Forget Me Knot (24 page)

ALONG WITH THE ANGER
, hurt and sadness, Abby was also feeling relief. The thought of being married to Toby and all the while nurturing suspicions about his sexuality had filled her with dread. There was a huge sense of having had a lucky escape and that this was something, if not to be celebrated, then certainly to be grateful for.

The following morning, when she told Martin that she’d discovered Toby was gay, there was no “I told you so.” He simply put his arm round her and listened.

“I am so sorry,” he said finally. “What a bloody awful way to find out. Must have really thrown you for a loop.”

“Yeah. Did a bit.”

“Coming out is never easy, but to use somebody the way Toby used you… It’s so callous.”

“There’s more,” Abby said.

Martin frowned a question.

“OK, I might as well just come right out with it—the man Toby is seeing…”

“Yes?”

“It’s Christian.”

“Toby and Christian?” Martin said, pulling away. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be daft…”

“It’s true. And from what I could tell, Christian seemed mightily pleased with himself.”

“
Christian?
Toby’s going out with
Christian?
Sorry, I can’t get my head round this.”

She explained how the pair had met a few months ago at the retailers’ association dinner. “According to Toby they got it together soon after that.”

“But I thought Toby and I were mates. How could he do this to me? I feel so… so betrayed.”

“You
feel betrayed?”

Martin was so taken up with his own drama that he appeared not to hear Abby’s remark. “I thought the two of us had this really deep, meaningful relationship. We were planning to go to the first day of the Yamamoto sale together. Did he tell you that?”

“No, he didn’t mention it,” Abby said.

“I’m gobsmacked. Totally gobsmacked. He knows how Christian has treated me since we split up. At the very least I thought Toby was on my side.”

“Come on, Scozza,” she said gently, “I know this is hard, but I’m sure Toby didn’t set out to hurt you… the same way he didn’t really set out to hurt me.”

Despite the early evidence to the contrary, Martin understood that Abby’s loss was infinitely greater than his own and insisted she take the rest of the day off. She’d barely slept the night before, so she didn’t argue.

While Martin minded the shop, Abby dozed upstairs on the sofa. At one point the phone woke her. It was Soph, checking in to see if she was OK and inviting her over for dinner. “Oh, hon, that’s really sweet of you, but I’m not
really up to it. I’m just going to order takeout and watch
The X Factor.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Ring me if you change your mind.”

Abby promised she would. “And Soph…”

“What?”

“Thanks for being there.”

“C’mon, you don’t have to thank me. You’re my best friend. Where else should I be?”

The next afternoon, Abby went for a long walk on Hampstead Heath. The walk was meant to help clear her head, but it seemed that everywhere she looked, she was confronted with happy, carefree couples frolicking with children and dogs.

Abby wasn’t a jealous soul, but her heart ached for the life she imagined they had. She knew that there wasn’t a couple in the world who lived that saccharine-perfect Samantha-and-Darren existence, but for now it pandered to her melancholy to think that they did.

That night she took one of her herbal sleeping pills and, to her surprise and relief, slept for ten hours.

She always looked forward to her Sunday morning sleep-ins, but after everything that had happened, today’s was particularly welcome.

At midday she went out and bought all the papers, to see if there was any news from the
Bantry
. There wasn’t. She tried to read mind-improving political and environmental pieces, but she couldn’t concentrate. In the end she spent the day lying on the sofa, glued to the True Movies channel.

First thing on Monday morning, she got a call from Dan, asking if she’d had a chance to look at the contract
yet. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you,” he said, “but we’re on a really tight budget. Until you’ve formally agreed to us filming in the shop, we can’t start renting the equipment we need.”

With all that had been going on, she’d completely forgotten the contract. “Dan, please forgive me, but I’ve had all this personal stuff going on and I just haven’t got round to reading it.”

“I had no idea.” There was real concern in his voice. “You OK?”

“Toby and I broke up.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s wretched. Look, for what it’s worth, I’ve been through a few breakups and I’ve got some idea what you’re going through. Tell me to mind my own business, but if you ever want a shoulder to cry on—” He broke off. “God, I sound like I’m making a cheap pass, don’t I?”

