Three Amazing Things About You(65)
They both knew this was polite customer-speak for I have no intention of coming back, but this is my way of escaping.
‘No problem,’ said Flo, who had wild auburn ringlets and a friendly face. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day. And good luck with tracking Harry down. If I hear on the news that he’s been lassoed and kidnapped, we’ll know who it was.’
‘But don’t tell anyone, OK?’ Hallie waved as she and Bea left the stall. ‘Bye!’
By two o’clock, Flo had sold four of the hand-painted silk scarves. It was silly; she knew the girl in the wheelchair wouldn’t be back, but she was still hoping no one else would come along and buy her scarf.
The stalls were busier now, thousands of shoppers coming and going, and the tills had been ringing non-stop. Patrick was great at his job, making people smile, winning customers over and relaxing them into opening their wallets. He was entertaining company, charming in a laid-back, unthreatening way and endearingly self-deprecating too. During their van journey this morning, Flo had learned all about his life; divorced three years ago, he and his ex-wife, Dawn, had managed to remain on such good terms that he was invited over to dinner every week or so, regularly played golf with her new husband and had even given her away at the wedding.
‘Ah, she’s a lovely woman. Just because our marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.’
‘That’s really nice.’ Flo was moved by his words. And it must surely be an easier way to live, infinitely preferable to Lena’s constant sniping, jealousy and challenging behaviour.
She’d continued to think about this as the day progressed. A text arrived from Zander telling her that Lena had evidently had a furious row with the window cleaner, flatly refusing to pay him because he’d woken her up at midday squeegeeing the outside of her bedroom window.
Basically this was a situation that was never going to change. Lena was Lena, and being the way she was meant Flo’s own relationship with Zander was guaranteed never to be easy.
Imagine how much simpler and less fraught life would be if she were romantically involved with someone like Patrick instead. Watching him now, interacting easily with a horsey mother and daughter debating which limited-edition print to buy, Flo pictured her and Patrick together, having jolly dinner parties with his ex-wife, having Margot come to stay with them at weekends so they could enjoy each other’s company. No stress, no anxiety, no wondering when the next argument might be about to erupt.
Patrick was so nice, the kind of man who was always in a cheery mood. OK, so he wasn’t as handsome as Zander, he probably didn’t have a six-pack and he had one of those snub-nosed, friendly faces rather than scimitar cheekbones and thickly fringed Hollywood-blue eyes. But he was a genuinely lovely person . . .
Sometimes wheelchairs had their advantages. One of the kindly event organisers, spotting Hallie and Bea searching without success for a decent position from which to view the jumps at the lake, unfastened a rope and ushered them through to an adjacent cordoned-off area.
‘Result,’ Hallie murmured, eyeing the untrampled grass and elegant white chairs and tables.
‘Oh wow.’ Bending down behind her, Bea whispered, ‘We’re in the VIP enclosure. With the posh people. This could be our big chance . . .’
There was a white marquee, comfortable seating, men wearing linen jackets and red trousers. There were also leggy blonde girls, waiters serving champagne, and an assortment of dogs noisily slurping water from silver bowls lined up at the side of the marquee.
‘If Harry gets a bit thirsty and fancies a drink,’ said Hallie, ‘this is the place he’ll come to.’
‘Except hopefully they won’t make him drink out of one of those bowls . . . oh my God,’ Bea squealed in her ear, pointing to a group of glamorous girls and noisy but well-spoken young men. ‘The one with his back to us . . . white shirt, orange hair . . . is that him?’
‘No.’ Hopes raised and dashed in the space of a second, Hallie shook her head. But she took out her phone and switched on the camera in readiness, just in case Harry did put in an appearance. It might be naff to take a photo, but compared with these well-to-do types, she was already irredeemably naff.
They had a fantastic view of the jumps, though. Hallie settled down to enjoy it, taking photos of the competing horses instead. Every few minutes a shrill whistle would sound, and the next contestant would come thundering past them, the horse’s hooves kicking up turf as it raced along the side of the lake. The rider then steered it around to face a huge fence constructed of wood and barrels before gathering the horse’s energy and launching it into the air. Once successfully over, it was down a steep slope and over a second, smaller fence before splashing into the water, cantering across the shallow end of the lake, then leaping back out and over the third fence on the other side while water sprayed into the air and the audience applauded . . . or let out a collective groan of sympathy if it didn’t go well.