Forget Me Knot (17 page)

Abby was smiling and shaking her head in mock despair. “Hey, Frasier and Niles, could you please knock it off? The customers are going to think I attract weirdos.”

“On the other hand,” Toby said, flicking imaginary lint from his lapel, “they might appreciate a master class in style.” He stepped forward to give Abby a quick good-bye peck and headed for the door.

“Think lightly poached salmon,” Martin called after Toby. “Fabulous with your coloring.”

“You think? I’ll bear it in mind.”

Once Toby had left, Abby turned her attention to the dozen or so bunches of lily of the valley that had been delivered an hour ago and had yet to be put in water. As she began trimming the stems with a florist’s knife, she couldn’t help but gaze in amazement at the perfection of the tiny, creamy bells. At one point she closed her eyes and breathed in the exquisitely sweet perfume. “Reminds me of the first time I was a bridesmaid,” she said to Martin. “There was lily of the valley in my bouquet. I’d never smelled it before, and I thought it was the most glorious scent ever. Every
time I get a waft of it, I see myself in this pink taffeta dress and ballet shoes.”

“Bet you looked dead cute,” Martin said.

He had just filled a green plastic watering can with a long narrow spout and was busy topping up the water levels in the vases of flowers. Just then the shop door burst open—startling them both—and Christian appeared, his face taut with fury.

“Christian,” Abby began darkly, aware that he was about to launch into another verbal attack on Martin. “I have warned you. I will not have my shop used as a battleground.”

Ignoring Abby, Christian strode over to Martin and positioned himself in front of him, inches from his face. “OK, this ends now,” Christian snarled, nostrils practically flaring. “If you continue phoning and texting me like this, I will go to the police and have you charged with harassment. Do I make myself clear?”

“And I will phone the police and have you charged with disorderly conduct,” Abby barked. “Do I make myself clear?”

Yet again Christian ignored her.

Martin refused to be intimidated. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are, coming in here trying to bully me? I’ve been phoning and texting because I love Debbie just as much as you do and I want a chance to spend time with her.” He ran to the window and peered out. “Is she here?”

“Of course she isn’t. You have become obsessed and unhinged and I’m not going to risk you dognapping her. You will have nothing to do with that animal. I will get a court order if I have to.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Martin snarled. By now he had pulled himself up to his full five foot nine and a half and was squaring up to Christian.

“I’ll do what the hell I like.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, that’s who.”

“Oh, sod off… you… superannuated queen.”

“Sticks and stones will—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Abby broke in, “the two of you sound like a couple of camp seven-year-olds. I’m not saying this again. If you want to tear strips of each other, go and do it in the street.”

“I’ve said what I came to say,” Christian sneered.

“Excellent,” Abby replied. “Let me show you to the door.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Christian turned to go but not before bestowing a withering glance upon a container of irises and declaring loftily that they were well past their best. “Oh, by the way, Abby, regarding the matter of your flower and plant containers taking up too much pavement space: you will be receiving a letter from the council ordering you to remove them. I think it would be to your advantage to comply forthwith.”

“I think I will decide what is and isn’t to my advantage,” Abby retorted. “Good-bye, Christian—and, please, don’t call again.” Abby was aware that her hands had become fists.

“You may depend upon it.” With that he took his imperious leave. She watched him step onto the pavement and immediately collide with an elderly woman, almost knocking the poor soul off balance. Abby couldn’t hear what was
being said, but she could see that Christian had his arm round the woman’s shoulders to steady her. Judging by his body language, the way he was leaning in toward her, his brow furrowed with genuine concern, it was clear that he was taking great pains to check that she was in one piece before letting her continue on her way.

“Sometimes you get tiny glimpses of the real man,” Martin said, jerking his head toward the window to indicate that he, too, had witnessed the scene with the old lady.

Abby merely shook her head with bemusement.

“Look,” Martin said, “I know I should have walked away, but when Christian starts attacking me, I just lose it. I can’t help it.”

“It’s OK. I understand,” Abby soothed. “He’s starting to have the same effect on me. When he’s not tending to old ladies and dogs, that man is poison. Pure poison.”

