When the intercom buzzed later that afternoon, a feeling of dread engulfed me. On my way to press the button, I checked my hair and make-up. The intercom feed was monochrome and grainy, but James’s mother would still notice if a hair was out of place.
‘Hello, Frances,’ I said as I pressed the button, forcing a smile.
‘Charlotte,’ she said without a hint of pleasantry. I opened the gate, inwardly cursing James for not being home early, and waited at the door as Frances breezed in.
‘James not home?’ she asked, walking straight to the kitchen. Why she couldn’t use a full sentence when she spoke to me both puzzled and infuriated me in equal measure.
‘Not yet, he’ll be back a little later.’ I followed her reluctantly down the hallway.
She heaved two bulging carrier bags up onto the worktop, which I regarded with curiosity. ‘I brought dinner.’
‘Oh, Frances, thank you, but I’ve prepared dinner already. You should take that home and use it all another day.’
‘Well, James mentioned something about salmon, and I wasn’t sure where you’d be buying it. You can’t guarantee low mercury levels if you don’t know where it’s from.’ She pulled a salmon out from one of her bags whilst I stared on in disbelief. She plonked the fish next to my ready-marinated one and rolled up her sleeves. Heat seared through my chest but I remained calm, for James’s sake.
‘What did you use?’ She pointed to my version of a Jamie Oliver marinade.
‘Err . . . red chillies, lemongrass, garlic, soy sauce.’ As I spoke, she rummaged in the fridge, pulling out the ingredients as I reeled them off, plus the rest that I was too shocked to recall.
‘It looks fairly adequate. I’ll whip something up while you pour the wine.’ Pour the wine – that was the first decent thing she’d said since she arrived. The wine fridge was a particular favourite of mine and James’s, made even better by the fact it was in the utility room, giving me a brief respite from Frances. I poured two glasses and threw half of mine down my neck before topping up my glass and heading back into the kitchen, where Frances was bashing coriander and ginger with the mortar and pestle I’d washed and dried only half an hour earlier.
I handed Frances a glass and affixed a smile. ‘That smells wonderful.’ It smelt exactly the same as mine had when I bashed exactly the same ingredients together earlier.
‘I’ve just added my own twist,’ she said, but a quick scan of the ingredients revealed nothing different to what I’d used, so I assumed she was referring to the dash of bitterness her personality brought. ‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you alone for a while,’ she added as she proceeded to rub the salmon with the marinade.
My heart sunk a little. Surely she hadn’t left it until now to offer to pay me off? ‘Oh?’ My stomach knotted tightly – I wouldn’t have put it past her.
‘Sit down.’
I slid onto the bar stool dutifully and waited for whatever it was she had to say. She pushed the salmon to one side, and if it wasn’t for the extra decorative lemongrass sprigs she’d dumped on hers, we’d have been at serious risk of consuming a mercury-laden main course.
‘It’s about this baby situation. You’re thirty-six now, Charlotte, and in my day, anyone over thirty was admitted to elderly confinement when they were in labour. In other words, you’re getting old and if you wait much longer, you may be too old altogether.’
‘Frances, people have babies well into their forties now. I think times have changed.’ I felt my cheeks burn.
‘Perhaps they do, but it’s not happening for you and James and I know it’s what you’ve both wanted for a while now.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘I wanted to suggest fertility treatment. You know, the menopause could be just around the corner. It does happen to some women in their thirties.’
As I sipped my wine, I had an overwhelming urge to bite a chunk out of the glass. I clenched my teeth as the next best option before mumbling, ‘I will talk to James about it.’ How was I supposed to tell my mother-in-law that the conception problem preventing her from having a grandchild was her son’s lack of sex drive?
‘I’d like to think the Emsworth family name will continue.’ She raised a well-shaped and highly expectant brow at me. Before I could answer, the front door opened, and as I craned my neck around the door, was relieved to see James putting his briefcase down in the hallway.
‘Good evening, ladies.’ He walked in, looking as handsome as ever. He loosened his tie as he came over and gave me a kiss, squeezing my arm knowingly.
‘Oh, James, it’s good to see you.’ His mother beamed at him as he walked around the breakfast bar to greet her.
‘You too, Mother,’ he said, kissing both of her cheeks dutifully.
‘We were just talking about children.’ I cut into their little embrace, so James would know what I’d been dealing with. He gave me a quizzical look.
‘Oh, let’s not bother him with that. He’s just walked in.’ Frances waved a dismissive hand. ‘Why don’t you sit down, James, and Charlotte will get you a glass of wine.’ She shot me a look before putting the salmon in the oven, and I dutifully went to get wine. The last thing I wanted was to cause more tension. I returned to find Frances telling James how wonderfully hardworking he was. I handed him his wine, and as his mother turned her back to finish chopping some salad, I felt his hand graze my bottom. I smacked it away playfully and went to set the table, feeling a little bit lighter.
