The Wedding Dress (9 page)

She looked a lot like her daughter, even in her late forties. Gareth was struck by how close her blonde hair, blue eyes, and elegant good looks were to the photos he’d seen of Anne’s mother.

“Deirdre Turner? My name’s Gareth Cavendish—”

“Yes, you’re the detective who was helping Jasmine go after Edward’s daughter.”

“It’s actually quite a bit more complicated than that. Which is why I need to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavendish, but I’ve already told Jasmine I won’t help her with this.”

She started to shut the door, but Gareth jammed his foot in it before she could lock it on him. He’d already broken the law so many times already today. Did one little piece of trespassing matter?

Except, of course, for the part where it felt like he might have a couple of broken toes.

“Ms. Turner, please. I’m not here because Jasmine sent me. I’m here because I’m in love with Anne Farleigh, and I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“You’re in love with her?” Deirdre opened the door slightly, and he barely held back a wince as the bones on his little toe spread back out. “Even though you’ve been working for Jasmine and her lawyer?”

“I’m not working for them anymore,” he said. “I love Anne too much to stay on the case, but I can’t let her deal with this on her own, either. Not when everything is about to spiral out of control.”

Jasmine’s mother stared at him for a long moment before stepping back. “Why don’t you come in, and we’ll see if we can find some ice for that foot.”

She took him through to her living room full of pictures of Jasmine growing up. It reminded Gareth of the family photos in Anne’s home.

Deirdre handed him an ice pack for his foot and set a cup of coffee onto the table beside him before finally sitting down, her own cup cradled in her hands.

“I love my daughter,” she told him, “even if I don’t agree with what she’s doing.”

“Why don’t you agree with it?”

“It isn’t what Edward would have wanted. Jasmine is so angry about it all that she won’t listen to anything I say about how it all played out between me and her father.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Gareth suggested.

For a moment, he thought Deirdre wouldn’t do it, but then she nodded. “I met him when he came to Ashland on a book tour. I’d read all of his books, and I think I’d kind of fallen in love with the
idea
of him, if that makes any sense. Anyway, after the book signing, when everyone else had gone, he looked so lonely that I invited him to come to a party with some friends of mine. We talked for hours, and I must have reminded him of his wife. I was young enough not to know better, and when one thing led to another, I didn’t think to stop it, even though it was clear he’d never had an affair in his life…nor did he really intend to. Had it not been for Jasmine, I very much doubt I ever would have seen him again.”

“So Edward Farleigh is definitely Jasmine’s father?” Gareth asked.

Deirdre nodded. “When I told him I was pregnant, it was clear that he didn’t want to leave me to deal with having and raising a baby all on my own. He sent me money to help out, and he used to visit from time to time to see Jasmine.” She made sure to clarify, “He and I only slept together that once, you see, and it was clear just how horrible he felt about what he’d done to his wife.”

“How often did he visit?”

Deirdre sighed. “I guess that’s where all these problems started. You see, I wouldn’t let Edward visit too often, because I knew how confusing it would be for Jasmine to have a father who was there and gone again. I thought it was better if he was simply a ‘family friend,’ because I knew Edward would never leave his family for us. He loved Chloe and Anne too much and missed them every minute he was apart from them. But he loved Jasmine too, I’m sure of it. He would have liked to have spent so much more time with her, but knowing that we’d never have him completely, and that it would only end up breaking Jasmine’s heart, I cut off contact with him when she was just a little girl.” Her eyes were bleak. “I honestly believed this way was better. Only, when she wouldn’t stop asking about him, and then she found his picture…”

“I understand,” Gareth said. “You had a terribly difficult choice to make. And you made the best one you could at the time.”

“I wish my daughter understood things the way you do. All this time, she grew up wondering who her father was and what she’d done to make him go away, even though I told her it wasn’t her fault. The whole court case…I don’t even think it’s about the money. I think it’s more that she just wants something that was Edward’s
,
because she never got to have
him
.”

