People We Love Page 7

  Cameron’s voice was husky.

  ‘I asked for this job specially, you know. To have an excuse to see you.’

  Common sense rode in like the patron saint of chaperones and from somewhere she found strength and an instinct for self-preservation.

  ‘Don’t, Cameron. Don’t open everything up again. Life’s moved on. Everything has changed.’

  Everything and nothing. She wrenched her hand free.

  ‘I need to tell you why—’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me anything.’

  ‘I was a fool.’

  ‘Were you?’

  He caught her again. His kiss tasted of coffee and desire, and resistance was impossible. Lexie discovered that a year of celibacy and sadness had left her parched, and she thirsted for love. She was tired of being the one who carried the burden of keeping everything going. She was tired of thinking only of the feelings of others. She was still young, and she had her own needs.

  ‘I never stopped thinking about you,’ Cameron whispered.

  ‘Really?’ His lips sought hers again and this time she didn’t fight the response.

  At last he broke away. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Yes.’ But she pulled him to her again.

  ‘Joe will think I’m seducing you. I’ll call. Okay?’

  He nudged her away with the old gentleness.

  ‘Yes. Okay.’

  ‘We’ll go out on Saturday. No arguments.’

  He slipped his hand under her chin and eased her face close to his so that she fell under the spell of his gaze once more.

  ‘I’ll take you to dinner.’

  She tried to keep it light.

  ‘In that case, I’ll steer clear of biscuits all day.’

  He laughed and released her.

  ‘Do that. Wouldn’t do to have a chubby little Lexie. I’ll come round to your place at seven, right?’

  And he was gone. Lexie clutched the window frame and looked down to watch him emerge into the yard and climb into the cab. She closed her eyes and leant back against a filing cabinet. It felt cold and unforgiving, but her body burned.

  Had she ever told him she loved him? If not, she should have done. He was so sexy. And so much less complicated than Patrick.

  Chapter Seven

  Catalogue number 4: Black leather boot, low heel, pointed toe, scalloped trim bearing eleven small buttons. Believed to have belonged to pioneering doctor, Sophia Jex Blake. Donor: Alison Munro, Edinburgh. ‘Sophia Jex Blake was a difficult and determined woman who tried to break into the all-male preserve of medicine at the University of Edinburgh. She matriculated as a student, but was denied a degree.’

  She was eating supper in the kitchen with Tom and Martha when her mobile rang. It was Molly, who sounded cheerful.

  ‘I thought we’d try the new restaurant on the Edinburgh road on Saturday. There’s nothing on here, for once.’

  Lexie glanced at her parents, mute over their shepherd’s pie, mumbled an apology and slid into the hall.

  ‘Sorry, Moll, I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t?’ Molly laughed. ‘Don’t tell me, the gorgeous Patrick Mulgrew is whisking you out to the opera and some fine dining in our fair capital city.’

  ‘Patrick? Don’t be ridiculous. Cameron’s taking me to dinner,’ Lexie hissed.

  ‘He is not!’

  ‘On Saturday.’

  ‘Jesus, Lexie, why? Don’t you remember what the bastard did to you?’

  ‘That was years ago.’

  ‘So? Has he told you why he bunked off?’

  ‘Not yet. He was going to, but I stopped him.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  Lexie felt her face grow bright.

  ‘He apologised. Why did you think I was going out with Patrick, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘You saw the way he looked at you the other day.’

  ‘What, like a bit of shit under his shoe?’

  ‘The guy fancies you rotten. I’m jealous.’

  ‘Molly, your judgement is flawed by exhaustion. Get yourself a glass of wine, have a long bath and get to bed.’

  ‘You’re really going out with Cameron?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a short silence, then Molly said soberly, ‘Be careful.’

  On Saturday morning Lexie took herself into Hailesbank with a dual mission: to find a gift for her father’s birthday and to find a new dress for her date with Cameron. Both tasks might prove challenging.

  In the Memorial Park a group of small boys was playing football. Ball games were technically prohibited, but everyone ignored the edict because no-one these days thought it made any sense. Why have a public park if you couldn’t enjoy it? A football cannoned into the back of her knee and tolerance exploded.

  ‘Ow!’