***
I paced the living room, waiting for Megan to arrive. Right on time, I saw her car at the gate, and I pressed the button on the intercom to open them before she even rang. There was a part of me that hadn’t even expected her to turn up, and who would’ve blamed her? I could only assume she was going through hell. It had driven me mad to the point that I’d almost considered James’s mother turning up a welcome distraction – until she accused me of being menopausal that was.
When I opened the front door, Megan smiled cheerfully and bounced inside in a brightly coloured top with a ‘unicorn’ emblazoned on it. I wondered if her upbeat demeanour was just a front and eyed her suspiciously, scrutinising her face, looking for cracks in the façade. There was nothing notable.
She caught me looking at her. ‘Is everything okay? Has my mascara smudged?’ She wiped a finger under her lash-line.
‘Everything is fine. You look . . . well. Really well, in fact,’ I said, trying to conceal my surprise.
‘I had a Guinot facial yesterday. It was a present from Mike,’ she gushed. She was happy. She didn’t catch him! He must have changed his plans. ‘Anyway, how are you?’ She furrowed her brow in concern. ‘Did your cramps die down?’
It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about, and I nodded, too busy reeling at how slippery Meandering Mike was. I needed a better plan. ‘I bet Mike was glad to have you home early?’ I pressed, needing to know why my plan had failed.
‘He was out when I got home.’ She shrugged. ‘Let’s get started then.’ While she fiddled with her iPhone trying to get some music to come on, I replayed the conversation Mike had had with the waitress over in my head. He’d definitely said ‘come over.’ I was sure of it.
‘That’s a shame,’ I continued, not willing to let the subject drop yet.
‘Well, I did ring him on the way home to tell him I’d be back early, but he was already leaving to go to the gym. It was nice to have the TV to myself though.’
I knew my part of the plan hadn’t been flawed. She’d warned him. I could picture them, all red-faced, scrabbling around for their clothes before escaping into the evening.
‘Anyway, come on – we only have an hour today.’
She gave me an intense sixty-minute workout, but while I went through the motions, my mind was plotting a better, more foolproof plan.
***
When it came off the printer the next morning, it looked fantastic. One of the charities I organised fundraisers for was a local hospice, who just so happened to be in need of a wheelchair-accessible swing – and they were five hundred pounds short. A few weeks earlier, I’d come up with the idea of a raffle and donated the prize of one night at the Halcyon Hotel with a two-course meal and use of the spa thrown in. Raffle tickets would be five pounds, and one hundred per cent of the proceeds would go to the charity. My intention was to sell them at the brunch I was throwing but I’d had a better idea.
I’d spent the morning putting together a promotional flyer with photos of the spa, and it all looked very enticing. All I had to do was get waitress woman to buy a ticket, and hope she’d share the prize with Mike. But first, I had to make it look like the tickets were selling out. The next hour or so was spent using my address book to fill in the names and addresses of people who had already purchased tickets – just not to their own knowledge. Then I took some money from the safe and stuffed it in the tin before putting on my charity lanyard and heading over to the café.
I walked in and spotted her straight away, pottering behind the counter.
‘Oh, hello, what can I get you?’ she asked. The nice filter coffee lady was nowhere to be seen and I wasn’t chancing the push-button cappuccino.
‘Nothing, actually. I’m here from the Springwell Children’s Hospice and was hoping to sell off one of my last few remaining raffle tickets to raise money for a new disability swing. If I could just show you what the hospice manager is hoping to purchase, you’ll see what a great addition it will be.’ I handed her a booklet from the hospice with a picture of a child enjoying a similar swing elsewhere.
‘Oh, yes it does look wonderful, but—’ she said politely sliding the booklet back towards me.
‘I could tell when I walked in you had a kind heart and for just a five-pound contribution, you could not only help the children at the hospice, but also win an all-expenses stay at the Halcyon Hotel in Manchester next weekend. The package includes a spa day and evening meal with a Prosecco welcome and one hundred per cent of the ticket money raised goes to the charity.’ I held up the hotel poster, which she eyed with interest.
The corner of her mouth twisted. ‘Oh go on then! Yes, I’ll buy a ticket. I’ve always wanted to stay there; it looks gorgeous doesn’t it?’
I struggled to control myself. This is even easier than I’d imagined.
‘That’s wonderful,’ I said, plastering on a smile. ‘Can you just fill in your contact details here for me so I can get in touch if you win?’
