One Christmas Eve, page 6
Bree’s grin preceded the second good news moment of the day. ‘Well, I’m about to give you the best Christmas present, because the sheriff has adjourned the case. I explained our client was held up…’
‘Is he?’ Helena wondered if she’d missed something.
Bree pushed back her long poker-straight auburn hair and fastened her jacket. ‘No idea. I was just stalling for time and living in hope, but the sheriff was having none of it. Adjourned until January, although he’s agreed, in the spirit of Christmas, not to issue a warrant for his arrest for non-attendance today. Win-win. No harm to our waste-of-space client and we get to go home early on Christmas Eve.’
Today was just getting better and better.
‘Look,’ Bree went on. ‘I’d really like to go join a friend for lunch, so would you mind going back to the office and filing this paperwork and then chasing down our client before you call it a day?’
Helena shook her head. ‘Of course not. I’ll take care of it. My sad obsession with doing everything in a timely manner would only spoil the rest of the day if I bunked off anyway.’
‘Sad but true,’ Bree agreed and Helena noticed how perfect her teeth were. Flawless. Like the rest of her. This was definitely veering between friendship and a bit of a girl crush. She wanted to be exactly like Bree Halston when she grew up.
They made their way out onto the street and Bree whistled for a taxi. One stopped almost immediately. ‘Jump in and I’ll drop you at the office,’ Bree offered.
‘No, it’s fine, I can walk.’ Even as she was saying it, Helena could feel the hot sweat being rapidly replaced with a pervasive chill that was seeping straight into her bones. Bloody hell, it must be about minus four degrees right now. Glasgow in December required more than a smart suit and heels.
‘Don’t be crazy – it would freeze your feet off out here and the whole city centre will be bedlam with Christmas shoppers. It’ll take ages to navigate the crush.’
Helena didn’t refuse a second time. Instead, she climbed into the black Hackney cab and took the flip-down seat opposite Bree. They chatted about their plans for New Year during the ten-minute ride back to the office, and when they got there, Bree stretched over and hugged her.
‘Okay, well, I’ll leave you here. Have a lovely Christmas and a fab birthday tomorrow, and I’ll see you in January. Make sure you get every bit of enjoyment you can over the next couple of weeks, because I plan to keep that brilliant brain of yours busy next year.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Helena said, returning the hug, clambering out and turning to wave as the taxi drove off. Her body temperature had finally regulated and now she just felt the warm glow of someone who was loving her life. Her cheeks were starting to hurt with smiling and that wasn’t a familiar sensation on Planet Helena. She was much more comfortable at the focused and serious end of the emotional spectrum. Or as her mother called it, the ‘face like a wet weekend’ side of the scale. What her mother didn’t understand was that the law and her own ambitions to succeed gave her much more pleasure than half a dozen Pina Coladas and a sing-song on a Saturday night lock-in at the salon. Her mum chose that life. The soon-to-be Helena McLean Quinn chose this one.
There were only a couple of secretaries and die-hard assistants still in the office, as the rest of her fellow solicitors had already bunked off for Christmas. They deserved it. All year long, they worked ninety-hour weeks, especially in the junior ranks, so no one could blame them for cutting short the work day on Christmas Eve. As soon as she was sure all tasks were completed, and her desk was clear, she had every intention of doing the same thing.
The white fairy lights on the eight-foot real tree in the hallway were twinkling, and there were cards on display on a few desks, but those – and the deserted rooms – were the only nods to the time of year.
In the office she shared with two others, both nowhere to be seen, Helena quickly filed the paperwork and updated the computer systems with the situation regarding this morning’s case. Next, she called every phone number she had for their errant client – his own, his girlfriend’s, his mum’s – but they all went unanswered. She refused to judge herself for thinking they were probably all out partying on the profits of his latest ramraid, his mother sporting a natty new fake fur boa and a tiara from one of his more successful shoplifting sprees.
