The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) (12 page)

Perhaps he should get rid of that red button on his website, inviting anyone to contact him?

But what else could he do, apart from work?

What else was there in life?

When Cat woke up on Monday morning she couldn’t quite believe Jack was still there. But she could feel him warm against her back and she could hear him breathing softly. So he must be fast asleep.

She’d dreamed about him coming back so often. Now her dreams had all come true. She was so very glad he’d walked into the yard that afternoon and bought those Cotswold tiles.

He’d bought those Cotswold tiles?

What lunacy was this?

She shook herself. She was still half asleep. She was in that state of mind when dreams and thoughts and what was real and what was just imaginary got confused, mixed up.

She raised herself up on one elbow, twisting round to make quite sure that it was Jack in bed.

Of course it was, and now he stirred. He woke up, grinned and pulled her down beside him. ‘You don’t need to go to work just yet,’ he whispered, as he ran his fingers through her hair.

‘Yes I do,’ she told him. ‘Jack, we haven’t time for this. It’s already half past seven. I’m going to be late.’

‘So be late,’ said Jack. ‘You and I, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’

‘I can’t afford to lose my job.’

‘You can, my darling, because I’m going places, and you’re coming with me.’

Adam didn’t intend to go back to the yard in Walthamstow. There were fifty other places where he could have got some Georgian spindles and he didn’t need them until August, anyway.

But on Monday morning he found that he was drawn to Chapman’s yard. He wanted to find out how Cat was doing, if the wedding was back on, if bloody/charming/ghastly/lovely Jack had sorted out his life.

The gates were open and so he didn’t need to ring the bell. He just walked straight in. He found Cat in the office. She was looking wonderful this morning, all bright and fresh and glowing – her jade-green eyes were sparkling and her skin looked like new milk.

A dark-haired girl was sitting on Cat’s desk and they were leafing through a pile of bridal magazines, their glossy pages promising – insisting – romance was a reality, that there was such a thing as genuine, everlasting love.

When they noticed Adam, they both jumped guiltily.

‘Omigod, we thought you were the boss,’ exclaimed the dark-haired girl, who Cat now introduced as Tess.

‘Barry has the vapours at the very thought of weddings because his was a nightmare,’ Cat explained, but Adam noticed that she wouldn’t meet his gaze and now she’d coloured up.

‘The best man got arrested for possession of an unlicensed firearm,’ went on Tess.

‘It was just a starting pistol he had got from eBay and he’d only brought it for a laugh. But they still cuffed him, took him in and locked him in the cells.’

‘The registrar was drunk.’

‘So Barry hates these magazines. But now we’re wondering – satin, crêpe or velvet, which would be the best?’ mused Cat. ‘Duchesse satin would be good because it’s thick and heavy and the wedding will probably be in winter …’

‘I’d go for duchesse satin, then,’ said Adam. ‘So that’s the bridegroom sorted. What about the bride?’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Lawley.’ Cat put down her magazine, looked up, but then looked past him, still wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘What can we do for you today – more Cotswold tiles, more chimneys?’

‘Some genuine Rennie Mackintosh stained glass?’ suggested Tess. She winked at him and grinned. ‘It’s on special offer, because it isn’t genuine at all. It was made in China. But I bought it anyway, because it’s very pretty and somebody is sure to snap it up. Or we can offer you some blue Victorian slates – two hundred quid a ton?’

‘I need some Georgian spindles for a staircase. Oak, if you have them. I don’t want mahogany or pine.’

Adam could not get over how amazing Cat was looking. He realised how much happiness could add to anyone’s attraction, how it made a person sort of shine. So he must be really hideous these days, he decided, because he was anything but happy.

‘These are for the house in Wolverhampton?’ Cat enquired, as she put her magazines away and then picked up a bunch of keys.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Adam, who found he couldn’t drag his gaze away, that he was mesmerised.

‘How many do you need?’

‘Twenty-five to thirty – I’m replacing the whole run.’

‘Right, let’s go and have a look in Barry’s special shed, where he keeps the good stuff.’