She smiled. “Not at all. It never occurred to me.” She told him how much she appreciated the gesture. She knew she wouldn’t phone him, though. Even though she always felt comfortable in his company and found him particularly easy to talk to, theirs was a business relationship, and she didn’t want to complicate things by adding her personal problems to the mix. On top of that, she’d spent so many hours emoting and unloading to Soph and Martin that she was completely “talked out.” Now all she wanted was some time alone to lick her wounds.

AS IT
turned out, she didn’t have much time for wound-licking. For the next few days, work took over. She was in the middle of organizing flowers for several high-profile
spring weddings—two of which were going to be featured in
Hello!
This would be wonderful publicity for the business and she needed to make the bouquets, not to mention the displays in the churches and reception venues, as original and unique as possible.

One of her
Hello!
clients was getting married in Scotland, the other was tying the knot in Gloucestershire. On Tuesday she flew to Edinburgh to look at the tiny thirteenth-century church the bride had chosen, just outside the city. On Thursday she flew back to London and then drove straight to Gloucestershire to see the other church.

At half past eight on Friday morning, she was back at Mr. Takahashi’s penthouse. This time, of course, Martin was with her. As they went up in the elevator, Abby was as calm as an afternoon in autumn. Not that Martin noticed or remarked on Abby’s demeanor. He was too busy fretting about whether Ichiro would like him. “I don’t know why you had to arrange this appointment so early. You know I look like crap first thing. And I came out without curling my eyelashes.”

For the umpteenth time, Abby explained that if she’d arranged the meeting later in the day, Martin would have had to stay behind to mind the shop.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Don’t think I’m not grateful. I’m just nervous, that’s all. So, tell me honestly, are you sure this outfit works? You don’t think it’s a bit OTT?”

“No, not over the top at all. Not now…. Not now that you’ve lost the bumblebee sunglasses.”

“And you think the olive jacket is OK with my skin tone?”

“It’s fine.”

“Only fine?”

“God, Scozza…”

“OK, what about the shoes?”

Ping
.

“We’re here,” Abby said.

“Yes, but you haven’t said what you think about the shoes. Brogues are a real departure for me—particularly with jeans.”

“They’re great.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She was ringing the doorbell. “I don’t know why you’re so worried about meeting this guy. You’ve only ever spoken to him on the phone. Has it occurred to you that you might not like him?”

“Impossible. If that man’s body is even half as sexy as his voice…” Martin gave a shudder of delight. Then he looked back down at his shoes. “I dunno, maybe I should have played safe and stuck to sneakers.”

Ichiro was as effervescent as ever. He greeted Abby with a flamboyant triple kiss. “Abby, it’s so wonderful to see yeeeeuuww again.”

The moment he noticed Martin, Ichiro’s eyes were all over him.

“And who
ever
is this? Wow, Gran’ma, what fabulous English brogues you have on. I simply adore English brogues.”

Martin beamed with delight. As they stood in the hallway, Abby made the introductions.

“Martin. Hello. I’m so pleased to meet yeeeeuuww.”

Ichiro took Martin’s hand in both of his and brought it to his chest. It was clear to Abby that Martin wasn’t disappointed by the vision before him. “And I have to say that your shoes are pretty cool, too,” he gushed to Ichiro. Suddenly all eyes were focused on Ichiro’s feet. He was wearing very flat, pointy leather lace-ups. In cream.

“Aren’t they cute?” he said, arranging his feet in first position. “I got them in Rome. The leather is so soft that I can hardly bear to take them off. And they’re just so balletic. Don’t you think they’re balletic?” He went into third and then fourth position.

“Really balletic,” Martin trilled.

He led them down the hall. “When I wear them I totally feel this urge to je-tay.” Abby was convinced that Ichiro was about to demonstrate his urge by flying through the doorway into the living room, but he didn’t. Once they were inside, he invited them to sit down and fetched a tray of green tea.

“So, Martin,” Ichiro said, handing out cups, “where are you from?”

And they were off. They were so engrossed in each other—although it was clear that Ichiro was doing most of the talking—that Abby didn’t even attempt to interrupt and suggest they get down to work. When the men discovered they both came from poor backgrounds, Abby knew they would be swapping stories for hours.