“Whereas Anne did,” Gareth said softly. “Ms. Turner, I know you don’t know me and that you don’t owe me anything, but there’s something I’m really hoping you will do…”

Chapter Sixteen

“I never noticed before,” Anne declared, “just how nice the ceiling is in here.”

Lying next to her on the dance floor of the Rose Chalet that evening, Rose turned her head toward her friend. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

And they were. Completely smashed.

“Well, what else are best friends for?” Rose asked.

“You’re totally my best friend,” Anne’s words slurred slightly, “but this isn’t just sympathy drinking, is it?”

“Yes, it is!”

“No,” Anne insisted. “RJ went off to go on a date with some other woman, and now you’re all—”

Rose made a sound that was a cross between a growl and a hiccup, and Anne quickly shut her mouth. Well, as quickly as she could, given how numb her lips felt.

They lapsed into a brief silence punctuated by more gulps from the bottles close at hand.

The fizzy, sweet champagne helped Anne admit, “Did I tell you that I tore up my mother’s dress?”

“No! What a horrible idea, Anne. Why’d you do that?”

Unfortunately, getting drunk hadn’t helped her forget one single thing that had happened. She could still remember the hurt, the despair she’d felt when she’d yelled at Gareth to leave.

And how it had been even worse when he’d actually left.

“Because it was a lie!” Anne declared.

“Hold on, that doesn’t make sense.”

Rose rolled over so that they could talk face-to-face. Her friend’s features blurred slightly when Anne did the same thing.

“It’s a dress. Not a lie. Can’t be both.” Rose held up a hand in front of her face as if she was counting her fingers to make sure they were all there. “No, it definitely can’t be both.”

“Not the dress,” Anne said.

“You just said it
was
the dress.”

Rose looked more than a little perplexed. Though frankly, given the amount they’d both had to drink, even the painted design on the ceiling was looking pretty confusing.

“Everything,” Anne insisted. “Everything’s a lie.”

“Oh God,” Rose said. “This is like being back in Mrs. Findler’s philosophy class. Do you remember her?”

“I remember all kinds of things,” Anne assured her. Alcohol did that instead of helping her forget. Instead, it seemed to have cleared away the walls she’d put up around her memories.

All those times her father hadn’t been home. The way her mother would always be so down but utterly determined that everything would be normal. And, especially, the way Anne felt she had to pretend along with her. With happier smiles. Bigger hugs.

“My dad had an affair,” she said softly, before repeating it in a louder, angrier voice. “My dad had an affair, and I think my mom knew about it. And now his
secret
daughter wants half of everything, and Gareth didn’t tell me what they were going to do, even though we slept together and he
knew the whole time
, and the next mediation is tomorrow morning before the wedding to go over the DNA samples, and they died, Rose.
They died
.
”

Rose put an arm around her as they lay together on the floor in a messy drunken heap. “I know, honey. I know. But you have to try to be positive.”

“
Why?
” Anne demanded. “I’m so sick of being positive. My parents die, and I have to be positive, like nothing has happened. Gareth lies to me, and I have to be
positive
. When has being positive ever made things hurt any less?”

Not now, that was for sure.

“It feels…it feels like there wasn’t anything good left now about when I was a kid,” Anne said. She paused to drink more of the champagne. “Like I made all that up. Like the only parts that were real are the parts that hurt.”

Rose made a fierce—but blurry—face at her. “There were some good parts. Do you remember my mom taking us fishing down in the bay, and we all stood up in the boat and fell into the green, slimy muck?”

Anne supposed that
had
been kind of fun.

“And there was the time you made us dresses for the high school dance,” Rose continued. “Do you remember? I went with Billy Stevens, and you were with…”

“Nerdy Neil,” Anne said with a small smile this time.

“Do you remember those glasses he wore? They must have been an inch thick. And as I recall, he was the only guy in school who thought coming over to ‘help with math homework’ actually involved math homework.”

“We passed math, though,” Anne pointed out.

“And there was the time you decided that cheerleading was mostly about being bright and positive, so you joined the squad. That lasted, what, a week?”

“It’s not my fault if they didn’t want me to redesign their team uniform. I thought it was a nice gesture.”

