“Yes, Sir. Please come back soon.”
“As soon as I can. I promise. Drive carefully.” With a final smile, and a wink which is more than a little suggestive he stands back.
Heavy hearted I pull away, insisting to myself that the next week and a half will simply fly by. It has to. As I pass the house I wave to Nathan who’s come out onto his front step to see us off, baby Isabella in his arms. I glance in the mirror to see Eva blowing kisses to him from her car as she follows me along the gravel. Dan is striding back to join him, and the two of them wait on the step until we round the corner taking us out of sight.
Ten whole days before I see him again. Shit. But still, my stomach does a delightful little flip at the prospect of his return. I hug myself, giggling like the teenager I never quite dared to be.
* * * *
We pull into the underground parking area serving Nathan’s exclusive apartment building in Leeds’ Clarence Dock, and Eva texts Freya to check if it’s okay to go up. We wouldn’t want our unannounced arrival to be awkward, after all. A few seconds pass, then Eva’s phone pings as the text is returned. She reads, frowning, then passes the phone to me.
Yes, come up. Just me here. Nick went back to Cartmel.
“Well, so much for a make-up spanking. I wonder what all this is about.” Eva pockets the phone and strides out for the lift. I hurry after her, every bit as curious.
Eva lets us into the apartment with her key card, and we find a red-eyed Freya huddled on the sofa. She looks awful, haggard even. From the look of her I’d be prepared to bet she got no sleep last night, but whether her grief is primarily for her beloved horse, or the relationship she struggled so hard for and which now seems to lie in tatters I’m not sure. I sit next to her, open my arms and she crawls into my embrace, hugging me as if she’s drowning. Neither Eva nor I ask her any questions initially. There would be no point. Her heaving, silent sobs are racking her small, curvy form. I just hold her, patting her back uselessly while Eva busies herself with the kettle.
At last, though, a pot of tea steaming on the low table in front of the sofa, I manage to prise Freya out of my arms.
“So, Cartmel? What the fuck is he doing in Cartmel?” Eva starts the interrogation
I might have phrased it differently, but that does just about capture the essence. Eva’s not known for her powers of tact and diplomacy, and at this moment I’m glad of it. We both wait expectantly.
“He was angry. Too angry, he said, to deal with me yet. So he went.”
“Yet? Did you say yet?” I’m struggling to get to grips with all this, but there does seem to be a gleam of hope in there somewhere. Well hidden, mind you.
Freya nods, her misery completely apparent.
“So he’s coming back?” This from Eva.
She is answered by another feeble nod from Freya.
“When?” Me again.
Freya shrugs, so I press her harder. “What? Don’t you know?”
She shakes her head. “He told me to wait here, or go back to Kendal if I want to. He’ll be in touch.”
“What, sort of don’t call me, I’ll call you?”
I can tell Eva doesn’t think much of this waiting game, and Freya looks totally unraveled by the whole thing. I can sort of understand Nick’s logic, though, and despite my friend’s obvious distress I appreciate his restraint. Having been on the receiving end of physical discipline at Dan’s hands a couple of times now, I can completely sympathize with his decision. If I’m following this correctly, Nick has opted to delay punishing Freya until he’s no longer angry with her. This is for her safety, her protection.
“I know what you’re thinking, but he will be back. He promised.” Despite her grief, Freya is glaring at Eva, her expression fierce.
“Sorry, I know. I know that. He loves you. But still, couldn’t he have stayed to see you through all this with the horse?” Eva hands Freya a cup of tea.
She takes it and sips delicately so we have to wait for her response to Eva’s latest point. I know all Freya’s tricks for delaying when she’s collecting her thoughts so I resist relieving her of her cup. For now at least. My patience pays off as she sets the teacup down and resumes her explanation.
“Yes, he does. And he helped me all he could with Queenie. I really don’t know what I’d have done yesterday without him. And Dan.” She looks to the door and back to us. “Where
is
Dan?”
“He had to go back to Cumbria. He has to work. He’ll be back in a week or so.”
Freya nods. “I see. Right. So, are you and Dan…?
Now it’s my turn to nod. “We are. And I’ll tell you all about that, but not right now. Right now we want to know how you are, what Nick intends to do, when he intends to do it, and how’s your horse?”