She took her notebook out of her bag and began wandering around the flat, thinking about where to position her floral displays. She was still set on a traditional Japanese theme, but if she was going to include a water feature, ornamental pagoda and a bridge, she had to think seriously about dimensions and make sure the room wasn’t going to
look too cluttered, particularly as there would be a bar and buffet table.

After twenty minutes or so, she returned to Martin and Ichiro. “Well, I’m done,” she said. “Ichiro, I think maybe I should go over everything with you one more time.”

He said he was sure that wouldn’t be necessary. “I trust you completely.”

Ichiro walked them to the elevator. “Bye, Abby. Speak soon.” He kissed her on both cheeks. Then he turned to Martin, took his hand and kissed the back of it. “So good to meet you, Martin,” Ichiro said, holding Martin’s gaze in his.

As the elevator doors closed, Martin leaned back against the wall and let out a long sigh. “I think I’m in love. Isn’t Ichiro just amazing? He’s so pretty and so funny and we’ve got so much in common. Caribbean blue is his favorite color. Caribbean blue’s my favorite color. He loves sushi but can’t bear sashimi. I love sushi but can’t bear sashimi. He puts his boiled eggs in the egg cup pointy end down—”

“—don’t tell me; you put your boiled eggs in the egg cup pointy end down.” Abby was grinning.

“Now you’re making fun of me.” Martin pouted, feigning hurt. “I’m just trying to illustrate how alike we are…. You know how it is with some people? We just clicked instantly. We’re going to the movies tomorrow night.”

WHILE MARTIN
drove the van back to Islington, Abby took the tube into the West End. She had an appointment with another corporate client—a director of a hotel chain—in Marble Arch.

It was only as she was leaving that she noticed she had a run in her tights. Had she been on her way home, she wouldn’t have bothered to buy another pair and get changed, but since she was seeing a third client after lunch, it was imperative she looked her best. She decided to pop in to S&M on Oxford Street to buy a new pair.

She got changed in the ladies’ room. She was out again less than five minutes later and heading for the escalator. As she glanced to her left, toward menswear, she spotted Dan. He was at the cash register.

She changed direction. “Dan! Hi. It’s me.”

He came toward her, smiling and shaking his head. “It always amazes me,” he said, “how in a city this size I’m always bumping into people I know.”

“There’s probably some obscure law of probability that explains it,” she said. “Occam’s razor or something.”

“I don’t think it’s Occam’s razor. Isn’t that about the simplest explanation always being the most likely?”

“Oh, OK, Occam’s shaving brush, then. Or Occam’s toothpaste.”

This made him laugh.

“So,” she said, “what have you been buying?”

He held up a blue S&M carrier bag with the characteristic gold lettering. “Socks and underwear. Like I told you, I buy them once a year, and this is that time.”

She laughed. “So, you’re not filming today?”

“Day off. Our leading lady, Lucinda Wallace, is speaking at some women’s charity lunch.”

He paused. “You doing anything? Since it’s such a lovely day, I was thinking of taking a stroll up to Hyde Park. Why don’t you join me? We could get coffee.”

Abby said she would love to.

They headed back toward the escalator.

“You know,” she said, “I’d love to have a full and frank discussion with the chairman of S&M.”

“About what?”

“Easy. The state of their stores.” She went through her list: the lackluster displays, the fluorescent lighting, the beige floor tiles. “I just can’t understand why they don’t up their act. All the stores are the same. They look like something from the old USSR. If it was left to me, I’d rip everything out, take on a big-name interior designer and start again.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t you think that might intimidate people— particularly the older customers?”

Abby said she suspected that was what the bosses at S&M thought. For her part, she couldn’t see how anybody could possibly be intimidated by an interior that was fresh and modern. “They’re just such a bunch of dinosaurs at S&M. I can’t help thinking they deserve all they get.”

By the time they reached the park, the burden of her discourse had moved from the drab shop interiors to women’s fashion—the poor cut, the slightly off-color palette. “Oh, and the motifs. Don’t get me started on the motifs. You know what I’d be doing if I was the boss?”