As he followed Cat into the yard, Adam saw she was almost skipping. She was almost dancing, like a child at a party. She fizzed and buzzed with happy energy.

‘So you and Jack are back on course again?’ he asked, as Cat unlocked the door and flicked a switch to reveal a hoard of timber – spindles, panels, newel posts and banisters, pine and oak and walnut and red Victorian mahogany.

‘Yes, thank you, everything’s back on,’ said Cat. ‘Now, let me think a moment, where did Barry put those spindles? I believe they’re down here on the right.’

She led him down the central aisle, towards the gloomiest corner of the shed. ‘What do you think of those?’ she asked, and pointed. ‘Early Georgian, English oak, and I think there are twenty-eight of them. So would that be sufficient?’

‘Yes,’ said Adam. ‘Perfect.’

But he wasn’t looking at the spindles. He was looking straight at Cat. In the dusty artificial light of Barry’s shed she was so lovely that it made him catch his breath. ‘How much does Barry want for them?’ he managed to ask at last.

‘I’ll have to check the book,’ she said.

She looked at him and smiled.

It was the smile that did it, the small white perfect teeth, the rose pink lips, the dimple in her cheek.

He took her by the shoulders.

He pulled her close to him.

‘Cat,’ he whispered, willing her to kick him, punch him, slap his face, at least push him away. ‘You have to stop me now.’

But she didn’t do anything at all.

So he drew her closer, closer, closer.

He looked into her eyes and saw himself reflected there. He saw her pupils had grown huge, so that they looked like pools of ink in which a man could drown himself. He thought how very much he’d like to drown in Cat’s green eyes.

But, before he drowned, did he dare to kiss this woman?

Did he have a choice?

When he kissed her on the lips, she didn’t seem surprised – in fact, after a moment’s hesitation, she began to kiss him back, flicking her tongue across his teeth and tantalising him.

Then she put her arms around his neck. He felt her long, cool fingers in his hair. He felt them stroke his face.

Then he was in the real world again. It was as if he’d woken from a restless, troubled nightmare, had realised he’d been dreaming awful dreams. But now – thank God – he was awake, and he was kissing the most beautiful, the most gorgeous girl he’d ever known.

The minutes ticked on by, and he was still kissing Cat, and she was still kissing him with ever hungrier, more urgent passion, as if she couldn’t get enough of him.

Then her hands were on his waist, first outside his shirt, and then inside it, stroking his bare flesh. She ran her fingers up and down his spine. She made him shudder with desire.

Then his hands were underneath her top, and her skin was smoother than the smoothest, softest silk, and her back was curved and sinuous, like a violin.

Then his mouth was on her neck, against her beating pulse, and he could almost hear the heavy thudding of her heart. It was banging like a marching band against his chest, and then, and then, and then—

A pickup dumping twenty tons of bricks, two vehicles colliding in the street – he didn’t know and didn’t care, but the crash brought Adam to his senses. Opening his eyes, he stared at Cat in horror, appalled by what he’d done.

‘Adam, we—we shouldn’t have done that,’ she stammered, as she took her arms from round his waist.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m engaged.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m in love with Jack.’

‘I know that, too.’ Adam raked his fingers through his hair, trying in vain to smooth it flat again. He tried to tuck his shirt back in as well, but he found his fingers wouldn’t do as they were told. ‘You’re going to marry Jack.’

‘Yes, and what’s more I want to marry Jack.’

‘Of course you do. I don’t know what came over me just now. Cat, I’m really sorry. I can’t apologise enough. Let’s go and sort out the payment for the spindles, then I’ll leave.’

He turned and walked back down the aisle.

She followed him.

Then she was sitting at her desk again, doing her sums and working out the VAT on Adam’s Georgian spindles.

‘W-what are you doing now?’ she asked him, as she tapped away. ‘I mean, where are you working these days?’

‘I have some bits and pieces to finish here in England,’ he replied. ‘I need to go to Melbury Court again and check up on the next phase of the stables. I ought to go to Cornwall soon, and I have to sign off a few things at Redland Manor and make sure the owner’s satisfied.’