  She whirled round to glare at the boys, but it had only been a small miskick. ‘Sorry!’ one yelled, his face so like Jamie’s at that age that she couldn’t be cross.

  ‘No problem. Here.’

  She kicked it inexpertly back and it trickled across the dew-damp grass. Lexie stood and watched them for a few minutes. They had such energy. She rubbed a hand tiredly across her temple. A headache threatened. She tried to be cheerful for everyone’s sake, but sometimes – when she couldn’t sleep – it was hard being jolly. It didn’t matter. Dinner with Cameron would restore her flagging spirits.

  In Hailesbank, the headache worsened, because she found her father impossible to buy for these days. A year ago she would have bought him some new golf balls or a gadget for scooping them out of the stream. But he hadn’t touched his golf clubs since Jamie died. He had no interest in clothing. His car had once been a source of great pride and driving a pleasure, but Jamie’s road accident had turned him into an ultra-careful old man, with no interest in anything connected with driving. There was no point in buying a voucher for a weekend away or a meal in a smart restaurant. Tom Gordon’s world had shrunk to office and home and, of the two, only the emporium sparked any real animation.

  In the bookshop on the High Street, she pulled a book off the shelves at random: The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind. Lexie recognised the cover. It was the story of a boy in Malawi who made a turbine out of trash to generate much-needed electricity in his village. Why was this still on the shelves? It had been a top seller a couple of years ago. She remembered it because Jamie had found it inspiring.

  Jamie had been a passionate person. He’d spoken for the small things (like this book, for example, or the need for children to be competitive in sport) as well as the big ones: freedom, justice and the right to get hammered on a night out. She smiled, remembering how irritated he’d been at the confines of school, how eager to leave and start living life to the full. He hadn’t been academically gifted, but he’d had views, and he’d loved his rugby – so very different from the suave Patrick. She couldn’t imagine Patrick getting stuck into mud and scrums.

  Lexie shoved the book back onto the shelf and moved away from the biographies. She stared helplessly at the cookery section. They were non-starters. Tom didn’t cook.

  DIY? Never.

  Gardening? That was a slim possibility, but although he saw keeping the garden tidy as an obligation, he seemed to get little pleasure from it.

  A novel, perhaps? Not his taste.

  She abandoned the shelves, dispirited, and tried to shoulder her way through the Saturday crowds. Sometimes it only took something ridiculously minor to tip the balance of her mood from hard-won equilibrium towards dejection.

  ‘Lexie? Are you all right?’

  Carlotta’s unmistakeable accent penetrated the hubbub. Lexie stopped at once. Carlotta could be guaranteed to lift her mood – and she was with Jonas, who Lexie adored, in the way you love a cuddly toy.

  Carlotta was tiny, five-foot nothing of Mediterranean flamboyance, undimmed by northern chill. She had a knack of harnessing whatever weather was thrown her way and using it in some way to show off her beauty. In snow, she unashamedly wore cashmere
hoods trimmed with silver fox fur, the perfect frame for her loveliness. In autumn, she chose terracotta, like the soil of her native land, to echo the colour of the leaves. She inhabited summer as if it was a birthright, stepping prettily in sandals and wrapped lightly in glorious bright cottons. Today, as the first spring flowers turned their faces hopefully towards a tremulous sun, she had ventured into dark rose, with a wool jacket and short, swinging skirt like a tulip just opening to the skies.

  ‘You look so tired, Lexie, I am worried about you.’

  The ‘rrs’ rolled off her tongue in a tripping cadence.

  ‘It’s kind of you but, really, I’m fine. I was just wondering what to give Dad for his birthday. He’s so difficult.’

  ‘I think he likes music, yes? There is a concert soon at the Usher Hall in Edinburgh. That young violinist, Nicola Benedetti.’

  ‘That sounds great, thanks for the idea.’

  Jonas said, ‘We were thinking of you on Monday. We didn’t want to intrude, but we all raised a pint, down at the club. You know—’ He trailed off awkwardly.

  Jonas was as reserved as Carlotta was flamboyant. He inhabited his features comfortably, but the rugby had taken its toll, as it had with Cameron. Jonas was all muscle, but when the day came and he stopped training, he was the sort who would turn to fat unless he took good care of himself. None of that mattered, because he was kind and straightforward and these traits made him loveable.

