Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Suzanne Chamberlain sat across from Josh in his kitchen. It was the first time anyone other than Madeline had been in the house since Winston had walked out. It took some getting used to.

Suzanne was Josh's chief designer at his fashion label, Cut. She was a beautiful woman with a mane of red hair and eyes that lit up a room.

"Are you thinking of coming back any time soon?" Suzanne ventured.

Josh sipped his coffee. A fair question he didn't have an answer for. The idea of breaking out of his bubble entirely petrified him. If life moved on, then his marriage had truly ended.

"I don't know," he said. "Soon."

Suzanne reached across and squeezed his hand. "We're missing you."

Cut was a small label. Ever since Winston's diagnosis, Suzanne had taken control of the day-to-day workings. She ‘d grown adept at making his creations come to life, ably assisted by Martha and Sidney, their in-house dressmakers. Everything else they outsourced, whether it be event management, public relations or accounts. Both Martha and Sidney had worked at Cut for almost a year and Josh still hadn't met them yet. Something he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable about.

Winston's accusation of him abandoning his label flashed into his mind.

He also had a half stake in the Cut store on the charming little street nearby called Queens Parade. It held collection of artisan shops which were hugely popular in the area and rapidly becoming a tourist destination, thanks to social media.

Even that was primarily managed by Helga Wolf and her flamboyant sidekick, Jean-Paul Toussaint. A highly strung yet very effective Parisian with an eye for fashion and a fantastic way with their customers, he contacted Josh on a regular basis, seemingly oblivious to Josh's personal catastrophes. Josh suspected Helga was using Jean-Paul as a human shield.

"Anyway," Josh said. "Tell me about the collection. How's it coming along?"

Suzanne ran her hand through her hair.

"I can send you the designs," she replied. "I'd value your opinion. It's your baby, after all."

When he'd been supporting Winston, Josh had found time to go through Suzanne's suggestions and had edited where appropriate. At the time he'd appreciated the link to his life before. Now it left him cold.

Will I ever get my enthusiasm back?

"I trust you," he said.

"Josh. That's a major responsibility."

"You know what I like."

Suzanne sighed and took a swig from her cup. Josh hated that he was being so unfair to her. Yet, he also didn't want to take control of Cut half-heartedly. He might end up doing more harm than good. The fashion elite were notorious at sniffing out a collection that didn't have genuine passion in its creation.

"Fine," he said, eventually. "Send me some designs."

Suzanne smiled. "Thank you."

Josh hopped off his stool, signalling the conversation was over. He didn't want to be browbeaten into giving her a date for his return. He had no idea.

"How's Polly?"

Suzanne had married an environmental consultant two years earlier. It had been an exceptionally cool wedding in the Cotswolds. Of course, Josh had designed her dress.

"She's good," she replied. "Doing a project in the Orkneys at the moment. She'll be home soon."

"Aww, you're missing her," he replied as he walked her down the hallway.

"I like to know she's safe."

Josh frowned. He was at a loss for what danger Polly could find herself in in Scotland. As he opened the door, he saw Mrs Wimpole wandering by with her Yorkshire terrier, Parkin.

Fuck.

Of course she clocked him immediately. He gave her a wave as cheerily as possible. Suzanne walked down the steps before stopping.

"We really do need you, Josh."

"I know," he replied. "I will be back as soon as I possibly can."

As he watched her heading off down Queens Crescent, he sensed a presence next to him. There were no prizes for guessing who it was.

"Hello, Mrs Wimpole," he said.

"Hello, Joshua," she replied. "It's very nice to see your face at long last. I was beginning to get really concerned."

He cared very much for his neighbour. A kind woman with an edge of steel, Mrs Wimpole viewed anything that went on in Queens Crescent and the surrounding area as her business. To be fair to her, she had intervened in most of his neighbours' lives for the good. Yet, he didn't feel like being managed just yet.

"Sorry if I've worried you, Mrs W," Josh said. "I needed some time alone."

Mrs Wimpole nodded. "We all must have that from time to time. It's important to know when that must pass or we will find ourselves completely out of step with the real world, and that would never do."

He nodded. "I agree. I'll be in circulation again soon. I promise."

"No man is worth the sacrifice of one's dreams," she said, quietly. "Now I'll leave you be."

"Where are you off to?"

"The British Library," she replied. "The Professor wants to find an obscure text on?—"

"Let me guess, Charles Dickens."

Mrs Wimpole nodded. Their neighbour, who everyone affectionately called the Professor, was a leading expert on Dickens. Josh found it surprising that The British Library even housed a book that the Professor hadn't read. Seemingly it did.

"Got it in one," she said. "The poor man is obsessed. I've never been a huge fan but I like to accompany him. It gets one out of the house."

Again, she treated him to a loaded stare. Mrs Wimpole rarely used the subtle approach.

"Well, have a nice afternoon," Josh said.

Before she could engage him any further, he walked up his steps and into the house. He didn't like to be rude to Mrs Wimpole as he had a lot of respect for her. However, he wasn't quite ready for her line of questioning. She brought a new meaning to the word insistent.

He wandered into the kitchen and set about clearing his and Suzanne's mugs. The notion of returning to work gnawed away at him. He would be quizzed on every minute detail, especially by the ever-nosey Jean-Paul. That much was evident. However, perhaps he had to grasp the nettle. Being a prisoner in his own home had become monotonous.

The solicitor's letter lay on top of the microwave where he'd shoved it upon first reading. He had no desire to go through it again. If Winston wanted a divorce, there wasn't a lot that Josh could do to persuade him otherwise.

Is that what I really want?

