about their regrets and how they wished they had done things differently, I’d had enough. What was the point? What mattered was where we all went from there. I had poured us all a drink and proposed a toast to the future. Not quite as eventful as Poppi’s party, but memorable nonetheless.

I slipped my heels on and I was ready. My stomach felt all fluttery; I bet Nick was going to look handsome in a tuxedo.

Emma and Jess were in their rooms, packing for London.

Jess flopped down on her bed when she saw me.

‘Babes!’ she squealed, holding a hand protectively over her tummy. ‘You are looking hot tonight!’

Emma appeared in the doorway and gave a wolf whistle.

‘Nicky-boy won’t be able to keep his hands off!’

I shook my head, cursing the two red spots on my cheeks.

‘I’m sure he’ll manage to control himself.’ But if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be batting him off.

I gave them a twirl, loving the sensation of the silk swishing against my skin. I’d shunned black – too boring – and red – too obvious – and picked a knee-length, sleeveless green dress with a plunging neckline and a black silk bow at the waist. The half stone I had wanted to lose would be tagging along for the evening – no surprises there. But, even so, my lovely dress fitted me in all the right places and very kindly skimmed over the not-so-right ones.

I hoped Nick would approve.

‘Text me as soon as you get off the train and again when you get to the hotel,’ I said, hugging Emma tightly.

‘Get off, you soppy git,’ she said. ‘You’ll crease your dress.’

‘Take care, Jess. Don’t overdo it.’ I kissed Jess’s cheek and patted her stomach. ‘Bye baby, be good.’

The door buzzer announced the arrival of my taxi. I hurried to the door. ‘On my way,’ I called into the intercom.

I ran down the stairs. It felt strange to be all dressed up and on my way out at six o’clock. Why was it that these dinners always started so early in the evening? Oh yeah – it was so they had time for all the boring speeches before everyone dropped off to sleep.

I flung open the front door and ran slap bang into a huge bouquet of flowers on legs.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ I yelped. That was thirty quid’s worth of roses down the pan. The apology died on my lips as Marc’s face appeared from behind the cellophane.

‘Hello, Princess, Happy Valentine’s Day!’

For a moment I stared at him, totally stunned. Why now? After all these months, why tonight? Life was already complicated enough, thank you very much! Not to mention the fact that I was now in the freezing cold with nothing but a pashmina between me and the outside world. My hair would turn to wire wool in another forty seconds.

His eyes widened and he flexed his lips as if he was about to kiss someone. Then very slowly, he traced a finger along my collarbone, nodding appreciatively.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ He stepped forward, taking liberties with my personal space. I flapped at him and tossed a prim smile in his direction.

I would have been lying if I didn’t admit to getting a buzz from seeing his eyes pop out on stalks, I was only human after all. What girl wouldn’t be secretly pleased to bump into her ex when she was looking her best?

Huh hum, coughed my subconscious, you’re trying to impress Nick, tonight, not Desperate Dan. Remember?

What I really needed now was for the taxi to pull up to the pavement and for me to climb in, offer him nothing but a withering smile and glide off without a backward glance.

I peered over his shoulder hopefully. Not a sausage.

I took a deep breath and prayed he couldn’t see that my knees were knocking.

‘What are you doing here?’ I said, giving my blasé look an airing.

‘I came to bring you these,’ he said, tweaking the crushed cellophane. ‘Let’s give it another go, eh, Sophie?’

He twisted his mouth in a lazy smile and did that twinkly thing with his eyes that always made my spine go all bendy. That was the problem with sexy, charming, good-looking and persuasive men, they thought they were irresistible.

I had to admit, I did weaken temporarily. The situation did have a happy-ever-after feel to it; me in a sexy dress, swept off my feet by six feet of red-blooded male – I could almost hear the soaring violins in the background.