Wonder Women (60 page)

‘My darling!' he cheered, when he saw her come up on his webcam. ‘How's it going?'

‘Cold. Cold and wet and miserable. I can't wait to get on a plane and come to you,' she said.

‘Everyone is so excited to see you. I've had about a million calls to ask if you're coming back to stay.'

‘No. I wish!' Holly laughed.

‘Well, why not?' Pierre said. ‘You've got a work permit. Once the trial is finished, your name will be clear, and everyone is always talking about how much they miss Doradolla, and how they'd love to be able to buy those dresses again. There was even a retrospective in a magazine the other day … “Beautiful things we miss”.'

‘That's very flattering, but it's not really compelling market research …' said Holly.

‘Well, come and see for yourself. I think you'd have an amazing time.'

‘I'm supposed to be buying a house in London and building a grown-up career …'

‘So? Come and do it here. God knows, you'll get a much better house for your pounds here than you'd get in London. You could buy a mansion!'

Holly just laughed.

‘
Ja, ja
,' said Pierre, ‘laugh at me. But we're going to start the propaganda campaign when you get here. Now listen, my
skattie
, I didn't phone you just to chat. We need to make some plans, because right now you've been invited to at least two parties every night of your trip. Have you got your diary?'

Moving back to South Africa. Could she do it? Did she want to? She didn't know. Pierre painted a very tempting picture, and he was right, she would get more for her money there than in the UK. Also, surely it would be much harder to launch a fashion label in huge, design-saturated, jaded London than in Johannesburg? What was holding her back? It wasn't as if her family needed her, and while she had friends, they all had lives of their own. About the only thing that stood in her way was Fraser.

Actually, what stood in her way were her feelings for Fraser. She hadn't bargained on falling for him, but she had. He was warm and funny and easy to be with, and she found him irresistibly sexy, not in the domineering, powerful way Damon was sexy, but in a different way. He was disarming and charming, and would spend hours pleasuring her sexually, making her come and come, and then he'd make her laugh with his terrible jokes, and then cook her a fabulous
dinner. Fraser had shown her that a relationship didn't need to be edgy and dramatic and unpredictable to be romantic and fulfilling. It could be safe, and fun, and the other person could be reliable and still keep her interest. She thought it was possible that she might be falling in love with him, but what he felt for her was hard to say.

It was very frustrating. He was always lovely to her. He rang when he said he would, was affectionate and caring and seemed to be very interested, but they were still only seeing each other a few times a week. He hadn't asked her to meet Finlay again, or talked about the future, and he definitely hadn't mentioned the L-word. He seemed happy to keep things on a fairly casual basis, and Holly, afraid of ruining things when they were going so well, resisted the urge to push the issue.

She had to accept that it was a casual relationship, that was all, and as a sensible, adult woman, she couldn't factor it into her decision-making process. She decided that she would go to South Africa with a totally open mind. She'd investigate the possibility of resurrecting Doradolla, look at some houses and generally get a feel for life there. Then she'd be able to weigh it against the options she had here in the UK.

On the day she was due to fly out, she arranged to meet Fraser for a late lunch in a riverside pub in Putney.

‘I hate goodbyes,' she told him. ‘We'll have a giggle, drink too much wine and then I'll drag my case over Putney Bridge and get on the Tube.'

‘You had me at “drink too much wine”,' said Fraser. ‘I'll leave the car at home.'

He looked very handsome in a nicely tailored shirt in a dark plum. If Holly had done nothing else for him, she thought, she seemed to have improved his dress sense and got him to wear some more adventurous colours. He ordered a bottle of champagne, and they shared a seafood platter. Chat was easy and they laughed and shared a few delicious, garlic-buttery kisses. After Fraser's second glass, he took her hand.

‘I want you to have an amazing time,' he said. ‘I'm so envious … you're going into summer while we head down the long dark road into winter.'

