Croissants and Jam (12 page)

    ‘Yes but not my bloody leg off,’ I reply blowing my nose and climbing back into the bed.

He hands me a glass of water.

    ‘Here, drink. I really do not want to be manhandling your anatomy for the rest of the night.’

    ‘Huh, you should be so lucky,’ I retort and blush immediately.

He turns off the light and within minutes he is sleeping soundly again.

I let out a soft sigh and tell myself firmly that this man is not for me. I have a wonderful, sensible fiancé, and my days of being with bad men like Christian are well and truly over. I am now a level-headed thirty-year-old woman. I remind myself that Christian might be fun for the moment, but an on-going future with someone like him only spells trouble. I make a mental list of all the reasons why I should
not
be with such a man. First I must not forget he is just an upper-class builder with upper-class friends. He is probably in debt up to his eyeballs and who knows who he owes money to. He is reckless, dangerous and not in the least bit responsible. This is not serendipity, for goodness sake. On that final thought I fall asleep and dream of my fairy-tale wedding in Rome.

I wake to the sound of birds singing and a ray of sunlight which has managed to push through a gap in the curtains. If I had not also woken up with the mother of all hangovers I may have enjoyed the lovely bright morning. I turn to Christian who has his head under a pillow and the duvet pulled up high. I climb quietly from the bed and tiptoe to the bathroom. After all, the last thing we both need is any embarrassment and let’s face it men just can’t control what happens in the morning, now can they? I shudder at the thought and quickly dress. Olivia is tidying up when I enter the kitchen. She greets me with a smile and an offer of coffee which I accept gratefully. I offer to help with the clearing up but she refuses.

    ‘No, Martha our housekeeper will be here shortly. I just wanted a quick tidy up. So, you’re getting married soon?’ she says, taking me by surprise.

I sigh.

    ‘Yes, tomorrow in fact.’

She gasps and puts her cup down.

    ‘What? So soon, but I thought it was at the end of the year you were getting married.’

Shit, of course, she obviously means Christian and Claudine. They are getting married? Hell, I hadn’t even really thought about that. I guess if they are engaged, they will be getting married. I open my mouth to correct my error, and before I know what I am doing I am blurting out the truth, and what a relief it feels.

    ‘Actually, I am not Claudine.’

    ‘I knew it,’ she says triumphantly.

Oh my God, what does she mean? She puts a hand over her mouth.

    ‘Oh Lord, sorry about the bed. Was it all right?’

    ‘Oh yes, Christian was the perfect gentleman, but how did you guess?’

    ‘It was your American accent, or at least the lack of your American accent,’ she laughs. ‘Also, your ring gave it away. I said to Robin it just isn’t a Christian ring.’

I try not to look crestfallen, and she puts her hand over mine.

    ‘Oh don’t misunderstand me. Your ring is just fantastic. It looks really brilliant, but I just knew it would not be the kind of ring that Christian would have gone for and that meant you couldn’t be the kind of woman he goes for. I knew it. Christian just wouldn’t buy a garish ring.’

No, he probably couldn’t afford one, I think, trying to ignore my hurt feelings. My ring is garish? I look at the single solitaire in its white gold filigree encasing. Simon had had it made to his own specifications in Hatton Garden. Admittedly, it would have been nice to have chosen my own ring, but all my friends had said how romantic it was that Simon had chosen the ring for me, and what does she mean I am not the type of woman Christian goes for?

    ‘We both missed the flight and I need to get to Rome, for my wedding actually, and Christian has to be in Rome for… So we decided to travel together. So what kind of woman does he go for?’ I find myself asking and flush.

She looks about to answer me when at that moment Robin bounces in. Talk about bad timing, although I hated myself for even asking. He hugs me warmly.

    ‘Morning Claudine. Did you sleep okay?’