Everything done, she was about to head home when she noticed that Darleen, the secretary for the corporate team, was still at her desk. Maybe Bruce was still in the office too? She shouldn’t ask in case it aroused suspicion. There was no professional reason for Helena and Bruce to communicate during work hours because they had completely different specialities – but sod it. Darleen wouldn’t have a chance to spread gossip because the office was almost deserted, there were only a few working hours left in the day, and by the time they all came back to work in January, they’d be officially engaged anyway.
‘Darleen, is Bruce Quinn still here?’ Helena asked casually, loving the tiny flip of excitement that saying his name gave her. This was crazy. She had never been this giddy over anything in her life, much less a man.
Darleen’s right eyebrow rose in question, but she managed not to transfer the query to her mouth.
‘No, he’s already gone for the day. I think he said he was going out for lunch at the Rogano, then home.’
Damn. She’d missed him.
‘Was it something I could help with?’ Darleen fished.
Helena’s smile was wide and only a tiny bit condescending. ‘No, just had a quick question about something pertaining to a case I’m working on.’ If Darleen knew she was lying, she didn’t give anything away. ‘Thanks, Darleen. Have a lovely Christmas.’
‘You too, Helena.’
If the secretary’s gaze was following her out the door, she might have noticed an extra little swagger in Helena’s step.
Outside, the cold hit her instantly. What she wouldn’t give for an ostrich feather muff right now. She checked her watch and did a quick analysis of the situation. It was almost noon. It would take her about twenty-five minutes to get home on foot, or she could jump in a taxi and be home in ten. Or… she replayed Darleen’s words. Bruce was having lunch at the Rogano. It was his favourite eatery, a stunning art deco seafood restaurant just off Royal Exchange Square. Bruce dined there every day that he was free – sometimes with colleagues or clients, but quite happily alone too. He had a standing reservation for his favourite table, the last walnut burr booth in the back corner of the beautiful room. It was a spot that gave him privacy for confidential conversations, but still allowed him to soak in the atmosphere of the venue. It was close to the office too, only about ten minutes’ walk from where she was now.
The decision was instant. She would discreetly pop in and see if he was with colleagues. If so, she’d back out without interrupting, or feign surprise and claim it was a chance meeting. However, if he was alone, she could join him and start their Christmas and her birthday celebrations early. Win-win.
Anticipation and the crowds in the streets kept her warm until she turned into Exchange Place, just off Buchanan Street, and saw the Rogano straight ahead, under a breathtakingly beautiful blanket of fairy lights that were strung between the buildings.
Her cheeks were starting to ache from smiling again, as she pulled open the heavy door, and was immediately greeted by the maître d’. Behind him, she could see that the restaurant was already packed with its usual early lunchtime trade, complemented by groups of Christmas shoppers, bags emblazoned with the names of the upmarket stores in the nearby Princes Square shopping centre piled at their feet.
‘Good afternoon,’ the maître d’ welcomed her. ‘Table for one?’
Helena stretched up to peer over his left shoulder at the row of booths on the right side of the wall. ‘No, I’m actually just looking for a friend.’
Her gaze went from the front of the room to the back and, yep, there Bruce was, sitting on a leather banquette in the very last booth. His square jaw was set and his brow was furrowed, as if he was listening intently. He clearly wasn’t alone, but the partition between his booth and the one before it blocked her view, so she couldn’t see who was with him. Whatever they were discussing looked serious, so it was probably a client. Ah well, that settled it. She wouldn’t disturb a work lunch, so best to just leave it and catch up with him at home later.
Just as that thought made her begin to turn, she caught a movement, as his elbows went onto the table and one hand moved forward. Turn aborted. Instead, bypassing the maître d’, she took a few steps forward, her eyes locked on the table as a hand from the anonymous figure in the other side of the booth came down and settled on his.
Another few steps.
He leaned forward, as if reaching over to stroke someone’s face.
Another few steps.
