Authors: Danielle Shaw
It was thinking of the baby that prompted Sophie to change her mind, plus something Monty had said before they went to Callie’s party. Something about Carlos taking the baby away … She gave an involuntary shudder. Hadn’t Carlos always shown his contempt for Victoria Villas?
This dear little house with its delightful cottage garden wasn’t Victoria Villas Sophie concluded, taking a last look round before they left. Neither could it be compared to the luxurious Martins-Ramirez family homes in The Algarve.
But
it
will
be
mine
, she told herself, trailing a finger along a dusty windowsill. Carlos will never know I’m here.
‘I don’t know how to thank you both enough,’ she said, next morning, when the estate agent rang with the good news.
Preparing to leave for Norfolk and the hotel, Edna brushed away a tear. ‘There's no need for thanks, just promise us you’ll take good care of yourself.’
‘And don’t forget to call if you need anything – and I do mean
anything
,’ Monty continued, walking into the hallway with a suitcase. ‘The moment that baby starts to arrive, you’re to get on the phone and I’ll have Edna here in no time at all.’
‘That’s very considerate of you but I wouldn’t dream of putting you to any bother. Callie’s already offered to come with me to the hospital.’
‘Bother? Did you hear that Monty? Our first grandchild and she calls it bother!’ Hugging Sophie warmly, Edna patted her on the cheek. ‘I know we won’t be proper grandparents in the true sense of the word, but we’ve always thought of you as the daughter we never had. If you could perhaps think of us as—’
‘Of course I shall!’ Sophie broke in tearfully, studying Edna’s earnest face. ‘I shall insist you’re called Grannie Edna and Grandad Monty. How does that sound?’
‘Absolutely wonderful!’ Monty said, blowing his nose hard.
Waving goodbye, Sophie was heading back to the flat when Edna wound down the car window. ‘Don’t forget. Have a proper rest before you go on duty. There’s nothing to do in the flat.’
‘So I noticed when I came home from work. What have you been up to?’
‘You know me Sophie, I get bored easily. I had a quick vacuum through, stripped the beds and made sure your washing and ironing was all up to date. You’ll find everything in the airing cupboard. Even that old shirt washed up nice and bright.’
‘What old shirt?’ Sophie puzzled, closing the front door.
Walking to the airing cupboard she gave a horrified gasp. In front of her was Carlos’s shirt, newly laundered and neatly folded. ‘Oh, no!’ she cried, pressing it against her face. But it was no use. For months she’d liked to think that it still held the faintest hint of his aftershave and cologne. Now all that remained was biological washing powder and springtime fresh softener!
Springtime fresh sunshine shone down on Rosa. In a rustle of silk she turned anxious eyes towards her stepmother.
‘What do you think?’ she asked, softly.
‘You look absolutely beautiful!’ Elisabete said, adjusting Rosa’s veil and headdress. ‘Your father will be so proud of you.’
Hesitating, Rosa placed a hand over the gentle curve of her stomach. ‘Do you really think so? He wasn’t very happy at first, was he?’
‘Rosa! You must stop saying that. Telling your father about the baby was not the cause of his relapse. The doctor said it would have happened anyway. Once Carlos had explained everything even your Grandmother soon recovered from the shock of it all.’
Choosing to forget Grandmother’s outburst, Rosa lifted up swathes of ivory silk and followed by Elisabete, drifted downstairs to join her father.
‘Beautiful! Simply beautiful!’ José sighed, cupping Rosa’s face in his hands. Stooping to kiss her forehead, he swallowed hard. ‘If only your dear mother was here.’
‘She is,’ Rosa said, her eyes resting on a photograph taken with her mother at her christening. ‘In fact they both are. Mother is with me in spirit and Elisabete is here to help me be the perfect wife to my husband and mother to my own child, when it arrives.’
Deeply moved, Elisabete reached for a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Speaking of arrivals, here comes the car to take me and Anna to the church. We’ll see you in a while Rosa dear. And – although they say it is a bride’s prerogative, try not to be too late. You know what Carlos always says about your time keeping.’
Rosa watched Anna and Elisabete drive away. At last she had a few precious moments alone with her father. ‘Father … the baby … I know this isn’t quite how you planned my wedding day. Believe me it is what I want and I am so
very
happy.’
‘Then that’s all that matters,’ José’s voice trembled. ‘Come, our car is here too. Are you ready?’
Smiling, Rosa reached for her wedding bouquet. ‘Yes. Carlos made me promise to be on time for once. He said I mustn’t upset Grandmother by being late, or she will never forgive me.’
José held out his arm. ‘From now on I think your Grandmother will forgive you anything. Don’t forget you are carrying the next generation of the Martins-Ramirez partnership. The future depends on you Rosa.’
*
Lost in thought Carlos stared from the window at the seemingly endless rows of almond trees, all in blossom. Blossom that he’d once promised to show to Sophie.
‘Carlos,’ a concerned voice murmured by his side. ‘I think it’s time we left for the church.’