For so many reasons I want to be Claudine. I feel sad when I realise I will never see Robin and Olivia again. If I am totally truthful they are not the kind of people Simon would have for friends. Simon and I do not play twister, and we certainly do not sing along to a karaoke machine. Or perhaps I should say Simon doesn’t. I must stop thinking all these negative thoughts about my future husband, what is wrong with me? I actually hate karaoke and always cringe at those silly people who do it, and as for charades… I know if I had been sober I would not have gone within a foot of the karaoke. No, these people and Christian are all wrong for me. I accept the toast that Olivia is offering and reach out for the jam. I stop with my hand in mid-air. Stop, stop now, says an inner voice, your stomach will soon resemble a Michelin tyre if you continue eating like this. I ponder thoughts of a girdle and wonder if Mum is in Rome yet and whether she can pop out and get me a few items, like a pair of Bridget Jones hold-it-all-in-knickers, just so I can do up the dress. Oh shit, it will be just my luck that it won’t zip up. Well, maybe if the dress doesn’t fit I won’t have to get married. For God’s sake what is wrong with me? I have to get married. I have a joint mortgage now, and an appointment at the bank to arrange a joint account. Oh sod a dog I don’t want to be
joint
. I just want to be single. I reach out desperately for the Nutella and spoon a large dollop onto my toast and wonder what kind of clothes they sell in Evans, apart from the big ones, of course. I need a sugar boost I tell myself as I twist my ring round so that the offending stone cannot be seen.

    ‘Fine thanks,’ I answer Robin with a weak smile.

    ‘Is the old boy up?’ he asks and before I can answer he is bounding up the stairs calling Christian.

    ‘I didn’t choose the ring,’ I say defensively. ‘So what type of woman does he go for?’

    ‘Well…’ she begins but I cut her short.

    ‘No, I don’t want to know, I should not have even asked.’

She smiles and walks round to give me a hug.

    ‘I will always be glad that Christian brought you and not Claudine, and I won’t say a word.’

Robin bounces back in to the kitchen like an excited child.

    ‘We’re going for a spin in the Lemon.’

He rushes out for the can of petrol, and I fight a desire to scream. The bloody Lemon will be the sodding death of me. That car has been nothing but trouble since we left the airport.

    ‘Christian wants you, he said there is something on the TV you would like.’ What? I hate TV, what is Christian up to now? I excuse myself and head back upstairs and open the door slowly, just in case he is naked, as that really would be the end, I don’t think I would survive that somehow.

    ‘Hello,’ I say loudly, while cautiously walking in. I stroll past the television and stand by the bathroom door where I can hear the sound of splashing water. I knock softly.

    ‘Are you decent?’ I ask quietly, not wanting Robin to hear me.

    ‘No, I don’t think I have ever been actually, but I am dressed if that’s what you mean.’

I feel my blood boil and push the door open to see him shaving.

    ‘Ah, morning. Did you see Robin?’ he asks, casually leaning back for a towel. ‘You should look at the news, you’re all over it.’

He yawns and then smiles at me, his eyes sparkling. I stare at him. He leads me back into the bedroom and sits me gently on the bed in front of the television where a video of me emptying the garage till and taking the customers’ purses is splashed all over the screen.

    ‘You’re famous. They are calling you
Madame Hood
.’

I fall back down onto the bed as my legs give way.

    ‘Oh my God, do something, phone someone. I can’t be a criminal.’

He walks back into the bathroom.

    ‘It seems that the English tourist told the police you were some kind of female Robin Hood, you know, taking from the rich to give to the poor,’ he shouts. ‘The poor of France love you, but apparently you have kidnapped me, ha, now that
is
funny.’

Oh goodness, this cannot be happening. I feel my head spin and feel sure I am going to faint.

    ‘I think I am going to pass out,’ I moan dropping my head into my hands.

He walks back in smiling.

    ‘Oh you’re all right.’

So much for the overdose on sympathy, I make a mental note not to go down with malaria while with him. I stare at the photos splashed across the screen.

    ‘I expect they will be all over the front page of the newspapers,’ he laughs and I fight the urge to hit him.

    ‘Oh God,’ I groan.

He sits beside me and put his arm on my shoulder.

    ‘It’s not that bad. They just want to question you. It will probably soon blow over. The thing is, we could be held up for days if you do hand yourself in so to speak.’

    ‘Hand myself in,
hand myself in, what are you saying?
I haven’t done anything, in fact, you did more. You were the one
telling
me to fetch their wallets and purses. They should be photos of you,’ I explode pulling his hand off my shoulder. ‘Just because you spent the night with me, it does not mean you can touch me. Don’t touch me,’ I snap angrily.