Abby decided they needed a sugar fix to cheer them up, so she popped to the French patisserie a few doors down and bought two pains au chocolat. When she got back, Martin was just finishing serving a customer. He nodded his head toward the counter and two mugs of freshly made coffee.

As they demolished the pains au chocolat and sipped their coffee, Martin seemed subdued.

“Don’t let Christian get to you,” she said. “Something will sort out. Listen, I know it may sound a bit drastic, not to mention expensive, but have you thought about seeing a lawyer? After all, Debbie Harry is half yours. Surely Christian has no right to stop you from seeing her.”

“I had the same thought,” Martin said. “Maybe I should make an appointment at the Citizens Advice Bureau.” He fell silent.

Abby was wiping pastry crumbs off her lap. “What’s the matter? Is there something else you want to talk about?”

He looked to her as if he was plucking up the courage to say something.

“What?” she said gently.

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Come on. Out with it. I can tell there’s something on your mind.”

“There isn’t. Honest. Forget it.”

“God, I hate it when people start something and then leave you hanging.”

“What have I started? I haven’t said a word.”

“I know, but you’re thinking something, and if it concerns me, I’d appreciate you telling me what it is.”

“God, Abby, you can be so egocentric sometimes. Why do you assume it concerns you?”

“I don’t know. For some reason I just get the feeling it does, that’s all.”

“Well, it doesn’t. Now can we just let it drop?” His tone was less than convincing, and she was suddenly certain that whatever was bothering him did concern her.

“Sure.” She gave a nonchalant shrug, which was meant to give the impression that she wasn’t really bothered, but of course she was. Still wondering what might be troubling Martin and convinced it had something to do with her, Abby went upstairs to get changed. She needed to look smart for her meeting with Mr. Takahashi later on this afternoon, but before that—in just over an hour, to be precise—she was due at Claridge’s. One of her clients, the holiday company specializing in upscale cruises, was organizing a huge corporate bash with a Caribbean theme, and they wanted Abby to take care of the flowers.

She spent an hour with the chairman’s PA, who was in charge of organizing the event. She loved Abby’s ideas of giant vases spilling over with vibrant tropical flowers like lobster-claw heliconia, scorpion orchids and red-hot cattail.

It was only when Abby was in the taxi on her way back to the shop that she started to wonder if her supplier could get the blooms in the quantities she needed and in time for the party, which was scheduled for the beginning of next month.

She was also wondering if she’d quoted a sufficiently high price. Even though the business was doing well, she was as nervous as ever about losing clients through overcharging. The upshot was she tended to be overoptimistic budgetwise. More than once she’d taken on a particularly ambitious project that depended on rare and exotic flowers and had ended up making hardly any profit.

She was just getting off the phone from her supplier as she walked back into the shop. “Fantastic. Seems I got it just about right.”

“What?”

“The estimate for the Claridge’s do.”

Martin nodded. “Great.” She picked up on his flat tone and preoccupied look. “Abby, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Is this the same thing you wanted to talk to me about this morning but chickened out?”

He nodded.

“OK, shoot.”

He leaned over the counter and began fiddling with a stray piece of cut stem.

“Come on, Scozza. Whatever it is, just say it. Please.”

“All right. Look, you know how over the past months we’ve become really close.”

She nodded.

“And you know I think of you among my closest friends?”

“Ditto.”

“And you know how much I love you and how I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“Ditto again. For heaven’s sake, what’s all this about?”

He let out a long breath. “Look, I know this is absolutely none of my business, but has it occurred to you that Toby could be gay?”

Her defensiveness surprised her. “You’re right, Scozz, this is none of your business, but for the record, I have considered the possibility. You may also be surprised to know that I have raised the issue with Toby. He laughed it off, but he was clearly hurt by the suggestion. Like me, you made the classic, shallow assumption that because Toby’s really into clothes, he must be gay.”

“I don’t think it’s shallow. There’s more to it than that, and you know it….”

