Chapter 8
Charlotte was on the phone when Lew walked in. She had such a strange telephone voice it always made him want to laugh, though he didn’t. Her vowels rounded and she developed a silky purr worthy of Fenella Fielding. He wasn’t even sure she was aware that she sounded as if she had just quit sixth form at Roedean.
‘It has been too long, Gem, you’re right . . . yar . . . totally . . .’
Yar . . . totally. She was even starting to employ that ridiculous pretentious tone with her best friend.
‘Seven . . . or when you’re ready. I’ll do steak . . . haven’t made my special sauce for ages.’
She indicated to Lew that she’d only be two seconds.
‘Okay . . . see you Saturday. Great stuff. Ciao Gem . . . yep, hope you get on all right.’ Charlotte pressed the end call button with a very long silver-tipped nail then turned to Lew. ‘Hi darling, good day at the emporium?’
Charlotte never referred to it as a shop because it would sound too downmarket. She hadn’t said as much, but Lew knew. She’d always enjoyed the kudos that came with being able to brag, ‘My husband is an investment banker in the City’ but it wasn’t so palatable to admit that he now rented a shop dealing in old things, so in her head the Pot of Gold was a high-end ‘emporium’ full of things that Sotheby’s might covet.
‘Wonderful,’ he smiled and meant it.
‘That was a very enthusiastic answer,’ trilled Charlotte. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ve managed to get rid of Vanda Clegg,’ grinned Lew. ‘I never thought it was possible to be so happy about being ripped off.’
‘Ripped off? What do you mean “ripped off”?’ Charlotte’s newly microbladed left eyebrow rose a full Roger Moore inch.
‘To cut a long story short,’ began Lew, pulling the glass top from the decanter on the work surface and pouring himself a finger of malt, ‘she’s been stealing from me and then selling the merchandise on in another antiques centre virtually on the doorstep. Arrogance or idiocy, I have no idea which.’ Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, but Lew pre-empted the question. ‘If you’re going to ask how I found out, freakishly a woman who worked in the other shop came into mine asking for a job and recognised her. I gave Vanda the option to take her bag, leave and never darken my doorstep again or I’d let the police handle it. Not surprisingly she took me up on the offer.’
‘Oh my God, the cheeky cow,’ gasped Charlotte.
‘And what’s more I set on the woman who recognised Vanda. She’s worked in the antiques trade for years and really knows her stuff.’
He noticed that Charlotte stiffened slightly.
‘That was a bit quick. What does she look like?’
‘Mila Kunis,’ said Lew, feeling the whisky hit the back of his throat with a satisfying burn.
‘Really?’ Charlotte’s eyes widened.
‘No, not really,’ chuckled Lew. Mila Kunis was his favourite. But even if it had been Mila Kunis herself who had turned up looking for a job, Charlotte would have had no worries. Lew was married and that was it as far as he was concerned. He’d never strayed and he never would. If he ever fell out of love with Charlotte, he’d end it and then move on, not try the waters beforehand. And he’d seen very up close and personal recently, the full effect of an extramarital affair, and didn’t want any of it.
‘Well then? What is she like?’
‘I don’t know,’ shrugged Lew, ‘Average, I suppose. Brown hair, medium height, quiet. I was more interested in the fact that she appeared so knowledgeable than what dress size she was.’
Charlotte, quickly bored with shop talk, moved on to another subject. ‘Gemma and Jason are coming up for supper on Saturday night.’
‘I thought that’s what you might have been arranging when I walked in.’
‘And Patrick and Regina. We haven’t seen any of them for weeks and it’s our turn to host.’
Lew liked Gemma and Jason a lot, he could relax with them, less so with Patrick and Regina, especially at the moment. He tried not to sigh but failed.
‘Oh, don’t react like that, Lewis, everything is back to normal now,’ huffed Charlotte.
Lew nearly spat out his whisky. ‘Are you joking?’
‘Well, it is until Regina has too much to drink. So we’ll just make sure she doesn’t.’
‘Okay,’ said Lew, blowing out two large lungfuls of air which made his lips vibrate in a judder.
