‘You need a dress with the wow factor.’
‘And where am I going to get one of those by sunset? I have no idea how to work a high fashion look.’
‘Taxi?’ He laughed. ‘Luckily I didn’t drink the beer. I’m okay to drive.’ He tossed the keys to the sports car into the air and caught them with the other hand.
She dropped into the passenger seat while he held open the door. It clunked shut, and he rounded the bonnet, and slid in next to her. He started the engine. Its deep rumble was seductive, like everything about him. As his fingers gripped the gearstick, her eyes were drawn to the way his faded denim jeans hugged his thighs. He skillfully wove the car out of the village, collecting awed glances from strangers. He wound around the high-hedged Cornish lanes, shifting up a gear and increasing his speed when they hit an empty stretch of straight road. The wind whipped at her hair and sent it flying into her face. She felt so uncool next to the head-turning man in the driving seat. Behind dark shades, he fixed his eyes on the road, throwing an instinctive glance every now and then at his rearview mirror. Self-conscious about the comments at the pub, she dug around in her handbag for something to tie her hair back.
‘Why are you helping me Nick?’
Focused on driving, he didn’t look at her. ‘Why not?’
‘You don’t have to. You could set off for Paris right away and leave me to it.’
‘I want to.’ Hitting the edge of town, he stopped the car at a red light, and turned momentarily to meet her eyes. She looked away. ‘We’re buying a dress. Don’t over analyze it.’
That was typical Nick. He did nice things for her. He did explosive things to her body. But there was a defensiveness about him that warned her off as clearly as a ‘keep out’ sign.
He parked the car in the market square. Sitting amongst a couple of cafés and some small gift shops, a handful of chain stores dotted one side of the square. Picking one she liked, she pushed open the door. Nick touched her shoulder. His fingers slid to her upper arm, connecting with bare skin, and spinning golden threads of warmth through her veins.
‘Not this one,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Let’s try that one over there.’
In a restored Georgian building with a fancy façade and gleaming windows, a smart department store dominated the market square. ‘It’s rather high end. I never go there. It’s not very me.’
‘It’s exactly what we’re looking for. When I was a kid I went to boarding school in a little town about forty miles from London. My mother used to fly in to visit me and Alex. She’d take us out for afternoon tea in a store exactly like that. Alex would hang out in the audiovisual section watching TV while I spent hours listening to the shop assistants give her advice.’
Her heart fluttered. ‘That sounds like an endurance test.’
He smiled. ‘I didn’t mind. I liked spending time with her – when she was sober. We didn’t see her often.’ He gently laced his fingers through hers and they walked across the square. Reluctantly she kept putting one foot in front of the other as if her legs were made of lead. ‘The makeovers were nothing more than a quick fix. My mother had a hard time feeling good about herself.’
She stared at the window display, avoiding her reflection, and doubting that there’d be a single item inside that she could afford without blowing some of her savings. She pushed fluttery fingers into her windblown hair. They stuck fast in knots. ‘I can’t go in there. I look like I’ve been through a hedge backwards.’
Nick swept her ahead of him into the revolving door. Inside the store he pulled off his sunglasses and looked her up and down appreciatively. ‘You look fine.’ The wicked smile twisted his lips. ‘Tousled,’ he added. ‘But fine.’ He lowered his voice to a throaty whisper and adopted his best period character voice to suit the centuries-old building as if it was a stage set. ‘And most charming, I might add, Miss Rivers.’ She was grateful that he wanted to help, but it stung that this was her real life and to him it was just a bit of fun.
Ahead of them, through an ocean of perfume and cosmetic counters, a grand stone staircase oozed bygone elegance. Trying hard to ignore the half-pitying, half-disapproving stares from the pristine shop assistants, she looked straight ahead. Even so, the admiring glances reserved for Nick didn’t go unnoticed. She avoided the other women’s immaculately made-up eyes, embarrassed to look left or right and catch sight of a mirror.
Upstairs in the fashion department her heart beat faster. ‘This is madness. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t need a dress because I’m not going to the party.’ She spun around ready to run down the stairs and back out into the safety and fresh air of the street.
‘Wait.’ Nick grasped her arm, his touch firm and gentle. She turned back to face him, sucking in a deep breath. ‘Chill. You can do this.’
She tossed her head and let her breath go irritably. ‘You’re wrong. I’m not like you. I’m not an actor. I can’t switch my emotions on and off at the drop of a hat. If I go to the party I’m going to look like a wally, hanging around, waiting for whatever crumbs of attention Joe’s prepared to give me.’
