Making Your Mind Up (31 page)

“Oh, hi. I thought Tyler would be here?”

Lottie clicked off the game of solitaire she'd been surreptitiously playing on the computer and glanced up at Liana in the doorway of the office. As well as looking adorable and sounding like an angel, she even smelled like one too. How did
that
happen?

“He's working down at Pelham House.” Curiosity overcame Lottie. “What's that scent you're wearing?”

Liana's eyes lit up. “Oh, this? It hasn't really got a name! I went to a perfumier in Knightsbridge and he blended it for me…you know, to kind of complement my pheromones kind of thing?”

Of course. Silly question. The most glorious scent in the world had been created expressly for the most glorious creature in the world. Lottie really wished she hadn't asked. If she were to visit a perfumier he'd probably chuck a few toads and stinging nettles into a blender and add a dollop of ketchup.

“It's so sweet of you to notice,” Liana exclaimed. “Now, do you think Tyler will be long? What's he doing down there?”

“Fixing the four-poster bed. The Carringtons managed to bring down the canopy and break two of the horizontal poles.”

“You're kidding! What were they doing to cause that much damage?”

“God only knows.” Lottie grimaced, because the Carringtons were in their late sixties and didn't look at all like the kind of people who would ever have anything so revolting as sex. They seemed more likely to wear their matching tan anoraks in bed than to athletically swing from it. Unless—yuck—they did both…

“I can tell what you're thinking,” Liana said playfully.

“I don't
want
to think about it.” Lottie took a slurp of Evian and managed to dribble some down her chin. She hurriedly wiped it away. God, couldn't she even drink water without showing herself up? “The Carringtons have left, by the way. If you want to see Tyler you can go on down there.”

“If I do that, I might be tempted to push him onto the bed and ravish him.” Liana's eyes sparkled. “Don't worry, I'll catch up with him later. It was just something about our plans for Thanksgiving.”

So that was it; they were definitely sleeping together.

And Thanksgiving? That was still weeks away. How much longer was Liana going to be here?

“You know, I was just saying to Tyler this morning that we really must get together,” Liana went on.

“Oh?” What did
that
mean?

“You and Seb must come over for dinner one evening.”

Good grief, was she mad? Busy twanging an elastic band that was wrapped around her fingers, Lottie said bluntly, “I don't think Tyler would enjoy that very much.”

“Hey, I know he isn't wild about your boyfriend. But all the more reason to give them a chance to get to know each other properly! I mean, wouldn't it be so much nicer if we could all be friends?”

Nicer?
Nicer?
Was Liana's middle name Pollyanna by any chance? Lottie made noncommittal noises and willed her to go away.

Not that it happened. By this time, perched on the edge of Lottie's desk, Liana went on chattily, “You know, you wouldn't believe the difference being here has made to me. You should have seen the state I was in after Curtis died. And it's all thanks to Tyler. He's changed my world.”

“Mm.” Lottie nodded, feeling slightly sick.

“I never thought I'd fall in love again,” Liana went on. “Never imagined having a sex life again, for that matter! But when you're with someone like Tyler…well, he's just so…”

Stop. Too much information.

“Anyway, I don't know what I'd do without him now.” Tilting her head to one side, Liana said, “Isn't it strange how these things turn out? You think your life is on track, then all of a sudden everything's different. You just never know, do you, what's going to happen next?”

* * *

Freddie took a turn for the worse. His doctor was called and made grim predictions about his illness. He didn't have long to go now; had the time perhaps come for him to move into a hospice?

“No.” Propped up in bed, Freddie shook his head wearily. “I'm not going to change my mind. I want to stay here.”

“Very well.” The doctor accepted his decision. “I'll speak to Barbara about the pain management.” Nodding approvingly he added, “You chose a good one there.”

“Hands off. You've already got a wife at home,” said Freddie.

The doctor smiled and scribbled out a couple prescriptions. “Just take things easy. Get plenty of rest.”

Ha. “Give up the rugby, you mean? All I do is lie here and rest.”

“And admire the best view in England.” Turning, the doctor indicated the lake, the hills rising up beyond it, and the sun hovering just above the tree line turning the clouds pomegranate-pink. “I can think of worse things to do.”