  ‘Thanks, Jonas.’

  ‘Anniversaries are so hard,’ Carlotta said. ‘I took your mother some little treats to cheer her up.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. You’re very kind. It was a difficult day. I know she was glad of your company.’

  ‘No problem.’ She looked up at Jonas. ‘We must go, mi cielo. I have to get things organised for tonight. We have the visitors coming, Lexie, for eating.’

  ‘Not working at Besalú tonight then?’

  ‘Besalú can run itself sometimes. Miguel, he is very capable. Come, Jonas.’ She sent a sparkling smile towards Lexie. ‘I have nothing to wear. You know how it is.’

  Jonas hooked his arm round his wife’s shoulders and pulled a face that signalled resignation.

  ‘Guess who’ll be sitting for hours in the dress shop while she asks my opinion about a dozen outfits? As if anything I said would make the slightest bit of difference.’

  Carlotta laughed her tinkling laugh and pushed at him playfully.

  ‘Oh Jonas! Cariño! You know what you think matters to me.’

  Jonas looked down at her with a gaze so replete with adoration that Lexie felt a surge of envy. It must be extraordinary to be loved like that.

  ‘Well, don’t let me hold you back. Carlotta. Thanks for all your little treats. Mum really appreciates them, and your visits.’

  ‘Oh, you know, it’s little to do. Bye, Lexie.’

  ‘See you.’

  Lexie had meant to get to Cobbles all week, but events had conspired to get in her way. Pavel had tantalised her with the mention of 1940s dresses, and her date tonight was an excuse for self-indulgence. She pushed her way through the jostling crowds and turned right into Kittle’s Yard. In the distance she heard the faint ‘ching ching’ of the old bell that was set off when Cobbles’ door opened. A man stepped out and was swallowed up by the crowds of shoppers. For a moment she thought it was Patrick, but Cobbles was not Patrick’s kind of shop. She hoped it was a paying customer. There were days when it must cost Pavel more to keep the shop warm than he took in through the till.

  She pushed open the door to the repeat of the ‘ching ching’.

  ‘Hello Pavel! It’s Lexie!’

  Pavel was in the back of the shop. Today he was wearing a pink and cream-striped jacket, with a crimson cravat tucked into a cream silk shirt.

  ‘You’re looking very dapper.’

  ‘Thank you, darling, one does try. I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart, I was worried about you.’

  ‘I should have called, sorry. It’s been a hell of a week.’

  ‘Was it bad, then? The anniversary?’

  ‘Actually, it was very interesting.’

  She picked up a small, pretty bowl – Minton? Spode? – put it down again and started to poke around in Pavel’s rummage box, with its familiar ‘Everything Under £5’ sign. Lexie loved the rummage box. She had been coming in here since she was at school and she’d always dreamed of finding some hidden delight. Sometimes one person’s rubbish was another person’s treasure. Today she discovered a silver fob watch with a cracked crystal, a policeman’s whistle, several pairs of cuff links, a fireman’s cap badge, half a dozen old coins, two matched gilt frames for miniature photographs and a nutcracker in carved sandalwood and steel.

  ‘Oh yes?’ Pavel’s hands fluttered over the box, tidying as she rummaged.

  She picked up a pair of cufflinks and examined them.

  ‘To hell with concerts in the Usher Hall.’

  ‘I don’t follow, darling.’

  ‘I need to get something for Dad’s birthday. Carlotta suggested concert tickets and Dad does still love music, but to be honest, I think that getting him out in the evening would be tricky. I’d much rather get him something with a history – any ideas?’

  Pavel always had suggestions.

  ‘I have the perfect thing.’

  Cobbles operated a strictly hierarchical system of display. At the front of the shop, spaciously arrayed and beautifully lit, were the more substantial and more valuable pieces – a pair of Hepplewhite-style mahogany dining chairs, a Regency side table, an exquisite Victorian cut crystal and polished brass oil lamp, a selection of good paintings. In the back room, where they were standing, more modest delights lurked. Pavel edged past a stripped pine trunk, round a plaster blackamoor lamp that looked good from a distance but didn’t bear closer inspection, reached far into the corner and lifted out a box.