Freya heaves a great sigh before starting on her reply. Her hands are light and nimble as she frames her signing, “I’m fine. Miserable, lonely, but fine. I’m glad to see you two—thank you for coming. I don’t know what Nick intends to do, but I know it’ll hurt. It’ll be worth it, though, because afterwards he’ll forgive me. I know he will, and we’ll be okay again. Queenie seems comfortable, and the vets at the hospital seem optimistic but I’m going back there later this afternoon. Did you bring my car, by the way?”
“Yes, it’s in the underground parking bay.” I fish the keys from my jacket pocket and place them on the coffee table. “We’re going furniture shopping. I’m moving into a flat above the garage at Black Combe. Accommodation goes with the job you got for me. Did I thank you for that. By the way?”
Freya’s disgusted expression indicates just what she thinks of the need for thanks, so I continue, “It needs furnishing, so we’re headed to Ikea after this. Want to come?”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. I want to go to the veterinary hospital to see how Queenie’s doing, and Nick told me to stay here.”
“What, you’re not allowed to go out? We’ll be back in time for you to visit your horse.”
“He didn’t say I wasn’t to go anywhere, and maybe he never intended it. But I’m not risking it. Apart from visiting Queenie, or essentials like shopping for food, I’m staying here. As instructed.”
Eva and I both know when to admit defeat. It’s clear Freya’s in no mood for Ikea today. I doubt if Nick ever truly meant her to be confined to the apartment, but I suppose she’s doing what she thinks is right. And while on that subject…
“Freya, what
was
all that about? I don’t understand— Why didn’t you tell Nick about the money?”
She looks from me to Eva and back again, then picks up her cup. Delaying tactics again. I’m ready to wait her out. Eva seems to be going nowhere either. We both sip our tea, expectant, patient, determined to get to the bottom of this.
“I couldn’t. I meant to, all along I meant to, but I didn’t, and it just got harder and harder as time went by.”
Eva and I exchange a look which indicates that neither of us is any closer to enlightenment. Freya catches it, and seems to take umbrage. “Oh, right, and neither of you ever had a secret then? Something private that you didn’t want to share?”
Ah, right.
But even so, being minted is hardly on a par with my dirty little secret that I haven’t even shared with Freya let alone Dan. I sneak a glance at Eva, who is looking thoughtful. She nods slowly, seemingly closer to understanding Freya’s point of view than I am.
“So, okay then, I can understand that things sort of escalated. But why start the deception in the first place. Did you think he was only interested in you because you’re rich?”
“No! Never. Quite the opposite in fact. Summer knows that. I couldn’t get him to accept money when I offered it to him. Nick was never motivated by greed. I knew that from the beginning.” Freya’s vehement defense of Nick’s moral fiber is encouraging on one level, but does nothing to dispel our utter confusion.
“So…?” Eva is perplexed, but still trying. Maybe this is her innate need to understand, to explain, all traits of the rigorous academic which she is.
For myself, I’m starting to become resigned to living with the messy uncertainty. It’s clear that Freya doesn’t know herself why she let the situation get so out of hand.
“I’m sorry. I messed up. Totally screwed things up. Is Nathan very angry? About the board meeting I mean?”
Eva looks surprised. “No, I don’t think so. He was caught on the back-foot and he doesn’t usually take too kindly to that. But his main concern was for you. Still is.”
Freya stiffens her posture, her expression serious now. I’ve seen that look before. She means business.
“Please would you tell him that I
will
be making that investment. Max will be in touch regarding the details. Whatever happens with Nick, I know he won’t interfere with that. He won’t want to, although I’m determined to include him if I can. We’ll see how that goes.”
“Okay, I’ll pass that on. Are you sure you won’t come to Ikea with us. We’re shopping for four-poster beds.”
Freya smiles at that, the first proper sign that the old Freya might be re-emerging from under her cocoon of abject misery. “Four-posters? Whose idea was that then?”
“Dan’s,” Eva puts in helpfully. “And Nathan seems to think we need one too. Summer’s asked Dan to get some red silk rope.”
Freya just lifts one eyebrow as she reaches for the teapot to pour us all a top-up. I guess Ikea will have to wait for half an hour or so while I discuss the relative merits of silk rope or leather straps with these my friends who are so much more experienced in these matters.