“God, I'm so
tired
.” As he yawned, Freddie realized that his words had begun to slur again. And it had been a week since his last drink.

“I'll leave you to it,” murmured the doctor.

Freddie was asleep before he'd even closed the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

The phone was ringing as Lottie let herself into the kitchen of Hestacombe House. Barbara, watering the pots of basil and coriander on the window ledge, picked it up and said, “Yes?”

Lottie waited for Barbara to finish dealing with the call.

“The thing is, Freddie's not able to come to the phone just now. Why don't I take your name and pass on a message, then he can get back to you later.” Miming to Lottie that Freddie was sleeping, Barbara grabbed a pen from the fruit bowl on the dresser. Lottie helpfully supplied her with the back of an envelope. Having listened carefully for a minute, Barbara scribbled down a name then paused, looked over at Lottie and said, “Mr. Barrowcliffe, can I ask you to hold on for just a few seconds? I need to speak to someone else.”

“Barrowcliffe. Jeff Barrowcliffe?” Lottie's eyebrows went up, betraying her surprise.

Nodding, Barbara covered the receiver. “That's the one. Freddie told me about him. He's ringing to invite Freddie to a party in December.”

A lump swam into Lottie's throat. Reaching for the phone she said, “I'll do it.”

Freddie had taken to delegating the task of informing others of his illness to Lottie and Barbara. Introducing herself to Jeff Barrowcliffe, Lottie explained to him that Freddie was unwell and wouldn't be able to attend the party.

Jeff sounded distinctly put out. “But it isn't for another five weeks. He might be better by then.”

Gently Lottie said, “I'm sorry, but he won't be. Freddie's very ill.”

There was a pause.

“What's wrong with him?”

“He has a brain tumor.” Lottie hated having to say it.

“Oh God. That's awful.” Jeff was clearly shocked. “He seemed so well when he came down to Exmouth.”

“Actually, he was diagnosed just before that. Being told he didn't have long to live was what prompted him to get in touch with you.”

“He didn't tell me that.” Lottie heard the distress in Jeff Barrowcliffe's voice. “I had no idea.”

“He preferred it that way. But it's not something we can hide now. Look, I'll tell him you rang,” said Lottie. “If he's feeling up to it he might call you back tomorrow, but I have to warn you that his voice is a bit slurred now. He's not always easy to understand on the phone.”

“OK, OK…yes, just tell him I called,” Jeff went on hurriedly. “And send him our best wishes. It was good to see him back in the summer.” He paused again, cleared his throat. “Is he…
very
ill?”

Nodding slowly, Lottie said, “Yes. Yes, he is,” and felt Barbara's hand, warm and comforting, on her shoulder.

“Tell him I'm sorry,” said Jeff.

* * *

The next morning Freddie watched as Barbara bustled around his bedroom, rearranging a glass bowl of scented white winter roses on the window ledge and dusting the silver photo frames.

“Do you know, I'm feeling better today.” Freddie carefully tilted his head from side to side to see how bad the pain was. It was definitely less severe.

“Could be something to do with your morphine dosage being increased.”

“Oh. Right.” He was probably high as a kite without even realizing it. “Am I slurring?”

She smiled. “A bit.”

“Join me in a glass of champagne?” Freddie looked hopeful.

“It's eleven o'clock in the morning. I'll make you a cup of tea. How does that sound?”

“Like a desperately poor substitute. Who's that?” They both heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.

Barbara peered out of the bedroom window. “No idea. New guests arriving, I imagine. Lottie's dealing with them. Now how about a chicken sandwich?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You should have something.”

“I've got a nagging nurse; isn't that enough?” Indicating the chair beside his bed, Freddie said, “Stop poking around, woman, and help me with the damn crossword. I used to be able to finish it in ten minutes flat.”

“Let me just sort out your pillows. You've gone all crooked.” Barbara helped him forward and with her free hand expertly plumped up the goose-down pillows. “There, isn't that better? Now where did you put the pen?”

“Dropped it,” said Freddie.

The door burst open while Barbara was on her hands and knees searching under the bed for the pen. Lottie, looking fifty percent shocked and fifty percent as if she'd just seen Father Christmas, said in an odd voice, “Freddie? You have a visitor.”

