The Vintage Teacup Club (21 page)

Alison nodded, smiled.

‘Any children?’ Derek asked.

‘Yes, two lovely girls, twelve and fifteen,’ Alison said, then corrected herself with a wry smile, ‘I mean, I say lovely …’

Ruby laughed. ‘I know what you mean. Our sons were pretty boisterous at that age. But you don’t love them any less, do you?’

‘Not for a second,’ Alison said, realising how true it was. ‘Anyway, Ruby, Derek,’ she went on, ‘I should be off. But it’s been so wonderful to meet you.’ Alison sat forward in her chair and smiled.

‘OK then dear,’ Ruby said. ‘I’m sure you’ve got lots to do today. But it’s been a pleasure.’

Alison got to her feet and said goodbye, Derek held her hand affectionately between the two of his for a moment. When he let go, Ruby led her to the door.

‘You’re welcome any time, you know, if you’re ever passing,’ Ruby said, seeing her out.

‘Thank you, Ruby.’ Alison turned to go, then stopped and turned back as she remembered
something. ‘Did you say you had more things to clear out of your attic?’ she asked.

‘Oh yes,’ Ruby said. ‘Lots of old furniture and things. None of it is any use to us anymore, and Gareth said the things are too big for the stall. It’s just all quite heavy, you see.’

‘I think I know just the person to help you,’ Alison said, a smile coming to her face. She took a piece of paper out of her bag and scribbled down a note. ‘Here’s my phone number, perhaps you could give me a call to fix a time?’ Ruby accepted the paper with a grateful smile.

Alison turned and took her first steps
back towards home.

Maggie sat back on the sofa and surveyed her living room. On the coffee table a copy of
Dazed and Confused
sat alongside her
Elle House and Garden
magazine, a leather jacket was slung across her piano stool, and scribbled notes cluttered the surface of the breakfast bar.

One of the biggest changes since Dylan had moved in was the way that his music came back with him. She was still adjusting to coming home to the sound of raw guitar riffs when he had an afternoon off. This Sunday he’d given in, though, and it was her Nina Simone album they were listening to as they sat together reading the papers. As planned, they had the day all to themselves; they’d even switched off their phones and computers
and resolved to let work wait till Monday for once. Dylan had made eggs Benedict and they’d eaten out on the terrace, sipping fresh orange juice and freshly brewed coffee, the sun creeping over the lawn and warming the patio. After breakfast Dylan had gone out for the papers and they had spent most of the morning on the sofa together reading them. Maggie surveyed the cosy disorder of the living room and caught Dylan’s eye. He squeezed her foot and put down the culture section he was reading, a broad smile on his face.

‘Maggie, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

As he got up, she pulled her cream satin dressing gown tighter around her and sat up.

‘A surprise?’ she asked. ‘How come?’

‘It’s a housewarming present, of sorts. Hang on a minute.’ Dylan left the room and went outside. A couple of minutes later Maggie heard his car door slam shut. He returned with two very big flat packages, wrapped in brown paper.

‘Here you go,’ he said, propping them gently against the cushions of the sofa she was sitting on, and grinning. ‘Go on, open them.’

Maggie opened the smaller of the two first, ripping the paper carefully. She saw a hint of the silver frame, then ripped more to see the picture inside: a photo of a New York street scene. It was a doorstep sale outside a tall brownstone house, a young family
selling lamps, pictures and other bric-a-brac on a makeshift stall, their little boy playing on the front step and his sister playing hopscotch on the street in front. The colours were vivid and the kids looked as if they might leap right out of the frame.

‘This is one of yours, isn’t it?’ Maggie said, turning to Dylan.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I took it last year and thought you might like it. No teacups there I know, but it still looked like the kind of place you might enjoy looking for bargains during a weekend in the Big Apple.’ Maggie reached over and gave him a kiss.

‘I love it,’ she said.

Dylan beamed. ‘Good. Open the other one now,’ he said, impatient.

Maggie opened the second package, which was slightly larger. It took her a moment to work out that it was a photo of the view through a large, warehouse-style window. Through the glass was a leafy park, and at the sides of the photograph she could make out the interior of the room, a laptop, and some books on a desk, large photos and a street map pinned to the wall. The green foliage outside was so bright that the room itself seemed faded by comparison. Maggie cast her eye over the detail, the pictures within the picture, prints of models in swirling fabrics, adverts, a curled
photo of a beautiful blonde in a Seventies floppy hat.

‘Is this your studio?’ Maggie said, the picture coming together as a whole now.

Dylan smiled. ‘Yes. What do you think of the view?’

Maggie nodded, rearranging her position and looked at it again. ‘Nice,’ she said. It was interesting, in a way. But it was his world, she thought, the one that didn’t include her.

‘I thought we could put that up in the bedroom,’ Dylan said. ‘So that we both have our views to look at in the morning.’

‘OK,’ Maggie said, ‘sure. Yes, if you’d like that.’

Dylan picked up the two pictures. ‘Have you got a hammer?’

By the middle of their first week living back together, Dylan had woven himself into the very fabric of Maggie’s home. Her bedroom and en-suite were colourful with traces of him – discarded T-shirts, boxers, aftershave, a shower gel in black packaging that made the bathroom smell of man, and a razor. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Maggie would feel unsettled, the change had come so quickly and she was struggling to adjust. But then she’d feel Dylan’s warm skin next to hers, move closer and put her arms around him, and the doubts would disappear.

On Wednesday evening, with Dylan over in Amsterdam on a work trip, Maggie got her
wedding ring out of its box on a shelf and looked at it again. The first time she’d put it on, during their small wedding ceremony at Islington town hall, she’d felt like the luckiest woman alive. She closed the box gently and put it back down on her dressing table.

