‘I’m not the buyer,’ said Amelia, ‘but I do sometimes make recommendations and I recommended these garments be bought in. Rowan Chater came to the shop with an introduction from somebody I used to work with. He made a lot of being in the trade, wishing he could move his operation here, all that kind of thing. He said he had a local designer who was wasted in a small provincial city.’ Amelia replaced her hands tidily in front of her. ‘I agreed to look at it. I liked it. He said that he’d arranged to agent the designs and was taking 15%.’
Diane choked back a laugh that might have become a sob. ‘Agent! He pretended that he sold them in his shop and had a job to get rid of them. He paid me peanuts. And all the time the slimy bastard was bringing my garments to you and making a big profit.’ She swallowed, hard.
Amelia’s eyes were sympathetic. ‘It’s been going on for some time.’ She rubbed one of her hands on another as Diane fought her tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘But I don’t think anyone’s done anything illegal and I had no reason to believe that he was pulling a fast one. Unless you had a contract that he would sell what you sold him from a specific outlet, I think he’s free to sell stock on.’
Diane nodded, throat stretched with tears.
Then the urge to cry vanished as an interesting thought blossomed. ‘Did they sell? My designs?’
‘Oh, yes. No problems there. I like your stuff.’
Sitting up straighter, Diane fixed on what she hoped was a businesslike expression. Miraculously, her trembling ceased. ‘So would you buy garments directly from me?’
Amelia reached again for the coffee jug, with a glimmer of a smile. ‘It does seem the best arrangement. Let’s talk Monkee.’
Back in Peterborough, James was waiting as the train groaned into the station. Carried by a wave of joy, Diane had bounced over to hug him before she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to.
‘How did you know where I was?’ Somehow, her hand touched his.
His eyes smiled, despite the sadness in their depths. ‘Tamzin and George tried to ring you and Bryony told them that you’d just texted home with the time of your train. I came to see if you’d fill me in with what happened at Covent Garden.’ He grinned. ‘I promise not to press my unwanted and unwarranted advice on you.’
Across a table in the steamy coffee shop she told him about her confrontation of Amelia Fountain in the Monkee Box. ‘It’s Rowan, exactly as I suspected. Nasty little worm.And,’ she paused, impressively, ‘I offered to sell my garments direct to the Monkee Box and Amelia said yes!’
His face lit up. ‘You’re officially a successful businesswoman. Congratulations.’
She laughed. Then she stopped. ‘Was I rude when you offered to help with Rowan?’
‘Bloody rude, but I didn’t offer to help, I tried to take over. A fault of mine. Sorry.’ His eyes smiled.
She put her head on one side. ‘Humility doesn’t suit you.’
‘Nothing suits me.’ His eyes stopped smiling. ‘I’m in a nightmare. My wife’s dead, my daughters are distraught, my father-in-law is the personification of grief and I think it’s only his anger at his loss that’s preventing his heart from sending him after his daughter. Tamzin has announced that she’s done seeing doctors, counsellors and therapists.
‘Valerie’s affairs are orderly but complex and I’m her chief executor. I would never have believed that she could cause me more stress and paperwork now than she did when she was alive. And the girls are intelligent enough to realise that although it was her injuries that made her vulnerable to the embolism, being a heavy smoker and drinker almost invited it. So their emotions are all over the place.
‘And through it all, the weeks of hassle and heartache and the regret and even despite the awful, ever-presentguilt, a tiny piece of me wants you to be sewing something quietly in the same room while I deal with the paperwork tsunami. Whenever the girls dissolve into tears I want you to appear with understanding words and hot, buttered toast.’
He smiled, painfully. ‘You didn’t know how right you were going to be proved about it being the wrong time for us.’
She sighed in unhappy acknowledgement. ‘Apart from Valerie, Bryony needs family stability and so do your girls.’
He examined her hand, caressing the rough patch on her left forefinger with one square fingertip. ‘Do you think you’ll ever leave him?’
‘I don’t know. I’m trying to keep my marriage going in some form for Bryony and her unborn baby. I can’t see far past that, right now.’
‘I suppose you’re right to do that.’
‘I suppose I am.’ Despair tugged at her chest.
He sighed. ‘So I’d better go home and cope with stuff.’
‘Me, too.’
In the car park, they kissed cheeks by her car in an unexceptional manner.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Diane picked up her bag and car keys then tapped at Bryony’s door. ‘Come on then, if you want a lift into Peterborough.’