Typical. Just as he and Barbara were about to tackle the crossword. Freddie frowned, deciding he wasn't much in the mood for visitors. “Who is it?”

Lottie was breathing rapidly. She waited for Barbara to retrieve the pen and crawl out from under the bed. Finally she said, “It's Giselle.”

It seemed to Freddie that the clock in the room had stopped ticking. How could Giselle be here, when the tracing agency hadn't even been in touch to say they'd tracked her down? Unless they had, and this was Lottie's idea of a surprise. Although she wasn't acting like someone in on the secret, that was for sure.

Bemused, Freddie said, “They found her?”

Lottie, shaking her head, replied, “No, they didn't.”

For a moment he wondered if the increased dose of medication was causing him to hallucinate. Or maybe he was asleep and dreaming this whole situation. But it certainly felt real enough.

Lottie was coming toward him, smoothing his hair and fussing with the collar of his pajama jacket. She reached for his Penhaligon's cologne and splashed some on his cheeks, then straightened the bedcovers and stepped back. “There, you'll do.”

Freddie supposed he should be grateful she hadn't licked the corner of her hanky and wiped his mouth with it. He felt like a messy five-year-old. Aware that his speech was clumsy, he said, “Is she going to be shocked when she sees me?”

And that was when a floorboard creaked and a figure appeared in the doorway.

“No, Freddie.” Giselle stepped into the bedroom. “I won't be shocked.”

If this was a dream, Freddie wasn't complaining. Lottie discreetly closed the door behind herself and Barbara, leaving them to it.

“It's really you.” It was a ridiculous thing to say, but he couldn't help himself. Giselle's wavy hair was the same warm brown shade he remembered, framing her sweetly rounded face. Her eyes were unchanged, her smile hesitant. She was wearing smart cream trousers and a light brown angora sweater over an ivory shirt. One side of her shirt collar was sticking up slightly, which made Freddie think that this wasn't a dream, because it wasn't the kind of detail it would ever have occurred to his brain to make up.

“Oh, Freddie, it's so good to see you again.” He read the conflicting emotions on her face—genuine pleasure mixed with pity for his plight. Carefully, Giselle rested her arms on his shoulders and kissed him on each cheek. She smelled of gardenias.

Freddie gestured toward the chair. He wanted to look at her, to apologize to her properly and discover how her life had turned out.

“I don't understand how you're here,” he said carefully as Giselle sat down. “We've been looking for you.”

“So I hear. Well, I mean, I did kind of know.” She clasped his hand. “But Lottie's just told me she went to Oxford and spoke to Phyllis Mason.”

“Great help she was.” Freddie grunted. “Couldn't even remember the name of the chap you married.”

Giselle smiled. “Well, to be fair, it was a long time ago. And it wasn't the easiest of names. Kasprzykowski.”

“Bloody hell, it must have been love!” Bursting with questions he needed to ask her, Freddie said, “Tell me how you're here today. I still don't understand.”

“You mean that for once in my life I have the upper hand?” Her eyes bright, Giselle said teasingly, “I think I should make the most of it, don't you?”

“I suppose I deserve that much.” Freddie was just happy to have her there. “Can I say sorry? I know how much I hurt you, and you didn't deserve it. I behaved appallingly. I've always felt bad about that.”

“Clearly.” Stroking the back of his hand, Giselle said, “Otherwise you wouldn't have tried so hard to find me.”

“Guilty conscience.” Freddie shook his head. “It's a terrible thing.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. You fell out of love with me and in love with somebody else. We broke up. It happens all the time. At least you and Mary stayed together.” Her eyes sparkled. “And if it helps, I ended up making the right choice too.”

That was a tremendous weight off Freddie's mind. Hearing it, he felt almost physically lighter. “So you're still Mrs. Kasprzy…whatever.”

“Yes.” Giselle nodded. “Oh yes, I'm still Mrs. Kasprzykowski.” She paused. “Officially, at least.”

“What does that mean?”