But Abby wasn’t listening. “He isn’t gay. OK? He told me he isn’t. And I believe him. Now let it go. I just wish gay men would get over themselves. You do not have the monopoly on dressing well.”

“I agree. That’s not the point I’m trying to make.”

“Then what is?” Her face tightened. “It may have escaped your notice, but Toby and I are engaged—to be married. I think you’ll agree the days are long gone when gay men felt the need to marry in order to conceal their homosexuality.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true. There are still plenty of men who for professional or family reasons can’t bear to come out.” He paused. “Look, I’m trying to see this whole thing with you and Toby in context.”

“What context?”

“The context that the two of you don’t have sex.”

She felt herself bridle. “My sex life has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“What?” He was wide-eyed with astonishment. “But you’ve made no secret of the fact that you and Toby hardly ever do it.”

“OK,” she said, reddening because she felt ambushed by the truth, “but there are times when that’s up for discussion and this isn’t one of them.”

“So, you’re allowed to bring up the subject, but nobody else is.”

“Yes,” she said, aware of how unreasonable that sounded.

“Fair enough, but my gaydar very rarely fails me. I thought Toby was gay the first time I met him. I think you need to be aware that he could be lying to you.”

Abby suddenly saw red. “He is not lying,” she hissed. “How dare you suggest such a thing. God, the way you lot try to recruit, you’re as bad as the Salvation Army.”

“That’s nonsense.
My lot
aren’t interested in ‘converts.’ People are what they are. All I’m saying is that I’ve got pretty good instincts about who is or isn’t gay.”

“Oh, right. That’s why you’re leaving it to me to see if Mr. Takahashi’s personal assistant is gay. ‘See if he gives off a vibe,’ you said. I think that means you trust my gaydar almost as much as yours. In which case I think I’d know if my own fiancé is gay.” She paused. “This subject is closed.”

“OK, fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. This really is none of my business.”

Just then the door opened and a woman customer came in. “You’re right. It isn’t any of your business,” Abby hissed before turning to the woman and smiling a greeting.

RATHER THAN
risk getting stuck in traffic, Abby decided to take the tube to Mr. Takahashi’s house in Knightsbridge. As she sat on the train trying to read the
Evening Standard
, she realized she was still furious with Martin. He had absolutely no right to interfere in her relationship with Toby. He’d crossed a boundary in their friendship, and it was going to take her a while to get over it.

Toby wasn’t gay. He couldn’t have made himself clearer on the matter if he’d tried. He was simply an old-fashioned English dandy. Plenty of straight men were. The Sunday supplement “Style” pages were constantly highlighting the growing number of “straight gays” who spent a fortune on beauty products and expensive clothes. And as for his lack of libido, it could well be due to a testosterone deficiency.

On the other hand, if she truly believed Toby when he said he wasn’t gay, why was Scozza’s suggestion getting her so wound up? Why had she gotten so cross with him? Was it possible that, despite Toby’s strenuous denials, she still had her doubts?

Abby got out at Knightsbridge station and began walking along Brompton Road. She passed Harrods on her left and continued on a couple of blocks. Apparently Mr. Takahashi had a house in a brand-new development, somewhere behind Beauchamp Place. While she was walking, she
took out her mobile. She would phone Soph and ask her if she thought Toby was gay. She began dialing Soph’s direct line at work and then stopped herself. What was she doing? She didn’t need Sophie to reassure her that Toby was straight. Toby had said he was and she had to trust him. If she had any nagging doubts, then she needed to confront Toby again.

She put her mobile back in her bag and gave a firm, resolute tug on the zipper.

She reached the gated development, which contained maybe a dozen grand metal-and-glass houses and two apartment buildings. The uniformed guard phoned Ichiro to confirm that Abby was expected and then opened the gate. “OK, miss, Mr. T’s flat is the penthouse. Twenty-third floor.” He pointed her in the direction of an immense shard of glass a hundred yards or so down the road.

She was overtaken by a wave of nausea. “I thought Mr. Takahashi lived in a house,” Abby said, aware that she was sounding childishly indignant.