Lost (Arielle Lockley Series Book 2) (14 page)

Ob managed to calm me down enough to stop me from jumping in a cab. He, rightly, pointed out that I couldn’t even remember which office Piers was working in, and that there are a lot of hospitals to contact, even if I managed to head to the right state.

I know Piers was in Virginia yesterday morning, but I’m not sure when he is heading to New York. Maybe he flew there last night, or maybe it’s Monday. Maybe it’s not even New York, maybe it was Washington. I can’t recall, and the situation is only confusing me.

Ob also pointed out that by the time I got there, even if I did remember where he is supposed to be today, Piers would probably be discharged from the hospital and might even be on a plane home. The best thing to do, as hard as it is, is to remain in London and wait for Piers to call me. 

As soon as I wake up, not that I managed to grab more than a few hours of fitful sleep, I start hitting dial on Piers’ number, leaving him frantic voicemails, over and over, until his mailbox is full.

When he calls me back in the afternoon, which is first thing his time if I’ve worked out the time difference correctly, I am a nervous wreck and surrounded by chaos in the kitchen. Ob made dinner last night, but forgot to clean up afterwards. Tomato sauce is smeared across the worktops, and bits of food are all over the floor.
Nice
.

‘Don’t you ever do anything like that again,’ I shout at him, once I’ve heard him say hello and know that I’m not talking to Dean, whoever Dean was. ‘Don’t you ever–’

But I can’t continue as I’m crying my eyes out. Deep belly-juddering sobs that catch in my chest and make me feel sick. I can hear Piers saying something, but I can’t make out the words.

As I’m sat there sobbing, the cat jumps on my knee and starts rubbing his nose against the sleeve of Piers’ turquoise and black checked shirt that I’m wearing with my pyjama bottoms. I squish him against me with my free arm, glad of something to hug.

‘I thought I’d lost you,’ I manage to gulp out. ‘I thought it would just be me and Atlas–’

‘Atlas?’

‘The cat.’ I sniff. ‘I was going to ask you first if we could keep him but, sod it, we are.’

‘Where did you get a cat from, Pony, and what sort of a name is Atlas?’

It’s a typical Piers response, and the warmth in his voice starts me feeling shaky again. What if yesterday had been it, the day I lost Piers, and I never got to hear the warmth in his voice again or see his eyes twinkle when I do something amusing?

‘It’s better than Compost,’ I huff, trying to calm down. ‘And I don’t think that’s an important question right now. What happened? Where are you now?’

Piers pauses, which makes me suspect that whatever comes next out of his mouth won’t be entirely truthful. As soon as he gets home, I am marching him straight to the doctors for tests, ones I will be in the room for when the results are known. He is not bullshitting me anymore.

‘Compost?’

‘Look, what matters is you, not that Ob decided that my birthday present this year is a cat.’

‘We have a cat?’

‘We do now,’ I say exasperated. ‘Stop stalling. What happened?’

I wipe my nose on my sleeve and wait for the fibs.

‘It’s nothing, Pony, honestly. You know what they’re like over here. I went for a run, started feeling dizzy, and the next thing I know I’m on the floor and a passerby is insisting that I go to hospital. Dean caught me up and said the same.’

‘Who
is
Dean?’

‘He’s the me in the Fairfax County office.’

‘He said you had tests?’

‘When they saw the company insurance cover I have, they wanted to run every test going.’ Piers sounds dismissive. ‘Arielle, I’m
fine
. It was all an unnecessary hassle, and I could have headed back to the hotel yesterday, then I could have wished you a happy birthday. Happy birthday, baby,’ he softly says. ‘I’m so sorry that I didn’t get to spend your birthday with you.’

Piers sounds convincing, but I’m not swayed. I know him; I know when something isn’t right.

‘Tell me what you got up to then, and tell me about this cat,’ he presses on. ‘Atlas, did you say it’s called, or was it Compost?’

‘Piers!’

‘Tell me,’ he insists.

I sigh.

‘Ob called it Compost because he rescued it from a compost heap, but I quite like Atlas,’ I finally say. ‘I was reading
Cloud Atlas
last night when I couldn’t sleep. It was one of the books Mum sent with Ob as part of my birthday present, and the cat kept trying to bash the book out of the way so I’d play with him.’

I do not want to talk about the cat; I want to talk about Piers, about what has happened to him.

‘How are you feeling?’ I ask.

‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Pony. Tell me about what’s new with you.’

