Hello Evie. I don’t want us to fall out. Amelia says she forgives you and so do I. The party wouldn’t be the same without you. Hope you can come tomorrow night.
Evie was so desperately embarrassed and ashamed of herself she couldn’t bring herself to answer Freya’s call. She knew the longer she left all the bad feeling to fester, the harder it would be to mend. She read the text, and felt relief that Freya still wanted her at the party, but she was livid at Amelia. ‘She can stick her forgiveness up her arse, but I’m just not sure I can face everyone, even on Freya’s big night.’
Her phone rang again. This time it was Sophia, probably the only person Evie felt she could talk to, so she decided to answer.
Sophia sounded utterly distraught, as though she was trying to stop herself breaking down. “Thank God you picked up, Evie. I honestly don’t know where to begin. I can’t do thisanymore. I’m telling Finn it’s all over. He hasn’t been in touch, and he obviously doesn’t care enough about me to make this work. I’m still coming up for the party, though. Can I stay with you? I’m heading to the airport in a couple of hours. Could you pick me up?”
Sophia was so downhearted Evie felt she couldn’t burden her with her own troubles. She would wait until they were together, sitting in the kitchen and sharing a bottle of wine. She told her that of course she could stay and she’d be there to pick her up in Florence. They could talk more tonight.
Evie was bitterly disappointed that Finn hadn’t immediately made things right after the talking-to he was given by herself and Freya. For the next half hour, Evie busied herself sorting out the spare room for Sophia’s arrival.
“Men are such clowns,” she muttered to herself, as she changed the duvet and left clean towels on the bed. “All Finn had to do was tell Sophia he was sorry, and then look at Ross mooning all over that two-faced Amelia. I expected better of him. I thought he was way too good for her, but now I’m not so sure. I would have expected him to realise she’s a complete phoney.”
Evie had talked about Amelia going out with Ross in one of her many WhatsApp calls with Sophia. She also confessed to her friend that she felt as if she was in the movieSingle White Female, where a deranged Jennifer Jason Leigh creepily copied the looks and life of Bridget Fonda.
They had laughed about it, but Evie knew Amelia had now crossed a line. The trouble was Amelia had fooled everyone else and it felt as though she was the only one who could see what Amelia was really like. She needed to see Sophia in person for a proper catch up, and she needed her friend’s reassurance she wasn’t overreacting and losing her mind.
She jumped as her phone pinged with a message from Sophia. Evie expected it to say her plane was delayed but instead it read:
You will never believe it. Finn has just walked through my door. He is babbling all sorts of nonsense and keeps apologising and saying he wants to go and see Essex beavers. I don’t know what you and Freya said to him, but it has done the trick.
He’s in the shower right now and I think I will be tied up for the foreseeable future if you get my drift. Sorry I won’t make the flight today. I hate letting you down. But I will let you know how it all goes and we will both get the first plane up tomorrow.
Evie was deeply disappointed not to see her friend, but at the same time, relieved that Finn had taken action after all, and made the long trek down to London to make things right with the woman he loved.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Orkney, two weeks earlier
Liv received a curt text from Amelia telling her that it was all systems go and they had a solicitor’s appointment at 2pm on Kirkwall high street. Liv sighed heavily.
For the first time in months, she found herself desperate for a drink. A freezing-cold can of lager, almost painful to swallow, burning her throat on the way down, or a bottle of big-bodied red wine, full of fruity oblivion.
She spent the morning trying to distract herself, cleaning every corner of the already clinically pristine flat, and pacing up and down her tiny living room until she had to leave to meet Amelia at the solicitors as planned.
Liv gasped when she saw Amelia. The resemblance to Evie was uncanny, and Amelia had played it up even more by perfectly replicating Evie’s distinctive elegant casual style.
They agreed that Liv would do all the talking as Amelia’s American accent was too much of a giveaway.
Liv told the receptionist bluntly, “We both have an appointment with Mrs McIver. I’m Liv Muir and this is my sister, Evie.”
“Just take a seat in the waiting room. Mrs McIver’s with a client but she’s just finishing up and won’t be long.”
The receptionist, Mirren, a plump fair-haired woman with a most impressive bosom, which she kept hidden under baggybrown Fair Isle jumpers, sneaked another look at Liv, who clearly didn’t remember who she was.
Mirren had been a few years ahead of Liv at school, but she recalled her as a troublemaker and a bully. Mirren had been one of the many kids who was forced to hand over their pocket money to Liv and her gang.
Mirren had to admit that Liv had cleaned up her act. She no longer looked like a ravenous crow. She’d put on a bit of weight, her hair was going grey, and she looked less bitter and angry, but Mirren still wouldn’t like to get on her bad side.
She vaguely remembered Evie as a bookish child who had run away to London but had returned recently and opened up the new art gallery. She remembered reading about her in a glossy magazine. She looked amazing. The combination of green eyes and blonde hair was striking. And that cashmere camel coat over a brown sweater and trousers looked so elegant.
Evie looked rich and successful while Mirren was suddenly all too aware her knickers didn’t match her bra and her shoes needed a clean. She went back to a game of solitaire on her computer and waited for Mrs McIver’s current client to leave.
Amelia had specifically chosen to see Joan McIver. The solicitor had arrived from Edinburgh a few months ago with her husband, Aden, and two small children. They’d sold their townhouse in Bruntsfield and bought a large crumbling mansion just outside Birsay, in the north of mainland Orkney, and were busy turning it back from a hotel into a family home. It was her husband’s passion project and he spent every hour of the day on site.
In the meantime, they were living in one of the small cottages on the grounds. She was overworked, stressed and worried about how much cash had to be thrown at the house which had turned into a money pit.
On the plus side, she had never seen Aden so happy and the kids were thriving with a lovely young nanny from the village of Dounby. They had already picked up her sing-song accent and said peedie instead of little.
