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‘Dispense with the formalities, my dear. It’s plain and simple Cordelia.’
Plain and simple weren’t adjectives that sprung to mind.
Cordelia squeezed her hand. ‘Now, I have a lovely fruitcake cooling in the kitchen, one of my specialties. Make yourself at home whilst I attend to the refreshments.’ She stared down at Evie’s feet. ‘Goodness me, what do we have here?’ Cordelia peered closer, inspecting Evie’s glass-heeled sandals. ‘Are they … fish?’
Evie nodded. ‘I found them at a garage sale. Great, aren’t they?’ She angled her foot so Cordelia could see the gold scaling covering the orange fabric. The front of the shoe formed the fish’s head, complete with wide eyes and an open smiling mouth, allowing Evie’s toes to poke through. They weren’t comfortable or practical, but she loved wearing them.
‘They’re original, I’ll say that. Colourful too.’ Her gaze drifted upwards, over Evie’s faded jeans and plain sweatshirt. Her expression indicated a little colour elsewhere might not go amiss, but she was too polite to voice any criticism.
Evie knew her attire was dull. She’d never been an outlandish dresser, but since leaving Guildford she’d stuck with neutral colours and plain designs, content to blend into the background. Evie never used to be self-conscious about her appearance, even if she didn’t always get it right, but Kyle had chipped away at her confidence, controlling what she wore and disapproving of her ‘silly’ shoes until she’d relented and stopped wearing them. Was it such a crime to be ‘silly’? She didn’t think so.
‘They make me smile,’ Evie offered, by way of explanation, not wanting to go into too much detail about her reasoning.
Cordelia patted her arm. ‘Well, nothing wrong with that. And you have such a pretty smile.’ She pinched Evie’s cheek before heading into the kitchen, shaking her head as she went. ‘Fish, indeed.’
Evie picked up the ceramic vases that had been left out for her and went into the bathroom to fill them. In keeping with the rest of the apartment, the room was lavishly decorated in bold black-and-white stripes with wrought-iron accessories, the walls displaying several framed artsy photos of Cordelia’s two daughters and five granddaughters. Evie knew from previous visits that Cordelia was a woman who adored her family. By the sounds of it, she’d outlived more than one husband and had enjoyed a full and successful life. Both her daughters lived in Australia and had distinguished careers with large houses and wealthy husbands.
The images made Evie think of her own childhood in Surrey. Her life had been fairly normal: two doting parents, a younger sister, grandparents nearby. But her parents’ divorce, just after her twelfth birthday, had changed everything. The family home was sold and her mum moved in with a man called Bob who had three younger boys. Her dad rented a one-bedroom flat in Slough, claiming it was all he could afford thanks to their mum ‘fleecing him’ in the divorce. Her sister, Holly, moved in with him, sleeping in the only spare bed. Evie spent the next four years switching between Bob’s house and her grandparents’ house, never really feeling wanted, detached from any kind of family unit. When Evie was sixteen, her dad married a woman called Georgia who promptly relocated them to Penzance, severing what little connection she had with her dad. She’d barely seen him since.
Evie carried the vases into the living room and placed them on the sideboard. She began arranging the flowers, a sense of loneliness looming over her, as it always did when she thought about her family. They’d become acquaintances in her life, no longer a constant, but intermittent planets drifting in and out of her solar system, leaving a huge black hole in their wake.
Cordelia appeared, pushing a hostess trolley laden with matching china and a three-tier cake stand. ‘What flowers will you be treating me to this week? I did so enjoy the sunflowers.’
Evie had discovered pretty quickly that nothing was ever too colourful or exuberant for her client, which meant she was able to unleash her inner creativity. ‘I’m so pleased you liked them. The yellow looked beautiful against the blue of the walls. This week I’ve gone for something a little offbeat. I hope that’s okay.’
Cordelia beamed. ‘Excellent. Do help yourself to cake.’ She perched on the sofa, cup and saucer held delicately in her age-defying hands.
‘Maybe later.’ Evie separated out the pink gerberas and lisianthus and began filling the vases, weaving in green chrysanthemums to complement the bold scheme.
‘They’re an unusual colour.’ Cordelia watched Evie work as she always did. ‘Striking. Are they chrysanthemums?’
Evie nodded, adjusting the balance of colour as she went. ‘Did you know that chrysanthemums have been grown by the Chinese for over two thousand years? They were used as an antibiotic to treat high blood pressure and angina.’
