The publishing company was in difficulties. They were in the process of downsizing, selling off or closing down the stodgy middle-of-the-road titles, concentrating on the flagship Lifestyle. They all had to tighten their belts. It was all hands on deck and loads of other clichés. It was her duty to join the staff—at peanut wages—and do what she could to help turn things around.
At the time she’d been too emotionally exhausted to stand up for what she wanted, in no state to really know what she did want any more.
‘I expect you’re right.’ Lisa removed the battery of pins that kept her long blonde hair smoothly away from her face and was debating whether to tell her old friend of her sighting of Diego Raffacani when she noticed the champagne bottle and two flutes set out on the low coffee table. An arched brow tilted in Sophie’s direction.
Sophie blushed then giggled. ‘James proposed this evening. And I accepted.’
Lethargy entirely forgotten, Lisa leapt to her feet to give her friend a bear hug, settling beside her on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for longer than I can remember!’ Sophie had been dating the attractive young GP for over a year and was madly in love with him. ‘I’m so happy for you! Tell me more!’
‘He’s joining a practice in the West Country—all lovely and rural.’ She stretched over for the bottle. ‘He got called out, would you believe—so you’re going to have to celebrate with me. I don’t want to get squiffy on my own!’
The cork ricocheted all round the small room. ‘We’re going to have to house hunt down there,’ Sophie confided excitedly. ‘I can just see myself as a country doctor’s wife—I’ll have loads of babies, join the WI, put my name down for the church flower rota and wear tweed skirts and those green quilted waistcoat things. And hats! With pheasant feathers!’
‘An unlikely scenario, if ever I heard one.’ Lisa grinned, accepting a flute of bubbles, firmly dismissing the wish that she could be as excited over her own wedding plans as being well out of order. She and Ben weren’t into high romance and magical, ephemeral flights of excitement. Companionship, mutual support… ‘So when’s the big day?’ She rapidly blanked out another wholly unwelcome pang of envy.
‘Three months. I’ll be a midsummer bride.’ Her eyes opened very wide. ‘We could h
ave a double wedding! That would be fantastic. Ben could move in here with you. It’s time he got his act together and left the parental home.’
It was a possibility, Lisa mused as she listened to Sophie chatter on about wedding dresses, bridesmaids and honeymoon destinations.
Ben had mentioned a wait of a year after the official engagement announcement tomorrow. And he shared the family home in Holland Park for purely practical reasons. The money saved on rent and his keep was accumulating nicely. But when Sophie moved out she, Lisa, would still have to find the rent for this flat, so it would be both practical and sensible for Ben to share it as her husband.
After the second glass of champagne Lisa forgot practicalities and seemingly out of nowhere found herself blurting, ‘He was at the charity bash tonight. Just as I remembered him, yet different.’
‘Who?’ Sophie, in mid flow over guest lists, refilled their glasses.
‘Diego.’
How easily the name she hadn’t mentioned since that dreadful night slipped from her tongue. How easily the sound of it brought it all back—the heartache, the anger, the sheer gut-wrenching misery, all the emotions she’d believed long dead and buried.
Fuelled by Sophie’s blank look and an unaccustomed rapid intake of alcohol, she offered, ‘Spain. You remember. That holiday you and Ben insisted on giving me?’
‘Of course!’ Sophie banged the side of her head with the heel of her hand. ‘The handsome waiter you thought you were madly in love with, the one who dumped you on that last night—the snake! What a small world—and what was he doing mixing with that lot?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’ Lisa put her glass down on the table, not really knowing why she’d started this, struggling to work out why she needed to talk about him. A catharsis maybe? An emotional release, setting her free from the pain of betrayal that had been buried deep within her psyche.
‘He looked a million dollars—well, let’s say he looked as if he’d regard that amount as small change. I guess his social-climbing career must have taken off in a big way.’
She had to say it, punch what he was firmly into her brain, paint him black so that never again would she—would she what? Still remember, still yearn, still dream about him?
‘Blooming gigolo!’ Sophie snorted. ‘I hope you gave him an earful!’
‘We didn’t speak.’ Just a single word. His name spilling from her lips.
‘Probably just as well,’ Sophie conceded. ‘In your place I’d have probably walloped him and caused huge embarrassment all round. Now, let’s forget about the wretch and talk about something nice—what are you planning on wearing for your party? I thought I’d wear the green satin—James says it turns him on…’
The Holland Park house looked at its festive best. Most of the guests were waiting when Lisa arrived. Flowers everywhere, filling the elegant rooms with the perfume of spring. Until her mother’s death her parents had lived in a house similar to this, a scant five-minute walk away. She’d been at boarding school, barely fourteen years old, when the dreadful news had come.
Only after the funeral when her father had coolly informed her that he would be selling the family home, moving into a flat suitable for a man on his own, had the full enormity of her loss hit her. Her mother had loved her and now the sweet, gentle woman, who’d been completely dominated by the much stronger personality of her husband, was gone. Without consciously thinking it out she had naively believed that she and her father would now draw closer together in their mutual grief. But he was distancing himself even further, if that were possible, a fact brought home when he told her, ‘The Claytons suggested you spend your school holidays with them. You’ve always got on well with the twins and Ben and Sophie will be far better company for you than I ever could be.’
Lisa closed her eyes briefly, willing the unwanted sadness of memories to leave her. This was a happy occasion, for pity’s sake! Finding a smile, she handed her wrap to a waiting maid, who must have been hired for the evening, and went to find Ben.
The rooms were just comfortably crowded. Even so, her progress was slow, waylaid as she was by friends, colleagues and perfect strangers—invited by the elder Claytons, she guessed—who offered congratulations.
Items of furniture had been pushed to the edges of the rooms or removed entirely and a sumptuous buffet had been laid out on the long dining room table, attended by smartly uniformed waiters. Ben and his parents were grouped by one of the tall windows, seemingly in private, earnest conversation. A conversation which ended abruptly when Lisa reached Ben and touched the sleeve of his dinner jacket to claim his attention.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, her silky brows drawing together. All three of them looked strangely worried but Honor Clayton denied immediately, ‘Of course not! How nice you look, dear. Doesn’t she, Ben? Is Sophie with you? How like you two girls to be late!’