As Piers chats on, asking me about my birthday, the pop-up, and how I’m getting on with Twitter and the fashion bloggers, I can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong. Every time I try and bring the conversation back to him, how he’s feeling, what’s wrong with him, he artfully directs it back to me. Maybe it’s just because everything else is going so well in my life that I have developed this weird worry, or maybe my concerns are well-founded. Whatever it is though, I wish this worry would go away, but that’s only going to happen if Piers tells me the truth...

*

‘Happy birthday!’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

She pulls me in for a quick hug, before letting me into the house. I spoke to my parents on my birthday, but this is the first time I’ve seen them since I turned another year older six days ago. Piers isn’t with me because, despite what he said about flying home early, he ended up staying out there for the rest of the week.
Of course he did.
I’ll be having stern words when he gets home, and I don’t care if he has a meeting scheduled with a billionaire client or his firm’s CEO, I’m marching him straight round to the doctors when he’s back.

I flop down on the sofa, and pull off my tan suede ankle boots.

‘Where’s your dad?’

Dad picked me up from Brockenhurst station but sadly not in Bertha, his beloved Land Rover that was older than me. She’s finally gone to scrapyard heaven after an accident last month. It’s like the end of an era.

‘He got collared by the Penroses.’ I roll my eyes.

The bloody Penroses! OK, obviously Mr and Mrs Penrose are perfectly all right, but their sons... I would quite like to pretend that Mr and Mrs Penrose are childless whilst ever my parents still live next door to them.

Mum, thankfully, doesn’t choose to make any excruciating remarks about Noah and Peter, which is a relief. I haven’t thought about them in a long time, and I hope I never see them again.

‘They were on about coming down to the shop for your goodbye party,’ she says.

I’d rather they didn’t. I’m feeling quite sad about the prospect of Arielle’s closing forever, even if it won’t be long until the relaunch in London. I’d rather I was surrounded by my nearest and dearest, not the parents of two hideous men.

‘Is Felicity coming here first?’

‘She is, yes.’

‘How’s she doing?’ I ask. ‘Like, honestly, how is she doing? She doesn’t seem great to me.’

Mum pulls a pained face. ‘She’s not a well lady, Arielle. Today will be a tough day for her, without her... problems,’ Mum says carefully. ‘She was given the shop by someone very dear to her. To see it close down, it’s causing a lot of pain for her.’

‘It was always inevitable though,’ I acknowledge. ‘The books were dire when I started working there, and she’s back on an even keel now. Just about. She’d go under again if we stayed open.’

When I first met Felicity, dressed in my acid wash Balmain jeans and deep purple silk Hervé Léger pussycat bow blouse, which I’m wearing today in her honour, Arielle’s was called Flick’s and it was seriously failing.

The window display of the shop was gorgeous and contemporary, with the clothes presented around large blow-ups of fairytale images of yesteryear and ransom-style snippets of text cut out of newspapers – I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t bustling with customers. Inside the answer was clear when I clocked the musty smell and dusty corners: the shop was dead.

Of course, the transformation from Flick’s to Arielle’s wasn’t something I planned. I arrived on my first day expecting a shop and, instead, was greeted with boxes and boxes piled up, filling every possible nook and cranny. Felicity swept out, after announcing it was my job to “reinvent” the shop, and by a mixture of a miracle and some help from Mum and Ob, I transformed the place. A local reporter, Eliza, and a few local celebrity clients got Arielle’s, as Flick’s became, back on track.

I still remember our launch party so vividly because Felicity, in that woolly way of hers, forgot to invite me to it! After an embarrassing phone call from Mum – I felt like I was seven years old again and Mum was calling Obélix’s mum to fix a falling out – that memory lapse was ironed out. I got glammed up, and went with Mum to see the shop bearing my name.

‘What have you done with the cat?’ Mum asks, interrupting my trip down memory lane.

‘Well, that was something I’d not thought about, but luckily my friend can pop over.’

I feel wretched saying this. Atlas has a way of making me feel guilty – his tiny meows! – even when I’ve just popped out for an hour or two. I’ve no idea how he’ll fare being left on his own for the night, but I’ve put a blanket over the bed linen in case he gets inclinations with his claws, and I’ve rolled up the rug in case he forgets his litter tray...

‘Is that Lydia?’

I grimace. Lydia has yet to call me to apologise about her behaviour on my birthday. I nearly caved in and called her but then stopped myself. Why should I? I did nothing wrong, unless Lydia counts having more than one friend as something heinous – it’s plain crazy if she does. No, she knows my number. She can call me.

