The halibut and cauliflower mash is absolutely delicious andI devour every dainty mouthful. I’m finding it hard to completely relax,though, because in spite of being determined to brazen it out, dining alone ina place like this does feel a bit awkward. Having no one to chat and laughwith, I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, and I keep picking up my phoneand reading messages that don’t even exist just to make out that I’m ‘busy’.Hopefully, people will think I’m a career woman, grabbing a quick lunch inbetween meeting clients.
I order the passion fruit tart for dessert, but waiting awhile for it to arrive, I catch the eye of an elegantly dressed woman on anearby table. She leans forward to her friend to say something and the friendglances over at me with obvious curiosity, which increases my feeling of awkwardnessa hundred-fold. To make matters worse, my face is flushed from the alcohol andI need the loo, but I can’t bear the thought of getting up and trying to locatethe Ladies with everyone staring. Knowing me, I’d trip over or walk into theGents by mistake.
When my dessert arrives, I ask the waiter if I can have thebill. He looks a little surprised but brings it immediately and after I’vepaid, I take a few bites of the passion fruit tart, which is delicious. But Ican’t bear to sit there a moment longer being an object of fascination for thosenosy women. So, with a quick glance around to make sure no one has their beadyeye on me currently, I slip the remains of the tart onto my napkin, bundle itup and shove it into my handbag.
Then I make a hasty exit.
As I make my way down to the ground floor and out into thebustle of Brompton Road, I reflect that ‘relaxing lunch’ it most definitelywasn’t – and there was no way I was leaving that passion fruit tart behind,having paid for it!
*****
On Oxford Street later, I roam around Selfridges and findmyself in women’s fashions, dithering over a corset-style strapless satin dressthat’s exactly my style. The problem is, I can’t decide whether I like the pinkbest or whether I prefer the delicious shade of pistachio green.
I try them both on, twisting this way and that with a frown,unable to make a decision. They’re both utterly gorgeous. Which one do I choose?
Then a realisation hits and I grin at myself in the plushchanging room mirror.
I’m rich. I don’t have to choose. I can buy them both!
Parting with so much money for not one buttwo dressesfeels irresponsible yet thrilling at the same time. My heart is actuallypounding as I leave the store with a big smile on my face. Obviously, I won’tmake a habit of such extravagance. But being able to treat myself is giving mesuch a buzz, although it’s probably time I went home before I do any moredamage to my bank account!
Being able to treat myself has given me such a buzz. Butthen walking to the underground station, I pass a homeless person sitting withhis dog, a few coins lying in the cap beside him. I catch his eye and smile alittle awkwardly and he smiles back, and I walk on, my heart aching for him andhis pooch. Turning, I see that a woman with a dog has stopped beside him andthey seem to be chatting about their pets.
Quickly, while they’re otherwise engaged, I nip back and puttwo twenty-pound notes in the man’s cap, weighting them down with the coinsalready in there. Then I hurry away, not wanting thanks. A dark cloud seems to havepassed over the sun. People shouldn’t be homeless in this day and age, shouldthey?
I tell myself there’s nothing I can really do to help thesituation. But all the same, the thought of the man and his dog sleeping roughhaunts me all the way home...
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Later, back at the flat, I hang my beautiful dressesin the wardrobe. It feels ridiculously extravagant to have bought them both, butit was a one-off and I’ll be wearing them for years to come. That’s myjustification, anyway.
The happy bubble I’ve been living in today has deflated, so tocheer myself up, I go on-line and find the white-washed cottage from themagazine. Reading through the blurb and lingering over the gallery ofphotographs, I feel a growing sense of excited anticipation in my gut andalready, I’m imagining myself living there, far away from the threat of smashedwindows.
The cottage is in a quaintly-named place called CowslipHollow, which I’ve never heard of, although when I Google it, I realise why.It’s a tiny place – just a few houses by the looks of it – about twenty milesfrom here.
When I see the name of the cottage, I’m even more intrigued.
Rose Quartz Cottage.
Rose quartz is a crystal that’s supposed to have healingproperties, isn’t it? Crystal. Krystle?It’s obviously meant to be.
I’m not a great believer in the power of crystals, but itdoes seem odd, that connection with my name. Or am I just looking for any oldconnection to justify the rash decision I might be about to make? I smile tomyself. Sounds about right. But...
Could I really do it? Could I really pack up my stuff here andmove to Rose Quartz Cottage? Adam would help me – he’s got a van – and so wouldCarrie and Ronan.
It’s such a tantalising thought.
The rent is far more than I’ve ever been able to afford, andI get a weird light-headed feeling when I think about spending all that moneyon a year’s rent – on a property that won’t even be mine at the end of it. Butmaybe it could be a ‘stopping-off’ place, while I catch my breath and decideexactly what I want to do with my money? (Or is that yet more justifying?) Mymind is now whirling in confusing circles, although there’s quite a bit ofexcitement mixed in with the doubt. Moving to this beautiful cottage in thecountry would give me a fabulous taste of living in style, something that’slong been a fantasy of mine. But something is holding me back. And thatsomething is my sister.
Because of Carrie’s generosity, splitting her winnings withme the way she did without even a second thought, I still feel I need herapproval before I make any big purchases, like a house or a car. But she’salready told me that the money is mine, to do with what I like. She’s warned meto be careful, but that’s only because she cares.
Perhaps I should just be spontaneous and go for it. (I’vealready furnished the spacious, light-filled rooms in my head and turned itinto the house of my dreams. It would be a shame not to see it through to thefinished result.)
I pull the laptop towards me, hunting for a phone number. Nothingventured, nothing gained. Maybe this will be the start of a shiny new chapterin the so far unremarkable life of Krystle Cartwright.
A big bonus to this plan is that I’ll be able to escapeApril’s clutches because she won’t know where I’ve gone.
My heart is beating fast as I punch in the number...
