Christmas at Tiffany's (60 page)

‘Nice top,’ Cassie said quietly.

‘Thanks. Gil bought it for me when we went to New York,’ Wiz replied breezily. If she was shocked by Cassie’s surprise arrival, she didn’t show it.

‘You went to New York together?’ Cassie asked, determined to keep her composure, to keep her voice level, her eyes clear. Wiz was not who she wanted to see; she was the
last
person she wanted to see. Where was Gil?

Wiz walked further into the room and set the flowers down upon the desk. ‘Yes. For Valentine’s Day. It was just a weekend,’ she added airily, knowing full well Gil had never taken Cassie further than Perth. She fiddled with the flowers casually before straightening up and regarding Cassie more closely.

‘And you look . . . well,’ she said in a flat tone that passed as polite, but barely.

Cassie looked down at herself and shrugged. She was wearing the same cut-off jeans and yellow T-shirt she’d been wearing yesterday and looked more like an au pair than the wife who used to drift around the house in tatty jumpers and velvet. But she also knew she looked five years younger and ten pounds lighter – like a completely different person.

‘Thanks,’ Cassie replied, pushing her hand casually into her pocket as she caught the flash of jealousy in her former friend’s eyes.

She looked around the room slowly. All the same photographs were in the same frames in the same place. The place mat for Gil’s cups of tea was still positioned just below the telephone, and the annual burgundy leather desk diary was still opened to the left of the computer. The volumes of his law journals were freshly dusted in the bookcases, and this week’s copy of the
Field
was fanned with
Country Life
on the side table. ‘I see everything here looks exactly the same.’

‘Not
exactly
the same,’ Wiz replied quickly, her eyes flicking towards a box of toys in the corner, and making it clear that this was a family home nowadays.

Cassie followed her stare and gave a bright smile of acknowledgement, determined not to show her pain. ‘And how is Rory?’

‘Enjoying nursery,’ Wiz nodded briskly. ‘He’s reading already, and they’re just about to start him on Mandarin. All the experts say the earlier they learn another language the better.’

‘Yes. I heard that.’ Poor child.

Wiz was wearing a barely-there smile, her head tilted slightly as though
baffled
that Cassie should be here, and they stood in silence for a second – all small talk exhausted – the tension between them as thick as mud.

As ever, the silence made Cassie nervous and she fidgeted on her feet. It was clear neither tea nor an apology were going to be forthcoming.

‘Well, it was Gil that I came to see,’ Cassie said finally. ‘Mrs Conway’s gone to find him for me.’

‘She won’t find him. He’s in Edinburgh today.’

‘Really?’ Cassie was surprised. ‘But this is peak season for the grilses. They’re making their first runs up the river just now, aren’t they?’ Salmon fishing was Gil’s favourite sport, and over the course of the past ten years, Cassie had learnt never to try to impede his instinct to stand waist-deep in freezing, rushing water.

‘I’m quite sure they are,’ Wiz replied tightly. ‘But I told him there’s simply no time for that kind of leisure activity now. Gil needs to bill more hours if we’re going to get the extension built by Christmas.’

‘You’re doing building works?’ Gil had always said the house had more listings on it than a phone book.

‘Yes. It’ll pretty much double the square footage. Rory’s going to need more space as he gets older.’ She narrowed her eyes slightly. ‘And of course, if we choose to have more children . . .’

Cassie gasped reflexively. It was a blow she couldn’t absorb, and she looked away quickly, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek. She blinked several times, determined not to let the tears fall, but she knew Wiz was watching her and could see everything. It would always be the trump card. She knew just how badly Cassie had wanted children – Wiz had been the person she’d confided in, after all.

There was no point in staying any longer to be used as Wiz’s punching bag. It was absolutely clear that the friendship between them had been a myth, a convenient alibi to keep Gil as close to her as possible.

Cassie reached into her bag, pulling out the large brown envelope that she’d opened the night before. ‘Well, if Gil’s not coming, perhaps you’d like to give this back to him. He seems to have
forgotten
to sign the Decree Absolute.’

She stared straight at Wiz, and she could see this was all news to her.

