Chapter 17

Flynn said, “What we were talking about this morning reminded me of something. I was going to mention it when Gigi came down and dragged me away. Plus, I needed to think it through.”

Lara blinked. “Go on.”

“It was nine or ten years ago. I was working at Gray’s.” He paused, “A woman came in to buy some wine. We were running a tasting and she was trying a few different kinds. We got chatting, then all of a sudden she asked me if I was the skier. I told her I was, and then she said did I used to have a girlfriend called Lara.”

“Who was she?”

“I said yes I had,” Flynn continued steadily. “And she said she thought so, that she’d known you when you were growing up; she’d moved away years ago, but during her last visit back to Bath she’d seen the two of us together. She recognized me from the TV and was so glad to see you looking so happy. She asked if I was still in touch with you and I told her I wasn’t, that you’d left Bath and hadn’t kept in touch with anyone here.”

Lara’s heart was thudding away. “What was her name?”

“I don’t know. But she talked about you for a bit, told me she’d been a friend of your mum’s and how awful it must have been for you when she died. She said she left Bath just after it happened and that she’d written to you but never had any reply.”

“I didn’t get any letter.” Her mind was racing ahead. “She might have sent one, but I never saw it. Anyway, carry on. What else?”

But Flynn was already shaking his head. “That’s it, that’s all there was. Bearing in mind that I didn’t have any reason to remember her. But I’m sure she was more tanned than the other people in the shop, as if she’d been abroad on vacation…”

“Or if she lived somewhere hot,” Gigi put in helpfully, “and had just come back to Bath.”

“But you don’t have her name,” said Lara. “So that means we still don’t know who she is.”

“She bought some wine.” Flynn leaned to one side and drew a folded sheet of paper from his trouser pocket. “It was before I got the business computerized.” The Grays had been famously anti-technology prior to his arrival. “But we’ve been through all the old invoices today. I’ve made a list of every female whose name begins with a J.”

“So you see,” Gigi chimed in again, “it was boring, but it was worth it!”

“Can I see?” Lara reached for the sheet of paper. The names were in Flynn’s hand, instantly transporting her back to their teenage years together; that untidy, spiky writing style was spookily unchanged.

She scanned the names, so many of them… Jane Morgan… J. Lancaster… Julie Knight… Judith Childerley… Jennifer Fuge… Joanne Margason… Josephine Pride… J. Carter… Jean Drew…

There were more. She scrutinized them all, willing the right one to leap out at her, released like a tiger from the depths of her subconscious.

“It’s no good, I can’t tell.” Reaching the end, she put the list down and felt her throat tighten with disappointment. “I don’t think I ever knew her surname. We’re never going to know which one’s her. Even if we could find out, those invoices are years old…”

“Don’t be such a pessimist. Keep thinking about that name beginning with J. It might come to you.” Flynn retrieved the list then rose to his feet. “Right, I have work to do. Better be off.” The moment he said it, Gigi jumped up and gave him a hug. Still in a daze, Lara nevertheless experienced a twinge of envy that he’d managed to get her off the ground; if she’d been the one leaving, Gigi would have stayed where she was and said, “Bye, Mum!”

“Mum?”

“What?”

“Dad’s leaving now. Are you going to say anything?”

“Oh. Um, good-bye.”

“Mum!”

“What?” Gigi was giving her a don’t-be-so-rude look.

“You could try saying thank you.”

“Right. Yes of course, sorry.” Lara looked up at Flynn, silhouetted against the sun with Gigi still clinging to his arm. “Thanks. Very much.”

Thanks for raising my hopes and dashing them again, thanks for stirring up all the old feelings, thanks for making me feel like a failure for not being able to remember my mum’s friend’s name.

He smiled slightly, as if reading her mind. “No problem. Just trying to help.”

***

Evie was stuck in traffic on her way to drop off an order before heading home. Well, not her own home. Lara’s. But in just a few days they’d fallen into such an easy routine it felt as if they’d been there for weeks.

The traffic lights changed and she edged forward in the queue of cars. It had been both strange and nice being back at work today. Some of the customers had known about the wedding-that-never-was and had been astonished to see her there in the shop with Bonnie and Ray. Others, complete strangers, had no clue about any of it. And a regular customer called Kevin, just back from a month-long visit to Canada, had greeted her with a cheery, “So how’s married life treating the new Mrs. Barber? Everything you wished for and more, I hope!”

Which had resulted in one of those slightly awkward pauses until Ray had put a supportive arm around Evie’s shoulder and said, “Whoops, do you want to tell him, pet? Or shall I?”

The eventual consensus had been that Joel was a plonker. Then, just as Kevin was leaving the shop, an Interflora delivery had arrived. The young girl handed Evie a lavish cellophane-wrapped bouquet of Asiatic lilies, alstroemeria, and germini.

“Blimey.” Kevin looked impressed. “New boyfriend? That’s what I call quick work.”

Because that was so likely, wasn’t it?

“Oh yes, I’m beating them off with a stick.” Evie tore open the mini-envelope and glanced at the card which said: I’m sorry. I love you. “But these are from the old one.”

“Ah, don’t you love it when that happens? He’s seen the error of his ways and now he wants to win you back.” Kevin had three teenage daughters and was accustomed to the associated traumas. “Am I right?”

“You’re right. But it’s not going to happen.” Out of the corner of her eye, Evie saw Bonnie’s face fall. Oh dear, did that mean she hadn’t completely believed her before?

Now the traffic was starting to move again. The smell of the lilies was strong inside the car. Evie had tried to leave them with Bonnie but had been forced to bring them home with her. She reached the junction and turned left; ironically the outfits she had in the trunk of the car needed to be dropped off at the hotel Lara had been booked into for the night of the wedding.

