Her stomach churned; what else could that letter mean? Why would someone threaten to show a birth certificate to the newspapers? Why would that bother him? Something wasn’t right.
The sky overhead darkened; it looked like the rain was going to set in sooner rather than later. Chantelle looked down at the old dog. ‘OK, OK, you win. We’ll head back before we get soaked.’
She turned and started walking back to the apartment just as a heavy raindrop landed on her head. ‘Ah,’ Chantelle gasped at the cold. She looked down at Rocky. ‘Don’t give me that I-told-you-so look! Let’s hurry.’ She started to jog but Rocky refused to run. A second drop landed on her head. The sky had darkened to a deep charcoal now; it was almost night-dark. Then the heavens opened and torrents of rain flooded from the sky.
‘Rocky,’ Chantelle moaned, tugging at the lead, but he still refused to hurry, seeming to enjoy making her suffer. Puddles quickly formed on the pavement. Chantelle stepped in one, soaking her foot and the bottom of her jeans. ‘Oooh merde,’ she gasped again, cold water seeping on to her skin. ‘You mean dog!’ She laughed and ruffled his fur as they jumped into the protection of the building and took the lift upwards. ‘Good job I’m not in a hurry to get to work today.’ She pulled off her wet shoes and left them by the door. Walking through the apartment, her wet jeans were leaving sopping puddles with each step. She slipped them off and carried them upstairs, not wanting to make extra work for the cleaner.
She was still struggling with the idea of having a cleaner and had spent most of the week cleaning up after herself and then stopping, not wanting to steal the cleaner’s work. She threw her wet jeans into the laundry basket and grabbed a fluffy towel.
‘Rocky,’ she called, hurrying down the stairs. ‘Come here, Rocky. I don’t want you to catch the flu. Where are you?’ She hunted for the dog under the table, behind the sofa.
‘There you are! Come out here.’ Chantelle found him hiding under the cabinet. She got down on her hands and knees, caught hold of the wet dog and hauled him out into the warm fluffy towel.
‘Hello?’
Chantelle looked up, still crouched on the floor. The first thing she saw was a pair of high-heeled black boots; into them was tucked a pair of tight designer skinny jeans that clung to slim shapely legs. An elegant lady was looking down at her. She had glossy bobbed hair and immaculate make-up. Her jacket was beautiful cream leather and Chantelle could tell it would be buttery soft to touch. The lady was watching her with an expression of bemusement.
Chantelle gasped, touching her hand to her chest. ‘I didn’t hear you come in – I’m sorry.’ She clambered to her feet, feeling clumsy and awkward next to this stunning woman. She set Rocky on the floor. What an outfit to wear for cleaning; Chantelle was amazed. The lady was staring at her, her made-up eyes narrowed to slits. Chantelle pulled at her jumper trying to cover her bottom, embarrassed to have been caught to be walking around in her underwear. ‘It was raining and my jeans got wet,’ she explained, then felt even more stupid. Why was she explaining herself to the cleaner? The woman didn’t answer, just continued staring at her.
‘Hi,’ Chantelle said, determined to start again. She hurried over and thrust out her hand. ‘I’m Chantelle, Granger told you about me.’ The lady ignored her hand and turned her head. Chantelle stepped backwards. She felt Rocky wrap himself around her legs, his warm body against her skin giving her some comfort.
‘No, Granger did not mention you,’ the woman said.
‘Oh.’ Chantelle was sure Granger had said he’d called the cleaner and told her she would be there.
‘Well, he should have. I’m, err …’ She struggled to explain herself. What should she say? ‘He’s in the US.’
‘I am well aware he is in the US.’ The lady stalked across the apartment and picked up one of the fluffy cushions that Chantelle had bought on Sunday. She turned it over in her hand, her top lip curling upwards, then glanced at Chantelle again, and dropped the cushion back on to the sofa.
‘I’m here to look after the dog while he’s gone,’ Chantelle explained.
‘Ah, you’re looking after the dog? That would explain why you are crawling around the floor of Mr Carmont’s apartment half naked, would it?’