She bent down to fill in the heavily populated form and emptied five pounds from her tip jar before handing it over.
‘Thank you, and good luck.’ I grinned at her before leaving. On my way home, I dropped off five hundred pounds to the very grateful manager at the Springwell Hospice and sent a text to Megan.
I want a Pilates reformer for the gym. Would you mind coming with me to choose one on Saturday?
***
Friday morning was the day of my brunch. I wanted to raise money for the local dog rescue centre and with the guests all pulling out to pamper themselves for Lauren’s ball, I was worried nobody would show up. The banquet hall was set up for the fifty original guests but Emmy and her posse had already taken that number down to forty-two. However, they’d donated eight hundred pounds between them, and paid for tickets, which was very kind but I was still in panic mode at the thought of empty seats. I’d almost caved in and invited Frances and her cronies.
I stood nervously, greeting people as they trickled in, smiling politely and pointing out the drinks trays when my breath caught in my throat at a recognisable, ear-piercing shrill: ‘Charlotte.’ Mwah, mwah. Lauren had arrived and air-kissed both of my cheeks before I’d had time to register her appearance. ‘This is very cute.’ She gestured to the room.
Cute? It was lavish with thick white tablecloths and matching chair covers, good quality silverware and champagne being served by fully clothed, handsome men. I doubted even Frances would have found anything negative to say. Okay, that was far-fetched.
‘Thank you for coming, Lauren,’ I said, not wanting to make a scene.
‘Yes, well I can’t stay long what with the final ball preparations to tend to. I just thought I’d show my face and drop in a donation.’ She thrust a white envelope into my hand.
‘That’s very kind of you.’ I accepted it graciously.
‘Aw, sweetie, it looks like you needed me too. How many guests do you have? Fifteen?’ She attempted a sympathetic frown but her frozen brow didn’t crease.
‘There were fifty confirmed, which was the maximum for the room but I’ve had some last-minute cancellations.’
She let out a loud, fake laugh and placed a hand on my arm, which I willed her to remove. ‘These Cheshire women – what are they like? They will be preening and pampering themselves for tonight no doubt.’
‘No doubt,’ I repeated through a tight smile.
‘I’ve one hundred and fifty confirmed for the ball. Tickets started at almost two hundred pounds so I know I’ll make a killing for my charity.’
I took a deep breath; the last thing I wanted was for my voice to crack. ‘That’s wonderful, Lauren. What’s the fundraising for again? James was asking but I couldn’t remember. I just said that knowing Lauren, it would be a fantastic cause.’
‘Er, yes, it is.’ She swallowed hard and placed a meaningful hand on her chest. ‘It’s for victims of botched cosmetic surgery. These women have nowhere to turn, barely any rights, and the state doesn’t want to know. Our funds help to pay for legal fees and in some cases even corrective surgery so they can live the lives they dreamt of.’ There was a falter in her voice.
‘Goodness me, you’re an ambassador of hope, Lauren. What poor souls.’ Her smile indicated my sarcasm had escaped her, so I pushed it a little more, to ensure she picked up on something. ‘Such a cause must require a turnout of such great numbers. I wanted a smaller more low-key affair, classy and personal, you know?’
‘But isn’t that –’ Lauren paused to squint at a lady who had just walked in.
‘That’s Janet, you don’t know her – she’s in high-end retail.’ I sipped my champagne and walked off to greet Janet from Budgens’ who’d thankfully agreed to come and boost my numbers. Enticed by some free tickets at the last minute she’d even brought two friends along.
Once we were seated and the smoked salmon and scrambled eggs were served, I started to relax and feel wonderful about raising money.
It was 3 p.m. by the time I got home. There wasn’t time to get a blow-dry or my make-up done – I had to do it all myself so I went with straight and sleek since my hairdressing skills were just about up to the task of running a GHD over my already professionally straightened locks. The gown section of my wardrobe wasn’t sporting anything new, but I had a black off-the-shoulder cocktail dress from Reiss that I’d only worn to James’s summer ball the previous year, which nobody would have seen, so I decided on that. James walked into the bedroom as I was applying my make-up.
‘Why are you getting all dressed up?’
I spun around to face him. ‘What do you mean? Why aren’t you showered?’ I asked, incredulous.
He looked completely taken by surprise.
‘It’s Lauren’s ball tonight. Why aren’t you ready?’ I punctuated with a glare. ‘It’s on the calendar.’
‘Sorry, Charlotte, I hadn’t seen it. I’ve planned a Skype meeting tonight.’
‘Then cancel it! It’s Friday night for goodness’ sake.’