Driving in through the gates, she was relieved to see plenty of free spaces today. No sea of cars, no glamorous nuptials in progress, no grumpy gardener types waiting to have a go at her for parking in the wrong spot.

Evie lugged everything out of the trunk and crunched across the gravel to the Ellison’s imposing entrance.

OK, spoke too soon. As she approached the steps, the grumpy gardener appeared at the top of them with a watering can, evidently about to start watering the flowers in the stone tubs on either side of the heavy double doors.

Spotting her, he put the watering can down and said, “Hello there, hang on, let me give you a hand with those.”

“It’s alright, I can manage—” As she said it, one of the slippery polyethylene dry-cleaning covers slithered from her grasp, probably just to spite her, and she had to catch it between elbow and hip.

“Don’t worry, no problem. I’ll get them.” He didn’t appear to have recognized her, which was good. Evie let him take three of the polyethylene-covered outfits and one of the bags containing various accessories.

“I need to leave them at reception.”

“The receptionist’s just gone upstairs to help one of the guests sort out his TV.” The gardener held the heavy door open and followed her inside. “She’ll be back in a minute. I’ve just realized what I’m carrying here.” Amused, he held up the nun’s habit and the bishop’s robe. “Ha, look at these. What’s in the bag?”

Cheeky sod, and now he was opening it up, seeing what was in there. “Excuse me, can you not do that? Leave it alone, it’s not yours.”

“I just wanted to—”

“Well, you can’t. Get your dirty hands off it.” Dumping the outfits on the desk, Evie snatched the bag away from him; the irony of it being her turn to tell him off didn’t escape her.

“My hands aren’t dirty,” he protested.

“I don’t care. I still don’t want you poking around in there. It’s none of your business.”

“Hang on, haven’t I seen you before?” He was surveying her more closely now. “Where do I know you from?”

Oh yes, because that was just the conversation she wanted to have. Like she was actually going to remind him. Evie said, “I’ve no idea. Anyway, I’ll wait here for the receptionist to come down. You can get back to your watering.”

Whoops, she’d meant to sound mildly dismissive, not downright derogatory.

Beneath his uncombed hair, the gardener raised an eyebrow and said, “Watering plants is important. If you don’t do it, they die.”

Feeling guilty and keen to get rid of him before he remembered when they’d last met, Evie said, “I know, sorry. And thanks for all your help.” Never had she been so glad to see the brunette in her smart blue uniform come clip-clopping down the staircase. “Ah, here’s the receptionist… bye.”

And still he didn’t move. Why wasn’t he heading back outside? Oh no, he’d helped her carry everything up the steps and into reception. Mortified that it hadn’t occurred to her before, Evie scrabbled around in her jacket pocket and found a couple of the coins she kept in there for parking meters. A fifty pence piece and a pound. Well, he wasn’t having both.

“Sorry, there you go.” Hastily she pressed the pound coin into his hand, then made a point of turning her attention to the receptionist. “Hello! I’ve got a delivery for some guests of yours… the Manning family…”

***

There were some things you accepted might happen in real life, and others that were less likely. Then there were the things you really couldn’t ever imagine happening, like Prince Charles taking up break dancing or Rod Stewart marrying a brunette.

When Gigi came bursting into the living room clutching her laptop and yelling, “Oh my God, you are not going to believe this,” Lara said, “Let me guess. Justin Bieber joined One Direction.”

“Way better than that. Wait till you see.” Gigi plonked herself down on the sofa between Evie and Lara and wriggled to make room for her elbows. “God, I can’t believe he didn’t tell us himself. But that’s Harry for you. Leave it to him and it might occur to him to mention it in his next Christmas card.”

This was about Harry? Lara said, “He might mention what?”

Evie peered at the screen. “Is this Harry who was away on vacation when I was up there?”

“The very one.” Gigi was busy clicking on links. “If we’ve told you he’s a fuddy-duddy, you have no idea just how fuddy and how duddy. OK, here it is, take a look at this…”

“Wow,” said Lara when they’d finished watching. “Just… wow.”

This was what Harry, in his inimitable way, would have called a turn-up for the books. She smiled, remembering how Gigi, aged five, had thought it was a turnip for the books. Ever since, anything remotely surprising had always been described as a turnip.

And this was a turnip and a half.

“It’s just mad.” Gigi was busy scrolling through the hundreds of comments on EnjaySeven’s website. “Talk about the odd couple. But everyone’s buying the shirts! Sales must be going through the roof. And then guess what you see when you go to the Flying Ducks website.”

“I can’t guess.” Lara envisaged the old-fashioned, utterly basic home page splashed with Hollywood-style fanfare and giant photos of EnjaySeven.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Clicking on it, Gigi showed them. “Not a single mention. Unbelievable.”

To be fair, there was a tiny message in a box politely requesting customers to be patient while orders were filled, due to an unforeseen increase in demand.

“Typical Harry,” Lara said fondly.

“Typical of my luck.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Eighteen years I lived in that town, and how many superstar rappers turned up? Yet the minute I move down here, it all kicks off in Keswick.”

“Never mind,” said Evie. “You got yourself a dad instead.”

“I know. It’s OK, I’m not complaining about that. God, it’s just so weird though. This time last week I bet Harry didn’t even know what YouTube was. Now he’s not only on it, he’s gone and got himself a million hits and everyone’s going crazy for the uptight English guy.”

“He looks nice.” Evie gave Gigi a nudge and pointed to the screen. “Go on, play another clip.”