‘Oh, Lewis, don’t look like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘They’ve put it all behind them. Nothing has happened since they renewed their vows.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Lew, with sarcasm. ‘How much did all that cost? Three weeks in the Maldives, not to mention Regina’s dress and the diamond eternity ring and all the other things he bought her. And remind me what happened two weeks after they came home, when we all went to the Koh-i-Noor on Regina’s birthday.’
‘Ah, I’d forgotten about that,’ said Charlotte with a grimace, recalling a very drunk Regina lobbing a party-sized mixed platter of starters at her errant husband, Indian snowball-style.
‘How can you forget about it, Charlotte? I didn’t think it was possible to get a suspected detached retina from having an onion bhajee land in your eye. She nearly blinded her own husband.’
‘She was off her face. She couldn’t remember anything about it afterwards.’
‘Oh well, that makes it okay then.’ Lew shook his head in exasperation. ‘She got all six of us banned, five of us who remember it in glorious technicolour. This, my darling Charlotte, will not go away for years, trust me. If ever. I don’t have Regina down as the forgiving sort, even with a diamond the size of one of Nanny McPhee’s warts.’
‘Oh, gross, Lewis.’ Charlotte gave a shudder.
Thirteen months ago, news of Patrick’s affair had rocked their little group of six. Regina was beautiful, clever, scary and the only child of a very rich daddy and Patrick had always known on what side his bread was best buttered: the look but don’t touch side. Not surprisingly the object of his affection, Marlene, had been a blue-eyed blonde. Surprisingly, she was not a delicious young floozy with fake boobs and inflated lips, the type Patrick usually ogled, but a plain, gentle, homely-looking woman older than his wife. And if THAT wasn’t enough, the smart, preened, savvy Patrick had got himself caught out with the stupidest of mistakes: sending a Valentine’s card meant for his mistress to his wife. Needless to say, Patrick cut off the affair before he was cut off from Regina, her daddy’s money and his bollocks. Patrick had done whatever he could to mend the damage, but Regina’s forgiveness ran only surface deep because there was a lake of magma that surged up as soon as she had reached a certain level of inebriation, which always led to a spoil of festering sarcasm and bilious, excruciating, bitterness.
‘So, talking of affairs, do I need to check this . . . what’s her name . . . out then?’ asked Charlotte.
‘Bonnie,’ returned Lew. ‘And no, don’t be silly.’
‘Bonnie?’ Charlotte quirked both eyebrows this time.
‘Nice.’
‘Yes she is,’ said Lew, stepping towards his wife, looping his arms around her, refusing to play any jealousy games. He gave her a big kiss on the cheek. ‘But she’s not as nice as you. How do you fancy going out for tea tonight instead of cooking? Pasta Papa. To celebrate the fact that I never have to walk in and see Vanda Clegg again.’
‘Oh, that would be good,’ said Charlotte, though her voice carried a note that suggested otherwise.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Lew, pulling her to arm’s length.
‘Well . . .’ Charlotte sighed, ‘Pasta Papa is okay but . . . couldn’t we go to Firenze instead?’
Lew pulled a face of gentle protest. Firenze was a wonderful place to dine, but more for a grand occasion. Pasta Papa was cheap and cheerful and around the corner and he wouldn’t have to dress smart for it or get a taxi. A bowl of Tagliatelle Papa-style, their thin garlic and mozzarella bread and an ice-cold Peroni was all he wanted, not the full posh and pernickity shebang. He would need to have a word with Charlotte about her spending habits anyway after taking a very close look at their accounts recently. She was going through money as if it were loo paper.
Charlotte was now pushing out her bottom lip. ‘Oh, please. You did say it was a celebration and we haven’t been for ages. We don’t have to have every course.’
Lew conceded. Anything to make her happy. ‘Oh, go on then,’ he relented.
Charlotte giddily clapped her hands. ‘I’ll change into my new dress.’
She scurried up the stairs and Lew watched her. Charlotte didn’t like to do cheap and cheerful any more, she’d been spoilt. Lew picked up the phone to ring Firenze and book a table, but he would still have preferred Pasta Papa.