‘I can’t, if I’m not online at 8.30 p.m. sharp, there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘But having hell to pay with me isn’t an issue?’
He let out a sigh and threw up his arms. ‘I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do. We got our wires crossed, that’s all. You’ll still have a good time.’
‘Of course I will, with Emmy and Lauren and co. It will be just fabulous,’ I stormed.
‘Aren’t any of your other friends going?’
‘Kate’s down in London and . . .’ I paused. ‘I will be fine.’
Butterflies flapped about in my stomach as my car neared the hotel venue. When the driver approached my side of the car and opened the door, I almost asked him to take me home but, if I did that, it would give the women of Cheshire a few good weeks’ worth of gossip fodder. Instead, I put on my brave face and climbed out of the car. Half-naked, gold-painted men holding trays of champagne lined a red carpet up to the entrance and I grabbed a drink gratefully, guzzling it down in time for another one before I’d reached the entrance.
‘Oh, Charlotte, we’re so glad you came.’ Lauren was standing at the entrance in a garish gold, bottom-grazing dress. Her equally unpalatable husband was by her side.
I smiled. ‘And what a lovely greeting.’ I gestured to the men.
‘Where’s that delightful husband of yours?’ The corner of her mouth twitched like she was enjoying seeing me arrive alone. Granted it was a little awkward turning up to events like that but she didn’t have to relish in my discomfort.
‘He’s busy with work – he has this huge case going on.’
‘Well, he needs a better team around him if he still has to work Friday nights,’ Lauren’s husband Giles butted in. ‘Tell him I could teach him a lesson or two.’ Patronising prick.
‘Never mind, Charlotte, there are some ladies from the bridge club who’ve also come alone. You can sit with them.’ I smiled in response and started to walk inside but felt Lauren’s hand on my arm. ‘I love your dress by the way. Isn’t it a 2017 piece?’ There was a hint of smugness in her tone.
Anger exploded in my chest. I couldn’t take much more of this woman.
‘Yes, it is. Apparently, garments don’t spontaneously combust at the turn of a season – who knew?’ I spun on my heel and walked over to the bridge ladies, which looked like the casting couch for Cocoon. The rest of the evening was rather dull. The elderly bridge ladies didn’t work hard to include me in their conversation, which consisted mostly of loud repetition because one of them ‘didn’t like to wear her hearing aid any more’ and I found the ‘victim’ speeches a little self-indulgent. Obviously I’m sorry things didn’t go well for them but they’re all wealthy people; they didn’t need Lauren’s fundraising circus. I’d been working hard to drown out the narcissistic din of Lauren’s speech until hearing my name made my ears prick.
‘Now, Charlotte Emsworth held a sweet little gathering earlier today and I know some of you were invited but couldn’t make it and, well, it possibly lacked the anticipated support. She was trying to raise a few pounds for a dogs’ charity here in Cheshire and I thought the least we could do tonight, would be to dig deep and collect a bit of change for the cause. Since there are so many of you here tonight, I’m sure we can make a real difference.’ She shot me a glossy smile from the stage and my cheeks flamed. There was a round of applause and comments around the table to the tune of ‘what a considerate woman Lauren is’, and ‘what a lovely thing to do.’ But she wasn’t; she was belittling me on purpose.
The speeches ended and as the music started, I saw Lauren heading over. Great. ‘Charlotte, I felt terrible about your little event failing today. It’s partly my fault, clashing the dates like that. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’ She placed a dramatic hand on her brow. ‘I just hope my influence helps your cause.’
‘Oh, Lauren, I’m sure it will and honestly, don’t worry, organisation is quite a skill. We can’t all be good at everything all of the time.’ I managed a tight-lipped smile.
Lauren nodded courteously. ‘Well, everything else has gone so well, I can forgive myself one little slip-up.’
‘Ha-ha yes.’ I laughed. ‘Probably just your age.’ I batted a hand flippantly to indicate to the bridge ladies I was teasing but it didn’t appear as though any of them were listening.
Lauren laughed nervously. ‘Always the joker.’ She glanced around the table and when nobody was paying attention she leaned in closer. ‘But the jokes are on you. You’re a failure; everyone can see that and now you’re here alone, sat on a table of old biddies because not even your husband wants to be around you.’ My heart beat furiously, so quick and powerful it reached my ears drowning everything else out. I couldn’t think or speak.
Lauren turned to leave, smirking. I couldn’t let her walk off, thinking she’d won – and what popped out of my mouth next was neither well-thought-out nor elegant but knowing the ladies around the table wouldn’t understand, I went ahead anyway.
