The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) (7 page)

Tess was very keen to hear about the trip to Dorset, which Cat described in detail.

Well, maybe not in detail.

Okay, leaving out a lot of things, including everything to do with meeting Adam Lawley.

When Cat had finally run out of steam and Tess had had enough of wedding stuff – or temporarily, at any rate – she nodded at Cat’s mobile, which was lying on her desk. ‘If you’re still hot and bothered about Whatsisface, why don’t you try ringing him?’ she asked. ‘You never know your luck. He might be taking calls today.’

‘What?’ said Cat, who couldn’t believe Tess was suggesting this, that Tess had read her mind.

‘I said, why don’t you phone him?’

‘But I hardly know him!’

‘Sorry?’

‘Oh – you mean phone Jack.’

‘Who else would I mean, you numpty?’

‘No one else, of course. I’m sorry, I’m just tired.’ Snap out of this, Cat told herself. You’re going round the twist. You need some psychiatric help. ‘I – um – I don’t know what to say.’

‘I’ll call him, then.’

‘You dare!’

‘Okay, okay, calm down.’ Tess glanced at the phone again, her fingers twitching dangerously, or so it seemed to Cat. ‘Do you, by the remotest chance, happen to have a number for his mother? Or for a relation? Does he have relations?’

‘He told me he was brought up in an orphanage in Surrey. He never knew his parents because he was abandoned as a baby in a carrier bag outside a hospital near Waterloo.’

‘You’re sure it wasn’t in a handbag in the cloakroom at Victoria?’

‘What?’ Cat frowned at Tess. ‘Oh, don’t be so mean,’ she snapped. ‘I think it explains a lot about him – his need for unconditional affection, his need to test his friends—’

‘His need to be a big fat liar, his need to be a git.’

‘Jack’s not a git, he’s insecure.’

‘You’re in denial. So maybe he was left outside a hospital, and maybe it was in a grocery bag. Or maybe he’s not human? Maybe he was beamed from outer space? Maybe he’s an alien, and maybe he’s gone home to Planet Weird? Why haven’t we considered that?’

‘Why don’t we change the subject?’

‘Yes, okay.’ Tess grinned. ‘We had a great time at the Abba tribute gig. You really should have come. It was a groovy scene, as I believe our mothers used to say. I met a man.’

‘You always do,’ said Cat. ‘What’s this one like?’

‘Nice smile, cute arse, but brain dead. Good sex, no conversation, and I won’t be seeing him again. A shame, because he’s into stock car racing and I’d quite like to have a go at that. So come on, tell me more about what happened down in Dorset.’

‘Like I said, the place is beautiful, the gardens are spectacular, and later on today I’m going to ring the woman at Supadoop Promotions and tell her that I won’t be getting married after all.’

‘You don’t mean it, Cat.’

‘I do.’

‘You’re mad,’ said Tess. ‘Look, I tell you what – why don’t you give that tosser two or three more days? I’d put serious money on him turning up again.’

‘But do I really want to marry a man who comes and goes to suit himself?’

‘You want a wedding at the Melbury Court Hotel, especially if that woman’s going to get you in
Hello
.’

‘Tess, I wish to God you’d make your mind up! First you’re telling me to find myself another man. Then you and Bex say I should call it off. But now you reckon Jack will soon turn up.’

‘Okay, I’ll spell it out. Bex and I are dying to be your bridesmaids. We want to be part of your luxurious dream wedding at the Melbury Court Hotel. But sadly we’re not very keen on Jack.’

‘So you still think I should find myself another man?’

‘Yeah, that would be good. But in the meantime, maybe keep your options open and don’t close any doors?’

Cat was working on a database when Tess came up and dumped the office phone down on her desk. ‘It’s for you,’ she said.

‘Oh, God,’ said Cat, assuming it was Fanny – had she given Fanny the number of the office? ‘Wh-who did you say—’

‘I didn’t, but it’s a guy called Adam something, whoever he might be? He says he bought some roof tiles here a week or two ago, and you did the paperwork for him.’