Cordelia looked impressed. ‘Maybe I should substitute them for my beta blockers.’
Evie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you, they taste horrible.’ She carried one of the vases over to the baby grand, knowing her client liked to look at the displays whilst playing Chopin. ‘They also symbolise compassion, friendship and secret love.’
Cordelia smiled. ‘Ah, no wonder I like them. I’ve always been drawn to symbols of love. My second husband used to bring me trinkets from all over the world that were claimed to be aphrodisiacs. Not that we needed any help in that department.’ She looked knowingly at Evie. ‘Todd was a very attentive lover. I was never left wanting.’
Evie nearly dropped the vase. ‘Right … Well, that’s good.’
Cordelia became contemplative. ‘I used to pity my girlfriends whose husbands left them unsatisfied. It’s really not very polite, or conducive to a healthy marriage.’
Evie wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She picked up the orange Alexander roses and busied herself cutting stems.
‘You’d do well to take a lover, you know.’
Evie looked around for the protective mat to place the vase on. ‘How do you know I haven’t?’
Cordelia sipped her tea. ‘My dear, a woman’s emotion shines through her eyes. Whether she’s experiencing joy or sadness or betrayal, it’s there for the world to see. And you, my dear, are clearly not getting any.’
Evie startled, only just managing to keep hold of the vase before it landed on the carpet. ‘Say it like it is, why don’t you?’
Cordelia raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I wrong?’
Evie placed the vase on the mat, angling it so she could check all aspects were perfect. ‘Let’s just say I’m kind of off men at the moment.’
‘That much is obvious. May I ask why?’
Evie carried the second vase over to the mantelpiece. ‘Bad experience.’
‘Well, love isn’t for wimps. But you don’t seem like the timid type. Get back on the horse. Life is so much more fun with a man in tow.’
Evie wiped her damp hands on her jeans. ‘That’s as maybe, but it’s not so easy. I mean, how can you know who to trust? A man might look like an Italian film star and appear sane, but underneath the facade he could still be a nutter.’
A glint crept into Cordelia’s expression. ‘And who might this Italian film star be?’
Evie gathered up the discarded leaves from the sideboard, an image of the plumber’s forearms tumbling into her mind. It was unnerving how often this had happened over the last week. Usually when she was daydreaming. Suddenly there he was, as clear as if he was standing right in front of her, running his hands through his dark ruffled hair, or laughing in response to something Saffy had said. She shook the image away, scolding herself for a moment’s weakness. ‘Oh, no one,’ she lied.
‘He sounds divine. An adventure waiting to happen. Dip your toe into that stream, my dear. You’ll enjoy the sensation.’
Evie felt herself blushing. ‘I wasn’t being specific. It was a generalisation. There isn’t anyone. I was just saying that you can’t know what someone is like until it’s too late. The next thing you know you’re trapped in a bad situation. It’s not worth it. I’d rather be on my own.’
Cordelia didn’t look convinced. ‘Well, you know what they say. Lose a love, find a life.’
‘Exactly. And that’s what I’m doing.’ Evie wiped down the surfaces, ensuring she left the place immaculate.
Cordelia tilted her head. ‘By wearing fish shoes?’
Evie looked down at her feet. ‘It’s a start.’
‘Hmm, we’ll see. Do come and sit down, you’ve earned a break.’ She handed Evie a neatly folded napkin. ‘Now, tell me about your family. I’m curious to hear more.’
Knowing one of the main reasons Cordelia chose a home arrangement service was the chance to enjoy regular company, it was another forty minutes before Evie was packed up and ready to leave. She didn’t mind. Cordelia was a delight to visit, an unpredictable phenomenon, defying both age and expectation. Maybe a more mercenary service provider would charge extra for their time, but Evie wouldn’t be comfortable doing that. Besides, in the absence of family it was nice to have someone to chat to.
Bidding Cordelia goodbye, Evie lugged her kit towards the double doors at the end of the corridor. Thankfully, a woman wearing a white nurse’s uniform held the door open, allowing her to exit without having to put anything down. As she thanked the woman, Evie noticed a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair, one side of her mouth turned down. She had kind eyes. Evie was reminded of Cordelia’s mantra that a woman radiated her true emotion through them.
‘What lovely flowers.’ The nurse admired the leftover blooms in Evie’s tray. ‘Aren’t they pretty, Billie?’
The woman in the wheelchair nodded.
