Friend of the Family

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Max?’ said Amy. ‘You don’t think . . .’

  ‘Rich man with huge house, young girl’s head gets turned: it’s not exactly an original story, is it? Plus if we add Max’s serpentine morals . . .’

  ‘But why do it in our bed?’

  Juliet shrugged. ‘Better than his own with Claire on the property. And Max is exactly the sort to get a thrill from doing the mother–daughter double.’

  Amy looked up sharply. ‘Max and Karen?’

  ‘That’s what he told me.’

  ‘Really?’ Amy frowned, her mind flying back to that long-ago night. ‘I’m pretty sure Karen told me that Max tried it on at the ball but she told him to get lost. Then Lee turned up so I’m fairly certain nothing else happened.’

  ‘Who’s Lee?’

  ‘Karen’s old boyfriend from home.’

  Juliet looked sceptical. ‘Why would Max lie?’’

  ‘He had his stud reputation to protect. He was never going to admit that Karen knocked him back.’

  ‘Either way,’ added Juliet, ‘it could have been Max and Josie in your bed. Frankly, Max and anyone. Or it could even have been Alain the driver, or the gardener. Don’t jump to conclusions.’

  Juliet was right. Amy had seen Josie talking to the gardener just a few days earlier. He was a handsome young man, who often worked with his top off. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think something had happened between them, and perhaps, for some twisted psychological reason, Josie had wanted to do it in Amy and David’s bed.

  Juliet tilted her head to one side. ‘Darling, I’ve known David longer than most – longer than you, even. He has his faults, but he’s loyal. I can’t think of a single time he cheated on a girlfriend, even the dreadful Annabel, and that’s saying something over twenty years. Besides, he adores you.’

  Amy pulled a face, then nodded. ‘I know. And I feel awful even thinking it, but what other conclusion am I expected to come to?’

  Juliet took her arm and began leading her along the rows of fragrant purple flowers.

  ‘Look, if you’re uncomfortable about Josie, why don’t you just get rid of her? Say you want to spend more time with Tilly, buy her a ticket home.’

  ‘I can’t, Jules,’ said Amy.

  ‘Why not? I thought you’d finished the application.’

  ‘It’s a favour to Karen.’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘She’s my friend, Juliet.’

  ‘Was your friend. You did them both a favour and now you’re regretting it. Your loyalties should be to your family – to Tilly, to David, actually – not to someone you haven’t seen for twenty years.’

  ‘But I don’t know Josie has done anything wrong.’

  Juliet stopped, open-mouthed. ‘Excuse me, a minute ago, you thought she was banging your husband.’

  Amy looked back at her. ‘But it’s just intuition. You said it yourself: I have zero evidence.’

  ‘Then get some. If I was in your position, I’d trust Peter implicitly, I’d dismiss any doubts. Then I’d wait until he went out and go through his emails.’

  Amy laughed, but Juliet didn’t join in. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I have every faith that David’s entirely innocent. But a girl’s entitled to make sure, isn’t she?’

  Chapter 17

  It was too hot to be eating outside, even under the pergola. Amy watched as the listless breeze gently moved the linen drapes, the drooping leaves of the sunflowers barely twitching. She wanted to pick up her gilt-edged bone-china plate and fan her face, or plunge her head into the engraved ice bucket. Even wafting one of the tasteful plum-coloured napkins might bring some relief. Claire had made a big effort – after all, this was Peter and Juliet’s last night and Amy and David’s penultimate one – but even the most controlling Homes and Gardens reader couldn’t wrangle the Provence weather.

  ‘Isn’t it supposed to get cooler at night?’ said Amy, wrapping both hands around her beading glass. ‘It must still be thirty-five degrees and it’s, what? Nine o’clock?’

  David laughed. ‘It’s not that warm. I think you’re just a bit drunk.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, although it was true that she’d had at least two more glasses of wine than usual, partly due to thirst, partly in an attempt to calm her clanking nerves. Despite Juliet’s calm reassurance about David, she was on edge. Even though she had failed to catch him in the act, everything David did made her paranoid, running each innocuous comment or gesture over and over in her head, looking for meaning. She had already picked apart the conversation they’d had about the photo shoot. What had he said? Something about how helping Josie was a good thing, how she’d promised Karen. And he’d said he liked her, hadn’t he? Or was that Tilly, that Tilly liked her? It was all so jumbled up in her head. If only she’d taped it, she could have played it back, checked for clues.