‘What? Oh, sorry Cristovao. I was miles away, thinking about…’
‘Sophie?’
‘Yes,’ came the haunted, reply. ‘I once promised Sophie to show her the almond blossom. I told her it would be like gazing out onto fields of snow.’
Cristovao patted his brother’s shoulder. ‘Of the two of us you always were the romantic one. I’m so sorry Sophie decided not to come.’
‘I don’t know about decided,’ Carlos said bitterly. ‘She never even acknowledged the invitation. Rosa was extremely upset.’
Cristovao straightened his brother’s silk cravate. ‘From what you told me perhaps it is all for the best. At least Mother is here. Don’t you think it strange seeing our parents together again? Even if it is only for a day.’
Reaching for his single, red rose buttonhole and comforted by the thought of seeing his mother again, Carlos was suddenly reminded of one of her favourite poems. A poem about roses being pure and sweet yet dangerously armed with thorns.
Exactly like Rosa, he thought, carefully securing his buttonhole with a pin, making sure he didn’t prick his finger. He gave a cynical smile. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any bloodshed – only tears – when he’d had to confront his Uncle and Grandmother about Rosa and the baby. He paused by the door, deeply pensive and nodded to his brother. ‘Right. Time to go. Please God Grandmother behaves herself!’
‘She jolly well ought to. As usual she’s got what she wanted, but at what cost? I wonder,’ Cristovao whispered out of earshot, saddened to see his brother look so miserable and forlorn.
Thrilled by the day’s events and the prospect of becoming a great-grandmother, Maria-Clara surpassed herself. To everyone’s relief she not only acknowledged Helena Martins’ presence, she even made a point of speaking to her. With the happy couple exchanging pleasantries with their guests, Maria-Clara approached Eduardo and Helena who were still sitting side by side. Nodding in the direction of bride and groom, she proclaimed.
‘What a wonderful day it has been! You must be very proud of your son.’
‘I am proud of
both
my sons,’ Helena said, stiffly.
‘But of course! They are truly a credit to you Helena. You
and
Eduardo.’
Eduardo Martins toyed with his wine glass and prayed his mother wasn’t going to cause a scene. As if it wasn’t bad enough trying to make polite conversation with his estranged wife.
‘Handsome grandsons and a beautiful granddaughter,’ Maria-Clara continued, fiercely proud of the scene before her, where Rosa, Carlos and Cristovao were now deeply engrossed in conversation. ‘What more could a grandmother wish for?’
‘A handsome great-grandson or beautiful great-grand-daughter?' Helena replied, sardonically. ‘Someone to carry on the family business?’
Maria-Clara’s eyes sharpened, registering the acerbic tone in Helena’s voice. She said nothing other than whisper, ‘Perhaps?’ and fixed Helena with a knowing smile.
Eager to dispel any unpleasantness, Eduardo reached hurriedly for his glass. ‘I’m sure they’re going to be very happy together.’
‘I sure they will,’ Helena agreed. ‘I only hope Carlos—’
‘You only hope Carlos what?’ Eduardo enquired, pausing with his glass to his lips.
‘No matter,’ Helena said, raising her own glass, conscious of Maria-Clara eyeing her speculatively. ‘Now is perhaps not the time or the place to discuss it.’
*
While Rosa lay sleeping contentedly, locked in her husband’s embrace, Sophie sat exhausted on bare floor boards.
‘It’s certainly coming on,’ Callie announced brightly, looking at newly decorated walls and paintwork. ‘By the time we get rid of the dustsheets, sweep the floors and clean the windows, it’s going to look fantastic. When are they coming to fit the carpet?’
‘The day after tomorrow.’
‘Perfect timing as ever,’ Callie said, peeling the last of the masking tape from the windows. ‘I think we should congratulate ourselves on doing such a good job.’
‘We!’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘You mean you, Patrick and practically everyone else in the Callaghan family. I’ve done nothing at all.’
Callie patted Sophie’s pronounced bump. ‘Quite right too. We can’t have you climbing ladders. Besides, you kept us going with all those endless cups of tea and sandwiches.’
‘Speaking of which,’ a voice called from the top of a ladder. ‘Can someone hold this while I get down? And Sophie – if you’re offering – I’m simply gasping for a cuppa.’
‘Shame on you Patrick Murphy!’ Sophie teased, easing herself from the floor. ‘Expecting someone in my condition to wait on you hand and foot at this time of night.’
‘I certainly won’t!’ Callie said, holding the ladder steady. ‘He can make his own tea when we’re married.’
Patrick ruffled Callie’s hair. ‘And there was me thinking you loved me Rose-Marie Callaghan.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ she sighed, lifting her face to be kissed. ‘On reflection, I suppose you are
rather
good with a paintbrush.’
‘That’s not all, eh?’ Patrick grinned, cheekily.
Heartened to see Callie and Patrick so in love, Sophie felt suddenly bereft. Would she ever know such love again? When the baby grew up would she have to spend the rest of her life alone?
