‘Oh, my God! Lexie, what’s happened? Are you okay? Lexie!’
‘Sorry, Freya, it’s…’
She paused, inhaled a deep breath to calm her rampaging nerves, but she really didn’t know where to start. Then she remembered the advice her mum always dished out to her whenever she felt overwhelmed by anything: ‘Start at the beginning and don’t stop until you get to the end.’ Despite the torment rotating through her veins, her lips turned into a smile; what she wouldn’t give to be stretched out on a sun lounger at her mum’s villa in Majorca at that moment.
‘Lexie? Are you still there? What’s going on?’
The panic in Freya’s tone brought her to her senses and she managed to give her friend a synopsis of the horror story she had played the lead role in that day, opening with the ice-bucket incident and finishing with the heart-breaking epilogue.
‘Oh, Lexie, I’m so, so sorry! What are you going to do?’
‘I have no idea. I can’t take it all in. In the space of two hours, I’ve lost the job I absolutely adore and I’ve stumbled on my fiancé cheating on me whilst he was supposed to be working late. I know he’s an expert in mergers and acquisitions, but I didn’t think his skills would spill over into our personal life!’
She knew that her attempt at levity wouldn’t impress Freya. They had been friends since the age of six, when they’d both been called into the headteacher’s office for cutting up and redesigning the dressing-up clothes to improve the drape. Hers were always dungarees or hot-pants, Freya’s always wedding outfits as a precursor to the bridal boutique - Blissful Brides - she now owned in Pengarth, a small village just outside their home town of St Ives. With a halo of amber curls shot through with highlights of gold, Freya was Lexie’s staunchest ally and shared her penchant for dark chocolate and vodka cocktails.
‘Lexie, you have to talk to Elliot.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Look, I totally understand how you’re feeling, Lex, really I do, but this is one of those times when you have to overcome your tendency to stick your head in the sand when things get tough and demand an explanation, face-to-face. It’s the least you deserve.’
‘I know, I know, but after what happened with Pierre, I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind to cross-examine him over the reasons for his infidelity and rake over the ashes of our relationship.’
‘What about the wedding?’
‘It’s off.’
‘Are you sure? Why don’t you wait until you’ve spoken to him?’
‘It’s one thing I’m absolutely certain about. I saw the way that women looked at him in the restaurant, Freya. They’ve clearly been seeing each other for a while. I had no idea anything was wrong, not even an inkling, and maybe that’s my fault for being so immersed in the minutiae of the fashion show, and maybe I have to accept that we’ve hardly spent any time together these last few weeks, but that’s no excuse to wine and dine your girlfriend at the restaurant across the road from where we live! It’s as if he wants to be seen!’
‘Lexie, you should at least sleep on it. Don’t make any hasty decisions.’
‘No, I have to go with my instinct on this, Freya. The wedding’s off. I’ll text him – even that is more than he deserves – tell him I saw him, ask him not to contact me, and tell him he’s responsible for handling all the cancellations and the phone calls. After all, it was his idea to have the reception in one of the barns at his parents’ farm, not mine!’
‘And then what are you going to do?’
‘Hibernate? Become a hermit?’
‘What about Pierre? You know what he’s like - one minute he blows up like an over-active grenade, the next he’s all apologetic and conciliatory. Firing you was just his knee-jerk reaction to the embarrassment of the impromptu ice-bucket challenge. I bet tomorrow when he’s had chance to think everything through, he’ll see the funny side, or, and I think this is much more likely, when he reads the gossip columns in Sunday’s papers, he’ll realise that this sort of publicity is priceless!’
‘I do know exactly what he’s like, Freya. I’ve put up with his quirky personality for five long years but in all that time, whilst he might bawl people out on a regular basis, he’s never actually fired anyone. And do you know what? If that’s how he repays my loyalty, not to mention all the hours of hard, stressful work and cancelled dates, then I’m not sure that the Pierre Fontaine Fashion House is where my future lies.’
‘Yay! There’s the real Lexie Harrington shining through at last! You know, over the last few months I actually thought I’d lost her to the corporate treadmill Londoners call life. But, as your BFF, there’s no way I’m going to allow you to fester in that studio apartment ruing the calamities that have befallen you!’
Lexie groaned inwardly. Freya knew her better than she knew herself, so she knew exactly what she would be doing for the next few days, or weeks, or maybe even months until she dealt with the inevitable toxic fallout of her shattered relationship whilst searching for a new position at a rival fashion house – curling up on the sofa with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a Sex and the City box set, trying her best to avoid the entreaties of her ex-fiancé. Freya was right; she did suffer from ostrich syndrome when it came to dealing with difficult issues, but she really didn’t want to see Elliot until her fury had abated and she could have a grown-up conversation with him so they could tie up any loose ends in a calm and civil manner.
She wondered if she should splurge on the air fare to Palma and spend some quality time with her mum who, after all, was being denied the opportunity of performing the supporting role of Mother of the Bride – even though she had been vocal in her criticism of Elliot scotching her beloved daughter’s dream to get married on a tropical beach somewhere and not on a farm in the Lake District surrounded by rusty tractors and bales of hay.
She knew she would receive a sympathetic welcome; be wrapped in maternal affection, force-fed her mother’s own-recipe paella, and dragged along to her daily yoga sessions. Her mother had always been an optimist, a firm believer in fate and karma and when the worst had happened five years ago and Lexie’s father had died at the tender age of forty-eight from a heart attack, it was Lexie who had struggled to cope, whilst her mum had declared that life was too short not to have adventures and promptly packed up her home in Cornwall and flew off to live in a tiny villa overlooking the Mediterranean in Porto Cristo where she’d taken the local Flamenco club by storm.
‘Lexie? Are you listening?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I said I have a proposition!’
‘What sort of proposition?’
‘Well, not a proposition, more like a favour?’
‘Sure, anything.’
‘Well, I didn’t want to burden you with my worries while you were busy with the wedding arrangements and getting ready for the show – I knew you had enough on your plate without worrying about me…’
Oh, no! She didn’t think she could take any more bad news. If anything were to happen to Freya, or the happy, no-blips-in-the-road little family she had created after her traumatic childhood, then she would definitely be looking at her sanity in the rear-view mirror! Her heart contracted painfully.