The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) (9 page)

‘Yes, she probably would.’ Cat found her handbag. ‘Let me get you a drink?’

‘It’ll have to be some other time. I’ve got a date.’

‘Oh, why didn’t you say? You’ll need to get back home, get showered, get changed and stuff.’

‘I won’t,’ said Adam and Cat saw that almost-smile again. At any rate, the corners of his mouth turned up a bit and made her want to say go on, you know you can do it if you try. ‘It’s a date with football and a curry. There’s an important match on Sky tonight, and I promised a mate I’d join him to support our team.’

‘I see,’ said Cat. She pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘So I’ve made you late. I’m sorry, Adam. I shouldn’t have rambled on. I know I’ve bored you rigid. But thank you for your sympathy.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Adam stood up too. ‘I wasn’t bored.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘It’s been good to talk. I mean it, Cat. I’ll see you at the yard later this week. I’ll come and get the chimneys.’

They walked along the road and parted at the bus stop.

As Cat sat on the bus, she thought, I know that name already. Denham, Daisy Denham – I’ll have to ask my mother.

Or I’ll google it.

But haven’t I also heard the surname Denham somewhere else, and fairly recently?

She racked her brains but got no hits at all.

Jules was already in the pub, well-placed to see the screen.

Gwennie was snuggled up against him, looking happy enough to spend the evening watching football with her man.

She’d even brought her knitting. It was a mound of something pink and fluffy with vivid purple stripes. It looked like something off the Muppet show – perhaps it had escaped? If he poked it, would it bite his hand off? He was afraid it might.

‘Your day been okay?’ he asked, as he slumped down on Gwennie’s other side.

‘Yes, thank you, Adam.’ Gwennie plained and purled, her plastic needles going clack-click-clack. ‘We had a man come in for an appointment who hadn’t seen a dentist since 1995. So it was sort of interesting working on his teeth, like doing dental archaeology. But we also saw some children who had perfect sets of twenty. Mums are much more clued up about acid, sugar, flossing nowadays …’

As Gwennie rattled on about her job, which sounded very tedious, dull and boring, about her boss the gorgeous Polish dentist who all the lady patients loved but who was firmly gay, about how much she’d like to train to be a music therapist because all sorts of damaged people could respond to music, but she didn’t know how she was going to find the money so she could do a course, Adam drifted off into a daydream starring Cat, only coming out of it when Gwennie jabbed a needle in his side.

‘How was your day, Adam– not too bad, I hope?’

‘It was all right.’

‘How are you getting on with that old manor house in Gloucestershire?’

‘I’ve almost finished there.’

He didn’t add, I took a weeping girl to have a drink. If he had, Gwennie would have fallen on him like a ton of paving slabs.

What’s she like (she’s nice, in fact she’s charming), is she pretty (yes, good figure, lovely skin, green eyes and dark blonde hair), did you get her number (no, but I know where she works). So will you be seeing her again (I’d like to meet up some day, but I don’t know if it would be wise), it’s time you started getting over Maddy (I don’t believe that’s going to be possible), you can’t work all the time, you know (why not, it stops me thinking and regretting and going round the bend).

He ate his curry, sort of watched the football, wound a ball or two of yarn for Gwennie – not too loose and not too tight – and thought about the girl.

There’s always someone who’s worse off than you.

A trouble shared, a trouble halved.

All that stuff his mother was so fond of spouting when he had a problem or she thought he had a problem and which drove him slightly mad.

Mum might have a point?

Cat was clearly suffering. She was in that terrible dark place he knew so well, the place where it was always cold and starless, the place where gloom and sorrow had their mansions, the place where evil goblins pushed sharp skewers through your tormented heart.

But it was funny – or it wasn’t funny, nothing about the situation was remotely funny – talking to the girl had made him feel a little better and less miserable than he had for days.

Maybe trying to comfort someone else had done him good? Maybe he and Cat ought to be friends? Maybe he should contact her again, invite her to a film, suggest a concert?

Yes, that might be a plan.

Why had he said that stuff about not liking lazy Sundays, lying in bed and eating croissants, watching DVDs?

While he was with Maddy, those were the best times of all. When he’d been away all week and she had been in London, doing whatever she did to save the tigers, whales and pandas, it was always great to see her on a Friday evening, and—

‘Your mobile’s ringing, mate.’ Jules snaked his arm round Gwennie and pushed Adam’s shoulder. ‘Mate, I said your mobile—’

‘Yes, I know.’

Adam saw that Gwennie’s lips had parted, heard that she was breathing slowly, deeply. She was probably hoping it was Maddy, that a reconciliation scene would soon be under way.

‘Hi, Tom,’ said Adam. He listened for a minute. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘Yeah, that’s a pity. But you don’t need to worry. The timbers will be fine. A bit of rain won’t hurt them. I’ll leave here first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll have to stop and sort a few things out along the way, but I should be with you about three.’

‘Do you have a problem?’ Gwennie asked him, clearly disappointed that it was only business.

