Silk Queen Read online

  “Because you chose everything else,” he snapped. “I never wanted any of this wedding malarkey, Fiona. It was a runaway train from the get-go.”

  I wanted to slap him with my Mel Lazar bag, but managed to hold off by taking a step back. “You proposed to me, you idiot,” I reminded him. “Why would you do that?”

  I thought back to exact second in time that he asked for my hand in marriage. He had no ring, but as he got down on one knee in front of the guests at my nineteenth birthday party, he promised to buy me one.

  After hitting his dad up for a small loan, he presented me with a modest but pretty gold ring a few days later. I loved it, but I loved the sentiment behind it even more. He’d chosen me above all others, and that meant everything.

  I held up my left hand and wiggled my fingers. The small diamond twinkled in the light just as it always did, but the meaning behind it was long gone.

  “I didn’t bring a present,” Andrew muttered.

  Utterly confused, I dropped my hand and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

  His hands settled in his pockets and his shoulders lifted. “It was your birthday and when I got to your party, I realised I didn’t have a present,” he explained. “So I proposed instead.”

  Andrew spoke casually as if the words didn’t matter, but it was a confession that wrecked me. We’d known each other our whole lives, and had been together since we were fourteen, and all of a sudden that counted for nothing.

  “How could you be so cruel?” I whimpered the question. “I loved you.”

  He turned away from me and let out a pissed off growl. “No you flippin’ didn’t. I was never good enough for you. You still think you’re going to end up living in a castle with servants and butlers,” he said roughly. “You’re not bloody royalty, Fiona.”

  “I know that.” Acknowledging my lack of pedigree didn’t put an end to the conversation. He wasn’t done venting yet.

  “You’re a control freak,” he continued. “Everything has to be in line with your master plan or all hell breaks loose. I can’t live like that.”

  “Am I that awful?” I wondered out loud.

  “No.” A flash of remorse ghosted across his face. “You’re dead pretty, and we’ve had some laughs. You’re just a pushy little cow, that’s all.”

  It was a statement that could’ve done with some serious tweaking, but I let it go in favour of asking another question. “When were you going to call the wedding off?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if I hadn’t caught you at Mandy’s, I’d be none the wiser.”

  His confused expression gave way to one of shame. “I wasn’t going to call it off.”

  My eyes widened. “So you were going to go through with it?”

  Andrew shook his head, telling me no. “I wasn’t going to show up,” he confessed. “Mandy and me were going to take off to Blackpool instead.”

  I wasn’t being hit with the truth, I was being battered. Not only had she stolen my fiancé, she’d stolen my honeymoon too. My whole chest ached as my heart splintered, but Andrew was faring much better. Leaving me standing near the door, he slumped down on the sofa. “It’s such a relief to get the truth out,” he breathed. “Don’t you feel better now?”

  “Blackpool was our dream place,” I muttered, leaving his dumb question unanswered.

  “I know,” he casually replied. “Mandy loves it there too.”

  His lack of concern for my feelings had nothing to do with laddish naivety. A truer picture was coming together before my very eyes.

  “I have to go.” I reached for the door handle. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

  Andrew jumped up and rushed over, wedging himself between me and the door. “Not so fast.”

  For the briefest of moments, I was hoping for the bittersweet, heartfelt farewell that I’d read a million times over in my novels. On paper, they were cliché and overdone, but I would’ve killed to hear him say something romantic and maudlin to wrap things up.

  I will never forget the love we shared.

  Our stars just burn too brightly together.

  You will forever remain in my heart.

  Any of those sentiments would’ve been gratefully accepted, but Andrew’s words weren’t anywhere near as sweet.

  “What about my car, Fi?” he asked. “It’s going to cost a packet to get my windscreen replaced.”

  I spent a long moment carefully studying the face of the boy I nearly married. For the first time since I walked in, I could see hope in his blue eyes – but it had nothing to do with me, which was perfect.

