Suddenly her heart was in her mouth, for out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure at Matthew's window, obviously alerted by the noise of the car.
‘Steady,' she told herself, and raised her hand, waving a fond farewell at the car that had already gone, not that whoever was at the window would know that. Then she slowly opened the cottage door and walked in, with another lingering stare up the lane for good measure.
After Kate's taxi had ferried her home, she made a quick call to Adam MacLean who was more than surprised to hear from her.
‘I think we were spotted,' she said excitedly. ‘Well enough to set the cat amongst the pigeons, although I could be getting it out of perspective.'
‘Calm down, woman, and talk English,' said Adam. ‘I cannae underston' you.'
Which is rich coming from a person who makes Rab C. Nesbitt sound intelligible, thought Stevie.
‘Your tyres made a bit of a noise as you sped off,' she said, enjoying making the point. ‘You must have alerted them across the road because someone … '
‘Jo?'
‘I don't know, I didn't dare look, but there was definitely someone watching through the window. I pretended to be waving goodbye to you, although you'd already gone. Rather loudly.'
‘Awright, awright, I get your point. Anyway, it obviously did the trick,' said Adam, fending off her obvious criticism of his driving abilities. ‘That's good news. I just wish they'd seen me too and, you know, linked us together.'
Stevie caught sight of the invoice for the wedding stationery and a beautiful little plan hatched before her eyes.
‘I think I know a way to do that if you've got what I need,' she said, trying to fight off the strangest feeling that what she planned to do next felt dangerously akin to fun.
Chapter 29
Stevie's idea was as simple and delicious as a stuff-in-the-oven part-baked loaf and was ready to be implemented three days later on the Tuesday when she got a quick call from Adam to say that he was finally in possession of the required item. She met him briefly at the gym where he handed it over, and after an accident-free half-hour walk and periodic sprint on the treadmill, she went home to plug away at her new work brief until Matthew got home from work.
The realization that this plan of Adam's might not be as daft as she had first thought and might actually work had brought such a light feeling to her heart that she had found herself able to sort out Paris and Brandon's final chapter at long last. Their wonderful, idyllic ending was created from a happy, hopeful bubble in her brain, and it was quite an impressive one, if she said so herself. Blissfully, the manuscript was emailed over to Midnight Moon HQ by start of business that morning, as promised. Stevie was resolute that she would never cut it so fine again. You could only let people like Crystal down once, and then you were toast. Ashes of toast, even.
It was a big relief, to be back on track writing. The pretty room she was using as an office made a major contribution to that. It was spacious but cosy and peaceful, with a bonny view of the long garden. Nosy roses poked in through the windows, which had been thrown open to let in some fresh air, along with the comforting rumble of the odd train in the near distance. It was the sort of room she could imagine sitting in and writing her big blockbuster. Not that she wasn't grateful for her position at Midnight Moon. She and ‘Alexis' and ‘Paula' were privileged in that they received a monthly salary in advance of any royalties, and that gave them a steady income. Crystal also pushed a few magazine articles her way, paying her a separate amount for those, and Stevie bumped up her savings by writing some long, traditional poetry for a greetings card company. She had been doing a lot of extra work to finance her wedding. Now it seemed she had been working for months for nothing.
Stevie took a walk into town to get some fresh air and stretch her legs and do the final but hardest job – letting go of the wedding rings. She was going to sell them on to the jeweller who was well-known in the area for giving the fairest prices. The man offered her one hundred and twenty for the two wedding bands, which would cover half the cost of the order-of-service booklets, and a further one hundred and five for the engagement ring. Stevie took it without even trying to barter him up to a better price. It wasn't as if she could ever have worn it, not with the memories it had collected. If – when – she and Matthew got back together, she would choose a new one, not pearls next time though. She should have listened when her mother had inspected it and said, ‘Pearls mean tears, I hope you know.'
When she got home, she chased away the dip in her spirits by scribbling some rough notes for Highland Fling. She decided to make her heroine small and feisty and the ‘hero' mean and moody. Possibly give him a scar, one that had been very painful to receive. The heroine would outwit him at every turn. Ha! Once she had pictures of ‘Damme MacQueen' and ‘Evie Sweetwell' in her mind, the ideas started to come through thick and fast. She felt she just might have a winner on her hands.
Chapter 30
In stark contrast, Matthew was finding it hard to concentrate at work. He had acted upon the letter asking him to apply for a Platinum Visa by ringing this number for an instant decision, only to be told that he had been instantly rejected.
‘So why the hell did you invite me to get one if you were going to tell me I couldn't?' said Matthew, taking their decision extremely personally.
‘Sorry, sir,' said the levelheaded operative, who'd had this conversation many times before. Then she went into automated spiel about how he could find out his credit rating. Matthew knew exactly how he could do that. He also knew that the fact he had been refused their Visa would show up on his rating and influence future lenders. He hung up when she was in mid-flow and immediately felt guilty about being so rude and acting so out of character. Then again, he seemed to be doing quite a lot of things lately that were out of character and of which he didn't feel particularly proud.
One of his Visa bills had arrived that morning. The holiday cost had been added on to the amount outstanding, plus the charge for a cash advance that he had totally forgotten about, which had taken him over the limit. This needed settling immediately, so the urgent block-capital-written message emblazoned across the top had commanded. Plus something was niggling him and that wasn't helping his mood either. He just happened to be about to close the curtains on Saturday night, when he saw Stevie standing on the doorstep of the cottage waving someone off. She had her best green top on and a big dreamy smile, the sort of smile you didn't wear for a friend, either. Why that had affected him so much, he didn't know because it was none of his business; she was no longer in his life. He was with Jo now . He had put it out of his mind numerous times, but it seemed to be on elastic and kept bouncing back.
The sunlight was streaming through the window when he got home that evening, highlighting how grubby the kitchen had become since Stevie had left. The work surface was full of crumbs and the floor badly needed a good scrub. He'd have to get a cleaner in. Jo wasn't the type to put on an apron and wear down her long, deliciously scratchy fingernails doing domestic chores; she wasn't a ‘Stevie'. There wouldn't have been much point leaving Stevie for her if she was.
Jo relaxed in the bath for half an hour whilst Matthew rustled up something tasty in the kitchen. She had been through so much and he wanted to cosset her and spoil her. That wasn't to say that he didn't miss coming home to sparkling work surfaces and delicious cooking smells, especially tonight, when his spirits felt as if they had been steamrollered, but what he lost with one hand, he gained with the other and twice over. How could he compare what he had rejected to what he had now? Jo was a different creature entirely, one built for pleasure and luxury, not for comfort and reliability. Jo and Stevie – it was like comparing a brand new sports car with a Vauxhall Cavalier. Although that was an unfortunate simile, he thought straightaway. He'd had a faithful Vauxhall Cavalier for years and loved it, and the new sporty black Punto he had traded it against in the end hadn't been a patch on his old car friend.
Whilst the pasta was boiling, he thought he might just snap around with a duster and tidy a few things away. Jo's detritus seemed to have taken over every surface like a virulent ivy, and how the hell could they roll around on the mat in front of the fire, like he intended to do that evening, when it was dull with dust and mysterious house ‘bits'. He went into the cupboard for the vacuum cleaner. Where on earth was the Dyson? Oh bloody hell!