‘That’s not going to happen. You’re with me.’
Her heart skittered. She looked away only to be caught out by the sight of her full-length reflection in an ornate mirror. Amazingly – bright red bird’s nest hair aside – she didn’t look as ridiculous standing next to Nick as she’d imagined. She hated to admit it, but he’d got it right. If she stayed at home, hiding, while half of Porthkara partied, everyone would think she was miserable. They’d worry. Like it or not, she’d have to put on a smile, go to the party, and act like she was having a good time. If she didn’t people would be upset. Trish had worked her socks off to get everything ready at such short notice. Whatever she thought of Joe, his mum and dad were friends, they’d always been kind to her. She hadn’t expected to be invited, but since she had been, she’d tough it out and put on a show of no hard feelings, to keep everyone happy.
‘I kept quiet about finishing with Joe because in a tiny corner of my head I held on to the possibility that we might patch things up.’
‘When all along it turns out you didn’t want to?’
She didn’t answer the question. She paced between the rails, collecting a selection of dresses, her choices based purely on the size printed on the tags and nothing to do with colour or style or whether she particularly liked them. She fumed with annoyance. ‘I’ve been in limbo for months, waiting to hear back from him.’
‘Marrying somebody new makes for a much more dramatic ending than simply ‘fessing up and telling people that you and he fizzled out.’
‘You make it sound like he only did it to get back at me. That’s outrageous. Nobody could be that stupid. Not even Joe.’
Her arms too full of dresses to continue searching, he helpfully took them from her, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘Here, allow me!’
‘The truth is I didn’t know what I wanted.’
‘You didn’t want to hurt people.’
‘I ended up hurting me.’
‘I can’t undo that,’ Nick said solemnly.
‘If this is what it takes to prove I’m over him, bring it on.’ She tossed the words over her shoulder on her way to the changing room. ‘I’m stronger than when he went away. I’m ready to turn my ideas into something concrete. As soon as I get back from Paris, I’m waiting for nothing. I’m getting my business up and running. By the time he gets off that campsite my life’s going to be running on such a different track he won’t recognize me.’
When she appeared in her umpteenth dress, Nick was reclined provocatively on a red leather sofa outside the changing room. It was actually only about the seventh dress, but to him it felt like more. His expertise was strictly amateur, and owed itself to years of assuring his glamorous mother she looked the part, but none of the dresses looked right on Layla. There was nothing wrong with them. They were lovely, and she looked good, but gut instinct told him that good wasn’t enough. He wanted nothing short of spectacular.
‘I look like a ballerina crossed with a cappuccino.’
In a froth of tulle layers in shades of light coffee and off-white he tried not to smile at her comparison, but felt a rogue wry twinge break across his lips regardless and had to laugh. He couldn’t admit it wasn’t the jaw-dropping gorgeous he had in mind without making her feel bad.
‘Truthfully, I like you best undressed.’
‘That’s deeply unhelpful.’ She withered him with gleaming eyes. The last few days had passed in a blur. He’d lost sense of time. She made him smile. More than that, she made it hard not to smile. He liked her unconventional dress sense, and her wonderful hair. But it wasn’t about her look, because he liked her from the inside out and to top it all off her body without clothes did indescribably good things to him.
‘Tonight, you’re going to be one half of a Hollywood power couple.’ She smirked like she’d never heard anything quite so hilariously unlikely. ‘I’m not being funny,’ he insisted, ‘There may not be a limo. There may not be a red carpet. But when you walk into the party tonight, you are going to be the most stunning woman in the room.’
‘I love that you believe I could be anywhere near that person, but, honestly, I just need to turn up looking presentable, say my hellos, hold my head high, and go.’
‘And you will. Let’s think about this. What would Maggie say? Let’s call her.’
He pressed dial and speaker, handed her the phone and when her friend’s voice answered she spilled her guts. ‘It’s me. Joe’s home. And there’s a party at the restaurant. And I’m in a shop. And I need help.’
‘Why are you on Nick’s phone?’ Maggie asked.
‘Because,’ she said sulkily and pouted in his direction. ‘It’s all his fault.’
‘Not Joe’s?’
‘His too.’ Layla grudgingly admitted. ‘Mostly his to be fair. What should I wear?’
‘You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. In other words, you have to look like you’re not trying too hard.’
She pulled a face. ‘Oh my gosh. I’m losing the will to live. What’s the difference?’
‘The key thing is to arrive at the party looking absolutely amazing and as if it’s taken no effort at all.’
Layla pinched the bridge of her nose and scrunched up her face. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Where’s Nick?’