  It afforded me the common sense to realise that not only did this man not love me, he never had. Andrew Pidgeon loved his car, and he loved Mandy Brewer.

  I was flying solo, but gaining height by the second.

  I slipped my engagement ring off and handed it to him. “Sell this,” I instructed, pushing him out of the way of the door.

  “That won’t cover it,” he complained. “The ring is hardly worth anything.”

  I let out a hard laugh. “Exactly,” I agreed. “It means nothing and it’s worth nothing.”

  I didn’t get my Duran Duran record back, but it wasn’t a wasted trip.

  I got myself back instead.

  To celebrate, I stopped in at Woolworths and bought a new one.

  The sound quality is much better than the one I left at Andrew’s. Ever since Gill spilled cider on it, the needle skips over Planet Earth.

  I need a new adventure. Lucky for me, I’ve got £61 saved up to make it happen.

  Book of the week: Sky High Lovers

  Adventure Fund: £61.00

  Chapter Thirteen

  I dealt with the ending of more than one relationship that week. Mrs Crichton-Percy phoned on Sunday night to tell me that my services were no longer needed.

  “Don’t take it personally,” she began. “We have different standards when it comes to cleanliness. Even with instruction, yours are not up to par.”

  It was impossible not to take offense, mainly because she was lying. I wanted to remind her of the time I found dog poop in her walk-in closet but didn’t. Instead, I asked if she wanted me to return the Lazar handbag she’d given me.

  Her condescending cackle filtered through the phone. “No, dear, it’s last season’s,” she replied. “Besides, it’s probably as close as you’ll get to haute couture.”

  If my mouth had planned a snarky comeback, my brain was too slow. Before I managed to utter a word, she hung up. Unsure of what my next move should be, I called Mam into the room and broke the news.

  “The pompous cow mentioned nowt about standards when I was discounting velvet hangers for her.” She spoke with absolute contempt, which was precisely the show of support that I needed. “Who does she think she is?”

  Nina Crichton-Percy thought she was the queen of Bramhall, but after meeting Judith Wiltshire I knew differently. I suspect that might’ve had something to do with my dismissal. Keen to set the record straight, I quickly brought my mother up to speed.

  “Judith is dead posh, Mam,” I said, still awed. “And she’s dripping with diamonds the size of ice blocks.”

  I followed up with a childish twirl that made my skirt flare and my mother chuckle. “Stay in your lane, my girl,” she urged. “There’s none of that nonsense in your future.”

  No one could burst my fairy-tale bubble quicker than my mother. It made me wonder what she thought my future held now that marriage and housecleaning in Bramhall were off the agenda. She gave little away but her face was etched with worry.

  “I have plenty of ace things coming my way, Mam,” I reassured her. “Just you wait and see.”

  Something amazing happened!

  Judith found out that New-Money-Nina gave me the sack so she called me at Mam’s shop and offered me a job!!

  Things are definitely on the up.

  Book of the week: Sky High Lovers

  Adventure Fund: £61.00

 
; Chapter Fourteen

  The Wiltshire’s house was twice the size of Mrs Crichton-Percy’s. As I walked up the long cobbled driveway, I counted nine windows at the front, and that didn’t include the double bevelled glass doors.

  Matching flower pots lined the front steps, and the basket of petunias hanging from the gabled porch was so flippin’ manicured that it didn’t look real.

  Cleaning this house was going to be hard slog, but I felt nothing but excitement as I tapped the huge brass knocker against the door.

  Finally, Judith answered. “Fiona, darling,” she crowed. “Right on time.”

  I couldn’t have killed my goofy smile if I tried. “I was so happy to hear from you,” I babbled. “I’m excited to be here.”

  “You don’t appear excited.” She looked me up and down. “Frankly darling, you look downright dowdy and drab.”

  Instantly regretting my decision to wear jeans and a T-shirt, I self-consciously folded my arms. “I always wear this when I’m working.”