‘It’s was raining. I got wet when I was walking him this morning, so I took my jeans off. I was just about to get dressed again.’ She reached down and picked up the towel that she’d been using to dry Rocky and pulled it around her waist. Anger was bubbling within her. Why was the cleaner being so unfriendly? What had she done wrong? ‘I took my jeans off so they didn’t make wet puddles on the floor for you to clean. Granger told me you would come this week, but I didn’t know when,’ she spluttered. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today.’
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘For me to clean?’ The shock in her voice was evident. ‘Me to clean? Why on earth would I be cleaning up your muddy puddles?’
Chantelle knew her confusion must be showing on her face. ‘Well, because you’re the cleaner, of course. Aren’t you?’
The woman narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m the cleaner? I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life. I’m the cleaner, am I? Do I look like the cleaner?’
Chantelle looked at her. Her clothes, her perfect hair, her heavy make-up. ‘Well, no,’ she admitted.
‘Do these hands look like cleaner’s hands?’ She held up long thin hands with glossy painted manicured nails.
‘No, they don’t.’ Chantelle frowned; so who was this lady?
‘No, they don’t,’ the lady repeated. ‘I am Cynthia DeVere. That dog you are looking after is my dog.’
Chantelle was beginning to understand. ‘Granger’s ex-girlfriend,’ she murmured, and looked down at Rocky and the way he was curling around her own legs. He certainly hadn’t greeted her like she was his owner.
‘Mr Carmont’s current girlfriend,’ Cynthia corrected her.
‘His current girlfriend?’ Chantelle echoed.
‘Yes. Mr Carmont and I are getting back together.’
‘Getting back together?’ Chantelle repeated, confused. What was this woman talking about? Chantelle had spoken to Granger on the phone the night before and he hadn’t mentioned anything about it. He had said that he couldn’t wait to see her! He hadn’t said a word about getting back together with his ex-girlfriend. Then something came to her mind; he had told her that he had something to tell her. She thought back to the conversation. At the time Chantelle had thought he was going to tell her about the letter, the blackmailing. But he maybe he had been going to tell her that he was getting back together with Cynthia. She swallowed, struggling to believe it.
‘Granger is in the US,’ Chantelle said.
‘I know that, we’ve established that,’ Cynthia said.
‘I just spoke to him yesterday. He didn’t mention anything about getting back together with you.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Cynthia looked at her, and a sort of scowl came over her beautiful face. Chantelle was impressed how quickly someone so pretty could turn themselves ugly. ‘Since when did Granger need to inform the dog-sitter about his private life? Why on earth would he have told you that we were getting back together?’
Chantelle could feel the blood creep up her body to her face. She looked at the woman in front of her. They were worlds apart. This lady looked glossy and expensive. Cynthia was much more the type of woman that you would expect to see on a managing director’s arm, in his Porsche, in his … she winced … bed. Cynthia seemed to fit much better to his image, his lifestyle than Chantelle did, or ever would. Surely, it was natural that they would get back together. She felt anger boil inside her; had he just been using her? To keep him company until Cynthia came back to him? She swallowed, confused. It didn’t ring true. Granger hadn’t behaved at all like he was using her. It just didn’t make sense. How had this all happened while he’d been away?
‘J�
��en comprends rien,’ she whispered to herself. ‘He’s in the US. How could you have got back together?’ she said; as the words came out of her mouth she realised how stupid they sounded.
‘You have heard of a telephone?’ The other woman smiled.
‘Yes, of course,’ Chantelle muttered.
‘I’m back now, so I can take things from here. You can go.’ Cynthia flicked her wrist in the direction of the door.
‘You’re back,’ Chantelle repeated.
‘Yes, I’m back.’ Cynthia spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘I’ll look after the dog until Granger gets home. You can leave.’
‘OK, right. I’ll just go and get my things.’ Chantelle headed up the stairs. Hot tears stung her eyes. She pulled down her top to cover her bottom. Why did she have no trousers on? As if this whole thing hadn’t been humiliating enough! She wouldn’t let Cynthia to see her tears.
She pulled out her holdall and threw her clothes into it. Rocky had followed her up and was trailing around the room as she moved about grabbing her stuff. Her mind was turning and her heart was numb. What was going on? Why hadn’t he told her on the phone and saved her embarrassment? But would that have been any better? She wasn’t sure she could have faced the news any easier if Granger himself had delivered it.
