The Vow (3 page)

He went on to tell her how her good looks, intelligence and background made her a perfect candidate. He liked her and felt sure they could get along well together. She had experienced a frisson of irritation at the condescension in his closing comments, but then the whole situation struck her as surreal. Her next question however was to ask what was in it for her.

‘
I’m a very wealthy man, Lucy, I can give you a good life. I would deal with any outstanding debts you may have and settle a substantial amount of money on you in your own name.’

He mentioned a figure that made Lucy blink.

‘Give me a son and I’ll double it. I will buy you the car of your choice and give you a generous expenses account. I have luxury homes in London and the country, plus a villa in Italy. I sense you are currently somewhat rudderless, you could do worse than throw in your lot with me you know.’

As well as stunned
, Lucy was by now intrigued. ‘Exactly what would you expect from me, Marcus?’

‘
On a day to day basis you would be free to live your own life. I work very long hours; I’m not home much during the week. There would be certain social occasions I should want you to attend with me, and I would hope we would be good enough friends to want to spend some time together, perhaps at the weekends. You could see as much of your friends as you wish, but obviously I would expect you not to enter into any romantic liaisons. There would of course have to be some formal arrangements. I know of a good clinic in Harley Street which could confirm there is nothing to stop you having children and a pre-nuptial agreement would need to be drawn up. I realise this must all sound rather calculated, but if you kept your side of the bargain I would always look after you. You would want for nothing.’

By now Lucy’s head was in a spin. Marcus smiled at her.
‘I can see I’ve given you more than enough to think about, but I hope that’s what you will do, think about it.’

She smiled back.
‘Oh I will, Marcus, I certainly will’.

The phone ringing again bought her back to the present.

‘Hello, Lucy Locket, how’s my favourite girl?’

Hearing her father use her childhood pet name made Lucy want to cry. She felt a longing for those days when everything was simple and there was always someone to look after her.

‘Hi, Dad, I’m good, how about you? How was Brazil?’

‘
Hot, noisy, dirty but exciting, you’d have enjoyed it. Is it really over with Laurent?’

‘
Yes, I really think it is.’

‘
Be careful, sweetie, don’t let something important slip through your fingers. And Mr Delacroix?’

‘
He’s a nice guy, Dad, that’s all.’

‘
Fine. Now I have some news. Sarah and I are getting married.’

‘
Oh that’s great, I love your weddings! I don’t have to be bridesmaid again do I? I’m getting a bit old for it now. I think Sarah wants her head read, but I’m pleased for you both.’

‘
Thank you for those words of support, daughter! Let’s get together soon.’

~

The rest of the weekend passed quietly. She and Amy went to the cinema in the evening and spent Sunday lazing about in the sun. That night she was restless. She had cooked supper for them both and they had spent the evening listening to the music of their often misspent youth, reminiscing and drinking wine.

Amy had selected an M People CD and the deep voice of Heather Small filled the room. Flopping back on the sofa she sang along with the opening track, one of their old favourites.

‘I can’t believe this is over ten years old, where have those years gone, Luce?’

From a pile of cushions on the floor, Lucy replied,
‘Goodness knows! At least you have something to show for the past decade, your career, this house and Alex. Look at me, my life’s a mess.’

‘
Your life’s a mess because you allow it to be. You have no direction and you’re bone-idle. You drift along expecting everything you want to just come to you. It’s really time you grew up and took control of things.’

This was an attack from an unexpected source. Stung by the criticism, Lucy retorted,
‘Oh not you as well, Amy, you sound just like my mother!’

‘
Well, you should try listening to us. Another thing while we’re being frank, I can’t believe you haven’t dismissed out of hand this ridiculous thing with Marcus Delacroix. Surely you’re not even considering it?’

‘
No, not really, but it is just a little bit tempting. Think of it, Amy, what a life! Money, clothes, cars, foreign travel, lovely homes and someone to look after you. Let’s face it, if I can’t seem to keep a relationship going with someone I love perhaps this would work better, less complicated, less messy.’

‘
It’s barely a step up from prostitution!’

‘
Oh come on, it’s not that bad!’

Amy stared at her friend in disbelief.
‘Lucy, you will have to sleep with the man!’

Lucy laughed.
‘Well yes, I think that goes without saying, but he’s not unattractive you know. In fact he’s in great shape for a man his age. I don’t think it would be so bad.’

Amy’s voice was troubled.
‘I can’t believe, I don’t want to believe, that you can really mean any of that.’

They were late to bed and had drunk too much; Lucy had the beginning of a thudding headache. She lay in the narrow single bed, sleep would not come and she counted the passing hours on her travel clock. Amy’s words went around and around her head, she thought about Marcus, longed for Laurent and worried about the future. Mainly she longed for Laurent. It was gone four when she finally dozed off.