  Her disapproving frown quickly gave way to a demure giggle. “Oh, dear girl,” she snorted. “You’ve misread the situation. I don’t need another cleaner, I have three already.”

  Not asking for a thorough job description was an embarrassing oversight that Judith was keen to rectify. With a wave of her hand, she ushered me inside and led me into her huge front room.

  “Sit down, darling,” she instructed.

  I was nervous for a few reasons. First, it was the most opulent room I had ever set foot in. Everything looked sparkly, precious and expensive. Second, I had no idea of the etiquette involved when it comes to sitting on a pristine white sofa.

  When she repeated the command, I parked my butt, crossed my legs at the ankles and hoped for the best.

  Judith sat opposite me. “I’ve taken on an incredible amount of charity work in the past few months,” she said, readjusting the small cushion behind her back. “I’m in need of assistance. I think you’d be perfect.”

  “It sounds dead important,” I replied. “What would I have to do?”

  “Well, first of all, I want you to lose the word ‘dead’ from your vocabulary,” she chided. “Unless something is actually dead, refrain from saying it.”

  It was a demand that would’ve cut most girls to the quick, but I took no offense. “I will never say it again,” I promised, hand on heart.

  “Wonderful,” she replied. “For the most part I just need someone to run a few errands and make phone calls. Do you think you can handle that?”

  The real question was; could I handle her? Judith Wiltshire was the most intimidating, woman I had ever met. She spoke bluntly and honestly, ignoring any threat of hurt feelings along the way. Perhaps that’s why I agreed to give it my best shot.

  Her ruby smile was blinding. “You’ll do well darling,” she assured me. “I have every faith in you.”

  Working for Judith was going to be nothing like my time with Mrs Crichton-Percy. She was a far more interesting study, and the curiosity was mutual. Once the formalities were out of the way, conversation turned to my broken engagement.

  I tried to gloss over the ugly parts, but Judith was a stickler for details.

  Over tea and cake, I served up the whole sorry saga beginning with frozen poultry and ending with the return of my trinket ring.

  “No one shed a tear, and no hearts got broken,” I said.

  “Oh, Fiona.” Judith set her cup and saucer down on the coffee table. “It sounds like you both dodged a bullet.”

  I couldn’t deny that she was right. As much as I wished Andrew was pining the loss, I’m sure he felt as relieved as I did.

  “I’m just glad it’s over.” Trying to avoid her pitying stare, I took a tiny sip of tea. “Now we can both move on and make new plans.”

  In truth, I had nothing planned beyond Wednesday night bingo but the instant her housekeeper bustled into the room waving a cordless phone in the air, that changed.

  “It’s the lady from the Sunkiss Foundation, Mrs Wiltshire,” she announced. “Calling from London.”

  Judith extended the long aerial and put the dead modern phone to her ear. “Hello, Valeria,” she crowed. “It’s so lovely to hear from you.”

  Valeria might’ve been the poshest name I’d ever heard, but when I silently chanted it in my head I realised it sounded like a venereal disease. In a bid to stop myself laughing out loud, I focused more on the one-sided phone conversation and less on VD.

  From what I could gather, Valeria worked for the same charity as Judith and New-Money-Nina. She was waiting to take delivery of the dresses they were donating, and judging by Judith’s incessant apologies, she was running out of patience.

  “I can have them to you as early as tomorrow afternoon, Valeria,” she assured her. “My girl will hand deliver them.” Judith stopped pacing and turned to me. “Fiona is very reliable,” she said. “And she knows London like the back of her hand.”

  My first instinct was to jump up and slap her for telling such wicked lies. I’d never been to London in my whole life.

  But before panic could take hold, I forced myself to calm down and consider the bigger picture. The single life wasn’t likely to be packed with excitement. I needed something new and adventurous, and it didn’t take a genius to know that a whirlwind jaunt to London might be it.

  I know I promised never to say it again, but I’m dead excited!!