Rose kept on like that, with more good, fun, happy memories, and slowly, Anne had to admit that her childhood hadn’t been all bad.

“Did you really destroy your mother’s dress?” Rose asked, the idea obviously having taken a while to sink in through the champagne.

“Ripped it up into tiny pieces,” Anne confirmed.

Rose’s eyes suddenly grew big. “Wait a minute, you didn’t cut up Felicity’s dress too, did you?”

“Of course not. That would have been
wrong
. Her dress is so beautiful…”

“Your mom’s dress was beautiful too,” Rose pointed out.

Anne lay there for a second or two, her eyes half closed to try to keep her tears from falling.

“Yes,” she said, “it was. And then it wasn’t.”

“I don’t think I’m drunk enough to understand that one,” Rose said.

“I don’t know if I can make wedding dresses anymore,” Anne said. “Not when they’re supposed to be about love and happiness and forever.”

“Well,” Rose said slowly, “you know I hope you’ll change your mind when we sober up. Especially because you’ve got one wedding dress you absolutely
have
to make.”

“I already told you,” Anne said, “Felicity’s dress is done.”

“Not hers,” Rose said. “Mine.”

Yikes! Apparently, there
were
some things alcohol could help you forget.

How had she managed to forget her best friend’s wedding? Especially when it was coming up so soon?

“It’s just,” Anne said a bit defensively, “that there are all these people who come through here getting married, and you’re getting married, and Julie has Andrew, and Phoebe has Patrick; even Tyce got Whitney. What about me?”

Rose squeezed her tighter. “It will be your turn eventually.”

Anne shook her head. “I used to think that one day,
the one
would show up, I’d get married, and have this perfect life.”

“I don’t think people get perfect lives,” Rose said, the philosophical one now. “I think that we mostly just get lives.”

“It shouldn’t work like that,” Anne insisted.

“But it does.”

“But it
shouldn’t
.” Anne made herself stop before they began a back-and-forth that could go on for hours. “Has it ever been like that for you? Have you ever had a man kiss you and it felt perfect? Like all of your dreams had just come true?”

Rose didn’t answer for a second or two, until, very softly, she murmured, “Yes.”

“Oh, of course you have,” Anne said. “You’re marrying Donovan. He’s your knight in shining armor.”

“Did someone call for a knight in shining armor?”

RJ unexpectedly walked into the room, dressed up in a shirt and slacks.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out on a date?” Anne asked him without getting up off the floor.

“My plans got canceled at the last second, so I thought I’d come back here and check that everything was ready for tomorrow.”

“We already checked,” Rose said as she worked at trying to sit up.

RJ raised an eyebrow at her slightly slurred explanation. “Then what are you two doing here so late?”

Anne had an answer for that one. “Getting drunk. You could, too, except I’m pretty sure we drank all the champagne.”

“There’s a little left in your bottle,” RJ said, “but we should probably be getting the two of you home, don’t you think?”

Anne smiled at that, especially when RJ bent down and more or less picked Rose up. He was always so sweet. Not to mention good-looking and kind. A short while later, he came back, lifting Anne to her feet. “Come on,” he coaxed in a gentle voice, “let’s see if those legs of yours work.”

They did, just barely, and she appreciated the help RJ gave her even as she wished that it was Gareth’s arms around her instead.

Chapter Seventeen

Gareth’s Jaguar left skid marks on the pavement outside Anne’s house the following morning as he slammed on the brakes and leapt from the car. He’d driven for hours with no sleep, but the envelope in his jacket pocket—and his love for Anne—made the all-nighter worth it.

That was, as long as he could get it into her hands in time.

He knocked, and when there was no answer, he said, “Anne, are you in there? It’s me.” Knowing the odds were extremely high that she didn’t want to see him, he called out again, “Please, Anne, just open the door.”

Was she sitting in her house, so wrapped up in the misery he’d helped to bring into her life that she couldn’t even come to the door?

Just the thought of that made something tighten painfully in Gareth’s chest. He couldn’t take that chance, and after all the rules he’d broken for her already, what was one more?