He holds both hands up.

    ‘Okay, okay, keep your knickers on. All I am saying is that we should try and cross into Italy soon as possible. That is all I am saying. The pictures won’t be on the front page, I was only joking about that.’

I grit my teeth. To think just a few minutes ago I was asking what type of woman he goes for. He is nothing but a reckless irritating arsehole. I turn my face away from the television with another moan.

    ‘I just want to die.’

He nods.

    ‘Yes, of course and I have left plenty of razor blades in the bathroom for you. I am just taking Robin for a spin in the Lemon, and then we can have a quick coffee and head off.’

He leaves me standing in the middle of the room. Jesus, the man is un-bloody-believable. I stretch out an arm and fumble to turn the television off when I see a picture of a Citroën.

    ‘Oh no, they know our car,’ I gasp before I even realise I have said
our car
.

    ‘Quick, what are they saying?’ I yell.

He stops dead in his tracks, does a U-turn and stares with me at the television.

    ‘Oh bother, not the Lemon
.
Oh well that’s it then, we have to get moving now that the Lemon has a criminal record.’

I stare at him. Charming, when it is me, it doesn’t matter, but as soon as it is the Lemon, he decides we have to get moving. I then see a half-smile on his face.

    ‘Oh honestly,’ I groan. ‘Why is the hoodie not in the video?’

    ‘Ah, well I imagine the reason he used you was so he could avoid the CCTV camera, unlike you of course.’

I turn to hit him, but he is out of the door.

    ‘It seems it’s you they are after,’ he laughs again, ‘great that the Lemon
is famous though.’

Oh God, just a few days before my wedding and I am already infamous in France. I quickly check my phone. What if Simon has seen it? Thankfully there are no messages. Hopefully I haven’t made the news in Italy. I can’t even begin to imagine what Simon’s parents would make of it. Can it get any worse? Why do I believe it can? I hear him whistling as he skips downstairs and I really believe he must hate me because of the way he glorifies my misery. Well, I hate you too you bastard, so there. You are just one of the bad boys, and I gave men like you up many years ago. I strip off in the bathroom and get in the shower, feeling more certain than ever that marrying Simon is by far the best decision I have ever made. Finally, I am going to be a respectable married woman, with a respectable and sensible husband, and all madness will be put behind me. I must not be influenced by this stupid builder person. Thank God, I am finally seeing reason. After my shower I rummage through the few clothes I had bought and pull on a pair of jeans and a loose top, and drape a cardigan around my shoulders, and pray that Christian won’t be too long.

Christian

    ‘
What a hoot. Only you would have bought this, the engine sounds a bit funny though – is it meant to sound like that?’
laughs Robin as he puts on his stylish glasses to study the Lemon. I smile as he inspects the dashboard. Finally, someone appreciates the Lemon apart from me.

    ‘Claudine says it’s a classic piece of junk.’

    ‘I can fully understand you falling in love with this little darling. I’d never have forgiven you if you had left without taking me for a spin.’

We drive in silence for the next ten minutes and Robin tinkers with the radio, strokes the upholstery and fiddles with the windows, sighing every so often. He begins to study the sunroof and then reaches up to open it.

    ‘Careful, it’s a bit fragile,’ I warn.

He laughs loudly.

    ‘I can’t believe you actually bought this. I mean, it’s cool, but it’s falling to bits.’

I tap the dashboard gently.

    ‘Don’t go insulting her now.’

    ‘So, Claudine seems nice,’ he says finally.

    ‘Yeah,’ I respond in a deadpan voice.

I feel him looking at me.

    ‘So, what’s the Rome thing all about?’

Oh no. This is just what I had dreaded. I am just so useless at lying.

    ‘Oh you know? It’s a family thing.’

Come on Robin, give it a rest man. But of course he doesn’t.

    ‘Uh oh, is that thing still on-going with your brother?’

I nod and watch nervously as he clips open the window.

    ‘That will be a bundle of laughs then. Anyway Claudine is really nice. I didn’t expect her to be such a good laugh somehow. How come she has a British accent?’

Luckily I am saved from answering as he points ahead to the garage and I pull in and brake sharply, too sharply in fact.