Holly waited for him to say something more, but he smiled, took a big gulp of his wine and said, ‘The world is your oyster, my lovely Miss Evans, and you're the pearl.'

‘I don't know what that means.'

‘It means … I know that you're going to have a very enthusiastic welcoming committee in Johannesburg. I know it'll be very tempting to stay, and I want you to know that I support you in doing what's best for you. Because I care about you. And I want you to be happy.'

Holly smiled at him, but she couldn't help feeling gutted. He was saying exactly what she had already decided – that he shouldn't be a factor in her decision – but she wished … well, never mind what she wished. He clearly didn't feel the same way. She checked her watch. ‘Bloody hell! Look at the time. I need to get going. It's going to take me at least fifteen minutes to get to the station.'

‘Do you want me to come along and help with your bags?'

‘Nope. No goodbyes, remember? Besides, I only have one pull-along suitcase … a suit for court, and then a bunch of
bikinis and sundresses. I've learned you should never travel with more baggage than you can carry yourself.'

‘And on that very profound note …' Fraser smiled. ‘Bye, Holly. Travel hopefully.'

He stood to kiss her lightly and hug her, and then she left, without looking back.

She'd expected to feel more elated to be on her way, but she felt deflated as she began to walk across Putney Bridge, dragging her case. So that was it. Fraser had, in a way, sent her on her way a free woman. And he had done it because he was a nice guy. A nice guy that she liked more than she wanted to admit, in fact the very nicest guy she'd met in a long time, probably ever. Was she being stupid? Should she be fighting for him? Or was he genuinely not interested? She stopped in the middle of the bridge. She didn't have time to go back, but did she have time to ring him? Would she be mad to? Did she really want him to reject her over the phone as well? No, best just to go. She started to walk again, a little quicker this time.

She heard someone panting heavily behind her, and she thought it was a rather out-of-shape jogger or a mugger with asthma. Either way, she had better get out of his way. She stepped closer to the railing and drew her suitcase out of the path of the oncoming runner, but the panter didn't run past her. He stopped.

‘I lied,' gasped Fraser.

‘What?'

‘I lied. I said you should go and be happy. I don't want you to. I mean – I do want you to be happy, but I want you to be happy with me. I've been trying to play it all cool and
grown-up and sensible, trying to give you as much space as you need, but I bloody can't do it any more. I love you, Holly, I want to be with you, and I very much wish to be a factor in your decisions about your future.' And then he kissed her hard, and for a very long time.

‘Now I'm going,' he said. ‘No goodbyes. But travel safely, and every mile you go, please remember that I love you.' He walked back along the bridge, turning once to wave and blow her a kiss. Through the whole encounter, which lasted maybe two minutes, she hadn't said a word.

Holly stood, gripping the handle of her suitcase tightly. She turned and looked down the river, towards London. The sun was sinking low, throwing mellow rays on to the water. Love, opportunity, freedom. It wasn't every day you got all three.

THE END

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I would argue it takes a small city to write a book. Whether it was correcting dodgy punctuation and geography, offering emotional support or answering the author's dim-witted questions about various subjects, so many people have been part of the journey that ends with my writing this page. As the book has been a year in the making, I am sure I will forget someone. Please forgive me … my gratitude is unending even if my memory is not.

As always, first on the list is my agent, Caroline Hardman and her partner in crime Jo Swainson, outgoing editor Charlotte van Wijk and her assistant Nicola Budd, and new editor Jo Dickinson and Kathryn Taussig. Six women who have done so much to support, guide, refine, polish and defend my work throughout this process. It would be a poorer book without them. In fact, one might argue it wouldn't be a book at all without them. If I may be forgiven the cheesy title reference, wonder women indeed.

As is the author's privilege, I took great creative licence with my plans for Jo's shop and how it might run. However, I owe a debt of thanks to Lisa Usiskin of Happy Days Children's Clothes, who met with me and talked through the nuts and bolts of running a children's clothing business. She's on facebook if you're looking for something fabulous for your
kids. A big thank you also to my dear friend Debbie Melliard, for her insider's advice on Goldsmith's.