‘Hey, Lauren, stunning vajazzle by the way. How brave of you to show it off – good on you!’ I stared pointedly at her receding hemline, which she tugged down on self-consciously as her face reddened.
‘I think you should call a cab home. You’ve obviously drunk too much champagne – though it is free so who can blame you.’ With that she stalked off.
I sat there for a moment, processing what had just happened and regret started to mount. Oh God. I threw my head in my hands. Why did I have to say that? I was sure there’d be consequences, not least because vajazzling was so 2011 and she wouldn’t be seen dead with one. I sighed before pulling out my phone and calling the chauffeur company. As I stood up to leave I heard the elderly lady with the hearing aid say a little too loudly to her friend, ‘Vaahjazzle, is that a new designer? I do like to keep up.’ Oh bugger, I thought. Now she turns her hearing aid up.
***
I picked Megan up at her house and we went to the huge fitness warehouse on the outskirts of town. As Megan wandered around the leg extension and reformer machines, I observed her, oblivious to what she would soon find out. My heart ached for her as she seemed such a sweet, innocent soul. Not like the women at the charity ball – though I think it was safe to say I was well and truly out of that group. I bumped into Emmy in Budgen’s and said hello but she stone-cold blanked me. She just walked past with her chin up high as if I wasn’t there. She was like some queen-bee cast member from Mean Girls.
I probably should have cared more but I had a family to make and cheaters to catch. They could go about saving themselves from the perils of bad surgery and I’d focus on my business. James wouldn’t be impressed when all the men found out but I’d deal with that issue when it arose.
‘The half Cadillac and reformer bundle package would be your best bet,’ Megan mused, breaking my thoughts. ‘You don’t need one though. Honestly, you always throw money at things and you don’t need to.’
‘It looks great. Let’s order that one.’ It was quite expensive for equipment she’d ignore anyway but needs must. ‘Megan, let me take you for some dinner as a thank you.’ I used my special I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer tone.
She pursed her lips for a moment to consider. ‘That would be lovely. Mike is in London this weekend with work so it would just have been me, a takeaway, and Britain’s Got Talent.’
London? Pah! What, at a tile conference? How can she not see what he’s up to?
‘Somewhere that does a good cocktail would be nice,’ she added, breaking my thoughts.
Great food, cocktails, and cheating bastard men. ‘Brilliant. I know just the place.’
The Halcyon Hotel was just as swish as I’d remembered, with its dark, luxurious wallpaper and gold and silver accessories. The doorman wore a smart grey uniform, complemented by a top hat, and held the door open for us as we walked in.
‘This is nice,’ Megan said, drawing out the word nice in a way that might have been annoying had I not felt so sorry for her in anticipation of what was to come. I just smiled and nodded in response.
‘Head to the bar and I’ll see about a table in the restaurant.’ I pointed her in the right direction.
The restaurant was dead, but the waitress still kept me waiting whilst she decided if she could seat us. If eating there wasn’t part of my plan to catch Moonlighting Mike, I’d have left. Mike was nowhere to be seen, but the waitress decided she could, in fact, accommodate a table for two after umming and ahhing, then consulting with a higher power, despite the fact the place was empty. At least my plan was on track. I knew the chances were good that Mike and waitress-woman would be dining there at some point, since an early bird dinner was part of the package and that was due to start soon. I’d just have to drag the meal out, which wouldn’t be too difficult.
I strode into the bar, ready to settle in for a long evening, but Megan wasn’t there. I scanned the room quickly and then checked the ladies’ loos, stopping for a quick pump of Molton Brown hand cream. But she wasn’t there either. It was odd. I stood in the lobby and started to feel confused. My heart rate even picked up a little. I was so close. Where the bloody hell had she gone?
The doorman popped his head inside. ‘Excuse me, madam, are you looking for your friend? She just left. She was in quite a hurry.’
Left? Why would she leave? ‘Okay, thank you.’ I forced a smile, yet everything else sagged. I’d been so close, yet for a second time, I’d failed. I knew I could be a little irritating at times but just ditching me seemed harsh. She’d better have a good excuse. Since I was there and the pornstar martinis were apparently the best in Manchester, I decided one couldn’t hurt and traipsed back into the bar and perched on a stool – James would be out or barricaded in his office anyway.
The room was dimly lit in a typically modern boutique style. It followed the same colour scheme as the rest of the hotel – rich grey-brown-coloured walls and metallic features. It was nice, although it was probably a clever Las-Vegas-style sales tactic to trick you into thinking it was evening any time of the day. The barman placed my drink down, and as I took my first sip, I glanced around to take in the rest of the room. That’s when I saw it.
A disgusting entanglement of two very deceptive people.