“Peter took me back with him to America. We got married. His parents hated me because I wasn't Polish. Or Catholic. We shared a house with them in Wisconsin.” Giselle shook her head matter-of-factly. “I can't tell you how much I regretted leaving home. Peter was a mummy's boy, far too lazy to last longer than a month in any job. I stuck it out for two years working in a hardware store and saving up a few dollars every week. Finally I had enough money for my boat fare back to England. Peter had warned me that if I ever tried to leave him, I'd live to regret it. So I ran away one night, came home, and never contacted him again.”

“All my fault.” Freddie couldn't begin to imagine how unhappy she must have been.

“What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. At least Peter and I hadn't had children. Anyway,” said Giselle, recrossing her legs and leaning forward, “I took a job as a nanny for a family in Berkshire. Then one day, on my weekend off, I decided to visit an old school friend in Oxford. I caught the train up. Got off at the station. And that was when I saw him, just standing there on the platform waiting for
his
train to come in. I couldn't believe it. He spotted me and came over. We started talking and that was it. I never did go visit my old school friend.”

“Who was it?”

“The man who's made me happy for the last thirty-six years,” Giselle said simply. “The father of my children. The man I'll love until the day I die, even if he does have his faults.”

Freddie was picturing the scene on the station platform, two complete strangers gazing at each other, knowing instinctively that This Was It. Just like it had been for him and Mary.

“Love at first sight.” He gave Giselle's hand a squeeze. “What's his name?”

“Hardly love at first sight,” Giselle retorted with amusement. “And his name's Jeff Barrowcliffe.”

* * *

Downstairs in the kitchen Jeff was stirring his tea, trying to explain his reasons for hiding the truth from Freddie.

“I was jealous, pure and simple. Freddie was supposed to be my friend and he took my girl away from me. That's not to say I didn't deserve it, what with the way I was back then, but I'd lost Giselle to him once before and I wasn't about to let him do it again.”

“I can understand that,” said Lottie.

Barbara nodded. “Me too.”

“We hadn't seen Freddie for forty years,” Jeff continued defensively. “Then all of a sudden I get the email from you. I was curious to see him again, but I didn't know what he wanted. I didn't trust him. So I took down the family photographs and sent Giselle off to spend the day with our eldest daughter. When Freddie arrived he told me he was looking for Giselle, but he didn't say why. All I saw was an old rival, good-looking and well dressed, still with all the old charm. He didn't tell me he was ill.”

Lottie was puzzling something out. “But yesterday you rang to invite Freddie to a party.”

“I know.” Looking shamefaced, Jeff said, “It took a while, but Giselle finally made me see sense. The thing is, meeting Freddie again was…great. Catching up on old times, hearing about the life he'd led. It got us thinking, after he'd left. We decided to track down a few old friends of our own and throw a big reunion party before Christmas. And Giselle told me I had to invite Freddie. She promised not to run off with him. And of course I knew she was right. We couldn't have a party without Freddie.” He paused, took a sip of tea, and carefully placed the cup back onto the saucer. “Although now it looks as though we'll have to. I felt terrible after I spoke to you yesterday. As soon as I told Giselle she said we must come up and see him.”

“So she isn't your wife,” said Lottie. “She's still Mrs. Kiddly-Iddly-Offski.”

“Her husband would never have given her a divorce back then. The family was devout Catholic. We've just lived together for the last thirty-six years. In sin,” Jeff added. “Although everyone calls her Mrs. Barrowcliffe.”

“That's why the private detective couldn't find her.”

Jeff chuckled. “Private detective? Blimey, you meant business. She'll be flattered when she hears she's had a private detective on her tail in the mean streets of Exmouth.”

“Except she hasn't,” said Lottie. “He hasn't managed to tail her anywhere. Between you and me, I think he's a bit rubbish.”

Wiping her eyes, Giselle came into the kitchen and said, “He's getting tired now. Jeff, he wants to see you before he goes to sleep.”

Jeff was on his feet in a flash. “How's he looking?”

“Just like himself. Only dreadfully ill.” Giselle fumbled in her pocket for a fresh tissue. “Oh dear, I wish we could have seen him sooner.”

“Never mind,” said Lottie as Barbara went to refill the kettle. “You're here now.”

* * *

So that was that. He'd found Giselle at last. Well, he hadn't, but one way or another they had managed to find each other. A bit like losing your reading glasses and turning the whole house upside down, then finding they'd been in your jacket pocket the whole time.