Allowing herself a solitary digestive biscuit, Callie dunked it in her tea and asked softly, ‘Penny for them Sophie?’
‘I was wondering what it would be like when the baby’s grown up.’
‘Poor little beggar!’ Patrick teased, spooning sugar into his mug. ‘He’s not even born yet and Sophie’s already packing his bags!’
‘She!’ Callie corrected. ‘Sophie’s going to have a dear little girl.’
Leaving Callie and Sophie to discuss babies and weddings, Patrick finished his tea and carried the ladder upstairs.
‘I notice you still haven’t opened it,’ Callie said, looking towards the impressive, cream vellum envelope resting against the mantelpiece.
Sophie shook her head. ‘No, and I don’t intend to. I don’t want to know, Callie.’
‘Surely you could take just the teeniest peep inside to see when they were getting married? Won’t they think it strange you didn’t reply?’
‘Quite possibly. As you know I’d already congratulated Rosa on her engagement. What more did you expect me to do?’
‘I thought you might have telephoned. Perhaps let Carlos explain?’
‘There was no need!’
Unable to let the matter rest, Callie picked at a stubborn blob of paint on the floorboards. ‘I still can’t believe Carlos never rang again. He loved you so much Sophie. He wouldn’t give you up and marry Rosa without a fight.’
‘He would – if he thought I was marrying someone else.’
‘Is that what you told him?’ Callie gasped in disbelief. ‘You told Carlos you … Why? And more to the point who?’
‘I told him I was going to marry Gavin … that we’d got back together.’
‘You did what! But you haven’t have you? I heard rumour Gavin was coming back to the hospital. Sophie! You can’t! Tell me you’re not going to—’
‘No. Of course I’m not marrying Gavin. Although I did bump into him when I was shopping – and I mean that quite literally. He was with his sister. You should have seen their faces when they realised I was pregnant.’
‘Did Gavin say anything?’
‘He was coolly polite, that’s all.’
Standing up, Callie placed her mug alongside the unopened wedding invitation and stretched her weary limbs. ‘You’re sure about not opening this?’
‘Positive,’ Sophie replied, watching Callie’s gaze fall on the heavily embossed gilt
C
and
R
intertwined on the envelope. ‘I’d prefer not to know. Blame it on Fuller stubbornness if you like.’
‘Nope. I’ll blame it on unbalanced hormones and sheer bloody exhaustion. Contrary to what you said earlier, you’ve been working so hard on this place. If you want my opinion – which you won’t – you look all in and ready for bed. Have you decided when you’re going to stop work?’
‘The baby’s still on schedule for April 17th, so I thought the beginning of March. About the same time you plan to stop work in preparation for your wedding.’
‘Great! That means we’ll have plenty of time together before the big day.’
‘Speaking of big things. Callie … about me being a bridesmaid … Are you really sure, I shan’t be at all offended if you’ve changed your mind.’
‘I haven’t and subject closed! You’re going to be the most perfect St. Patrick’s Day daffodil ever!’
Sophie shook her head and smiled, reminded of Callie’s gold and green colour scheme for her wedding. ‘I don’t know about daffodil. With my hair in bunches like this I feel more like the Easter Bunny, complete with giant egg inside my tummy.’
‘Nonsense! With the dress’s high waistline your bump will hardly show. And Mum says your idea of the fluted hemline was really clever. She’s planning to have the church filled to overflowing with St. Patrick’ Day daffodils.’
‘How will she get so many?’
‘Easy. Dad had a word with Tom O’Connor – the chap with the allotment. He’s planted two sacks of bulbs. With luck they’ll all be in bloom by March 17th.’
‘And if they're not?’
‘Sophie Fuller! Don’t be such a pessimist! If not, we’ll cheat and go to Beckford Market!’
‘Ever the eternal optimist Callie?’
‘Of course. Mum’s always said if you want something badly enough and you go to confession each week, your dreams will come true.’
‘Ah well, that explains it,’ Sophie said, with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘That’s why my dreams haven’t come true. Being C of E, I never went to confession!’
*
When St. Patrick’s Day dawned Callie and Sophie woke to brilliant sunshine and the sound of excited voices coming from outside the bedroom door. Freshly showered, Callie gulped nervously and stepped into her dress. ‘Boy! Am I glad I persuaded you to stay over last night. At least you’re calm, Sophie. My mother and sisters are like cats on hot bricks out there.’
‘If you think I’m calm you’re very much mistaken. Look at my hands. They’re shaking so much I can hardly close your zip. I’ll never be able to fasten my sash.’
‘Don't worry,’ Callie said, taking the green silk sash from Sophie’s trembling fingers. ‘I’ll do it for you.’
‘I only hope it goes round me, Sophie replied, attempting to draw in her stomach.
‘Of course it does. See ... the perfect daffodil. Let’s go and gather the rest of the beautiful
bunch
shall we?’