  ‘Rosewood, inlaid with mother of pearl, see? And…’ he opened the lid with a flourish, ‘it still has its original green silk lining.’

  Lexie stroked the polished wood.

  ‘It’s beautiful. He can keep his cufflinks and change in there and he’ll appreciate the craftsmanship. What are you asking for it?’

  Pavel looked at the tag.

  ‘It says seventy-five pounds, but I’ve had it for ages, darling. I could let you have it for forty?’

  ‘Pavel,’ Lexie admonished, ‘you really mustn’t let things go too cheaply. How will you survive?’

  ‘Well sweetie, I like my special things to go to a good home. Anyway,’ he added quickly, seeing Alexa’s expression, ‘that leaves me some profit and it’s only taking up space. Promise you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Tell you what—’ Pavel perched himself on an old kitchen chair next the till, and crossed his legs, ‘Let’s agree on forty if you’ll brew up a wee cuppa, darling, and tell me what was so interesting about Monday. What do you say?’

  She grinned at him. Gossip was meat and drink to Pavel.

  ‘Sounds like a bargain.’

  The telling was not to be hurried, because there was a sudden flurry of customers – one man even bought a stamp album and some old coins – and Lexie had to throw away the first cup of tea and make a fresh one by the time things settled down again.

  ‘So.’ Pavel lifted his cup and crooked his little finger ostentatiously. ‘Do tell Uncle Pavel everything.’

  Lexie knew he’d love the story, and he did. When she finished, he observed with a satisfied sigh, ‘Edith Dorothy Lawrence sounds like a real character.’

  ‘She called me Maud and thought I was her sister. It was impossible to follow her conversation. At moments she seemed extremely lucid, then she was off the wall completely.’

  ‘Dementia is cruel.’

  ‘Yes, though she seemed quite happy in her own world, most of the time. You know, she must have been in Fernhill before. She knew how to open the window, and she talked about the kitchen as if she was familiar with it. I’d love to k
now why she came. I don’t think she just wandered randomly. It’s such a long way to walk.’

  Lexie put down her mug.

  ‘Changing the subject, have you heard? Cameron Forrester’s back in Hailesbank.’

  A shadow of concern crossed Pavel’s face. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘He came into the store.’

  Pavel’s bright eyes were shrewd. ‘What did he have to say for himself?’

  ‘I’ll find out tonight. I’m going to have dinner with him.’

  ‘Oh Lexie, sweetie, do be careful.’

  She pursed her lips. Why did everyone try to protect her from Cameron? The past was long gone, and he had changed – besides, so had she.

  Pavel pinched his thin lips together, but if he was considering a lecture he abandoned the idea and said instead, ‘So you need a dress.’ Pavel loved dressing Lexie.

  ‘I’d almost forgotten. That’s the main reason I came in.’

  ‘I’ve got the very thing.’ He went to a rail by a curtained-off door at the back of the shop, pushed some dresses aside and produced a hanger with a flourish. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Style, cut, material – quality lasts. Bewitched, Lexie reached out to touch the soft fabric. ‘It’s beautiful. Will it fit?’

  Pavel’s face broke into a gratified smile. ‘I knew you’d love it. I could absolutely see you in it.’

  She took the hanger and examined the dress with reverence. Luscious crimson and pink roses, the exact shades of her hair, tumbled carelessly on a black background. It had a boat neck and tight, elbow-length sleeves. She stroked it in awe. The thick cotton was soft and luxurious under her fingers.

  ‘It’s perfect. God, I hope I can get into it.’

  ‘Let’s see, shall we? You’ve lost weight this year.’

  Lexie stepped into the small, curtained-off area in the corner, pulled off her trousers and sweater and slipped the dress over her head. It fell neatly onto her hips and for a moment she thought it wasn’t going to be big enough, but a slight tug and the folds of fabric unfurled and shimmied down her thighs

  ‘What’s it like?’

  Lexie pulled the curtain aside. ‘It’s only just big enough.’

  Pavel stepped back to scrutinise her. ‘You look stunning. Stunning.’ His hands busied themselves around her, a little tug here, a small tweak there, until everything sat perfectly.