Freddie opened his eyes. It was dark outside now, which meant he'd been asleep for some time. The inky-dark sky was bright with stars and an almost-full moon was out, reflected in the still, glassy surface of the lake. Had the doctor called in again earlier? Freddie had a vague memory of him murmuring to Barbara while he had been dozing. His head wasn't hurting, but he suspected that if he tried to move it, it would. Never mind, he was fine right here, comfortable enough. Under the circumstances, who could ask for more?

“Freddie? Are you awake?” It was Barbara's voice, low and gentle; he wasn't alone after all. She was sitting in the chair pulled up next to the bed. Now her warm hand was resting on his arm. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?”

Sensing that if he attempted to speak it would come out all wrong, Freddie imperceptibly moved his head from side to side. There was nothing he needed. Giselle and Jeff had forgiven him. He was sleepy again now. Sleeping was so much easier than trying to stay awake. And when he slept he was able to dream about Mary. While he waited to doze off, Freddie returned to one of his favorite memories—the one that made him shudder to think it could so easily not have happened. But that was fate, wasn't it? That was serendipity. The tiniest decisions were capable of changing your whole life…

* * *

It had been a gloriously sunny June morning, and Freddie was on his way to a meeting with his bank manager. Early for his appointment and finding himself with thirty minutes to spare, he debated whether to stop off at the coffee shop or to wander down to the car showroom at the other end of Britton Road to harmlessly ogle the cars he couldn't afford.

Harmless ogling won the day, and Freddie turned right instead of left. Moments later he encountered a girl standing on the pavement rattling a collecting tin. Feeling in his trouser pocket, he found only a couple coppers. Aware of the girl's eyes upon him, Freddie approached her and did his best to disguise the fact that he was sliding such a paltry sum into her tin.

Sadly his sleight of hand wasn't up to Magic Circle standards. The girl looked him straight in the eye and said bluntly, “Is that all?”

Freddie was nettled. He'd bothered to contribute, hadn't he? Other people simply walked on by. Torn between apology—for he wasn't normally mean—and irritation, he said, “It's all the change I have.”

And that was when it happened. The girl's mouth curved up at the corners and what felt like a hand in a velvet glove simultaneously closed around Freddie's heart. Her tone playful, she said, “I'm sure you could do much better if you tried.”

Feeling oddly breathless, Freddie turned out both trouser pockets to show her how empty they were. Then he turned and made his way down Britton Street, tinglingly aware of her presence behind him.

The cars in the showroom weren't able to hold his attention. He went into the convenience store opposite and bought a box of matches.

“That's an improvement.” The girl's dimples flashed as he dropped a series of silver coins into her collecting tin. She had bright blue eyes and long straight hair the color of corn and was wearing an above-the-knee purple shift dress that showed off a glorious pair of legs.

“Good,” said Freddie. This time he walked past her in the opposite direction for almost a hundred yards before turning back and sliding another handful of two-shilling pieces into her tin.

“Now you're getting the idea,” said the girl.

Freddie looked at her. “Tell me your name.”

She smiled playfully and jangled her tin at him. This time he took a pound note from his wallet, rolled it up, and fed it into the slot.

“Mary.”

“Mary. You're costing me a fortune.”

“Ah, but it's for a good cause.”

If he'd gone to the coffee shop in the first place, their paths wouldn't have crossed. Freddie double-checked that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. “I've got to go see my bank manager now. Will you still be here when I come out?”

Mary raised one eyebrow. “Might be, might not.”

Another pound note into the tin. “Will you?”

Her eyes danced. “Oh, all right then.”

“And when I get back, can I take you for a coffee?”

“Sorry, no.”

Freddie panicked. “Why not?”

“There's a problem.”

“What is it?”

“I don't drink coffee. I only like tea.”

His skin prickled with relief. “Can I take you for a cup of tea then?”

Mary, breaking into a huge smile, said, “I thought you'd never ask.”

* * *

Freddie's eyes were closed again now. Every moment of that summer's morning was engraved on his heart. He and Mary had met for tea—it was a wonder he'd been able to afford it after dropping so much money into her blasted collecting tin—and that had been it. From then on there was no going back. They had both known they were meant to be together for the rest of their lives.