‘That this might be the real thing, that this could be what you’ve been waiting for your whole life. Stop running away from it. He loves you mate, warts and all.’
Sabrina sighed. ‘Despite everything, I need to find some kind of closure with Dom. I think I still do love him. Granted, I don’t like him very much, but…God, this is doing my head in now.’
‘You love theideaof you and Dom.’ Dee tutted. ‘What else has that man got to do for you to realise that he’s not right for you.’
Sabrina shot out of bed. ‘I need to get going.’
Didn’t Dom say in his grandiose way that November the fifth was the day that you would start living happily ever after? You might ruin his grand plan if you arrive early.’
‘Yes, because love runs in that programmed way, doesn’t it?’ Sabrina started throwing clothes out of her large case. And I think it’s time I sorted my life out. And… if I go when he’s not expecting me, I can see if he’s been telling me the truth or not, can’t I?’
‘And what about your birthday? The girls are set on making you a cake.’
‘Aw. I’m sorry, I forgot about my birthday. We shall celebrate it soon, I promise. I will make this up to you and the girls, but I have to do this.’
‘Do you think this really is a wise move?’ Dee’s voice had softened.
‘Maybe not. But when did sagacity or sanity ever feature in affairs of the heart?’ Sabrina kissed her friend on the forehead and headed to the shower.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
There was something about a busy central London Street at rush hour that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else in the world. The red buses, the black cabs, the multi-coloured theatre signs and constant streams of agitated car and van drivers. Rickshaws, the battalions of cyclists and jay walking pedestrians. Beeps, toots, sirens, and the woosh of air brakes all filling the gloaming. A cacophony of city life, of London’s rich tapestry of transport and human existence.
It was a freezing evening on November the fourth when Sabrina Swift clicked the door to her Kensington hotel shut and wearing a little black dress, covered by a smart black Dior coat and D&G patent heels, pulled her black Panama hat down over her face and got the concierge to go outside and hail her a taxi.
Wanting to settle herself before she faced Dom, she sat in the window seat of the café, overlooking the grand front door to her old home in Bloomsbury Gardens. With hot chocolate in hand, she began to feel slightly nervous. She was just about to ask for the bill, when a car from Dom’s chauffeur company pulled up outside and she could see the driver on his mobile phone. Next the main door opened and in the light of the grand lobby there was the French Stick, made up beautifully, wearing a Chanel coat and Louboutin heels, with her growing bump now showing, perfectly round. And then there was Dom, looking tired in joggers and in his favourite Nike sweatshirt giving her a huge hug and passionate kiss, before waving her off into the London night with an “au revoir” and “see you next Monday, Mon Cherie”.
Unexpectedly devoid of all feeling and congratulating herself at her perfect timing, she murmured, ‘The cheating bastard.’
Taking a deep breath, she checked her phone to see a text come in from Conor– the first he had sent since she had gone! Her heart jolted. She chose not to read it yet. She couldn’t muddy the water, not now– she had to do this first. She’d waited patiently and come this far.
She paid her bill and with her empty suitcase in tow, walked slowly and deliberately towards the flat. Pressing in the external code, she took the lift and when outside the door, took a huge breath before turning the key in the lock.
‘Ma Chérie, did you forget something?’ Dom shouted.
He was lying on the sofa with a large whisky in hand, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up to see Sabrina standing there, looking the epitome of chic and beauty.
‘No, Mon Chéri but you clearly did.’
‘Sabrina? It’s the fourth today.’ He smiled nervously. ‘I was planning to meet you tomorrow at the airport– you’re early.’
‘Oh, silly me, is it?’ Sabrina put her handbag down on the edge of the sofa. ‘Are you ready for me tonight? I was hoping maybe so. Let me just put my case in the bedroom, shall I?’
Dom jumped up. ‘Let me, let me– it’s so messy in there. Mrs Batty bloody resigned last week with no notice.’
‘Oh, did she? I wonder why.’ Sabrina kept her face straight.
But Sabrina wasn’t waiting for anybody. She pushed her way in to their old room to find a dressing table full of make-up and expensive French perfumes and rows of shoes. She then went to the bathroom cabinet and threw its glass doors open to find cleansers, toners, moisturisers and a plethora of girly shower products.
‘Oh, she– I mean, Francois– hasn’t moved her stuff out yet?’
‘Er, not– I’m so sorry, she was erm going to come and do it whilst we were in St Lucia.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Sabrina’s voice remained level. ‘You assumed I would just go there on a whim, did you? I’m not your puppet, Dominic.’
‘I said I was going to surprise you.’
‘And I said don’t book anything.’ Sabrina went to the bed and pulled back the covers.
