Page 83 of Barging In
“Me neither,” Clem replied, stepping out of the car feeling momentarily lighter and happier.
But the further she walked from Victoria, the heavier she felt. She’d used the wordfriendship, and as much as Clem treasured it, she wished it were more. Each step across the dusk-lit cobbles towards the canal felt like someone had slipped weights in her shoes.
She was at least relieved that Victoria hadn’t raised the subject of the job offer, though she knew there would be no reprieve tomorrow at dinner. Every part of her was itching to get stuck in at the wharf, to implement the changes she’d thought of and watch its fortunes turn around. Itwas something she was certain she could do; it was who she was, what she excelled at.
Whether she could take that step was another matter. She did miss working regular hours and knowing exactly where she needed to be each day instead of living at the whims of the weather or the passing trade. Not that working for the wharf sounded regular, just whatever she could squeeze between everything she was already doing.
As she reached Florence, her head ached as much as her heart did. A lie down was in order before cruising back to the jetty to start work. She needed to try to reset herself by burying her face in a pillow and blocking out the world for a little bit. It would still be waiting for her, with all its questions and demands, when she awoke.
CHAPTER 19
Victoria plumped the cushion in her favourite chair for the sixth time, turned the background music off for the third time, and switched a corner lamp back on. She sipped from her glass of Chablis, then refilled it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this nervous — or was it excitement? She struggled to pinpoint the difference. To her, excitement was the anticipation of something positive, and nerves were the anticipation of something negative. But both could have been responsible for her clammy palms, restless limbs, racing heart, and fluttering stomach.
She checked her watch. Her guest was due to arrive in five minutes. She perched on a stool at the kitchen island and forced herself to breathe slowly. It was only dinner. Dinner with Clem, the woman who made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel.
Why couldn’t she keep away from her? She could source cakes elsewhere, find someone else to help the wharf with marketing, and call a taxi when she nextwanted a lift. Victoria swallowed hard, trying to suppress the nausea rising in her throat. She didn’t want to do any of those things. At least the hospital run had led to making peace with her neighbours. Hopefully they could be cordial from now on.
Clem’s words from the tour of the wharf lingered in her head. She’d said Victoria made a habit of forgetting herself. Clem had been referring to the museum, but the way she said it, Victoria knew she was saying something else. And then there was the other thing she’d said: Sometimes you had to be on the outside looking in to see problems. That, too, had a deeper meaning behind it, she was sure. Victoria noticed things, like the slight tilt of Clem’s head challenging her to dispute it.
She’d also noticed the way Clem had stroked her cheek that morning when she’d returned her Tupperware, the very cheek Victoria hadn’t been able to resist kissing when she’d passed it to her. Had Clem been thinking about it in that moment? If so, did the smile on her face mean she’d liked it? But what could a young, beautiful woman see in someone like her? She had more yesterdays than tomorrows and was desperately trying to cling to the last of her dignity.
A deep sigh escaped her lips. What did it matter anyway? She was still married. Always would be.
The doorbell rang, making Victoria jump and sending her heart racing again.
Fuck!Who was she kidding? It mattered a lot. It meant everything.
She opened the door to find Clem holding a bunch of pink roses. Her hand flew to her chest as sudden emotion swelled there, threatening to choke her.
“Wow!” she managed, letting out a breath as she tookthem. “It’s been a long time since someone brought me flowers. Oh — not that you have, in that way, anyway.” Victoria did her best to look less flustered than she felt. “Come on in.”
Clem stepped inside, and as Victoria closed the door behind her, she shook her head at herself. What was she thinking? People often gave each other flowers — especially when one of the people was hosting a dinner party. It didn’t have to mean anything.
“They can mean whatever you want them to mean,” Clem replied softly, eyes locked on her as she turned around.
Okay — maybe it did mean something.
“Thank you.” Victoria held the bouquet in front of her face, using it as a shield to hide her moistening eyes. Why on earth was she crying? Okay, she knew why. Clem… had broughther… flowers. “Come through,” she added, leading the way into the kitchen. “I’ll find a vase.”
She set the flowers down on the marble worktop and rummaged under the sink, trying to compose herself as she did.
“I’m beginning to think a lemon drizzle might’ve been easier,” Clem remarked, her tone carrying a trace of nervous humour.
“Not at all. I have one somewhere,” Victoria called out as she dove into a cupboard under the island. “Ah, here we are.” She said, spotting one. “And the flowers are beautiful,” she added, setting a crystal vase onto the worktop. As she stood, she took in Clem properly for the first time. Her long, brown hair spilled over her cream, floral dress, and a soft, ever-enticing smile lit up her face. “Just like you,” she let slip.
Clem’s smile deepened. “Thank you.”
Did I say that out loud?Victoria scrambled for her brain to deliver something — anything — to move the conversation on.
“Oh, I have something for you, too,” she blurted.
She reached for a small, rectangular parcel wrapped in floral paper and pushed it across the worktop to Clem, watching as she peeled it open.
“Under Pressure: A Feminist History of Corsetry. Thank you,” Clem said, flipping back the book’s front cover. “Signed by the author himself, I see.”
“Of course,” Victoria smirked. “He was veryeager. Wine?”
“Please,” Clem said, not even looking up from where she was perusing the table of contents.