Chantelle swallowed; but wouldn’t he have phoned her? Granger knew she was there – would he really have told Cynthia to move back in without calling her? Or at least told Cynthia to expect her there. Something didn’t feel right.
It took her less than five minutes to pack all her stuff into her bag. She glanced around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything then hurried downstairs. Cynthia was perched on the edge of the sofa, staring at her phone.
Chantelle looked at her, silent for a moment, wondering what to do. Cynthia glanced up and noticed her. ‘You’re ready?’
‘Maybe I should just call Granger now, to check.’
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Check what?’
‘That it’s fine for me to leave. I am supposed to be looking after Rocky.’
‘He’ll be fine with me. I told you, he is my dog.’ Cynthia stood up, she was taller than Chantelle, and thinner; she seemed to tower above her like a sort of skinny giant.
‘Yes, but I think I should check. I mean, it is his house.’
Cynthia laughed and waved her hand. ‘Go ahead, if you don’t believe me. I’m sure he’ll be really happy that you wake him at …’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s three in the morning over there right now.’
Chantelle looked at Cynthia and their eyes locked. She hesitated. The woman glared at her. ‘OK, then, I guess I should get going now.’
Cynthia nodded. ‘Do we owe you for your service?’
‘Owe me?’ Chantelle frowned.
‘Yes, owe you, your payment for dog-sitting. Or did Mr Carmont already settle that?’
‘Oh, that’s right. Err, yes, that’s settled,’ Chantelle muttered, feeling her cheeks burn. She swallowed her humiliation and lifted her bag on to her shoulder. ‘The delivery man will be here soon, but I’m sure you know about that,’ she said.
Cynthia didn’t look at her. She dropped down on to the sofa, picked up a pile of magazines from the coffee table and started flicking through them. Chantelle watched her. Cynthia waved her hand, dismissing her. Chantelle nodded. She had to leave; what else could she do? She headed for the door and almost tripped. Looking down she saw Rocky at her feet. He followed her all the way to the front door.
‘Sorry, boy. You aren’t coming this time. Your mum’s here, she will look after you.’ Chantelle smiled, but felt like she was abandoning him. She bent down and ruffled the dog’s head, overcome with sadness. ‘Bye, Rocky,’ she breathed, standing up and slipping out of the apartment.
On the street the rain had stopped. Chantelle blinked in the daylight, struggling to process what had just happened. She started walking towards the bus stop. Why had Granger allowed Cynthia to just throw her out like that? Or maybe he hadn’t? But how had she entered his apartment. She had to have a key. Thoughts spun in her mind. Should she have challenged Cynthia more? Called Granger to check? But the woman was intimidating. Chantelle hated confrontations, especially when she wasn’t sure of her footing. She bit her lip. The whole thing was just too much. She didn’t need this sort of complication in her life right now. She needed to focus on finding a job and a new place to live.
She stood at the bus stop waiting for the bus to take her to Branford. From now on she was only going to focus on herself. She would get herself a job. She didn’t need help. She’d made it this far. She could manage on her own.
‘Excuse me, miss? Can you spare twenty pence, so I can get into the homeless shelter?’ Chantelle looked down. There was a thin, dishevelled, man in front of her.
‘Oh, yes, sure.’ She fished in her pocket, pulled out a pound coin and handed it over as the bus arrived. Looking out of the window Chantelle didn’t see anything as they trundled up the high street out of town. The week before had spun by in a blur; she had hardly noticed it happening. She had moved into Granger’s apartment without even thinking about it or questioning his motives. She felt stupid, foolish.
The bus stopped at the bottom of her road. Chantelle climbed off and hurried up the road to her house. She hoped Neil would be in. She was sick of being a victim. She felt like arguing. She put the key in the door and let herself into the house.
‘Neil? Neil? Are you here?’ She shouted, anger in her voice. There was no answer. All lights in the house were off. He’s not in. Disappointment filled her stomach. She opened the curtains in the living room and looked around. It made her skin crawl. There were papers and rubbish everywhere. He really did live like a rat. She was fed up of cleaning up his mess.