Opening the door to the adjacent apartment, the nurse angled the chair so she could wheel her patient inside. ‘Next time we’re out we’ll see if we can get some to brighten up the apartment.’
Evie made an instant decision. ‘These are left over from a display I’ve just finished. Would you like me to make a bouquet for you? No charge, obviously.’
The nurse looked down at her patient. ‘What a lovely idea. Would you like that, Billie? Flowers for the apartment?’
Billie nodded, mouthing something about money.
‘No, please, there’s no charge.’ Evie hoisted the tray onto her hip. ‘They’ll only go to waste. I’d rather see them enjoyed.’
The nurse looked delighted. ‘In that case, come in.’ She reversed the wheelchair through the doorway, beckoning Evie to follow.
As the woman was wheeled inside, she pointed to Evie’s shoes, a smile creasing one side of her face.
The inside of the apartment was nothing like Cordelia’s. The living area was sparse, with just a TV unit, a bookcase and two-seater sofa settled against the wall. Evie guessed they needed space to manoeuvre the wheelchair around. The soft ivory walls and various ornaments contrasted with the teal cushions, giving it a cosy if slightly masculine feel. It was a considered space, cared for.
The nurse positioned Billie in front of the TV. ‘Where will I find a vase, love?’ Her patient nodded towards the kitchen.
Evie followed, placing her bag on the kitchen table whilst the nurse hunted through the cupboards. She noticed the badge on her uniform. ‘Oshma. What a lovely name.’
The nurse smiled. ‘It means summer season. My father’s idea. I guess he wasn’t to know I’d turn out to be more of a hurricane.’ She handed Evie a cut-glass vase. ‘Can I get you a cuppa?’
Evie filled the vase with water. ‘Oh, no, thank you. I’ve just had one.’
‘Shout if you need anything.’ Oshma disappeared into the lounge.
Evie didn’t know why Billie was in a wheelchair, and it wasn’t her place to ask, but as she arranged the flowers she made a note to stop dwelling on her own problems and be thankful for the good things in life. She might have had a rough time in the past, but she’d moved to Kent to start afresh. And that’s what she needed to do. Okay, so she wasn’t a fan of relationships, but she had her business and her health, and that was a lot to be grateful for.
Glancing down at her feet, Evie grinned, cheered by the sight of two goldfish smiling back at her. Reintroducing novelty shoes into her life had definitely been the right decision. She was asserting her independence, giving her confidence a much-needed kick up the backside.
Yep, she was back on that horse.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_fa5cb497-d053-53c8-87c5-c88160a461c9)
Friday, 28 February (#ulink_fa5cb497-d053-53c8-87c5-c88160a461c9)
Laura read through Jamie Oliver’s instructions again. Heat the oven to full whack. Check. Place rock salt in an ovenproof dish. Check. Place the oysters on top and cook for twenty minutes. Laura glanced at the kitchen clock, wondering if it was too early to put them in. It was eight forty. Martin promised he’d be home by seven. His promises didn’t seem to count for much these days.
She sent him another text. ‘Where are you?’
The clementine jelly was setting in the fridge, the Asian seared tuna was ready to warm up when required, but the salad was starting to wilt. Her romantic meal was in danger of turning into a shrivelled mess.
She went upstairs to check her appearance wasn’t doing the same.
The house wasn’t designed for a single occupant. It was a ‘highly desirable property with spacious living area’ and meant for a family. Laura hadn’t wanted something so vast, but Martin had convinced her it was an investment. Getting a bigger place would give them time to adjust to the mortgage payments before starting a family, preventing them from having to move again.
Martin was a good salesman, she’d give him that. She’d fallen for his spiel. But the modern design, white decor and three empty bedrooms only served to increase her trepidation about having kids, not endear her to the idea. It was too much, too soon. They should be living it up, relishing their early thirties, not behaving like wannabe parents in training.
She gazed into the floor-length mirror, checking her carefully chosen outfit was still intact. Her cheeks were a little flushed from cooking, but the black dress she’d purchased showed off her curves and auburn hair. More importantly, it advertised her intentions. With heels to enhance her calves and a hint of hold-ups showing through the clingy fabric, Martin couldn’t fail to want her … could he?
She had one more ace up her sleeve, her anniversary gift. Traditionally, five years meant something wooden, and she had come up with a rather naughty interpretation of what that might mean.
She picked up the wrapped parcel, carrying it downstairs. With any luck, the contents would be in play well before they reached the bedroom. Sex toys had yet to feature in their relationship, but intervention was required if she was going to save her marriage.
