It had all been so easy. A leaflet about the Moonwalk marathon in London in aid of breast cancer here, a ‘£5 a month could save an orphan’s life’ pamphlet there. Bridget had been sure to leave some charity paraphernalia behind at every opportunity. Last week, having popped into Hartley’s flat to drop off some home-made Dundee cake (it could only do her good if he learned to associate her with his beloved Scotland – her mother’s party caterer had actually made it but dear H needn’t know), she had left behind a book on depression. Hartley had called her soon after she left, gingerly bringing up the subject of the book.
‘Oh darling, don’t worry. It’s not for me. What have I to be down about? I’m a very lucky girl. That’s why I’ve decided to do some voluntary work, you know, chatting to people who are a little less happy. But I’m doing some training first, sweetie – these things have to be handled ever so gently.’
‘Oh I see. That’s, erm, lovely, Bridget. Good for you.’
Bridget beamed with pride at the other end of the phone. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the wicked smile that then spread across her face.
Yes, she had painted a rather saintly picture of her new self. In fact, when she was at his town house yesterday she had overheard Hartley tell an old school friend just how kind she was. When his mobile had started ringing she had kissed him on the cheek and waved goodbye before running down the stairs to the first floor as noisily as she could – then she had quietly retraced her footsteps back up to the landing to listen in.
‘Bately, I really appreciate your concern… Yes, I know, but really, she’s a different person… Yes, old chap, you’re right, I do know best…’
Bloody Bately, the interfering idiot. OK, so she’d told a girl Bately was dating a while back that he had cheated on every girlfriend and that she would be no different. Actually, Bridget told her, she had heard whispers he’d been seeing quite a bit of an ex recently. She was only looking out for the poor girl… Mel, was it? Bately hadn’t seen it that way. He had called her in such a rage he could hardly get his words out. He had, however, managed to convey his thought that Bridget had sabotaged the relationship because she was jealous. His girlfriend had finished things even though Bately insisted he hadn’t so much as looked at another girl since he met her because he was smitten. He pleaded, he begged, but it was no use. He said Bridget was a spiteful bitch who couldn’t stand the fact Mel had been an instant hit with their group of friends.
Mel was too much of a threat for Bridget, Bately had told her. They were around the same height and both had slender frames.
‘But with one big difference,’ Bately had spat.
‘What’s that, sweetie?’
‘Her face doesn’t look like she’s chewing a wasp.’
Bridget had laughed. ‘Darling Bately, you are such a hoot.’
She couldn’t remember much more of the conversation. It was an age ago – just a few months after she’d started dating Hartley first time round. She hadn’t banked on him holding a grudge for quite so long. Thankfully, Hartley had seen the light, she thought as she listened to him reassure his friend she was a changed woman. Dear H, she thought, as she heard him come out with gems like ‘everyone’s allowed a second chance’ and ‘she’s in a much better place these days’.
Simple phrases even his dyslexic buffoon of a friend Bately might understand. Psycho-babbling Hartley was falling for her all over again. And that simply proved what Bridget had known all along: they were meant for each other. Even if he didn’t realize it at the moment, if he was ‘encouraged’ to think about a future and family with Bridget, he would see it all made perfect sense.