One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [60]
‘Charmless old witch,’ grumbled Maggie. ‘How does she expect to attract clients with social skills like that?’
‘Well, quite.’
‘And speaking of clients…’ She stopped at the gift shop window. ‘This is clearly the sort of place Ralphie-boys go to for their tasselled tie-backs. Their nests of limed oak tables.’ She gazed gleefully at the cramped, lively display of occasional tables, gilt table lamps and mirrors. Cherubs and hearts gambled cheerfully over pretty much everything, and every shade had beads hanging from it. ‘Gilt-plated objets d’art,’ she purred happily.
‘Some people like it,’ I said, feeling rather tired. Maggie seemed intent on rubbishing the country and I intent on defending it.
‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ she spat. ‘It’s tasteless tat. I bet they charge like wounded rhinos for it too, bet they’re raking it in. God, it’s huge. Look, it stretches all the way down there.’ She waved her hand down the street at the extensive shop front.
‘I told you, it was the cattle market.’
‘Well, it’s a bloody emporium now. And it’s open too. On a Sunday!’
‘Sign of the times,’ I said. Then quickly added, ‘So perhaps they’re not raking it in, after all?’
I was rather pleased with this little sally but Maggie had moved on, her keen eyes spotting a door opening further down.
‘Oh, hello, here’s one satisfied customer. Let’s see what she’s bought.’ She took my elbow and hustled me along the pavement. ‘Ooh, look at those deeply hideous candlestick lamps!’ Maggie breathed in my ear in awe. ‘I’d pay not to have them!’
A fair-haired woman, tiny, swamped in a huge fur coat, was clutching a pair of tall skinny glass lamps wrapped in tissue as she emerged from the shop.
‘Trophy wife, do we think?’ murmured Maggie. ‘Actually, perhaps not. More like a bag lady. Check out those trainers. With a mink! Hattie?’
But I was too busy wondering where to run, where to hide. Couldn’t pay attention to the footwear. As the fur coat shuffled towards me I felt my heart kick in. Nowhere to run to actually, no escape, as her pale grey eyes widened in uncertain recognition. She stopped.
‘Hattie?’
‘Letty.’
‘Oh – how lovely to see you!’ she smiled.
I caught my breath, but strangely, didn’t feel she was being sarcastic. Or lying. Her face, a bleached, shocking imitation of the one she’d had sixteen years ago, was eager, open.
‘You too,’ I managed, as a slim, strikingly pretty blonde girl materialized beside her. Just behind the pair of them, turning back to shut the door, which tinkled merrily, was a tall man in a blue jumper and jeans. He turned to face us. An older, darker version of… oh my God.
‘Of course you know Hal Forbes, don’t you? But have you ever met Cassie? My daughter?’ Letty’s face was twitching slightly as she shuffled from foot to foot. Her daughter took one of the lamps from her before she dropped it.
‘This is Hattie Carrington, darling. Laura Pelham’s sister.’
‘Oh – hi!’ Cassie smiled at me in surprise.
I cranked up a smile. Laura Pelham’s sister. Not, the girl who worked for your father. Or, the girl your father… I had a sudden flashback to Letty standing in the doorway, in a black and white print dress, heavily pregnant, her hand on this child.
‘Hello, Cassie,’ I managed. ‘Hal.’ But I didn’t look at him. Only heard him murmur, ‘Hattie.’
I’d rehearsed this moment many times in my head. Sometimes I ignored him, even turned on my heel. Sometimes I’d smile and greet him coolly, perhaps planting a social kiss on each cheek, as if nothing had happened. As if I got letters of that nature on my pillow every day. It was a surprise therefore, when we finally traded a look, and his eyes asked if I remembered a time before Dominic, before the letter, when we were friends, and my eyes replied that I did.
‘And I’m Maggie du Bose,’ purred Maggie, absolutely lit up at Hal’s name, perking smartly to attention. She knew. Oh God, she knew. But actually, I was grateful to her, for causing a diversion; for keeping a breezy conversation going. I couldn’t speak.
‘How long are you here for?’ Letty was