The Fitzpatricks lived a short drive away at another exclusive Belgravia address close to Cadogan Place Gardens, where Ian helped Hayley out of the taxi. The immaculate white façade of the five-story terraced house loomed over her. Impeccably trimmed flower boxes adorned the lower floor windows and two neatly clipped lollipop trees stood sentry on either side of the large black door with the gold plated letter box.
Ian rang the bell and a butler answered almost immediately. He was fully kitted out with white gloves and a black waistcoat that had gold trim and buttons. Hayley tried very hard not to laugh. It was so over the top, so very Downton Abbey. She half expected a footman to announce their arrival as they were escorted to the reception room. Hayley took in the high ceilings, the cool white carpet and the crystal chandeliers, and her laughter caught in her throat.
‘Darlings, so happy you could come.’ A woman of around sixty-five, with silver hair and a long dress that made her look like Audrey Hepburn, breezed over to them with her arms outstretched. She gave them a series of air kisses.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick, I presume. What do I do? Should I curtsey?
Ian took the woman’s hand and kissed it lightly. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again, Elizabeth. Thank you for the invitation.’
‘You’re quite welcome.’ She patted him on the arm. ‘Now, my darling George is over there talking to that American, Brent Forester.’ She leaned in. ‘If I hear the word awesome one more time … Ian, would you be a dear and rescue George? I believe you have some business to discuss anyway?’
‘With pleasure,’ he said.
Hayley caught Ian’s smile and noticed how different he looked – authoritative but kind. No wonder he’d whisked her off her feet when she was so much younger. She watched him walk over to the man she supposed was George, accepting a glass of champagne from a ginger pony-tailed waiter on the way.
Elizabeth turned to Hayley. ‘Lovely to see you again, Hayley and I’m pleased you’re part of this little party.’
‘Little?’ Hayley looked at the servers that were circulating the room with flutes of champagne delicately balanced on shiny trays.
Elizabeth smiled. ‘There will only be twelve of us, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy Mrs. Forester’s company. She’s about your age. But anyway, how are you, dear? How are you really?’
Hayley hesitated and frowned, then said, ‘I’m well, thank you Mrs. Fitzpatrick.’
Elizabeth tut-tutted. ‘Oh please, you haven’t called me that since George and Ian started doing business together.’
‘Sorry, uh, Elizabeth, can I … I mean, may I use your bathroom?’
‘Of course, dear. Remember where it is? Down the hall to the left and second door to the right.’
Hayley walked quickly down the hallway, her heels making a clickety-clack sound on the polished marble floors. She stayed in the bathroom for as long as she dared, steadying herself against the heavy, antique cabinets, staring into the gold-leafed mirror above the marble sink. When she finally emerged, George Fitzpatrick stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He looked about the same age as Elizabeth, quite short, stout, veering on bald, with a wiry moustache that somewhat resembled a hairy caterpillar.
‘Hello, George.’ She held out her hand.
‘Good to see you again, Hayley.’ He moved in closer and almost pushed her back into the bathroom. ‘Really good.’
She took another step back.
A frown crossed George’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said quietly. ‘You couldn’t get enough of me yesterday.’
‘What?’
He looked left and right before lowering his voice even further. ‘I get hard thinking about what I did to you. Elizabeth never lets me do that.’
Do what?
‘But … but … you’re married.’
He laughed and moved closer again, snaking a hot, chubby arm around her waist. She could smell the whisky on his breath. ‘As are you. That’s what makes this all the more exciting, Hayley.’ He breathed heavily and she saw a look of pure, unadulterated lust in his eyes.
‘I can still taste you.’ He licked his lips and reached between her legs.
‘Don’t!’ She jumped to one side and pushed his hand away.
George chuckled. ‘Making me work for it, eh?’ He stepped aside and she slipped past him and into the hall.
‘I’ll call you on Tuesday,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll get together and … and I’ll do it to you again.’ He disappeared into the bathroom and Hayley shuddered.
No you won’t! God, I need a stiff one. Argh. I mean a stiff drink.
As she made her way back to the reception room, the ginger pony-tailed waiter stopped in front of her, putting a hand behind his back. He held out his tray. ‘Champagne?’
‘I need something stronger than that,’ she said.
‘What can I get you? Martini? Scotch?’
‘I’ll have a gin and tonic,’ she said, almost licking her lips in anticipation.
‘Certainly, Miss.’
‘Actually,’ she grabbed his starched, white sleeve, ‘Why don’t you make it a double?’
The waiter returned within minutes, carrying a full tumbler. Hayley took a big gulp and then several more, almost draining the glass. It warmed her belly and her hands stopped shaking. She watched from a distance as more guests arrived and gave each other air kisses. They were all so smart – the women in spectacular cocktail dresses, each one more elegant than the next, and the men dressed in expertly tailored suits. She smiled.