The person opposite him began to come into view. A flash of auburn hair.
A few more steps.
Bruce’s hand. Touching alabaster skin. Tenderly. His thumb caressing a cheek.
Helena froze.
This was the man who was supposed to be planning to propose to her tonight.
So what the fuck was he doing stroking Bree Halston’s face?
6
CATHY
Christmas Eve 1968
The last half hour had been the most awkward of Cathy’s life. Richie had frozen for at least ten seconds while his brain had tried to absorb the enormity of the situation, before Loretta had broken in with, ‘Richie, I think you should sit down, before you fall down. Because if you knock yourself unconscious, me and chubby over there are never going to be able to lift you.’
For once, Cathy had been grateful for Loretta’s interruption and her unfailing habit of saying exactly what she thought at all times.
‘No, I think I should go. It’s fine. Sorry.’ He’d started to back out, but Cathy had finally found her voice.
‘No, don’t. Please. Sit down. Have some tea. I know it won’t help, but I’d like to talk to you.’
His hesitation had told her that the only thing he wanted to do was run. Behind him, Loretta had taken a small step to the side, so that she was blocking the door, making it more of a hostage situation than a social visit, but Richie hadn’t seemed to register that. Instead, after a momentary pause, he’d come forward and pulled out the chair at the opposite side of Mum’s old oak table, so that they were facing each other, only a couple of feet apart.
‘I’ll make more tea,’ Loretta had offered. ‘And I’ll chat nonsense while I’m doing it and then I’ll leave, so save anything you don’t need me to hear until after I’m gone. Richie, have you heard that Captain Kirk bloke from Star Trek has done his own version of ‘Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds’? Honest to God, it would have been a mercy if the Starship Enterprise had left him behind in space. If he ever meets the Beatles in a dark alley it would be even more awkward than you two sitting there,’ she’d wittered, with such a knowing look and perfect timing that, if this had been any other occasion, with any other person across from her at this table, Cathy would have laughed until she needed another of her thousand daily visits to the loo. This baby was clearly very comfy right on top of her bladder.
As it was, she just sat in silence as Richie had replied, ‘Nope, but I heard the Rolling Stones new song. Something about the devil. I mean, it’s weird, but it’s got a great tune.’
Grabbing the kettle, Loretta had been on the way to the sink when she’d shot back, ‘Right? That’s exactly what I think. I love them. I mean, I’ll always love The Doors and maybe even The Beatles more, but…’ And on she went, dissecting the current music scene as only a sixteen-year-old could. Filling the kettle and waiting for it to boil was accompanied by a monologue on John Lennon’s brilliance. Emptying the teapot and popping in fresh leaves invoked an enthusiastic review of Mick Jagger’s fashion choices. Pouring the newly boiled water in the teapot and getting the cups ready came with a couple of verses of Marvin Gaye’s ‘I Heard It Through The Grapevine’. And finally, pouring the tea through the strainer, adding two sugars to each cup and delivering it to the table was fuelled by the declaration that she really wanted The Doors new album for Christmas. It had been the only positive since the minute Richie had walked in the door.
She’d put the cups down with a flourish, kissed Cathy on the cheek, and announced that she was going off to work for a few hours and would check in on her later.
‘She’s changed a bit,’ Richie had said, with a fond smile when the door banged behind her.
‘It’s been a while. She turned sixteen last month.’ The tension and nervousness Cathy had been feeling gave the comment an edge that made it sound like a dig and she had immediately wanted to take it back. Instead, she’d followed it right up with, ‘Tell me about your job. Was it as good as you hoped?’
That had at least got him talking, allowing her to just listen and try to take in the sight in front of her. Richie’s unseasonal tan looked great on him and so did the longer hair. They’d started going out together in the third year of high school, where Richie had played for the football team, and that tall, athletic frame was still there, but his shoulders were wider, his arms thicker.