‘Tabitha,’ I answer. ‘The woman who owns the place where the pop-up will be.’

‘The socialite?’

That’s a polite way of putting it. Mum knows exactly who I am referring to, judging by the look on her face – I should never have shown her how to use the Internet.

‘Yes, the one in the papers all the time.’ I come straight out with it. ‘It’s all bullshit though–’

‘Arielle!’

‘Well, it is. Honestly, she’s really nice. Smart, too. Just because her aunt is a countess or something ridiculous, they’ve made her into tabloid fodder. They neglect to mention she raised £800,000 for various children’s charities last year. You’ll meet her at the wedding...’

We’re chatting about the wedding when Dad walks in; Felicity follows him in. All thoughts of the wedding, the goodbye party and Piers fly out of my head when I see how she looks. Shit, how has this happened?

I’m huddled in the corner with Tasmin and Chelsey, the two girls who were at Arielle’s with me from pretty much the beginning. There’s a nice atmosphere, with our guests chatting and laughing away, even though it’s a sad day.

The shop is looking empty and dusty, but the girls have brightened the place up with balloons, streamers and an up-beat playlist. Canapés and champagne are making their way around the room, but my tummy is too gurgly to have some. I’m feeling extremely worried about Felicity.

‘She looks awful,’ Chelsey whispers.

‘She won’t admit something is wrong,’ I confide. ‘Mum’s trying to make sure Felicity is talking to her doctor, but you know how stubborn she can be. We’re not sure she’s getting treated properly, but there’s not much we can do if Felicity won’t let us help her.’

When Felicity walked in behind Dad, it took a lot of restraint to stop myself from crying out at her appearance. It was only Mum reaching over and squeezing my hand that stopped me. Gone is the sleek woman I met not even a year ago in her tweed Chanel jacket and deep purple floor-length silk Valentino skirt; gone is the flowing hair and carefully accentuated make-up. Felicity is still wearing her beautiful clothes, but they used to fit her like they had been made for her and, let’s face it, some of them probably were.

She’s wearing a burgundy lace dress lined with nude silk, but the dress hangs off her. It looks two sizes too big, troubling considering how dainty Felicity was to begin with. She also looks gaunt and pale.

Despite her best efforts at making up her face, she can’t disguise the weariness that is etched there. She looks like she’s aged twenty years in just a few weeks. From the look on other people’s faces, I know I’m not the only one who is concerned.

‘Could you insist on going with her to see the doctor?’ Tasmin asks. ‘Try and find out first hand what’s wrong with her.’

‘Mum’s been with her to the hospital before, but Felicity never lets her in the consultation room,’ I explain sadly. ‘It’s tough as she’s not a relation, even though we think of her as part of the family.’

‘I always forget you’re not related,’ Tasmin says.

‘No, that would be Etta,’ I say darkly, shooting a look in her direction.

When Felicity arrived at the house, after I got over my initial shock at her appearance, I clocked Etta. She couldn’t wait to tell me all about signing a three-album deal with a big record label, and she smugly hinted at liaisons with famous rock stars. Felicity thought it was marvellous that the two of us were “getting on so well”, but if only she knew. I would rather the Penrose brothers be here than her... OK, perhaps not.

She’s actually dressed very demurely today. Her tattoos are covered up under a ditsy floral tea dress and cream cardigan, and she has toned down her make-up, tamed her hair a bit. She’s not fooling me one bit with this “clean” look though. I know she’s still a massive pain in the arse, even if Felicity is floating around her like she’s the Second Coming. 

She smirks at me, clocking I’m staring at her, before fussing over Felicity in a totally obvious way. I wish she’d just disappear already. Oh, and I hope her first album flops. I’ve heard her sing though; she’ll be a superstar.
Irgh
.

When we get home that evening, I’m shattered and on the verge of tears again. What is with my hormones? I’ve gone from never crying to tearing up all the time. I even cried at a loo roll commercial the other week!

It was great fun seeing all the locals who have shopped there over the years, but it was also really sad. That shop got me back on my feet, stopped me from being some awful “kept” woman, and it really turned things around for me.
Felicity
really turned things around for me.

Even though the circumstances that led me there didn’t make it the best time of my life, I can’t claim it was the worst. It was bittersweet, but it was exactly what I needed and I’m super grateful for Felicity’s belief in me, and her belief in the London pop-up and our next chapter.