As she drove around a corner Maggie glanced in her rearview mirror to see steam billowing out from her Beetle’s engine. She’d put her foot down on the brake and had just started to slow down when the car spluttered to a complete stop.

After closing the shop on Thursday, Maggie had taken a trip out to a church over in Easton. A young couple, Hannah and Ian, had contacted her about doing the flowers for the christening of their baby girl Anya, so they’d decided to meet and walk through the venue together and talk about what displays might work. The village church was beautiful; the evening light threw diamonds in stained-glass colours across the tiled floor and wooden pews. In front of the seats were hand-embroidered prayer cushions.

The couple had been full of enthusiasm, full of pride for Anya, and excited about sharing the day with their family and friends. After the demands of bridezillas like Lucy, and the complicated wedding she was working on in Hove, this was a welcome relief to Maggie. Wandering up and down the aisle with them, suggesting yellows
and reds to match the jewel shades in the windows, she had been reminded of why she’d got into the flower business in the first place. When Anya, cosy in Hannah’s sling, finally began to get restless, they had said their goodbyes and agreed to talk again soon.

It was dusk by the time Maggie had got on to the A-road back to Charlesworth and her engine had begun to protest. When it cut out completely, she had managed to pull over into a layby and out of the way of the tractor behind her. She went around to the back of the car, opened it up and steam poured out – it was too hot to get close enough to see what was wrong.

Typical. She hadn’t had a problem with the Beetle since she bought it new, so yes, it was probably about time – but why here, where she had no phone reception and couldn’t call the AA? She got her mobile out of her pocket just to check – yep, not a bar. She put it away in her bag.

She imagined Dylan sinking a cold Amstel by the Dutch canals, sun sparkling on the water, and recalled how he’d urged her to close the shop and join him. If only she had. She held back the urge to kick the car in frustration and tried to think practically. She looked up at the sky, which was darkening quickly now. There were no streetlights for miles, and she knew from experience that soon she wouldn’t be able to see her own hands in front of her face. This route was a
familiar one – it was a long walk back to Easton, at least an hour and a half, and an even longer one to Charlesworth. Nothing but fields for a good distance, but she could see a couple of farmhouses, on the route back to Easton, where she might be able to use the phone. At least she was wearing flats, she thought. She grabbed a cream jumper from the back seat and locked up the car.

She’d been walking for about half an hour on the near-empty road when a car behind her tooted its horn. She was already at the very edge of the road, with the bramble scratches to prove it, so presumably the driver was simply showing his appreciation of her rear – and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of turning around. As the car neared her it slowed right down, pulling level with her. She kept her eyes focused on the road ahead. The sky was a little darker now though, and her irritation was tinged with an edge of anxiety. Here she was, walking on her own without even a functioning mobile. She was strong, yes, but not invincible. The vehicle continued to crawl along beside her. Her heart and mind were racing. Looking up, after what felt like an eternity but must only have been a second or two, she saw it was a truck, rather than a car, and that the broad-shouldered driver was leaning across the cab to wind down the window.

‘Maggie?’ the driver shouted. She recognised his voice right away. Owen. Of all people, it would
be Owen. Of course. Maggie loathed to admit it, but at that very moment she was glad to see him. He slowed the pick-up to a complete stop.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘What on earth are you doing out here?’

‘I broke down,’ she said, pointing back along the road towards her Beetle, realising she’d walked so far now it was no longer visible. ‘Down that way, I mean,’ she said, looking at her ballet pumps, once cream but now scruffy with mud.

‘Ah, I must have passed it. Jump in then,’ Owen said, matter-of-factly, unlocking the door and motioning for her to get in.

‘OK. Thank you,’ Maggie said, relieved, stepping up and getting into the cab.

‘Where did you leave the car?’ he asked, starting up the engine again before she’d even closed the side door.

‘About two miles back the way you came. But look, Owen, if I could just use your phone, I …’

Owen took a hand off the steering wheel, got his phone out of his pocket and passed it to her while keeping his eye on the road – ‘Check it,’ he said, not unkindly, ‘but I’m pretty sure I can never get reception on the way to Easton.’

‘Oh, yours too,’ she confirmed, after a look at the screen.

‘Look, why don’t I drive you back to the
car?’ he said, turning to look at her. There was a gentleness in his eyes Maggie hadn’t seen before. ‘I used to have a Beetle as it happens, so I know my way around the engines pretty well. I’ll take a look, see if I can’t fix it.’

‘You don’t need to …’ Maggie said, then thought of how much sooner she might be able to get home. Dylan might even be trying to call her and she didn’t want to miss him. ‘You know what, that would be great.’ She would only be hurting herself by refusing. ‘I’d appreciate that, Owen.’

‘No worries,’ he said, with the hint of a smile.

As Owen sped along the country lane, she noticed the bits of twig and flower attached to their seats. She looked up at his face as he concentrated on the road, it must have been at least a few days since he’d last had a shave. When he caught her looking he said, ‘Radio?’ flicking it on before she answered.

Maggie reached forward to put his phone down, into the little well by the gearstick. Then she saw it, bundled into that space. Jewellery, a thin silver chain, with an emerald pendant. Her breath caught in her throat.

Lucy’s necklace.

It was just after ten when Maggie finally got home. She’d asked Owen not to worry about fixing the car, that she’d changed her mind and would call the AA after all. He had seemed nonplussed, and had dropped her
at the Fox and Hound, the first pub they found, as she asked. They’d let her use the landline. Owen had offered to wait, but she had told him to go. She’d ordered a glass of red while she waited, thoughts whirring. With dozens of weddings on her CV, Maggie really thought
she’d seen it all. But after what she’d seen in Owen’s car, she wasn’t so sure.

Lucy Mackintosh
, she thought to herself,
what on earth are you up to?