‘Yes, a sort of problem.’

‘What?’

‘It’s nothing very serious, but it’s going to mean I get behind with other things.’ Adam pushed his phone back in his pocket. ‘I left a local firm in charge of the re-roofing of a country house in Cornwall, but it seems they’ve messed it up. I’ll have to drive down there tomorrow morning, sort it out. I expect I’ll be away all week, and maybe next.’

‘What about that place in Dorset, shouldn’t you be there tomorrow?’

‘Yes, so I’ll call in, but I think Melbury Court will be okay. The foreman knows his stuff and all his lads respect him. They do as they’re told. They can get along without me for a week or two. I’ll always be in e-mail contact, anyway.’

‘God, you stupid idiot, that was a bloody gift!’ yelled Jules, and now he slammed his glass down on the table, splashing Stella over Gwennie’s knitting. ‘Mate, did you see that?’

‘See what?’ said Adam.

‘A fucking tragedy of a pass, that’s what!’

‘I must have missed it, sorry.’

‘Christ in a Toyota!’ Jules was glaring furiously at the giant screen. ‘It was a little beauty, and the halfwit let it go.’

Adam merely shrugged.

‘Lawley, what’s the matter with you tonight?’ demanded Jules. ‘This might be the most important match you’ll ever see. Our team’s facing relegation. They need your support. So why weren’t you watching? Why were you on your mobile, nattering like some old woman? I’ll be there at three o’clock, so mind you have the kettle on?’

‘Calm down, Jules,’ said Gwennie as she brushed the drops of Jules’s lager off her knitting. ‘Please stop going on at Adam, too. When all’s said and done, it’s just a game.’

‘It’s more like a massacre tonight,’ said Adam, picking up a ball of Gwennie’s yarn which had fallen on the beer-soaked carpet. ‘Our team’s playing like a gang of grannies who’ve overdosed on tranquillisers.’

‘Oh, belt up, the both of you. Lawley, it’s your turn to get them in. Mine’s a pint of Carling and a bag of cheese and onion crisps. The jumbo size, not those pathetic tiny little packs they do for girls.’

‘Okay,’ said Adam, getting up. ‘Gwennie, are you ready for another drink?’

‘Yes, I’d like a ginger ale please, Adam – some lemon, but no ice.’

As Adam went to get the drinks, he told himself that when he’d finished with the house in Cornwall he’d give Cat a call.

He’d keep it light and non-committal, just ask her if she fancied meeting up one evening for a drink and then he’d see what happened next.

He’d like to know her better, he decided, ask her what she loved and hated. What were her tastes in music – classic, indie, pop? What sort of movies did she like? Did she love to cook and was she always trying out the latest from Jamie or Nigella? Or did she live on ready meals and burgers?

He’d find out.

He’d go and get those chimneys, too.

Monday, Fanny Gregory had said.

But which actual Monday had she meant?

There’d been one short voicemail message in which Fanny said she’d be in touch ASAP, and she had lots of plans for Cat and Jack, but she was busy, busy, busy with a million other projects.

The first Monday morning came and went, and then a second Monday came and went, and then a third, and now it was Thursday, and still she hadn’t e-mailed, hadn’t phoned.

Cat began to think she had imagined the whole thing – that she had dreamed the conversation she had had with Fanny on Easter Saturday, had been hallucinating when she’d visited the Melbury Court Hotel, had never seen that lovely fountain, had never walked in gardens which would have shamed the fields of paradise.

She supposed she ought to be relieved.

But she couldn’t have imagined it, because when she did a bit of googling she found a lot of stuff.

Daisy Denham, for example – born in the East End and illegitimate when it mattered, she’d been adopted by a Dorset couple, started acting while still in her teens, gone to America in 1946, become a huge success in Hollywood and died in a motor accident with her actor husband Ewan Fraser in 1988.

She found some images of Melbury House as well. There was the fountain in the forecourt, but it wasn’t playing. Maybe Adam Lawley had been right? Maybe it had never worked since it had come to England, and perhaps it never would.

But it must have worked in Italy?

Adam should be able to find out. Surely there’d be traces of old pipe work and lots of stains and markings on the marble, even if the pipes themselves were missing, even if the fountain had been broken up and then put back together again when it arrived in England?

She’d ask him when she saw him.

But she didn’t see him.

Adam didn’t come to get the chimneys, and eventually she decided that he must have changed his mind. She called him on his mobile and left a string of messages, asking him to let her know when he’d be coming for his stuff, but she got no replies.

This was most annoying because Barry carried on at her for marking things as sold when she hadn’t taken a deposit. ‘What were you thinking?’ he’d demanded as he shook his head, adding that in case she hadn’t noticed, he was trying to run a business here.

She was sort of disappointed Adam hadn’t come, and it wasn’t just because she’d lost a sale or two.

But then, as she was locking up that Thursday afternoon, long after Tess and Barry had gone home, Adam turned up in a transit van.