‘Which is a strange oversight for a barrister,’ she continued, an idea suddenly coming to her. ‘In fact, if we’re being honest, he’s been peculiarly reluctant to sign off anything in this divorce. People are even joking that perhaps he doesn’t
want
to divorce me.’

Cassie didn’t believe it for a minute, but it was a line of attack every bit as biting as her opponent’s – and she savoured the tiny wave of triumph that rushed up inside her. This woman might have taken her husband from her; she might remodel her home to her own specifications; she might even bear the large family Cassie had dreamt of having; but she didn’t have all the boxes ticked, and the revenge tasted sweet.

‘Maybe
you
can convince him,’ Cassie smiled, pushing the papers towards Wiz, who was pinched white with anger. ‘And then we can all move on with our lives.’

The taxi sped off the M4 and on to the country lane and Kelly grabbed the handrail as the driver took a hairpin bend in fourth gear. ‘Jeez-us,’ she muttered. ‘It’d have been safer coming by missile.’

She patted the thick dress bags on the seat next to her and checked her watch. She’d landed at Heathrow three hours ago. Hopefully, she might make it for afternoon tea – Hattie’s scones were one of the abiding memories of her childhood. She texted another ‘missing you’ message to Brett, and his return message beeped just as they drove into the tiny Cotswold village where Suzy and Henry had grown up. It had been years since she’d been here. In fact, not since Suzy’s eighteenth, if she remembered correctly – a big black-tie do with a marquee in the garden. God, it had been a blast. Everyone wasted on Lambrini and Beck’s and dancing to Prince. She vaguely recalled Henry trying to hypnotize Cassie into taking her clothes off.

They clattered over the cattle grid, where Kelly had once broken a heel on the way back from a secret mission to the pub, and past the gateposts where ‘West Meadows’ was carved into the stone; the gate itself hadn’t hung for at least thirty years, but the cattle grid was enough to keep the Sallyfords’ livestock in and the neighbouring dogs out.

Hattie was in the garden when the taxi pulled up. She was kneeling on a gardening pad next to a Sussex trug with filled cut stems, a huge linen hat flopping over her brow. Behind her was sprawled West Meadows, a small sand-coloured manor with an ancient white-flowering wisteria fluttering like eyelashes at the windows. It sat squatly in the middle of its own grounds like a hen on her nest – protective, settled, not going anywhere.

Kelly gave a happy sigh. It was just like coming home. Every weekend-exeat from school had been spent here. She, Suzy and Cassie had piled into Hattie’s long-wheelbase Land Rover, which usually stopped off to collect Henry and a friend from his school twelve miles away, before hightailing it back to West Meadows for a weekend of home-baked cakes and lie-ins.

‘Oh, Kelly! Our beautiful bride! You’re here!’ Hattie cried, dropping the secateurs as Kelly emerged, tall and willowy, like a black orchid amidst the blowsy heavy-headed blooms that swayed in the late June breeze. ‘It’s a joy to see you!’

‘Aunts Hats, it’s so great to see you,’ Kelly cried, throwing her arms around her and squeezing her tightly. She pulled back to look at her. ‘And thank you so much for hosting this for me. I am for ever in your debt. I can’t tell you how lovely it all looks – it’s even more beautiful than I remembered. Brett will just die!’

Hattie planted her hands on her hips and looked around contentedly. ‘Well, Suzy’s been working me to the bone to get this place ready for you,’ she nodded. ‘But I have to say, it’s been wonderful waking the old place up again. I hadn’t realized how neglected it was getting.’ She smiled. ‘It’s delightful to be having such a happy occasion here. I feel greatly honoured that you chose West Meadows for your wedding.’

Kelly shrugged. ‘All my memories here are happy ones. I couldn’t think of a more perfect setting.’

‘And is that your dress?’ Hattie asked, looking at the voluminous hanging-bags.

Kelly pressed down on the small plastic window of the biggest bag so that Hattie could peer in. ‘Ivory duchesse satin. I think you’ll approve.’

Hattie clasped her hands together. ‘I simply can’t
wait
to see you in it.’

