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Marc drained his coffee with a grimace befitting a drama queen and flounced out. Sophie met Marcia’s eye and they crumpled into a fit of giggles. Tom, however, remained stony-faced, swinging his glare from one girl to the other as he waited for them to get a grip on their laughter.
‘If I agree to let Marcia draft a lesson plan for the school, then you, Sophie, have to organise those “stitch and bitch” sessions this week.’ That stopped their hilarity in its tracks. ‘I’ve got a friend over in Cranbury who owns the printer’s shop. I’m sure Jon will be able to run off a few flyers for you. Who were you thinking of targeting?’
‘Well,’ Sophie said, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve, ‘Nessa mentioned the girls at school and there are Claire’s WI friends in the knitting club.’
‘And there’s my reading group and writers’ circle friends,’ Marcia offered, sitting up straight in her chair, excitement written boldly across her features.
‘Okay…’
‘And Delia’s Friday night girls and my mum’s friends from the MS support group at the hospital?’
‘Great,’ said Sophie, with diminishing enthusiasm.
‘And maybe Tom can supply the cupcakes, you know, just for the launch? “A Sweet Temptation”?’
Sophie never would have believed Marcia could become so animated about a project and it sent a surge of delight through her chest. It was true – she did have the organisational skills to match those of an army general.
‘So next Tuesday, then?’ Marcia continued. ‘Shall we say seven o’clock? I’ll design the flyer and email it across to Tom’s friend. Will you call Jon tonight, Tom?’
‘Erm, sure, okay, Marcia.’
Was that a steamroller retreating from her crushed bones?wondered Sophie.
From their seats at the table Sophie and Tom watched like frozen goldfish as Marcia tripped from the shop, neither of them quite realising what had happened and how Marc and Marcia had got away with it. She might look like a shy bookworm, but Marcia was no slouch in the bulldozing stakes.
‘Thanks for the coffee, Sophie. I’ve got to visit Dad. Bye.’
Tom disappeared leaving Sophie with her swirling thoughts. Ripples of ivory and indigo stretched across the retiring sky as she dropped the sneck on the door and pulled down the blind. She heaved a heavy sigh, wishing she could turn the clock back twelve months when her life had been dull and boring, with no celebrity wedding gown to design and no haberdashery shop to run – even if it had been nicknamed “the cosiest little wool shop in the Cotswolds”!
As Sophie reached to flick the light switch, dreaming of a hot bath and a glass of Merlot, her eye caught on the brown paper package Iris had given Delia the previous week, which she’d shoved under the counter and clearly forgotten about.
First of all, she removed the large white envelope containing Marcia’s two short stories to be proofed by Delia’s sharp eye. She flipped open the flap and drew out the neatly typed sheets of papers and glanced at the heading, her lips curling into a smile.The Lustful Lancelot by Clementine Johnson –fabulous; a good romance was exactly what she needed to accompany her bubble bath and wine. She hoped Marcia wouldn’t mind; as she’d had many short stories published, she didn’t think so.
She tucked the envelope under her arm and was about to leave when she remembered the brown-paper-encased bundle.She lifted it from its shadowy confines, a stab of guilt causing her to pause and wonder if she was trampling on Delia’s privacy. But as she peeled back the wrapping to take a peek, she saw it contained nothing more personal than a trio of paperback books.
Curious as to the sort of novels Iris and Marcia were sharing with Delia – and why they were encased in brown paper – Sophie turned the books out onto the glass counter. Her eyes bulged from their sockets. An instant tickle of amusement breached her throat and burst forth into peals of laughter, culminating in tears of mirth.
Oh, what a relief it was to laugh out loud, she thought as she picked up one of the books to study the jacket blurb, wiping her eyes on one of the pink napkins left by Tom.
She mounted the stairs, the books tucked securely under her arm, to enjoy her first foray into a trilogy of full-length stories that were clearly steamy romance.
Chapter Eighteen
Sophie-Louise Bridal Couture, Wimbledon, London
‘Don’t forget, Tish, you have to let me do the talking at the next boutique,’ warned Nikki as she clambered from the back seat of the black cab onto the pavement outside Sophie-Louise Bridal.
‘Why did you have to tell that Brigitte Gasnier woman I was pregnant? Did you see the way her eyes narrowed? Please don’t use the same excuse this time, Nikki,’ pleaded Tish, removing her compact and reapplying a slick of pearly pink lipstick for the tenth time. ‘Oh, isn’t this an adorable little shop? I love the peppermint-and-gold theme. I bet this is where the fairy-tale gown was designed. It has to be.’
‘Tish, stop with the romance claptrap, will you? Someone needs to break it to you that there’s no such thing as “true love that lasts forever”.’ She signed the universally accepted two-fingered speech marks of sarcasm.
Tish’s lower lip trembled with annoyance, but she rallied. She tossed her curls behind her ears and fixed her eyes on Nikki. ‘Finding a soulmate is a tough task, I get that. It can take years. And you’re right; some people may never find “the one”. But you know what? I’m never going to stop looking and when I do find him, I’m going to use every weapon in my armoury to hang on to him. If the choice is happiness versus loneliness, I know which I’d rather invest in.’
‘But what’s the point? There’s nothing you can do if your soulmate decides to run off with a shop assistant from the local department store, is there?’ asked Nikki.
Tish ignored her; she was on a roll. ‘My theory is that the more love you give, the more you receive. The more you expect it to fall into your lap when you’re not looking, the less likely it is that you’ll find it. You need to let people into your heart, Nikki. Sure, I adore weddings, but don’t misunderstand me – I love romance more. I love happiness more. I love being in love more. After all the glitz and hype, even actresses and rock stars have at some stage to go home and cook dinner and wash the dishes. And those mundane tasks in life are made much more interesting if your soulmate is at your side slicing the sushi.’
Nikki stared at Tish as though she had gone stark raving bonkers. ‘Tish, will you pull yourself together? Don’t you understand how serious this is? Your first celebrity client, Lilac Verbois, is getting married in three months’ time. She has no gown. Don’t you think she’ll have a problem with walking down the aisle in her lingerie? I’ve about had enough of this “make-believe” fairy tale you insist on living in. Get over it. Life isn’t a picture-book story with a Prince Charming just waiting in the wings to whisk… What?’