‘Hello, Mr Lawley,’ she began, as she told herself to get a grip and not to fantasise about this man, who clearly wasn’t interested in her in any case. ‘You’ve come to get your chimneys, I assume?’

She hoped she sounded both professional and courteous, as if they hadn’t ever met before, or only on a business footing, anyway.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said. ‘I got your messages,’ he added. ‘Did you get my replies?’

‘You rang this landline, right?’

‘Yes, and it always went to voicemail.’

‘We’ve had some problems with incoming calls and voicemail. I should have given you our mobile numbers. But don’t worry, we’ve still got your stuff.’

‘I wasn’t worried,’ Adam said. But he seemed a bit on edge, distracted. Perhaps he couldn’t wait to get the chimneys in his van, pay up and drive away?

Cat was on the point of saying, that drink we had together, Mr Lawley, I didn’t read anything into it, you know.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to fetch them sooner,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been very busy.’

‘It’s no problem.’

She offered him the paperwork.

He took it without comment. He didn’t even check it. She could have stuck another couple of zeros on and he would not have known.

She handed him the card machine.

‘Doing anything this weekend?’ he asked as he keyed in his PIN.

‘No – well, nothing very exciting,’ Cat replied. ‘I’ll probably go shopping with some mates. Then we might go to see a film. Or we’ll get a takeaway and maybe rent a couple of DVDs. What about you, Adam – got something thrilling planned?’

She’d called him Adam. She’d meant to call him Mr Lawley, keep everything all businesslike, but now …

She felt her face glow red and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

‘I’m going to Wolverhampton,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll be seeing a man about a house he’s just inherited from his uncle.’

‘What sort of house?’

‘At first he thought it was Victorian. But since he’s started doing it up he’s realised it’s much older. So he wants advice on just how far he should go back – to the Georgian cornicing, to the original Tudor beams, should he take out an old Victorian fireplace, what might he find behind it and all that sort of thing.’

‘Ooh, sounds really interesting!’ cried Cat.

‘You think so?’

‘Yes, I do! I’d love to get my hands on an old house. It would be so exciting. I’d strip off all the woodchip. Perhaps I’d find a gorgeous marble fireplace underneath a nasty modern one. I’d pull off hardboard panels and discover the original Georgian doors. I’d rip off horrid ceiling tiles—’

‘You should come with me, then.’

‘I’d love to, I—’

But then she stopped. She felt her face grow hot again. She didn’t know why she’d said it. She hadn’t meant to say it. Now he would think she was a desperate case. Or that she was flirting, vamping him, was doing a Fanny Gregory on him, playing with him for the fun of it.

Or that she was keen to get her claws into a brand new man.

‘I really meant’, she added, feeling stupid, ‘that if you’re ever doing anything similar in London, perhaps I could come round and have a look? If I would be allowed on site, of course, and if—’

‘I’ll pick you up about half seven on Saturday,’ said Adam, who was still staring at the card machine.

‘It’s just a day trip?’ Cat said hurriedly, aware she was still scarlet or at least a violent shade of pink.

‘I’ll have you back by midnight, Cinderella,’ promised Adam, looking up at Cat with an unreadable expression on his face. ‘What’s your mobile number, Cat? Whereabouts in London do you live?’

She told him and was shocked and horrified by the amount of pleasure she had felt when Adam said her name.

‘I’m busy all day Saturday. I’ve got some stuff to do,’ she said to Bex, when Bex and Tess suggested meeting up for lunch then serial-trawling H&M and Uniqlo and maybe L.K.Bennett – if their sale had started – on Saturday afternoon.

‘What kind of stuff?’ demanded Tess.

‘I’m sorting out my life,’ said Cat. ‘You know – decluttering?’

‘Do you still want that lime-green bag you got at TK Maxx?’

‘I said I was decluttering, not throwing all my decent stuff away. You can have it when I’m tired of it.’

‘I won’t want it then.’

‘Do you need any help?’ asked Bex. ‘I mean with this decluttering?’

‘No, because you’ll only try to make me give you things. You’ll say they’ve never suited me and will look ace on you.’

‘Of course she will,’ said Tess. ‘Why else would she offer, putty-brain? So we’ll pop round about half one on Saturday. We’ll have a bit of lunch at yours and then we’ll hit the shops. I’m at the yard until half twelve, so get the kettle on.’

‘I could come earlier,’ offered Bex.

‘I want to do this on my own,’ insisted Cat. ‘I don’t need any so-called help, especially from greedy vampire scavengers like you.’

‘All right, give us a call when you’ve decluttered,’ Bex said kindly, as if she were talking to a nervous imbecile. ‘We’ll meet you later, have a drink. Oh, and by the way – if by any chance you should decide you’ve had enough of that fake Prada satchel, I’ll take it off your hands.’

‘If you don’t want that yellow top with cutwork sleeves, I’ve always rather liked it, so—’

‘Yes, all right,’ said Cat, to shut them up.