* * * *
In fact it’s another ninety minutes before we all three make our way back down to the underground car park—Freya on her way to the hospital to check on Queenie’s progress, and Eva and myself en route to some sprawling retail park on the Leeds ring road. We have a group hug beside Freya’s car, then she slips into her driver’s seat and starts the engine. Eva and I watch her purr out of the car park. I’m conscious that the next few days or weeks will not be easy, but at the same time I’m confident that eventually this will all be behind her. I just hope Nick’s temper doesn’t take too long to cool. The waiting is the hardest part.
The shopping expedition passes in something of a blur. Eva has the company credit card, and makes purchase after purchase for my new home. I keep trying to stop her, convinced I really don’t need so much stuff.
“It’s a big flat, you’ll need beds for your sisters, enough chairs. Cupboards. You never have enough storage space. What about your shoes?”
I can safely say my shoes would fit in, well, in a shoebox I suppose. I don’t have a lot of stuff of my own, just the contents of my holdall tucked under Dan’s bed, and a few items still at Freya’s apartment. A modest chest of drawers and a wardrobe would be ample. Eva has other ideas, though, and by the end of the afternoon what seems to me to be a lorry-load of gear is scheduled for delivery over the coming few days.
We drew a blank on four-posters, though. Perhaps there’s not much call for such things among Ikea’s normal clientele. The salesman looked rather nonplussed when we enquired, explaining patiently that the modern customer tended to favor divans, sled beds, something more contemporary. He pointed out the merits of under-bed storage, and of course I can see he has a point. We’ll need somewhere to store Dan’s whips. Even so, we really did have our hearts set on a four-poster. Still, I’m pragmatic, ready to settle for something nice from their king-size range.
Not so Eva. There’s to be no settling for a common-or-garden divan for her, even if it does come with drawers underneath. She has her instructions, and it seems Nathan’s commands are not to be thwarted just because Ikea wants to cater to the mass market. “Please can you arrange for delivery of the stuff we’ve ordered so far? We’ll need to think about the bed.”
“Of course. Can I take some details?” We spend the next twenty minutes filling in forms, getting our credit card payment authorized, our purchases duly completed, and delivery details finalized. And we’re still missing two four-poster beds.
Eva seems unconcerned. “Right, I’ve worked up an appetite. They do a wonderful Swedish meatballs dish here. Let’s hit the café, order some food, and sort out our four-posters.”
I can’t imagine we’ll find what we’re looking for on the menu in the Ikea restaurant, but my feet ache and the meatballs sound interesting. I don’t take a lot of persuading. Eva orders meatballs and mash for two, then digs in her bag for her iPad. She fires it up and starts Googling four-poster beds.
Less than ten minutes later, we’ve found a specialist supplier in Devon who makes beds to order and can deliver anywhere in the UK. There’s an online ordering system, but Eva insists on phoning them up to find out how quickly they could process an order from us. Very quickly indeed, it seems. Perhaps trade is less brisk than they would like. In any case, the bed I fancy, a rather solid but still graciously proportioned piece called the Hanover, could it seems, be erected in my bedroom within five days.
“Is that the one you want?” Eva shoves the iPad back under my nose for a last, decisive look.
I shake my head in disbelief. “Shit, Eva. It costs twelve hundred quid. We could get one of those with drawers for under two hundred. And two free bedside lights thrown in.”
“Dan doesn’t want drawers. Or lights. He wants posts to tie you to, and cross bars to hang you from. Are we going to disappoint him?”
Absolutely not. But still—twelve hundred pounds…
I shake my head uncertainly. Eva harbors no such misgivings.
“Right, this one it is then.” She returns her attention to the salesperson on the end of the phone, who is no doubt extremely interested in her remarks regarding our particular requirements in a bed. “We’ll take the Hanover. In dark oak I think. And I also want a Tudor, in walnut. Yes, that’s right, two beds please. Yes, both need to be king size. Next Thursday will be fine. The delivery men
will
assemble them for us, won’t they?”
She completes the deal, and is just hanging up as our meatballs arrive. A good day’s work, it seems. Well, Eva’s pleased with herself, and I suppose I’ve no complaints. And neither Dan nor Nathan will find any cause to grumble at our choice.