  ‘It gets hotter than this, let me tell you,’ said Max, his words running together. If Amy was tipsy, Max was definitely drunk; no real surprise there, since he’d started about lunchtime with his patented cocktail on the way to the festival. ‘I have to sleep bollock naked with a gigantic fan pointed straight at my knob.’

  ‘Max, please!’ cried Juliet, placing the palms of both hands over her eyes. ‘I’m never going to sleep tonight with that image in my mind.’

  ‘You haven’t been sleeping well as it is,’ laughed Peter.

  ‘It’s too bloody sultry. It’s not just the heat; it’s so close, like the air’s as thick as butter.’

  David looked over at Amy and grinned. ‘I actually find it quite sexy, all this heat.’

  Amy flashed him a look, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘David, not you too!’ complained Juliet.

  ‘There’s got to be a reason people tend to get more frisky on holiday, hasn’t there?’

  ‘Pheromones,’ said Max. ‘More sweat equals more pheromones, stands to reason. And when you’ve got world-class pheromones like mine, who can say no, eh, Claire?’

  Claire gave him a sarcastic smile. ‘Not when you’re passed out naked with the fan on full blast, no.’

  ‘Looks like we’re in for a party tonight!’ shouted Max, banging the table.

  David stood and raised his glass in toast. ‘Here’s to Max for the house, to Claire for this wonderful spread, and to Max’s fan for dealing with his naked horridness without complaint.’

  They all clinked glasses and David was just sitting down again when he raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘Hey, Josie, everything all right?’

  Everyone turned. Josie was standing awkwardly at the edge of the light cast by the pergola.

  Amy felt her hand clench into a fist at the sight of her. She was wearing a black kaftan with a thin sequinned collar, one that Amy instantly recognised from the Quinn collection. In the daytime, by the pool, it was a pretty cover-up, the sort of thing that thousands of women packed in their holiday suitcase to throw on at the beach. But tonight, backlit against the soft outdoor lights, the garment was completely transparent, showing off Josie’s black bra and pants underneath, the curve of her breasts, the dark hollow of her belly button. It made her look seductive and dangerous.

  Amy glanced over at David and saw that he had noticed the kaftan’s sheerness too. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could see his cheeks colour in the low light, the slight nervous tremble of his hand as he raised his wine glass to his lips.

  ‘The twins and Tilly are all sound asleep and I have this.’ Josie held up the baby monitor.

  ‘In which case, pull up a chair and come and join us,’ said Max, getting to his feet. ‘Seems mad you being stuck upstairs when we’re all down here.’

  He grabbed a glass and handed it to her as Josie sat down, perching nervously on the edge of a chair as if she expected to be sent away at any moment. Amy looked at
her, wishing she could do exactly that, but they were all fussing around the girl, trying their best to make her feel included. Claire admired her earrings, Peter brought her some strawberries, and even Juliet asked her about her time at Verve.

  ‘So, Josie,’ said Max expansively. ‘How have you enjoyed Provence? Good job you were at David’s when that poor nanny had her accident. Does anyone know how she is, by the way?’

  ‘Claudia’s fine, since you were asking,’ said David, heavy with irony. ‘The arm’s mending nicely. The ankle too. She’s up and around with a walking stick.’

  ‘How come you were staying with David and Amy in the first place?’ It was typical of Max to wait until Josie’s final few days to ask her even the most basic of questions.

  ‘Josie is my friend’s daughter, Max. I’ve already told you. I helped her out with some work experience.’

  ‘Friend? Which friend? Anyone I know?’ he said with a slight raise of the brow.

  ‘My friend Karen from Bristol. She came to the house once . . .’

  ‘Karen Karen. Fuck. I thought there was something familiar about you. Ball Karen.’

