Forget Me Knot by Sue Margolis Page A

she didn’t notice Toby coming toward her. “Omigod, Abby,” he called out. “Sweetheart. Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” As soon as she saw him, she quickened her pace. His arms were open to receive her.
    “Oh, thank goodness you’re still here,” she said, virtually throwing herself at him. His eyes immediately went to the lapels of his gray Dunhill suit jacket.
    “Abby, you’re covered in soot.”
    “I know. Sorry. Oh, God, it’s all over your suit.” She pulled away.
    “It’s fine, really. Not to worry.” He began flicking his lapels. “So, come on, you still haven’t told me what happened.”
    “Omigod, it was so scary. You won’t believe it. The elevator broke down at Covent Garden tube, and a police rescue team had to winch me and this other chap up the elevator shaft.” The relief at seeing him, combined with the adrenaline still in her body, caused the words to tumble out of her in an excited, breathless stream.
    “Bloody hell! You sure you’re not hurt?”
    “I’m fine. I tried to phone you, but we were so far down, there was no signal.”
    “But you never take elevators,” he said.
    “I know, but I was running late. I knew taking the elevator would save time, and somehow I forced myself to do it. You have no idea how petrified I was.”
    He kissed her sooty cheek. “I can imagine. You poor, poor thing. Look, I think after what you’ve been through, we should get you home. I’ll explain to Mother—”
    “No, I’m all right… really. Though heaven knows what she’ll think of me in this state. I wiped my face, but there wasn’t much else I could do.”
    He dabbed at the dirt on her shoulder and managed— partially, at least—to suppress a grimace. “Don’t worry. Once you’ve explained, I’m sure she’ll understand.”
    “Your mother must be furious with me for not showing up.”
    He managed a humorous eye roll. “Don’t worry, but suffice it to say, you haven’t made the best of impressions.”
    Toby led her toward the table, flicking and dabbing at his suit as he went. “I have spent the last two hours listening to her grind on about how it’s not just manners but punctuality that maketh the man.”
    Abby put her grimy hand in his. “Poor you. I’m sorry. I did try phoning you again as soon as I was out of the elevator, but all I got was your voice mail.”
    “It must have been when I went to the loo. I left my phone on the table.”
    “Didn’t your mother hear it?”
    “Her hearing’s not so good these days.” By now they were almost at the table. “OK, remember, when Mother gets onto the subject of hunting, just go along with everything she says. Do not start challenging her.”
    “Toby, stop panicking.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
    The Dowager Lady Kenwood was seventyish, thick of waist and ample of bosom—exactly as Abby had envisaged. She was wearing a nondescript maroon velvet dress, which made her look like a giant pincushion. Save for a wonkily applied slash of scarlet lipstick, she wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup. Her fine silver hair was drawn into an untidy chignon held in place by two large combs and a mass of pins. As she stood up to greet the soot-dredged Abby, her disapproving smile revealed a perfect set of yellowy-beige teeth, which clashed spectacularly with her red lips.
    “Mother, I’d like you to meet Abby,” Toby announced, fiddling uneasily with the gold signet ring on his pinky.
    Lady Penelope was looking Abby up and down. “Good grief, child,” she boomed, “whatever happened to you?”
    “I’m afraid the elevator broke down at Covent Garden,” Toby volunteered nervously, “and Abby had to be rescued.”
    “Do be quiet, Toby. I’m sure the girl is perfectly capable of answering for herself. And for goodness sake, wipe the soot off your nose.”
    Toby instantly reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand-kerchief.
    “I’m so sorry I’m late,