She woke late, her head hurt and her spirits were low. She showered, dressed and went downstairs. Amy had left a note on the kitchen table.
Hello sleepy head. If you’ve nothing better to do, there’s a huge pile of ironing. See you this evening.

After a cup of tea and a slice of dry toast Lucy set up the ironing board by the open patio doors, turned on the radio and started on a pile of sheets. Half an hour later she suddenly put down the iron and said aloud,
‘This is ridiculous, what am I doing here?’

She
looked at her watch, eleven o’clock, midday in France; she could just catch him before he left the office for lunch. She dialled the number.

‘
Laurent Casteran, bonjour.’

Just the sound of his voice lifted her spirits.

‘Laurent, it’s me.’

The pause was long, too long.

‘Good morning, Lucy, what can I do for you?’

The words were curt and the tone cool.

Lucy faltered. ‘I, err, I thought I’d call to see how you were.’

‘
How very kind.’

There was no mistaking the scorn in his voice. Before she could make a reply he
went on. ‘I’m surprised you can spare the time from your new life of luxury.’

‘
Laurent, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?’

‘
I saw the newspaper, Lucy.’

Oh shit! What were the chances of that?

She protested, ‘It really isn’t how it looks. He’s just a guy I met on the plane, I saw him again to talk about a job.’

Even to her own ears it sounded unconvincing.

He snapped back, ‘Don’t insult my intelligence. You leave me for no better reason than I looked at a woman the wrong way and then within days you are with another man. How long has it been going on, Lucy? All those times you went to Toulouse supposedly looking for more outlets for your jewellery, I guess you were meeting him. I’m sorry I wasn’t rich and powerful enough for you.’

Lucy started to panic.
‘Laurent, listen to me, please. The first time I saw this man was last week, there have been no secret meetings, you should know me better than that. I’m not involved with him and I was calling to see if we could try to sort out our problems and start again. I love you, Laurent.’

His tone did not soften.
‘Well you have a strange way of showing it. As for knowing you, I thought I did, but now I see I was very wrong. I will arrange to send on the few things you left behind in your haste to get away from me. I don’t think we have any more to say to each other. I wish you joy in your new life.’

The line went dead. Lucy sat, stunned, at the bottom of the stairs, the tears welled up and she let them fall. A fiery and unpredictable Laurent she was used to, but not this cold unforgiving manner. She was hurt that he could think so badly of her and refuse to listen to the truth. Hurt and then angry. Very angry.

~

He picked up the phone for his private line on the second ring. It wasn’t who he was expecting.

‘Hello, Lucy, how nice to hear from you. I’m sorry if that piece in Saturday’s paper caused you any embarrassment.’

‘
Not embarrassment exactly, but it definitely provoked some reaction. Marcus, can we meet? I’d like to talk some things through.’

He smiled to himself. Was the fish going to take the bait?

‘Of course. Are you free tonight? Good. I think it may be prudent to meet in private. Come to the house and I’ll cook for us. Saule will pick you up at seven.’

‘
Doesn’t that poor man get any time off?’

‘
Don’t you worry about Saule, he’s more than happy with his lot. Until this evening then.’

Making her way through the huge open plan office to her perch on the Arts desk, Sonia paused at Martin Culver’s workstation. Sonia liked Culver, in fact she harboured romantic hopes of him. He was not generally popular with his colleagues, but then neither was she.

With her sharp features emphasised by the thin hair scraped up into a sparse little bun she looked mean, and she was. She sucked up to her superiors, treated anyone junior to her with contempt and was duly avoided by both. In turn, Culver was avoided because the women knew he was a lecher and he was always ready to stick the proverbial knife in the back of the men. It should have been a match made in heaven, but so far Sonia had been unable to ensnare her man.

This Monday morning he was sitting in his shirtsleeves, in need of an iron as always, staring intently down at a copy of his column from Saturday’s edition. Who was she? The stewardess had told him Delacroix had flown in Economy with a young woman but she hadn’t had the chance to check her name. His contact at the restaurant had tipped him off that Delacroix was dining tête-à-tête with a woman he didn’t recognise, and the photographer sent to capture the moment had kept his distance, well aware of the big black chauffeur’s methods of dealing with unwanted intrusions in his boss’s life.

‘
Hi, Martin, what’s got you so engrossed?’ Sonia asked walking round to look over his shoulder and managing to brush against his back with her ample polyester clad breasts. He sat back a little, ostensibly to let her see more clearly, but mainly to make that contact again.

He indicated the photo of Lucy and Marcus leaving the restaurant and Sonia asked,
‘What’s the big deal? Just another rich older man with his trophy girlfriend surely?’

‘
I think there’s more to it than that,’ he replied. ‘Delacroix does nothing without a reason. At twenty-eight he married a dried up old maid in her late forties.’