Even though I know I couldn’t continue to work in Bournemouth as my life is in London with Piers, I will miss the place and the girls. Chelsey burst into tears as we loaded the last of the stock into the van, and that set me off.
Of course it did.
I’m glad Felicity had gone home at that point. If I’d seen Felicity cry, I would have truly lost it. 

‘Chin up, girl. Onwards and upwards!’

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I mutter from my position on the window seat, where I’m curled up with my book. My head hurts too much to read, and I’ve yet to finish the page I’ve been staring at for the past fifteen minutes.

‘What are you going to do tonight? We’ve got supper plans with the Markhams, but we shan’t be too late if you want to watch a film or something when we get back? Keep your mind off things.’

And Dad says that, not knowing I have the additional worry of Piers. I neglected to tell them about his recent hospital stint.

‘Oh, I’m meeting Ob,’ I lie. ‘Going to The Guinea Inn, so don’t worry about me.’

Ob has a date. No, not with Jade like I’d hoped but, still,
he has a date
!

Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, selecting a twenty pound note. ‘Have a drink or two on me, kiddo.’ He presses the note in my hand. ‘You deserve it.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ I stand up and hug him.

It might seem ridiculous to be taking money off my Dad to go to the pub at my age, especially since I’m all legit and a business woman now – ha – but I appreciate the gesture. Dad gets it, gets my sadness over the shop, and my sadness because of Felicity.

When Mum and Dad go out though, I slip the money back into his jacket pocket. With Piers on a plane, and Ob on a date, the best thing for me to do right now is write the day off and go to bed. Things will be brighter in the morning, they always are.

I am so excited! OK, I was super sad last night, but today is a new day and it’s time to feel positive. Onwards and upwards! Nothing bad has happened to the shop, not really, we’re just upgrading it to a London experience.

As for Felicity, everyone has their down days, and perhaps she’s just under the weather. I’m sure she’s fine, just like Piers. I’m sure
they’re
fine. See, I can do this, I can be optimistic and not assume the worst case scenario is the
actual
scenario.

After dropping off the keys with the estate agent, I’m back on the road with Mum and Dad and taking them to see Tharnham Hall for the very first time. A relatively pain-free drive along the M3 sees us pulling into the grounds two hours later.

I can see Mum’s reaction in the rear-view mirror and she looks ecstatic.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ she exclaims as we pull into the car park. I’m glad she approves.

‘It’s smaller than Highcliffe,’ Dad chimes in.

‘Dad!’ I moan. ‘Come on, stop with the pimping of Highcliffe already. We’re getting married
here
.’

Pulling on the handbrake, he cranes his head backwards so I can see his face. ‘I’m joking, love. It’s a beauty of a castle from what we’ve seen so far, and wherever you two want to get married is fine with us. Then you can start cracking on with grandchildren.’ He winks at me, then turns back around.

‘Dad!’

There is no way Piers and I are having children any time soon. I am totally not ready to be a parent just yet, and I doubt Piers is.

‘We’ll see how we get on with the cat first, shall we?’ I joke. ‘And this place is not actually a castle, if we’re going to get technical about it.’

As we get out of the car I, probably inaccurately, share the spiel Violet told us about the history of Tharnham and how it developed into the building where we’ll be getting married.

Looking around the place, I make notes on how we could decorate the Great and Inner Hall. We’re going to have the ceremony in the Inner Hall, followed by photos in various parts of the castle, and then the evening reception will be in the Great Hall.

The Great Hall is split into two bits by solid walnut arches, which means we can have the wedding breakfast in the smaller section, and not feel too lost. The black and white hexagonal tiles will need to be carpeted to protect them from heels, which is a better option than Veronica, the evil witch at Pelsley Castle, suggested to protect the floor there. Guests have to remove their shoes at Pelsley! I’m so glad that we went with Tharnham and have the lovely Violet looking after us.

I also speak to Violet about local caterers they have worked with in the past. The wedding is still ages away – over two years to go – but she warns me that it will go quickly.

‘Savour each moment,’ she advises. ‘Your wedding day will zoom by, and it’s nice to have memories leading up to the big day to fall back on.’

It’s slightly odd advice for someone to give, but I totally get how brides (and grooms) can, almost, wish the days away in the lead up to the wedding, forgetting how those are the important days that make the wedding what it is.  

Tharnham today has reiterated to me that I can’t wait to marry Piers. But, more than that, I can’t wait to get back to our home in Chelsea to give him a massive hug. I’ve really missed him these past few weeks.