  ‘Yes, Max, that Karen,’ said Amy. ‘Josie did brilliantly well as an intern—’

  Max burst into delighted laughter as his brain finally caught up.

  ‘You’re Karen’s daughter!’ he hooted, throwing both hands in the air. ‘Fuck! I knew I recognised you. Karen. I took her to the Commem Ball in our final year.’ His face broke into a lecherous grin and his hands described an egg-timer figure. ‘She was . . . Well, I can see where you get it from.’

  ‘Max,’ said Peter. ‘Button it up, old man. You’re embarrassing the girl.’

  ‘Embarrassing? She should be proud! Karen was sexy in a . . . Well, she was sexy anyway. Isn’t that a compliment?’

  ‘Leave it, Max,’ said David, lowering his voice. ‘I’m sure Josie doesn’t want to hear that about her mother.’

  Amy glanced across at David, annoyed that he was defending Josie all of a sudden. Yes, Max was being an arse, but did he have to step in? Couldn’t the girl look after herself?

  Juliet defused the situation by telling Josie the story about how Max had been woken from his drunken stupor in the bath and press-ganged into asking Karen to the ball, then skilfully segued into asking about Josie’s time at university and starting a discussion about the importance or otherwise of education in the internet age. Max sat glassy-eyed, seemingly having drunk himself to a standstill, and David said pointedly that he thought everyone could do with some coffee. As he stood up to go to the kitchen, his phone fell out of his pocket without him noticing. Juliet bent down, picked it up and handed it to Amy.

  ‘You should probably look after that,’ she said.

  Amy knew what she meant. ‘I think I’ll just check on the children,’ she said, and got up from the table. Making sure that David was still in the kitchen, she practically ran up the stairs, closing the bedroom door behind her before fumbling the phone out and turning it on. For a banker, David was surprisingly security-averse. He used the same password and PIN for everything, including the TV package, so Amy found herself using his codes more often than her own. She clicked on his messages and began scrolling through them.

  ‘Work, work, me,’ she whispered absently. ‘Work, Max, me, his boss . . . Wow, they never leave him alone . . .’ Fingers moving fast, opening anything vaguely promising, she quickly worked her way through the past few weeks, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. Sighing, she clicked onto his email account, flipping down the inbox column, her hope fading. If you discounted Amy herself, and David’s secretary Dawn – late fifties, as sexy as a broom – he barely got emails from any women at all, let alone an illicit lover. She supposed she should be outraged or depressed that the world of banking was so very male-dominated – and she also supposed that she should be pleased that she had found no evidence of her husband’s imagined affair. He did love her, he was faithful; wasn’t that what she wanted? But whether it was the wine or the heat or the neurotic paranoia she’d managed to stir up within herself, she just felt let down, disappointed. She’d almost wanted to find something, wanted to be right, so that all this pain and confusion wouldn’t just have been a pointless delusion.

  Looking around the room, her eyes fell on David’s wallet, squatting like a fat frog on the bedside cabinet. She snatched it up, emptying the contents out onto the bed. Credit cards, a cute photo of the three of them, driving licence, an Oyster card – when did David ever travel by Tube? – a coffee shop loyalty card, one stamp. She opened the money slot: fifty quid in tens, about a hundred euros and a load of crumpled receipts. She smoothed them out: drinks in the village square, ice creams, a slip for a cash withdrawal. And there: a receipt for something from ‘Le Visage’, 255 euros. She frowned. Le Visage, why did that seem familiar?

  Nausea collected at the base of her throat when she realised where she remembered the name from. The boutique next to the ice cream shop. The one she and Juliet had been looking at, the one where Josie had glanced over her shoulder and said she liked the pendant. With David standing right there.

  Amy’s heart leapt. This was it: she knew it! David had heard Josie admire the necklace and had bought it for her. She looked at the receipt again. No description, just a number. Evidence, Juliet had said she needed evidence. Wasn’t this good enough?

  ‘Mummy? What are you doing?’

  Amy gasped, clutching a hand to her breast. ‘Tilly, God. You scared me. What are you doing out of bed?’

  ‘I had a bad dream.’ Tilly rubbed her eyes sleepily. ‘Isn’t that Daddy’s phone? Can I play Happy Mrs Chicken?’