I’d be more comfortable at home with Rick and the kids in my tracksuit bottoms. Rick …
Ian appeared beside her. ‘I presume that’s ice water?’ he whispered tersely.
‘Gin and tonic,’ she said, taking a last sip and crunching a piece of ice with her teeth. ‘I’m having rough day.’
‘I suppose every day is rough? Restrain yourself. The golf club gala was bad enough. Rumours are spreading.’ He glared at her. ‘You’ll sit next to me and that,’ he pointed at her glass, ‘will be your only one. I’m sure you already had enough this morning.’ He walked away without waiting for a response.
Sod him. I haven’t had a gin and tonic in months.
She smiled as she recalled how Ellen recently complained about them becoming such lightweights or ‘cheap dates’ since they’d had kids.
When she put her empty glass on a vintage, oak sideboard, the pony-tailed waiter immediately replaced it with a fresh one, setting it on a monogramed coaster he took out of his waistcoat pocket. Hayley took another gulp, then rummaged in her bag looking for the mobile. She typed in her usual password JOHNNY4H, not in the least surprised when it unlocked the phone, and selected Ellen and Mark’s home number from the list of contacts.
‘Hello?’ a male voice said.
‘Mark, thank goodness.’
‘Hayley? Is that you? Wow.’ He stopped. ‘It’s … well … it’s good to hear from you. We just got back from –’
‘Greece.’
‘Hah, I wish. No, we were at the pet shop.’
‘The pet shop? What … anyway, is Ellen there?’
Hayley heard Mark put his hand over the receiver and call Ellen. It seemed to take ages for her to finally get to the phone and when she did, her tone could have instantly frozen George Fitzpatrick’s smouldering loins.
‘Hayley.’
Hayley frowned. ‘Um, hi. I need to come over.’
‘When?’
‘Today. Now. I really need to see you.’
Ellen sniffed. ‘I suppose so. Come over whenever.’ The line went dead.
Hayley frowned again as she put the phone back in her bag. Then she walked in the direction the waiter had gone to get her drink and found herself in the hot and noisy kitchen. Catering staff squeezed past her, carrying plates of dainty-looking amuse-bouche and canapés. Hayley’s stomach grumbled as she eyed the puff-pastry treats.
‘Lost your way, Miss?’ one of the men called over to her. His apron, stretched over an ample midriff, announced in large red letters, Never Trust A Skinny Chef.
‘Yes,’ Hayley lied. ‘I was wondering if I could go out the back for a sneaky cigarette.’
‘Side door is through the hall there, Miss.’ He pointed to his right. ‘Make sure you close it when you go out though, or Mrs. Fitzpatrick will have me served for lunch.’ He winked at her.
Hayley slipped out and welcomed the cool air as she looked around the immaculately manicured garden, complete with miniature fountain and expertly pruned rose bushes.
She was already getting a serious case of the goose bumps. Her coat was inside and it would get colder soon, but she didn’t have time to care – at least she had her bag. Making sure she ducked whenever she passed a window, she slipped around to the front of the end-of-terrace house where she turned right, hitched up her dress and broke into as much of a jog as her Louboutin’s would allow. After a few hundred feet she caught sight of a taxi, waved it down and jumped in, thankful for its warmth and pine-fresh scent.
‘Where to, love?’ said the driver.
As Hayley gave him Ellen’s address it occurred to her that she might not have any money, so she pulled the purse out of her bag. Inside it were two platinum credit cards in her name and a large wad of cash. Hayley wondered if she should take Ellen on a spending splurge at Harrods.
Her mobile phone rang and Hayley pulled it out of her bag.
‘Hello?’
‘Hayley.’ The voice was deep and husky, breathless, almost.
‘Sorry, who’s this?’
He laughed. ‘Justin.’
‘Oh, er, I –’
‘I know you said you were busy this weekend. But I wanted to tell you that I can’t wait for our next session.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. My glutes are still sore from last time.’ He paused. ‘Really sore.’
Hayley scratched her head, pondering what an adequate response would be. She plumped for, ‘I, uh, I’m sorry?’
‘Oh, I’m not.’ He laughed again. ‘Now, tell me what you’re wearing, you dirty little bitch.’
What? Oh come on!
‘You want to know what I’m wearing?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Oh baby, you know it drives me crazy.’
Hayley smirked. ‘Granny knickers and a boiler suit.’ She laughed as she hung up but the phone rang again. When she saw Ian’s name on the screen she switched it to silent.
‘Looks like you’ve done a runner,’ the driver said as he glanced at her, his round face taking up the entire rear-view mirror.
Hayley noticed his smile and grinned at him. Then she sat back in the seat and exhaled, shaking her head. ‘You don’t know the half of it, mate.’