‘Rachel’s going to love having to make room for another painting this late in the day, and particularly one that big.’
‘That’s so what I said. But then he said she would have to bloody well like it because if she refused to include it he would pull the whole show.’
‘Wow.’ It sounded as if Charlie did need more sleep. ‘Drama!’
‘I know, right? Anyway, she came over yesterday.’
‘Rachel?’
‘Yeah. She showed up after lunch and went out to the studio. She must have been here for about half an hour but when she left she looked happy enough, so I guess it’s all fine.’
Although she knew he was busy, on Tuesday Becky decided she had put off talking to Charlie long enough. If only to maintain the illusion of professionalism she should talk to him before the show.
She waited until Dylan was immobilised by his favourite television programme and shut herself in the kitchen. She told herself not to be so daft—it was only a New Year’s kiss—and dialled his number.
She ran her fingers up and down the countertop while she waited for the call to connect. Eventually there was a click and she heard distant, high-pitched laughter accompanied by muttering and noises that suggested the phone had been retrieved at some cost.
‘Hello?’
‘Ms Watson! Hello!’
Becky cleared her throat, which was suddenly dry and scratchy. ‘Hello, Ms Stone. How are you?’
‘Wonderful, thank you. Everyone’s so excited about the exhibition.’
‘That’s great. Great. You must be pleased,’ she said, the enthusiasm draining from her voice. ‘Can I speak to Char— Um … I mean … May I speak to John, please?’
Rachel lowered her voice. ‘I’m sure you could, but he’s busy at the moment and I know you wouldn’t want to disturb him.’
It was true Charlie didn’t like distractions when he was working. But apparently it was OK for Rachel to be there, yesterday and today as well, taking his calls and ‘disturbing’ him.
‘Right, right. I’ll call another time. Just, if you could tell him I rang, I’d appreciate it.’
‘Shall do! Bye!’
Becky opened her mouth to say goodbye but Rachel had already hung up.
She put the phone down on the kitchen counter and started to make tea. Keep calm and make tea: wasn’t that what the English did in the face of disaster? No, she corrected herself, this wasn’t a disaster; this was good. She now knew what she had wanted to know: it was all a New Year’s blip. It was midnight, he couldn’t find his date, he’d had a few drinks and so he kissed his sturdiest member of staff after she threw herself at him. It all made sense, said her sensible self: once again, she was just the other woman.
But at the same time, the tiny, timid voice struggled to remind her what she had felt in that supposed moment of madness. For while the details of the kiss were fading as each day passed, she remained certain of what Charlie had put into it: warmth, strength and tenderness. The very best of himself.
Chapter 52
Charlie didn’t return Becky’s call and life carried on. She and Virgil agreed a date in mid-January to have a proper meeting about working together; she shortlisted nurseries where Dylan could start the following year; and she met with a nervous future groom to see whether she could help with his spring wedding.
With all this and her usual domestic tasks, the time to opening night flew by. She blessed Lloyd’s extravagance as she pulled on the black dress he’d sent her as one option for the ball. It fitted well and was as comfortable as she had hoped.
In the second blessing of the evening, Phoebe was late to collect her. As it was, she had no chance to do anything else with her hair but dry it and let it fall over her shoulders, and was still finishing her make-up when the doorbell rang.
The first night of the exhibition started at six and was due to finish at eight. Phoebe had agreed to come and collect Becky and Dylan at seven. That way Becky would only have to keep Dylan amused in a boring, ‘don’t touch!’ building for about forty-five minutes, and Phoebe would be present for the start of proceedings when the press would be in attendance.
Becky stopped humming ‘La Vie en Rose’, which was starting to become a habit, and ran down the stairs. She shuffled Dylan away from the door and opened it to find Phoebe shivering on the doorstep. It was a foggy, freezing night and there was a harsh breeze in the air. Becky stood aside and waved her in.
‘Hi!’ Phoebe said as she crossed the threshold. ‘We’re here!’
She was opening her mouth to ask who ‘we’ were, when Ronnie scuttled past her. ‘Bloody hell, Becks, take your time answering the door why don’t you? Not that it’s frigging freezing out there or anything.’
The final person to come through the door was a woman with long brown hair and dark eyes. She was familiar, but Becky couldn’t place her.
Phoebe stepped forward to supply the missing introduction. ‘This is my Aunt Lauren.’
‘Lauren? What are you doing here?’
Lauren laughed and gave Becky a hug.
As they pulled apart, Becky corrected herself. ‘I mean, when did you get here?’
‘Yesterday morning,’ Lauren said, blinking her bloodshot eyes. ‘Still jet-lagged. It’s madness. But when I heard how big this whole thing was getting, I couldn’t miss it. And, between you and me …’ She dropped her voice. ‘I jumped at the chance to have a good reason for a week away from two teenage boys and their father. I love them but …’ She exhaled noisily, puffing out her cheeks and letting Becky complete the picture.
‘It’s lovely to finally meet you,’ said Becky.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched suspiciously as Phoebe removed Dylan’s coat and shoes and picked up his slippers. Meanwhile, Ronnie had disappeared into the kitchen. From the banging and slamming of cupboards, Becky assumed she was trying to make tea.
‘How’s it going at the gallery?’
‘Great,’ said Lauren and Phoebe.
‘Huh!’ said Ronnie, her head appearing through the archway from the kitchen. ‘He’s been asking after you every five minutes. And Rachel was doing my head in as well. Wherever I went she was right next to me, droning on and on. Everything that woman says is total shite.’
‘Hey!’ said Becky, covering Dylan’s ears.
Ronnie was undeterred. ‘When Phoebe said she had a legitimate excuse for leaving we both jumped at the chance of getting out of there.’
Ronnie disappeared back into the kitchen and resumed the clanging. Becky grinned and turned to Lauren. ‘So not as thrilling as a night in the West End then?’
‘Not exactly. I love my brother, but those people make me want to break things.’
The noise in the kitchen ceased and Ronnie came back into the room holding three tall glasses and a bottle of spirits. ‘Don’t you have anything that isn’t rum?’
‘I do apologise. I wasn’t expecting you this evening or I’d have the bar fully stocked,’ Becky said as she settled further back into the armchair.
‘It’s all right: I’m driving,’ said Lauren, who had taken her brother’s usual spot on the sofa. ‘And we don’t have much time before we have to get back, so I’ll come straight to the point.’