‘Right here.’
‘Are you and he …?’ Maggie asked.
‘Sort of. Yes.’ Layla said, raising her eyebrows at him. ‘Not right this minute obviously.’
He stifled a guffaw.
‘So, you worked out what to do with him then?’
‘Funny! You could put it that way. I suppose. He’s taking me to Paris.’
‘Really?’ Maggie’s voice resonated with delight and surprise. ‘Right. Give me Nick.’
Layla passed his phone back to him, and he switched off speaker, thinking he shouldn’t risk any other raised eyebrows in the store. Layla swished the curtain on her changing cubicle and vanished behind it to take off the frothy cappuccino dress. By the time she stuck her head out from behind the curtain he’d deciphered Maggie’s advice.
‘Wait here.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘We need sophisticated understated glamour. She said along the lines of the dress she wore to the Wells Wish Foundation Gala at the Empire State Building. She looked awesome. In the perfect dress so will you.’
He took out his phone again to show her a picture of Maggie in New York. He speedily scrolled and held his mobile out for her to see.
‘Who’s the girl in the photo?’
Damn it, in his hurry, he’d hit the wrong image.
‘No one important.’ Completely thrown by his stupidity, he stopped dead, lost for words. ‘Just the kid of … of an ex-girlfriend, actually.’
‘She sent you a picture of her daughter?’
He felt ashamed of the lie, claiming Beth was no one important. Damn it. This thing was bubbling just below the surface. He wanted to admit that Fran and Beth were the real reason he couldn’t face the world right now. But it wouldn’t be fair to dump his problem on her.
‘We lost touch. I guess she decided it was time to catch up.’
‘Pretty girl.’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
He peered at the picture, taking in the features of the smiling girl for the hundredth time. She had messy-on-purpose shoulder length brown hair and a long slender nose, a little turned up at the tip, just like her mother. And her eyes … looking at them was like hearing a whispered secret, seeing a memory of some part of himself that he’d rather forget.
He searched for the right picture, the one of Maggie, and held it out to Layla. ‘See?’ he said, ‘The look’s been tried and tested. We just need to find something similar.’
He did a circuit of the fashion department, stared at a store mannequin artfully draped in a silver gown, the kind of thing his mother loved, totally over the top with a price tag to match. He rejected it, cornered the nearest assistant and showed her the photo of Maggie looking stunning in a full-length sequined graphite and black zebra print dress, the back sculpted low.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘So not quite as formal as this, shorter would be good, and my … significant other doesn’t need to sparkle from head to toe, but the overall look …’
The assistant nodded and politely listened to his floundering attempt at fashion styling. ‘If it’s a fab little black dress you’re after, how about this?’ She held up a dress with a flattering neckline adorned with shimmering diamante buttons. ‘It has a certain je ne sais quoi.’
Layla looked amazing when she emerged to show off the dress. The column of black set off the colour of her hair.
‘It’s beautiful, I love it, but …’ She extracted the label from somewhere at the back of her neck and contortedly squinted at the price. ‘It’s not right for tonight.’
‘What do you mean, it’s not right? It’s perfect. Trust me. I know what works.’
‘It really suits you.’ The assistant backed him up, adding in an effort to appear unbiased, ‘I’ll leave you to think about it.’
Layla disappeared and returned in her jeans and paint-spattered tee holding the dress at arm’s length.
‘What can I say to convince you?’
‘I can’t afford this,’ she protested quietly. ‘It was a nice thought. But I can dig around in my wardrobe. I’m sure I’ll find something that will do.’
‘Give it to me. I’ll get the assistant to put it back.’ As lies went it wasn’t a bad one. There was no way she was leaving the store without that dress.
‘I’ll nip downstairs and see if I can find a new lippy. There might be something on sale. I’ll see you down there.’
Five minutes later, she was chatting with the girls at one of the makeup counters when he joined her. ‘Success?’
She beamed like the cat that got the cream, and held up a tiny bag. ‘Yep.’
‘Me too.’ He pushed the strings of the carrier bag containing the dress over her shoulder. ‘I got you this.’
‘What the—?’
He cut her off. ‘One the girls upstairs called the salon in the basement for me. They’ve had a couple of cancellations so you’re booked in with the junior nail technician and the senior hair stylist.’
‘What happened to not trying too hard?’
‘Thanks to my crash course with Maggie, I gather looking effortlessly amazing doesn’t mean no effort’s been made.’ She opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her the chance. ‘I’m taking care of it. You’ve looked after me this week, now it’s my turn to do something for you.’