Chantelle hoisted her bag on to her shoulder and went upstairs to her room. As she passed down the landing, she could see his bedroom door was open. A voice called out to her.
‘Ah, you’re back with your tail between your legs.’
Chantelle stopped and look through the doorway. Neil was lying in his bed staring at her. She took a deep breath and stepped towards his room.
‘This place is disgusting, Neil. How do you live like this?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’ Neil sat up, a look of surprise on his face.
‘Did your mum always clean up after you? Is that why it’s so disgusting here?’ Chantelle asked, her voice louder than she intended. Neil frowned and pushed his glasses further up his nose.
‘What’s the matter with you, Chantelle?’
‘This house! I don’t know how I’ve managed to live here for so long. You are really disgusting.’
Neil held up his hands calmly. ‘Don’t speak to me like that or I will make you move out.’
She shook her head. ‘No, you won’t. You won’t be able to, because I am already moving.’ She turned and headed out of his room. For once he didn’t shout after her. She went to her own room and slammed the door behind her. She should have done that sooner, she thought, and dropped her bag on the floor. She sat down on her bed and put her head in her hands as the tears started to pour out.
Stop it, she told herself. Why are you sitting here crying? You’ve got a job to find. She gathered herself up and opened her cupboard. She pulled out a black skirt and jumper and put them on. She applied some make-up to mask her puffy red eyes and pinned her hair up. She looked in the mirror, surprised how good she looked considering the circumstances. She stood up straight. She was going to get a job.
She grabbed a handbag and pulled on high-heeled shoes, then headed back down the stairs to catch the bus to work. Neil didn’t look up as she passed his room. Disappointment flashed through her. She was still in the mood for an argument.
‘Creep,’ she muttered to herself as she went down the stairs. She went out to the street. The air smelled sweeter an
d fresh after the dark mustiness of the house. She strode down the street to the bus stop. As she got there the bus pulled up. Ha, her luck was starting to change, she told herself as she paid and took a seat near the front. It was all about a positive attitude.
Holding her head up, Chantelle went into the office. She walked through the analyst department without even glancing towards the executive floor. She sat down at her desk.
Patsy smiled. ‘You’re early. I thought you wouldn’t be in until after lunch.’
‘No, the delivery men were earlier than I thought,’ Chantelle muttered, her eyes locked on the computer screen. She couldn’t face telling Patsy what had happened.
‘And I’ve got loads to do. I’ve got to hurry up and get myself a job.’
‘You’re determined,’ Patsy said.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Chantelle said. ‘I don’t have much time left.’ She opened the job board and listed another ten openings that she would consider. She began preparing her applications.
‘Do you want to go and grab something to eat?’ Patsy asked her at lunchtime.
Chantelle shook her head. ‘No, I need to keep going. I’m making progress.’
‘Please come?’ Patsy said. Chantelle looked up; normally she never said no when her friend asked her something. She shook her head again. ‘I’ve got to get this done.’ From now on she was putting herself first.
Patsy came back from lunch with a gossip magazine. She sat down at her computer and began browsing through it. ‘Oh look, Cynthia DeVere has split up with that guy she left Granger for – Claudio,’ Patsy said, scanning a page. ‘You know, Cynthia DeVere, Granger Carmont’s ex-girlfriend?’
‘Can I see?’ Chantelle said, taking the magazine. She scanned the page and her heart leapt to her mouth. She felt sick; all the humiliation of the morning came flooding back.
‘Are you all right?’ Patsy asked. ‘You’ve gone awfully pale.’
Chantelle didn’t trust herself to answer. She nodded, not taking her eyes off the page. There was Cynthia, the woman she’d met that morning. She was looking stunning. How could Chantelle have mistaken her for the cleaner? It almost made her laugh. This woman could never have been a cleaner, any more than Chantelle herself belonged in a luxury apartment dating a man like Granger Carmont. She felt so stupid. There was a picture of Cynthia wearing an elegant evening dress outside a restaurant with a tanned dark-haired man: Claudio. There was a picture of her getting out of a car dressed in high heels and tight leather trousers and at the bottom was an inset picture of Cynthia and Granger outside the theatre. The caption said:
The Executive Floor Page 16