‘Well, wait till you see the bridesmaids. They’re a symphony in caramel and butterscotch.’ Mocha had fallen by the wayside with Anouk.

‘Good heavens, they sound like an ice-cream sundae,’ Hattie tittered. Then she stopped. ‘Did you double-check the sizes for Suzy? Because I don’t know when you saw her last, but—’ She blew out her cheeks impishly and Kelly burst out laughing. Hattie didn’t pay any attention to political correctness, and not even her children were immune from her keen wit and sly humour.

‘She’s getting big, then?’

‘Oh, darling, she’s blocking out the sun. It’s absolutely killing! She’s like a balloon ready to pop, honestly. She’s just having a lie-down at the moment.’

‘Good for her.’ They walked into the hall. It was cool and shaded, with an extravagant display of roses on a table in the middle, and threadbare rugs criss-crossed over each other on the flagstone floor. It was utterly silent.

‘Who else is here?’ Kelly asked, turning to her. ‘Don’t say I’m the first?’

‘No, no. Suzy and Arch came up this morning, and Cassie’s due here any minute.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘She’s on her way back from Scotland, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t know,’ Kelly said, alarmed. ‘
Don’t
tell me she saw Gil.’

‘That’s what her note said,’ Hattie said, wringing her hands. ‘But nobody knows
why
she went.’

‘You surely don’t think they might have got back together?’

‘Who knows? We didn’t know if she was coming back at all until she texted Suzy earlier. Everyone’s been in a terrible dither.’

‘Why did no one tell me about this? It’s
my
wedding.’ She didn’t like the sound of this. She’d already sacked one bridesmaid, one was heavily pregnant, and now the other was missing in action. What the hell was going on?

‘It all happened so quickly. She just took off at first light yesterday, and I expect you were already travelling by then. There was no point in worrying you until we knew exactly what was going on,’ Hattie said, starting up the stairs briskly. She was in her late sixties but still as lithe and wiry as a hare. ‘Anyway, tell me, when do I get to meet your lovely boy?’

Kelly snapped back into focus. ‘Brett? Not till tomorrow. He and my dear friend Bas are on the flight after me, and they’ll be going straight to the Rose and Crown this evening. Brett’s very superstitious. Point blank refuses to see me on English soil till I’m walking down the aisle.’

‘I love him already,’ Hattie trilled, opening a bedroom door. ‘Now, I’ve put you in here, darling. I remember you always loved the views on this side.’

‘I love them on every side,’ Kelly said, walking in and dropping her bags. ‘But thank you. It is my favourite room.’

‘Well, hang up your things and have a rest. Come down when you’re ready for some tea.’

The door shut gently and Kelly walked over to the windows. Everybody stood at the windows in this house. In fact, Hattie always said West Meadows was only built to frame the views out on to the gardens. And she had a point. The gardens here were simply breathtaking. From the terrace, a formal garden lined with topiaried birds opened out on to a two-acre silver lake and distant views over the Slad Valley; to the left of the house, there was a pleached-lime-tree walk leading to the massive greenhouse and the acclaimed sunken rose garden where Hattie cultivated obscure and ancient genera. To the right was an immaculate grass tennis court. And encircling all of this, beyond the clipped lawns and vibrant, fiery borders which teemed and buzzed with life, were the wildflower meadows where they’d all loved to play as children and where a single track was mown through in curvaceous sweeps. From the window, she could just make out the tip of the Big Top.

She unpacked quickly – she was a mistress of the capsule wardrobe, and her honeymoon bags had already been sent ahead to the hotel – and took a shower, sitting down on the bed afterwards to towel-dry her hair. She felt the mattress sink beneath her weight and she lay down – just for a moment – to relax her body. She’d had no rest at all on the flight. Thanks to the socialite Katrina Holland buying up the entire Maddy Foxton collection and flaunting it round town like her prize shih-tzus, Hartford Communications’ star was rising again. Tory Burch had asked her to deliver a pitch when she came back from honeymoon and, accordingly, Kelly had worked from wheels-up to touchdown. She felt shattered, and the bridesmaid situation wasn’t doing anything to relax her. If she could just lie still for a moment . . .