Confusion reigned supreme in his mind. He had no intention of asking Madeline's opinion. She'd already made it very clear there was no room for Winston in Josh's life anymore. As easy as that.

Suddenly a hammering on the front door disturbed him. At first, he thought it might be Winston. Hardly, he had a key. It was far too insistent to be Madeline or even Mrs Wimpole.

He dashed down the hallway and opened the door.

There stood an incredibly handsome man. He had short platinum blond hair and a tan that people would pay a fortune for. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. It was the total panic on his face that Josh noticed the most.

"Can I help you?" Josh asked.

"Oh fuck, I hope so."

He had an Australian accent. In fact, something about his voice was familiar to Josh. He couldn't put his finger on why.

"Go on."

"I'm housesitting next door," the man blurted out. "And I've had a washing machine disaster. The bastard is leaking all over the floor. You don't know anyone who can help, do you?"

Whilst studying at Central Saint Martins College, Josh had worked for an events company that covered most of the major shows of London Fashion Week. The hammering their laundry department took was unbelievable. He'd soon become adept at fixing the equipment.

"Give me one second."

He ran into the kitchen to a cupboard under the stairs where he and Winston had stashed all sorts of crap they never used.

Luckily, Josh's toolbox was near the front. Not that he'd needed it in years. Winston usually insisted on calling in professionals.

When Josh returned outside, the handsome stranger's eyes lit up.

"Are you a washing machine repair man?"

"Yes," Josh said. "That's why I live here. It pays ever so well."

"To be fair, if you can help, I don't care what you do. Come on."

Josh followed the man down the steps and round to Jeannie's. As she lived on the end of the crescent, her house was a little smaller than the others. Josh had had many conversations with the famous model over the fence. He had no idea what it would be like inside.

The man had left the front door open. He ushered Josh down the corridor. Unsurprisingly, it was lined with photos of Jeannie in glamorous locations. As a major name in the modelling world, Jeannie was very much in demand. Most of the photos were professionally taken although Jeannie would be stunning no matter who had control of the camera.

The house appeared to be the same layout as Josh's. They made it through into the kitchen, which had a thin sheen of suds covering the floor.

"Have you knocked off the stopcock?" Josh asked.

"Sorry?"

"The— Don't worry."

He ran over to the sink and dropped to his knees. The water soaked through his jeans immediately. He quickly wrenched open the cupboard door. It was full of cleaning equipment. He yanked the bottles out and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the stopcock. Sometimes the similarities between the houses came in handy.

With great effort he managed to twist it anticlockwise until it went no further.

His trousers were drenched by the time he stood up.

"Where's the machine?"

"Through here," the man said.

He led him into a small utility room that had far more water in.

"Quickly, open the back door," Josh instructed. "Let the water go out that way."

"Good thinking."

The man shoved the door.

"Can you get the machine open?" he asked. "There's something very valuable in there."

Josh retrieved a screwdriver from his toolbox. He found a small flap at the bottom of the machine that he managed to prise free with a pop. Inside, he discovered the emergency release for the door. With a plop, it opened. More water cascaded out, covering him.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed.

"Shit, I am so sorry."

"Never mind that," Josh replied.

Inside there seemed to be one garment of gigantic proportions.

What the hell has he got in here?

The man helped him haul the swathes of black material out. It was covered in soap suds.

"My bloody cape," the man wailed. "It's ruined."

"No, it isn't," Josh replied. "We need to get this detergent out. Is there a bath?"

"Upstairs."

"Come on."

Between them they carried the heavy cape up the stairs and into a sizeable bathroom.

"Fill it," Josh instructed.

The man put both taps on and shoved the plug in. Josh threw the cape in and knelt down. The man followed suit.

"Rinse every bit of it," Josh said. "Quickly."

With a great deal of work, they managed to submerge the cape in water. Grunting, they both squeezed every section as hard as possible. After what seemed like an age, the water thankfully ran clear.

"I think we've done it," Josh said, panting.

He sat back on his heels and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

"Thank you," the man said. "I don't know what I would do without this. I've had her for years."

"You need to get it outside. It's a good drying day."

"I'm so grateful…"

"Josh Winterton."

"The designer?"

Josh wasn't exactly in the big league so when anyone recognised his name, he got a kick out of it.

"That's the one. And you are?"

"Hugh Mottram or you might have heard of me as Betty Didn't."

It all became clear.

"You were one of the acts on The Archie Cook Show the other night."

Hugh shuddered. "Guilty as charged. Betty Didn't, at your service. Although if any chat about that disaster could be kept to a minimum, I'd be most grateful."

He got up and sat on the toilet.

"I guess it's had a bit of a backlash?" Josh asked.

"You could say that. Me and my partner have a tour booked but now the sponsors are getting jumpy."

"Partner?"

Hugh chuckled. "Professionally speaking. Otherwise known as Shirley Hedid."

Josh blushed. "What are you going to do?"

"Hopefully come up with some new characters," Hugh replied. "Ones that aren't tired."

Josh got to his feet. His legs had gone to sleep and his wet jeans were stuck to him.

"I'd better let you get on with mopping the floors," he said.

"You mean your help doesn't extend to that?"

"I think that's pushing the good neighbourly relations a little too far. Don't worry, you'll have it done in no time."

Hugh got up and grinned at him. "Imagine expecting a top designer to mop out a model's utility room. Don't worry, I know my place in this neighbourhood."

Josh returned the smile.

"I'll get the name of my plumber and drop it round later."

"Thanks," Hugh said, maintaining eye contact. "I'll look forward to that."

"Me too."

Josh found that he really did mean that as well.