Sonia flinched, that was a bit close to home.

‘I know she was rich but he stayed loyal to her for over twenty years. It just doesn’t ring true. Now he’s got this luscious young nobody on his arm. The trouble with nobodies is they’re very hard to trace, and I really need to know who this little strumpet is.’

‘
Well, I think I can help you there.’

Delighted to finally have something he wanted
, Sonia paused for effect, but Culver was having none of it.

‘
Well come on, what do you know?’

Sonia savoured the moment a fraction longer and then told him,
‘I’m pretty sure that is Kit Weston’s daughter.’

‘
Who the bloody hell is Kit Weston?’ he demanded.

‘
A very well-respected photographer. I would have thought you’d have heard of him.’

‘
Not unless he’s ever provided me with a telescopic lens shot of a celeb with her tits out,’ sneered Culver.

‘
Well anyway, he won the Gallagher Award last spring. I covered the presentation lunch and she was with him. Laura or Lucy, something like that.’

‘
So how do I find this happy snapper?’ He was excited now.

‘
I should think if you ring through to Photographic they will be able to give you his agent’s details and you can go from there,’ she suggested, expecting grateful thanks and receiving none. In fact she had to jump back to avoid her foot being run over by Culver’s chair wheels as he whirled around, the back massage completely forgotten, to pick up his phone.

He did manage to say, as he punched in the extension number,
‘I owe you one, Sonia.’

Always quick to grab an opportunity she countered with,
‘Perhaps you’d like to buy me a drink after…’

Her voice trailed away as Culver’s call was picked up and he ceased to notice she was there.

~

Sarah had come home early from work to allow for leisurely preparations for the forthcoming evening. She planned a long soak in a bath full of her favourite bubbles, hair wash and blow-dry in an attempt to subdue her irrepressible curls, followed by a manicure and full make-up.

This night out was going to be very special and she had spent her lunch break buying a frighteningly expensive silk jersey dress in the sapphire blue which suited her so well. And some very sexy lingerie. With a wedding date planned for less than six weeks away perhaps getting engaged wasn’t really necessary but Sarah, who at the age of forty-two had never been engaged or married before, didn’t want to miss out on anything. Kit was out buying the ring; she had wanted him to choose it for her, more romantic she thought. She was sure it would be perfect, he’d had enough practice after all.

She wasn’t at all daunted at being his fourth wife, totally confident that she unlike Amelia, Catherine and Ellen before her, could make it work. It would be different this time, she knew Kit inside out, knew how to keep the lightest of hands on the reins. Yes, she’d had to apply rather a lot of pressure to get him to propose, but she was sure of his love for her. It would be fine, more than fine.

She had just lathered up the shampoo when the phone rang. The answer-phone was acting up and it could well be Kit ringing to let her know which of their favourite restaurants he had managed to book. Trying not to drip everywhere or get shampoo in her eyes she went through to the bedroom and picked up.

A friendly male voice she did not recognise asked,
‘Hello, is that you, Lucy?’

Confused for a moment, Sarah was about to tell him he had misdialled and then realised who it was he wanted.

‘No, this is Sarah, her future stepmother,’ she couldn’t resist telling him. ‘Lucy isn’t staying with us, she’s at Amy’s.’

‘
Is that Amy Jenkins?’ he asked.

‘
No, Amy Fardell. Sorry, I don’t have her number to hand but she’s in the book, it’s Finsbury,’ replied Sarah now having real trouble with her dripping hair and wanting to get back to the bathroom.

‘
Oh, that Amy, I know her number. Thanks very much, sorry to have bothered you.’ He rang off.

Rinsing her hair Sarah was left with the uneasy feeling she had just been played.

~

Saule activated the remote control and the big gates swung slowly open and then closed again behind them. The drive from Finsbury had given Lucy the chance to collect her thoughts after the row with Amy. Saule had asked what music she would like, she’d told him to choose and she found herself soothed by the beautiful voice
of the Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli.

Amy had not been best pleased arriving home from work to find Lucy getting ready to go out.

‘I told you Alex got home today, I thought we were all going out for Chinese,’ she had said, watching Lucy apply eyeliner in front of the dressing table mirror.

Lucy had smiled at her friend’s reflection in the mirror and replied,
‘Amy, it’s his first night back, the pair of you don’t want me playing gooseberry.’

Amy had seemed mollified, but when she found out where Lucy was going there had been an unfortunate exchange of words ending in Lucy telling her to mind her own business.

The row had upset Lucy. She couldn’t remember the last time they had fallen out, probably over whose game it was back in primary school. She couldn’t remember a time when Amy wasn’t her friend. From playing hopscotch in the playground, through high school, and then moving to London together for their college days they had always been inseparable. It had been Amy’s shoulder she cried on when her parents’ marriage failed and her beloved father moved out, Amy who she went to for advice on everything, her love life, her career, such as it was, clothes, make-up, everything. During Lucy’s year in France they had e-mailed every week and spoken frequently.