As always, many thanks to the great motley crew of friends and family who enrich my life and give so much, who (face-to-face or online), have offered information, character names (yes you, Tina Vaghela), an ear while I wrestle with a knotty plot problem, tea, distraction and chocolate. My heart is fuller (and my behind is wider) thanks to your contributions.

Special mention must go to Maureen Parrington, who won the right to name a character in this book at an Auction of Promises at St Mary's Church, Hendon. She chose her husband Ian Hope as the beneficiary of this dubious honour. I have stolen rather more than the name, and my fictional Ian is a music teacher too, and has some of the real man's sterling characteristics. I hope he will forgive me a little artistic licence.

It was extremely important to me to write about the care of the ill and dying, as my sister Sandy died of cancer in 2004, and the support we got from hospice nurses in South Africa has always stayed with me. More recently, my mum-in-law Doreen passed away at New Cross Hospital in Wolverhampton, and we were overwhelmed at the care and compassion she received from the nurses, and their boundless patience and kindness to us, her relatives. I have no words for those who are brave enough to guide us through the most difficult and sad times of our lives. These are people of great heart, and they deserve our support. If the issues covered in this book touch you, please donate to Macmillan Cancer Support:
www.macmillan.org.uk/Donate
.

In memory of Doreen Smithies (1930–2012), a wonder woman indeed.

Keep reading for an extract from Rosie Fiore's heart-warming novel

Sitting on the loo, blue penguin pyjama bottoms around her ankles, Louise stared again at the pregnancy test in her hand. The blue cross was very much still there. It wasn't going anywhere. Pregnant. Who would believe it? Here it was, the baby she'd always dreamed of, but at the wrong time, in the wrong circumstances, and totally and utterly with the wrong man. The irony wasn't lost on her. One stupid night with Brian. Just one, stupid, drunken shag, and now this. If she were a different woman, she'd have burst into tears and rung her mum or her best friend.

But Louise's mum was dead, and she wasn't the sort to have a girly best friend. Anyway, it was a work day, and a busy one. She couldn't sit on the loo all day. She had to get to work, get on with the day and think about all of this later. She certainly couldn't think about it at work, not today, not with the branch managers' meeting and Brian pretending to ignore her across the table. Although she thought they'd been discreet that night in Manchester, she was pretty sure everyone knew. Barrett and Humphries
was too small a company. Until now, Louise hadn't given the gossip machine much thought. She hadn't really cared. All her energy had been focused on treating Brian with icy professionalism.

She turned on the shower and switched on to autopilot. She went through into her bedroom, laid out her clothes for the day on her bed and stripped off her pyjamas. She showered quickly and efficiently, blow-dried her short, dark-red hair, and dressed in a maroon suit, with severe lines which flattered her slim, tall figure. She ate a quick breakfast of fruit, yoghurt and muesli and then rapidly applied her minimal make-up, just mascara and lipstick. Her briefcase was already packed, her keys and sunglasses in their usual place by the front door. She rinsed out her bowl, looked around her tidy kitchen and was out of the door fifteen minutes after she'd done the pregnancy test.

It wasn't until she'd eased her little car out of her quiet road and taken her place in the traffic queue heading towards the town centre that she let herself switch on her brain again. Suddenly, she began to shake. What was she going to do? Clearly, she couldn't have it. She could just imagine the looks at work as she started to show. Barrett and Humphries was as progressive as an old-fashioned Yorkshire printing firm could be, and she knew they appreciated her skills and professionalism. But if it came to a choice, there was no doubt Brian would win. He was older, more senior, a partner. She'd be out on her ear quicker than you could say ‘discrimination lawsuit'. Yes, she could
probably fight it, but did she really want the humiliation of having her mistake made public?