Then he wished he hadn’t used that word, because now he noticed Cat’s red lips were bee-stung, swollen, and her cheeks were red as roses, and her neck was red as well, and he could see the imprints of his kisses on her throat, red, red, red, red.

‘But then I’m off to Italy for a week, or maybe two. Italian craftsmen are way ahead of us with conservation, especially in marble. So I’m going to pick up a few tips. Then I’ll be able to advise my clients here on marble, alabaster, gilding – all that sort of thing.’

Adam knew he was gushing like a geyser.

But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He had to say something, anything. The girl who worked with Cat was staring at him curiously now, her gaze scorching his skin, and he could hear her thinking – I know what you did in Barry’s shed.

‘That Italian fountain at Melbury Court, for instance,’ he continued desperately. ‘It’s in urgent need of conservation. It’s been stuck outside in our cold climate for more than half a century, and it’s full of cracks.’

Just like my heart, he thought.

Or should that be my head?

‘The Venus in the centrepiece, that’s what I’ll tackle first,’ he added. ‘There has been a bit of restoration, but whoever did it didn’t do it very well. I’ll never have the cash, time or resources to make the whole thing look like new, but I want to make the Venus beautiful again.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ said Cat. ‘I’ve never been to Italy,’ she added, her green eyes wide as they gazed up at him. ‘I’ve heard it’s very pretty?’

‘It’s more than merely pretty, it’s absolutely gorgeous.’ Adam gazed back at Cat and wondered where they went from here.

Nowhere, idiot, he told himself.

‘What were you doing in the woodshed?’ Tess demanded, as Adam left the yard, as they heard his engine firing up and heard his ancient Volvo drive away, with the spindles safely in the boot.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You and Mr Spindle, when you came back in here you both looked furtive. Why was his shirt untucked all round the back? Why have you got red marks all down your neck?’

‘Adam was reaching for the spindles and he had to stretch. So that’s how his shirt became untucked.’

‘Adam, is it now? What happened to Mr Lawley?’

‘I meant Mr Lawley, obviously.’ Cat frowned at Tess. ‘Barry had put the good stuff at the back, and Adam – Mr Lawley – had to climb over a pile of other things to get at them. I had to help him, and I grazed myself on those rough bits of planking Barry’s stacked against one wall.’

‘I reckon Mr Spindle was climbing over stuff to get at you.’

‘Well, that’s because you’ve got a dirty mind.’

‘Well, you’ve been doing dirty things.’ Tess shook her head. ‘Look at the state of you, as I expect your mum would say. Your lipstick’s been licked off. Your hair’s a right old mess, all tangled up and coming down. Your top looks like you’ve slept in it. So something rough’s been grazing you all right, but I don’t think it was a plank.’

‘You’ve finished, have you?’

‘No, there’s plenty more. When I said you needed to find yourself a man, I didn’t mean you had to get the old one back and also grab a spare.’ Tess looked hard at Cat. ‘You and Mr Spindle are playing dangerous games.’

‘I don’t know what you’re going on about.’ Cat realised her cotton top was rucked up at the back, so now she pulled it straight. Then she smoothed her hair back from her forehead and clipped it up again.

She glanced down at the diary.

‘You have an appointment with a Mr Walton at half past ten this morning,’ she told Tess. ‘He called to ask if we’d like half a dozen stripped pine doors with stained glass panels, which we would, and so I think you’d better get a move on before some other dealer beats you to it.’

‘You’ve clearly got it bad for Mr Spindle,’ Tess persisted as she fiddled with some ballpoints on Cat’s desk. ‘What will he be after next, I wonder? It’s just occurred to me that it’s quite interesting how he’s been to buy the sort of stuff which also sends a message, I mean subliminally.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ asked Cat and snatched her ballpoints back.

‘Chimneys, spindles – think about it, phallic symbols, aren’t they? Mr Spindle’s obviously telling you he wants—’

‘Please could you go and psychoanalyse Mr Walton, Tess? If you don’t leave straight away, you’re going to be late, and Barry definitely wants those doors.’