‘Oh,’ said Cat and breathed again, relieved it wasn’t Fanny, but also hoping there weren’t any problems with the tiles, that they weren’t made of concrete after all. She was aware that she was colouring up. ‘He’s—’

‘He’s waiting, dummy.’

So Cat picked up the phone. She knew her face was pink, that Tess would notice, and she told herself to get a grip. ‘Good morning, Mr Lawley,’ she began. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I noticed some Elizabethan chimneys in a corner of your yard,’ said Adam Lawley. He clearly didn’t believe in bothering with superfluous stuff like hi-Miss-Aston-how-are-you, or what-a-strange-coincidence-meeting-you-in-Dorset. ‘I don’t know if they’re genuine? I didn’t get a proper look at them. They might be garden ornaments from Homebase or from B&Q.’

‘They’re genuine Tudor terracotta, Mr Lawley,’ Cat replied, as she clicked through the database. ‘Barry got them from a place in Lewes. They’re signed with somebody’s initials, it looks like ATD, and they’re dated 1565. Do you want to come and see them?’

‘Yes,’ said Adam Lawley. ‘May I come today?’

‘Of course you may,’ said Cat. ‘The yard is open until three.’

‘I’m in Gloucestershire right now and I won’t be back in London until after four.’

‘That’s not a problem, Mr Lawley. I’m here until half five. So just ring the bell, then I can come and let you in.’

‘
Ooh, Mr Lawley
,’ simpered Tess, as Cat put down the phone. ‘
Do you want to come and see my genuine Tudor chimneys, and would you like an after-hours appointment?
What’s with all the smarm and charm, then – are you trying to pull?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘What’s he like, this Adam Lawley geezer, is he fit?’

‘I really couldn’t tell you. I’ve only met him once, and that was in the pouring rain.’

‘Then why’ve you gone all red?’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Yes, you have – you’re blushing like a poppy. Go and look in a mirror, and you’ll see.’

‘Tess, I’m not remotely interested in Adam Lawley. When he comes, or if he comes, why don’t you take him round the yard yourself? I’ll get on with this database. Barry’s messed it up. He’s been putting stuff in the wrong columns and it will take a while to sort it out.’

‘Sorry, but tempting though you make it sound, I can’t do anything with Mr Lawley.’

‘Why?’ demanded Cat.

‘I’m going out.’

‘You never said.’

‘I’ve only just remembered.’

‘Why don’t you ever put things in the diary?’

‘I’m a dealer, buyer and negotiator, not an office manager. I don’t write in the diary, that’s what you’re supposed to do. I’m almost sure I told you, anyway.’

Tess stood up and shrugged into her coat. ‘I’ll be out all day, in fact,’ she added. ‘I have an appointment with a lady who’s demolishing an outhouse. She wants to know how much we’ll give her for a ton of blue Victorian slates. She asked if we’d consider taking them in part exchange for a new bathroom suite – like as if we’re Homebase? I explained this is a salvage yard.’

‘What about this afternoon?’

‘I’m calling on a man in Hillingdon. He’s got some genuine Arts and Crafts stained glass. Or so he says. All studio of Rennie Mackintosh, all signed and dated. I’ll believe it when I see it. So you’ll have to deal with Mr Lawley all by your little self.’

‘I dare say I can manage.’

‘You’ll have to, won’t you, love?’ said Tess. ‘Barry’s gone to Chesterfield to fetch those Georgian spindles and a big Victorian cast iron fireplace I don’t think he’ll ever sell. It’s all in the diary, if you want to have a look. He won’t be back until tonight.’

‘I’ll lock up, don’t worry.’

‘I wasn’t worrying, just telling you.’ Tess wound her fake Armani scarf around her neck. ‘But let me give you some advice?’

‘What’s that?’

‘They’re all hunters, men. They know by instinct when a woman’s wounded. They know when they’ll be able to make an easy kill. So you watch yourself with Mr Adam Lawley, right?’

I’m only going to sell him chimneys, Cat thought crossly, as she heard Tess start the flatbed truck belonging to the yard and drive away. I’m not going to offer him my body.

Now you come to mention it, that might be a plan, observed a little voice inside her head. You’d like to get his shirt off, wouldn’t you?