He’d explained that he’d been on board the same ship for pretty much the whole time he’d been away, learning his craft as an engineer and…
She’d tuned out. Now, his mouth was still moving, sometimes hers did too, but she felt nothing except confusion and heard nothing but blood rushing in her ears, until thirty minutes of surface conversation, internal turmoil and awkwardness had gone by and she suddenly blurted out, ‘I’m sorry.’
Richie halted his jittery, nervous story and lifted his eyes to settle on her for the first time since he’d sat down. Goosebumps were making Cathy shiver, and the tension was making her sweat, so she wasn’t sure whether to pull on a jumper or open a window. Either way, she knew that any kind of anxiety wasn’t good for the baby, so she made an effort to slow her breathing and gave her stomach a gentle rub.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, until Richie cleared his throat. ‘You’ve got nothing to apologise for. I think I should be saying sorry to you. None of this is the way I thought it would be and that’s my fault. I left.’
‘You did,’ Cathy stated the obvious, keeping her voice tender this time so that it didn’t sound petty.
Richie Clark had been her boyfriend since they were thirteen years old, when he’d slipped her a note in maths asking if she wanted to go to Crossmyloof Ice Rink with him that weekend. It was on the other side of Glasgow, and it took two buses to get there, but it was a favourite hangout because they played music on a Friday night and there was a chippy nearby so they could get a fish supper for the buses on the way home.
She’d gone that night, and that had been it. He was the first boy she ever dated. Her boyfriend for the next five and a bit years. And the first person she’d ever slept with. Just once. On the night before he’d left to take up his new job eighteen months ago.
It had been her decision to go all the way with him. She’d been trying to hide the fact that she was distraught that he was leaving, devastated that she was losing someone else, and so, so tired of being strong and taking care of everything. Just once, she’d wanted a bit of fun. A bit of escape. It had been amazing and she’d never regretted it, not even for a second, not even when he got on a train the next day and she’d swallowed back aching sobs as she waved him away.
A sad smile crossed Cathy’s face. ‘But I made you go. I talked you into it.’
He didn’t argue, because they both knew it was true. That was a day she didn’t ever want to revisit.
‘How long are you home for?’ she asked him. Not that it mattered now. For the first few months after he left, if he’d turned up on her doorstep, she’d have considered it the happiest day of her life. Now? Each circle of the minute hand on the kitchen clock chipped another tiny fragment off her heart.
‘Just until the day after Boxing Day. The ship docked yesterday, and I came up on the sleeper train. Got into Glasgow an hour ago.’
He’d come straight here. That wasn’t lost on her. His first port of call.
Struggling to fill yet another pause, Richie took a sip of his tea and then grimaced.
Despite the situation, Cathy laughed. ‘Loretta still makes terrible tea. Not that I could ever tell her that. Couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings.’
He sat back in his chair, a tiny bit more relaxed in his body language. ‘It’s my fault for letting it go cold.’ Cathy almost bought his stoic defence of Loretta’s tea until he added an amused, ‘But it’s always been truly miraculous that she can go that wrong with just water, milk, sugar and tea.’
It was the icebreaker they both needed. The little anchor of familiarity that made them recognise each other again.
‘I know I need to ask you who you married, but I’m terrified in case it’s Billy from chemistry, with the cabbage in his lunch box and the bad breath.’
It was as if he was becoming more himself with every exchange in the conversation. This was more like the Richie she knew. Funny. Always with a joke. Always making her laugh. Never taking himself seriously.
She feigned astonishment. ‘It is! I just banned the cabbage and the bad breath disappeared. I can’t believe you guessed it was him.’
Now it was his turn to for astonishment. ‘You’re kidding!’
She managed to keep a straight face for a solid five seconds before she crumbled. ‘Of course, I’m kidding. It’s not Billy. Although, I might put up with the bad breath now because his granny just won ten thousand pounds on the Premium Bonds a few months ago and bought him a brand-new Ford Cortina.’
‘Bloody hell. I might marry him for that.’
