a good decision tonight, Bella. Don’t complicate it.’
He was going, reaching blindly for his coat as he went, not looking back. She said his name in a disbelieving whisper. But all she heard was the front door opening and closing behind him.
6
‘Friends, Parents and the Art of Breaking Up’ – Girl About Town
It was not a good week. A dozen times a day Bella was on the brink of calling Richard. A dozen times a day she cut the call just before it started to ring. One day she would be too late, she thought. And where would that leave her? Would he even answer?
Meanwhile she seemed to see his picture everywhere – in a new batch of glossy magazines that came into the surgery, in the free paper Tube Talk which she bought on the way to work in the morning, in the Daily Despatch and other newspapers. From hardly noticing the Royal Family, she seemed to be reading about them all the time.
Queen Jane launched a ship; King Henry opened an exhibition of early machinery in a waterworks dating from the Industrial Revolution; Prince Richard gave a speech at a degree ceremony in a college of further education. On Thursday all three of them went to the opera. It was Wagner. The King looked as if he had been dragged there and was suffering, but Queen Jane was graciousness itself, not a hair out of place and her regal tiara glittering. Richard, in the regulation tuxedo, looked quiet and a little tired. Bella found herself stroking his face on the printed page.
As soon as she realised, she snatched her hand away. Fool. Fool.
From Richard himself there was no word. Well, she didn’t expect it.
Lottie was an angel. She must have taken a change of clothes for the morning when she left the flat on the night of the date because she did not come back for breakfast. But she did ring the next morning.
‘How are you? Hung over?’
‘A bit.’ Bella wasn’t, but it was as good an excuse as any. She had not slept much and she had dark circles under her eyes. Make-up had been a major undertaking that morning and she had stopped off on the way to work to buy herself a new phial of Touche Éclat.
‘Where did he take you?’
‘Oh, a little place he knew. You won’t know it.’
‘Did people recognise him?’
‘Not that I noticed.’
‘Bella, are you OK?’
She started to say, ‘I’m fine,’ then thought better of it. ‘No, I’m not actually, Lotts. But can we talk about it later?’
Lottie drew in a sharp breath. ‘What did the bastard do?’
She was always ready to go to war for a friend, Bella remembered. It was kind of comforting. But she had to be stopped.
‘Nothing. He didn’t do anything. Look, Lotts, I can’t talk about it. Not now. Please?’ Her voice cracked on the last word.
‘Ah. All right. See you tonight then?’
‘Yes.’
Lottie must have left work early because she was waiting when Bella got home, with the fire blazing and a delicious smell wafting from the kitchen along with the mellow tones of Christian Tabouré.
‘Moroccan stew,’ said Lottie. ‘It won’t be done for ages. Have a bath. Soak away the day. Help yourself to the Roman bath oil. Then come and have a drink.’
Bella did. When she emerged, she found that Lottie had left a package on her bed, wrapped in silver tissue paper. She ripped it open and discovered a floor-length kimono in softest sapphire silk. She put it on at once and went out to the sitting room, feeling distinctly weepy.
‘Oh, Lottie, you are so kind. It’s gorgeous.’
Lottie was curled up on the sofa with her feet tucked under a cushion, reading. She looked up, discarding her novel. ‘I knew it was your colour as soon as I saw it. Gosh, I wish I was a blonde.’
Bella blinked her damp eyelashes. ‘You could be if you wanted. I’m sure Carlos would love the challenge.’
Lottie shook her head sadly. ‘Carlos wouldn’t hear of it. Says I’ve got the wrong skin tone. He lets me have gold highlights sometimes.’
‘Do you want a drink? I still make a mean Margarita. Or there’s wine.’
‘What I’d really like is tea,’ Bella confessed.
‘You shall have it.’
‘You’re a star.’
Lottie stood up and plumped the pillow, waving Bella on to the sofa. ‘Go on, cuddle up and toast your toes. I’ll put a brew on and stir the stew a bit. Back in a jiffy.’