Oh, don’t be ridiculous, she muttered to herself.

She went into the cloakroom and splashed lots of cold water on her face. ‘I am so not interested in Mr Adam Lawley,’ she told her reflection in the glass.

‘Ha, we’ll wait and see,’ the glass replied.

Obviously, Adam had thought while he was shaving earlier that morning, it really didn’t matter if he was attracted to a girl who was engaged to someone else.

She was out of reach, he told himself and his reflection. So talking to this girl would be like talking to his granny, not that Cat looked anything like his granny, and not that he was actually attracted.

Or not very seriously attracted, anyway.

After all, his heart was broken, wasn’t it? So how could he feel anything at all?

He forced himself to think about the work he had in Middlesex, where he was involved in half a dozen different projects, all in various stages of completion.

The Elizabethan manor house, whose grounds had all been swallowed up by a small estate of smart new homes, and would be a conference centre soon, didn’t need replacement chimney pots. But the budget would allow for it, and he had seen the very ones in Barry Chapman’s salvage yard.

When Cat let him into Chapman’s yard at ten past five – the traffic had been terrible, and he’d wondered more than once if she would have locked up and gone home by the time he got to Walthamstow – he saw at once that she was looking good. A little tired, perhaps, a little pale, but she’d probably had a busy day.

She’d done something different with her hair, had pinned it up with pretty golden combs, and some of it was falling down in graceful, dark blonde curls.

His fingers itched to loop them up again.

She wore a pale pink top and smart black trousers which showed off her long legs, and her arms were dusted with light golden down, and around her neck she had a pretty silver chain which looked Victorian or Edwardian perhaps?

Why was he bothering to notice?

‘Mr Lawley?’ Cat was looking at him curiously. ‘I assume you want to see the chimneys?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said, and told himself to get a grip.

‘Okay, let’s go out into the yard.’

Adam took a good look at the chimneys, satisfied himself that they were genuine sixteenth-century Tudor terracotta, not from B&Q, and told her that he’d take them, if they could agree a price.

Cat was chewing at her lower lip in a way he’d noticed some girls did when they were worried, anxious, nervous or preoccupied.

But why would she be anxious?

Well, they were alone together out here in the yard.

Perhaps she felt intimidated, even scared of him?

She didn’t need to be.

‘Something wrong, Miss Aston?’ he enquired.

‘No, Mr Lawley, nothing’s wrong.’

She turned to walk back to the office, so he followed, trying all the time to think of something safe to say, something to defuse the tension he was sure he couldn’t have created, but which was getting tighter by the minute.

The wedding – girls loved talking about weddings and engagements, or in his experience most girls did, even though he’d got it wrong with Maddy.

Gwennie was forever going on at Jules to get engaged, leaving wedding magazines and wedding venue brochures lying round the flat. She and her girlfriends were always going off to wedding fairs, coming home with goodie bags and catalogues and samples.

Then they’d sit for hours on the sofa all soulful-eyed and wistful, talking about corsages and cupcakes and table decorations – which were better, real flowers or high-end artificial, not orange plastic roses, obviously, and had little pots of lavender been done to death?

‘Did you enjoy your trip to Dorset?’ he began.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Lawley,’ Cat replied. ‘I had a lovely time.’

‘It’s a very attractive place, the Melbury Court Hotel.’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Cat said tonelessly.

‘You and you fiancé must have a lot to do, organising something like a wedding at long distance, sorting out the guest list, working out who’s sitting next to who, deciding on a menu?’

‘Yes, it’s quite a challenge,’ she agreed and went back to chewing at her lip, gnawing at it hard enough to draw a bead of blood.

‘You mustn’t worry,’ he continued heartily. ‘I’m sure everything will work out fine.’

But she didn’t comment.

‘There’s still a lot to do at Melbury Court. The whole project – house and grounds and outbuildings – it’s one big work-in-progress. But the interior of the house itself is nearly finished, and I’m sure the health club will be up and running in good time for your big day. You might decide to have your hen night there?’

She turned and glanced at him for half a moment. Then, to his astonishment and dismay, her eyes filled up, spilled over.