‘Mmm?’
‘I’m here for you, darling.’
‘Thanks, Mum, I love you.’
When Lexie finally wound up her call with a promise to ring her mum back after the wedding was over, her eyelids felt as though they were weighted down with mini blocks of concrete, and whilst she would have loved a girly chat with Pippa, or to take Freya up on her offer to have a late supper with her and Harry, all she wanted to do was have a quick shower and crawl into bed so that she was bright eyed and bushy tailed for the next day’s demands.
The bridesmaid dress incident was worrying, but to her surprise the last image that coiled through her mind before the oblivion of sleep claimed her for its own, was Theo’s face as he lectured her and Jasper on the pointlessness of all the ancillary wedding paraphernalia and she wondered what had happened to make him so down on the whole love and marriage scenario.
Chapter Nine
The following day dawned with a cloudless azure sky and the birds making a valiant attempt to replace Lexie’s alarm clock. She wasn’t due at Dalston Manor until midday when she had an appointment to meet up with Scarlet from the Pengarth bakery, Sweet Sensations, to talk about all things confectionery, and Anton, the manor’s head chef, for a final run through of the menu before the rehearsal dinner at six that night. Only when all Marley’s ‘Saturday’ boxes were ticked, would she leave Zara and Jason and their friends to enjoy the evening before the craziness of the wedding the following day.
She hopped into the shower, took a few moments to fix her hair into a ponytail, and decided to pop downstairs to share a coffee with Freya, whom she knew would already have been in the boutique for at least an hour, maybe with Chloe in tow. Far from being a hindrance, five-year-old Chloe was a joy to have around and Lexie’s spirits edged up a notch at the thought of spending some quality time with her goddaughter, who had been named Chloe Alexandra in her honour.
She had just grabbed one of Pierre’s last season denim jackets in a rich jade colour that suited her pale colouring when there was a knock on the door. Lexie froze with her arm half way into her sleeve. Who on earth was calling on her at seven a.m. on a Saturday morning? Only Freya, Pippa and her mum knew she was staying at the studio flat in Pengarth. Her thoughts zoomed to Elliot and panic ricocheted through her brain as she contemplated how she would react if she found her ex-fiancé standing on her doorstep.
Another sharp rap brought her to her senses.
She doubted her friends would have revealed her whereabouts, and it was clear that her visitor wasn’t going to give up, so she skipped down the stairs and wrenched open the door, bracing herself for the drama that could be loitering there. When she saw who it was, her jaw dropped in surprise.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Ah, such a wonderful welcome!’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean… it’s just I wasn’t expecting…’
Her words petered out at the sight of Theo standing there, totally relaxed, his hands thrust in the pockets of his washed-out jeans, his dark hair tousled in that just-hopped-out-of-bed look that some people carefully manage but Theo sported naturally, a broad smile lighting up his face.
‘I thought I would take you out for breakfast – as a peace offering. I’m sorry if you thought I was laughing at you yesterday – I wasn’t, and I saw how upset you were about the Great Confetti Catastrophe so I thought I’d come over and, well, apologise and treat you to a feast of freshly baked croissants.’
Lexie stared at Theo, at the tiredness encircling his eyes, at the stubble in desperate need of a trim, all part of the laid-back, eternal student vibe he no doubt cultivated to put his unsuspecting interviewees at their ease before he went for the jugular. He was the complete opposite to Elliot in the looks department, but no less attractive and if Bradley Cooper had a younger brother, he could be standing on her doorstep offering her pastries, so what was she waiting for?
‘Breakfast sounds fantastic. Actually, I’m famished – I could eat a horse!’
‘Well, I’ve only got orange juice and a few croissants from Scarlet’s bakery, but I think there’s a stables on our way to the coast that we could stop at if you’re still hungry.’
Mischief danced in his eyes and Lexie couldn’t prevent a smile from tugging at the corners of her lips.
‘There’s just one condition, though,’ said Theo.
‘What’s that?’
‘That we don’t talk about the wedding.’
‘Agreed!’
She accepted his proffered elbow and walked with him round to the side street, laughing when she saw his chosen mode of transport was a battered dark green MGB GT, as it suited his personality to a tee.
‘Loving the wheels.’
‘I bought this car from the scrapyard ten years ago after my first year at university, and I’ve been renovating it ever since, a bit at a time at the weekends. It took eight long years to get it roadworthy, and only because I was on a strict, no-excuses deadline.’
Lexie thought she saw that shadow of sadness sweep across his eyes again, but it was gone in a second and she wondered if she had perhaps imagined it.
‘But now it’s the star of the show at the vintage car rallies and I’ve even been known to hire it out to friends for weddings, christenings and bar mitzvahs. Let me know if any of your clients have a particular penchant for arriving at their wedding venue with crumpled outfits and, in the winter months, a generous sprinkling of rain or snow.’
‘Well, I love it!’
‘I prefer it to all the homogenous vehicles that plague the roads round here – I like things with a bit of character in every aspect of my life. Jump in!’
Lexie lowered herself into the leather bucket-seat, relishing the whiff of tannin mingled with the burst of Theo’s oriental spice cologne – a favourite of hers, unlike the toilet-cleaner-esque aroma of the aftershave Elliot usually doused himself in. With a sudden surge of power, the little car swooped around the village green, past the local pub – The Daft Cuckoo – and headed towards the coast, a warm breeze wafting through the window and a classical aria playing on the ancient car radio.
‘So, you grew up near here, did you?’ asked Theo, his eyes fixed on the road as he navigated around the slow-moving traffic heading in convoy for the ever-popular north Cornish coast. Even at that time of the morning, because the Easter school holidays were underway, the roads were busy with tourists who’d had the same idea as Theo.
‘Yes, in a small village just outside St Ives. When I look back to my time at the local primary school with Freya by my side, it might sound silly but those days seem to be doused in a halo of golden sunshine. Every summer we would catch the local bus into St Ives with a few pence in our pockets for an ice cream and spend all day at the beach building sandcastles, splashing around in the water, searching for crabs, exploring the rocks. When I think about it, I’m surprised our parents let us go, but things seemed to be different then. Where did you grow up?’
‘In Bath. I’m a city boy, to be honest – if you can call Bath a city. Where I lived, everyone knew everyone else so it felt like we were living in a small village. But being part of that close-knit community, sharing everyone’s triumphs and challenges, celebrating weddings and christenings, mourning divorces and deaths, it’s what gave me the urge to become a journalist.’