Amy had always seemed to know her better than herself. To be at odds with her tilted Lucy’s world at an angle she didn’t like at all and she had to ask herself what on earth she was doing. Why was she on her way to see a man, old enough to be her father, to discuss on only their third meeting the possibility of becoming his wife and giving him a child? Was she mad, sad or bad? Probably all three she decided.

Still smarting from the disastrous reconciliation attempt with Laurent she knew the dangers of doing something on the rebound, but it wasn’t as if she was trying to tell herself she was falling in love with Marcus. Tired of lurching from one failed relationship to another, unwilling to accept their inevitable slide into familiarity, always craving the excitement and passion of a new love she relished the thought of a quiet and settled life. She would have the children she had wanted for so long, and if she was honest with herself the thought of being rich and cared for did appeal. A lot!

Suddenly she felt a wave of anger, everyone was always telling her to take control of her life. Well she was going to and they all, including Amy, would have to like it or lump it! She felt free and empowered, something new to her and she liked it.

The Mercedes pulled up in front of an imposing Edwardian house. It stood in a garden that was large for a London home with mature trees and shrubberies shielding it from its neighbours and giving complete privacy. As Saule saw her out of the car Marcus appeared from the house, and Lucy thought how much younger he seemed dressed in jeans and an open necked shirt than in his business suits. He put a hand on her shoulder and as he touched her lips with the briefest of kisses she caught a waft of his cologne. Suddenly she was somewhere else, with someone else. Laurent had always worn Le Male and as the familiar fragrance filled her senses she ached to be with him. The moment was fleeting, but when she looked up into those very green eyes their expression was quizzical. He doesn’t miss much, she thought.

‘
Come through to the terrace and have a drink. I’ve made a jug of Pimm’s, I hope you like it,’ he said.

‘
Mmm, one of my favourites,’ she replied following him into the house.

They walked along an elegant lofty hallway, through an even more elegant drawing room, and out through French windows onto a stone terrace overlooking the garden.

Taking a seat at the table with its stylish cream linen parasol she remarked, ‘This is a lovely house, Marcus.’

‘
Yes, isn’t it? It was Helena’s family home and she was very attached to it. Perhaps just a little too far from the centre of town to be really convenient, but it has many advantages. And of course there’s the flat in the Barbican when I need to be that bit closer.’

Of course there is, she thought dryly.

‘Tell me about your wife, Marcus.’

Busying himself with pouring the drinks she thought for a moment he was going to ignore this, but when he had set down their glasses he replied,
‘Helena was very special. Clever, cultured and endlessly resourceful. She was the best friend I have ever had.’

‘
You must miss her awfully.’

This he did ignore, saying instead,
‘It’s a lovely evening but I think we may need to move indoors to eat, it still cools off quickly when the sun goes down.’

Subject closed. She tried another.
‘I noticed Saule drive off past the house, where does that lead?’

‘
There’s an old coach-house, it’s been converted into garaging and Saule lives in the flat above.’

‘
He’s an interesting character.’

‘
He certainly is.’ The tone of his reply firmly closed that subject too.

Oh well, she thought. Just then a beautiful long-legged Siamese cat sauntered along the terrace stopping to regard Lucy with its piercing blue eyes. She stretched out a hand to stroke it but it moved out of reach, gave her a baleful look and disappeared into the house.

‘Don’t mind Silk, he doesn’t much like strangers. Actually, he doesn’t much like anyone. He was Helena’s cat and no one else seems to measure up, including me,’ Marcus told her.

They sat enjoying the
Pimm’s and the last of the day’s warmth. They discussed the garden, both surprised at the extent of each other’s knowledge. Something in common other than eating and drinking, they thought to themselves.

It did suddenly cool off and they made their way inside to eat. There was, Marcus explained, a very formal dining room but he had thought they would be more comfortable eating in the large kitchen
, which suited Lucy.

The atmosphere during the meal was relaxed, and she found as long as she didn’t ask personal questions Marcus was a charming and entertaining companion. The food was wonderful; gazpacho, the creamiest of asparagus risottos and lemon syllabub. She found herself thinking how bad could it be, a rich attractive husband who could cook up a storm too? She was having a lovely time even if it was just the teeniest bit like spending the evening with her dad.

Marcus served the coffee, sat back and asked, ‘So Lucy, what was it you wanted to discuss?’

Suddenly shy, Lucy didn’t know quite where to start.

‘Well…’ she began, but the words just wouldn’t come.

He smiled, amused at her discomfort.
‘Lucy, talk to me.’