  Amy had no idea what Happy Mrs Chicken was. ‘No sweetie,’ she said, slipping the phone back into her pocket. ‘It’s bedtime. Come on, I’ll tuck you in.’

  ‘Josie likes playing Happy Mrs Chicken with me.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit what Josie likes doing,’ Amy said, feeling her teeth bare.

  Tilly stepped back in surprise. ‘Why are you always angry now, Mummy?’ she said, her voice wobbling.

  ‘I’m not angry, sweetheart,’ Amy said, pulling her daughter into a hug. ‘I’m just a bit tired. That’s why we came on holiday, to have a rest.’

  Tilly yawned, seemingly placated. ‘Okay,’ she said, her eyelids dipping. ‘I’m sleepy too.’

  Amy took her back to her room and sat there for a while, stroking her hair away from her face. She was beautiful, perfect, but even here, Amy couldn’t stop her mind from straying to dark thoughts. Imagining Josie putting the children to bed. David coming to check on them, pushing her up against the wardrobe, his hands urgently seeking . . . Just because she hadn’t found anything in his phone, that didn’t mean he wasn’t screwing the bitch, did it? He didn’t have to be sending her sweet nothings; he could just be grabbing her on the stairs as she came out of Tilly’s room, waiting until Amy was deep into her stupid note-making then slipping into the pool house, even behind a bloody tree.

  Amy could feel her anger rising, her pressure on Tilly’s head increasing. Stop, she told herself, standing up. Just stop. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t. She was going to find evidence, and screw anyone who got in her way.

  She left Tilly and crossed back into her own bedroom. She yanked the dresser drawer open, scrabbling in the back until she found the crumpled bra. ‘Exhibit A,’ she smiled, holding it up in triumph. Part of her brain was telling her it was a crazy idea as she swayed up the stairs towards Josie’s room, but the rest of her wasn’t listening. Even so, she pushed on the door gently. ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Josie?’ No answer, just a darkened room, the sounds of conversation and laughter from the garden drifting in through the open window.

  She stepped inside, aware that she was walking on tiptoes. I’m allowed to be here, she thought angrily. This is my friend’s house, not hers. Why should I be creeping around? The pendant must be in here somew
here. Surely the little madam wouldn’t be so brazen as to wear it.

  ‘Amy?’

  The light clicked on and she froze, her hands curled around Josie’s things.

  ‘What . . . what are you doing?’

  She stood up, trying to be dignified. ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

  Josie frowned. ‘But this is my room. Why are you going through my stuff?’

  ‘As if you don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t, Amy. What are you looking for?’ She looked at her hands. ‘And why have you got my bra?’

  Amy held it up like a trophy. ‘The bra I found in my bed, you mean?’

  Josie looked utterly bewildered. ‘Your bed?’

  There was another click, and the light in the corridor went on.

  ‘Josie?’ called a voice. David’s voice. ‘Are you up there? Have you seen Amy?’

  ‘She’s in here,’ shouted Josie, as if the two of them were suddenly complicit.

  At once Amy was hit with the terrible knowledge of how this would look to David. She stepped forward, still holding Josie’s bra in front of her, but the girl stepped back. ‘Look, Josie, I know what’s been going on.’

  Before Josie could answer, David appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Amy? What’s happening? Why are you in Josie’s room?’ He turned to the girl. ‘Josie?’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Parker,’ she said. ‘I . . . I came up to get something and I found her here in the dark. She was, well, going through my things.’

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘I was looking for the pendant.’

  ‘The pendant?’

  ‘The one you bought for her. She left her bra in our bed, David. Don’t try and deny it.’

  ‘What bra? What are you talking about?’

  ‘This!’ she shouted, holding it up. ‘It was hanging out the side of the bed.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to ask me about it first?’

  ‘Oh, so you’re admitting to it?’

  ‘No! For God’s sake, Amy!’ He strode over and pulled the clothes from her grip, then turned back to Josie. ‘Listen, I’m really sorry. Amy’s had a lot to drink, she’s been under a lot of pressure—’