  I’m catching the early morning train to London.

  Charlene said I’ll be a new woman when I get back but Gill isn’t as positive. She said that if the rape and murder statistics are true, I might not come back at all.

  To be on the safe side, I changed my choice of shoes. My pink heels are dead stylish, but I can run faster in my flat jellies.

  I’m going to deliver Judith’s dresses to the VD lady in Notting Hill and then the day is mine.

  Buckingham Palace, here I come!

  Book of the week: Sky High Lovers

  Adventure Fund: £61.00

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’ve seen Murder on The Orient Express three times. Perhaps that’s why my views on train travel are so jaded.

  In my mind, I was going to dress to the nines, board a lovely train and spend three hours looking and feeling as glamorous as Jaqueline Bisset.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be. Looking glam is hard to do when you’re dragging a suitcase full of cocktail dresses along a crowded train platform. Not one person offered to help and I soon realised that was because it was every man and woman for themselves.

  It was hard to understand the reason behind the rush to board. The seats weren’t luxurious leather like the Orient Express. They were stain riddled heavy brown upholstery that reminded me of the floor mats in Andrew’s Cortina.

  The white broderie anglaise dress I was wearing had never been more impractical, but I wasn’t deterred. Nothing was going to put a dampener on this day, even the wad of gum that was stuck to the wheel of my suitcase.

  I laid a hanky across the seat, parked my butt and steeled myself for the three-hour journey ahead.

  Euston Station was a madhouse. London was a madhouse. Everywhere I looked, people were rushing around as if they were late for an appointment. The only people who seemed to be travelling at a normal pace were the tourists, and they were flippin’ everywhere.

  Negotiating the Tube was one of the more complicated tasks I’d dealt with in my lifetime, but I somehow pulled it off. I arrived in Notting Hill just after ten and made my way to Valeria’s house.

  The narrow white frontage gave little away, but I knew the inside would be just as grand as Judith’s. I would’ve killed for a peek inside, but I didn’t make it past the front door.

  I was greeted by a portly man in a suit who took the suitcase from my grasp, thanked me for coming and sent me on my way.

  I was only miffed for a moment. The instant I stepped back onto the street and breathed in the warm London air, I realised my work was done. The rest of the day was
mine, and I was determined to make the most of it.

  Of all the tourist attractions in London, Buckingham Palace was the one that rated highest on my list. The instructions given by the clerk at the information desk at Victoria Station were perfectly clear: exit onto Buckingham Palace Road, turn right and keep walking. It was impossible to get it wrong, but after a twenty-minute walk with no palace in sight, I realised I’d somehow ballsed it up.

  Studying the small map for the umpteenth time, I tried to figure out where I’d gone wrong.

  “Are you lost, Mademoiselle?”

  The smooth foreign voice in my ear was so flippin’ exotic that I thought I’d imagined it. And when I lifted my head and looked at him, I was sure of it.

  No one real could look that good. The only thing more perfect than his dashing looks, dark hair and broad shoulders was his dress sense.

  He wore a blue Pierre Cardin shirt, and I was ninety-nine percent sure it was the real deal.

  “Mademoiselle,” he repeated. “Are you alright?”

  Was he kidding me? Meeting a drop-dead gorgeous French man on the streets of London was a storyline straight out of one of my romance novels.

  I was flippin’ perfect!

  Luckily, my actual reply was a little more subdued. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Are you looking for something?” he asked.

  Buckingham Palace was the answer, but the words came out wrong. “A wonderful new adventure that I’ll remember forever.”

  Most people would’ve turned on their heels and legged it, but the dreamy French guy didn’t look too perturbed. If anything, he seemed amused.

  He smiled, and it was as flawless as the rest of him. “How long do you have?”

  The rest of my life, I didn’t reply.

  “I have to be back at Euston Station by four.”

  “It’ll be a short adventure, Mademoiselle,” he replied, checking the time on his watch. “What do you have in mind?”