That intervention came in the form of fruity, juicy lube, a satin eye mask with ribbon ties and a set of sex-position playing cards. Martin wasn’t the only salesperson in the household. She also knew how to close a deal.
She checked her watch. Nine o’clock. Keep calm, she told herself. All will be fine.
Except it wasn’t. Nine thirty came and went. Nine forty-five. Ten o’clock. Finally, at ten thirty-five, when the oysters had retreated into their shells and she’d stopped bothering to reply to Martin’s apologetic ‘I’m running late’ texts, he walked through the door.
‘I’m so sorry, love.’ He dumped his briefcase and rain-soaked coat on the kitchen table. ‘I got away as soon as I could.’ He kissed her cheek, smelling of day-old aftershave and damp fabric. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. ‘Dinner smells good.’
‘I doubt that.’ Frustration overrode any desire to be sultry and seductive. ‘It’s ruined. I’ve binned most of it.’
He shrugged off his suit jacket. ‘That’s a shame. Order a takeaway and we’ll crack open a bottle of wine. It’s no big deal.’ He hooked his jacket on the back of a chair, placing a wrapped box onto the table. ‘Happy anniversary, darling.’
She looked into his tired eyes. Love and tenderness stared back. They were at a crossroads and she was in the driving seat. She could park up and switch off the engine, accept his apology and order in a takeaway, making the most of what was left of their anniversary … Or she could run the bastard over. Why should she let him off the hook? Why was it always down to her to concede, to accept the shreds of affection he deemed to throw her way? It was time to make a stand. Revving the engine, ignoring all warning signs telling her to slow down, she hit the junction with full-on tyre-screeching, wheel-spinning throttle.
‘What do you mean, it’s no big deal?’ Her hands settled on her hips. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary, Martin. Of course it’s a big deal.’
He closed his eyes as if choosing his response carefully. ‘I just meant that we don’t have to sit down to a formal meal in order to celebrate our anniversary. What matters is that we’re together. I’m here now. Let’s make the most of what’s left of the evening, instead of disagreeing.’
She hated it when Martin tried to reason her out of an argument. ‘So it doesn’t matter that I’ve spent all frigging evening cooking? Preparing a romantic meal? Trying to make it a special night for you?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, of course it matters. And once again I’m sorry.’ He came over to where she was standing. ‘I was caught up at work. There was nothing I could do about it.’
She stepped backwards. ‘There was a time when you would’ve said stuff work. I was more important.’
He took her by the shoulders. ‘You still are. I left as soon as I could. I’m here now. Can we please try to enjoy what’s left of the evening?’ His eyes searched her face, pleading with her to relent. ‘Would you like your gift?’ He manoeuvred her over to the table, sitting her down. ‘I think you’ll like it.’
Her anger hadn’t abated, but it seemed churlish to refuse. She opened the card first. The words ‘you’re my world’ written in Martin’s bold scrawl threw another emotion into the mix. She didn’t want to cry. She opened the present, ripping away the paper in an effort to disperse any weakness. She needn’t have worried. The contents washed away any threat of blubbing.
Martin stood behind her, massaging her shoulders. ‘Do you like it?’
Words almost failed her. ‘It’s a blender.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded lifeless.
‘I know. You said you wanted one.’ He stopped massaging, no doubt sensing her lack of delight at his choice of present.
‘I do, but …’
‘But what? You said you wanted a blender, I’ve bought you a blender. Tell me what I’ve done wrong now?’
Laura stood up. There was no way he was going to hijack her anger. How dare he play the wounded card. She was the one whose feelings had been hurt.
Actions spoke louder than words. So instead of explaining why his attempt at an anniversary present was woefully inadequate, she fetched her own gift.
There was a sense of trepidation radiating off Martin as he took the gift, as though being handed a grenade with the ring removed. He placed the package on the table, tentatively removing the ribbons and large bow.
Laura watched him, waiting for his expression to register the significance of her gift compared to the insult of being given a kitchen appliance. He unwrapped the scented tissue paper from each item and looked at it without comment before placing it on the table. Other than pausing longer over the playing cards, his expression gave nothing away.
Laura lost patience. ‘Don’t you like them?’
He rubbed his eyes, wearily.
She felt her anger increase. ‘Don’t just pull a face. Tell me what’s wrong?’
He picked up the tube of lube. ‘This is all a bit … juvenile, don’t you think?’
