by Annie Dyer
“My vote’s for painted nails and plaits, with lots of photos.” I smiled innocently at my cousin. “Make those precious memories.”
He looked from me to Georgia. “How about Friday? I’m really interested to meet Imogen’s new boyfriend.”
Georgia leaned into Seph and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “We’re having a girls’ night on Friday. Your curiosity will have to wait.”
This was the first I’d heard about a girls’ night. I had a feeling I was being saved by my friend.
Seph grumbled something, sounding just like Max, then pulled Georgia into a kiss that was more than a peck.
I looked the other way, wondering what I’d done to be surrounded by couples, wondering if it was something I’d actually enjoy in practice.
“Don’t worry, Immy,” he said, when he’d finished kissing Georgia’s lipstick off. “You’ll be able to get your revenge with your own public displays of affection soon.”
A couple of years ago, I’d learned the hard way the importance of carving out half an hour during the day to get away from my desk and my phone, and take a brief break. This usually involved food, finding a new café or sandwich bar, which London was full of. I found bijou food outlets tucked away down side streets and food stalls that took me to countries I’d only dreamed of having the time to visit.
Lunch today was going to be a longer affair. It consisted of Georgia, Victoria and baby Lucy, who was currently being snuggled by Georgia while Vic enjoyed having the use of both arms.
“So how long until you and Seph have one of these?” Victoria pointed at Lucy, who was the sweetest combination of her and Max, with all of Vic’s good nature and none of Max’s grumpiness.
Georgia laughed. “I’m not sure. He has mentioned it.” Her expression looked dreamy, and her smile was tender. “He’s desperate to be a dad – although he knows he already is one to Rose, I think he wants the baby experience.”
Vic laughed. “Knowing Seph, he’ll be up at one, three and five o’clock doing the night feeds.”
Georgia nodded. “Probably. He’s always first up with Rose at the weekends.” She pressed a kiss to Lucy’s forehead. “She still smells of baby.”
“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that smell wearing off.” Vic changed her gaze to Georgia. “What’s this about a night out on Friday?”
“News travels fast.” Georgia shifted Lucy a little and sat back.
We were in a café in Borough Market that served tapas, and I was happily occupied with a dish of chorizo, and another with balls of soft cheese deep fried in breadcrumbs. Describing the food as orgasmic would explain how long it had been since I’d last had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced.
“Always remember that Callaghan men are bigger gossips than any of their sisters. Particularly Killian.” Victoria nabbed a bit of chorizo. “So is there a girls’ night, or are we covering for something nefarious?”
Georgia looked at me. “There can be a girls’ night. It just depends if Imogen has a date with her mystery man.”
Victoria picked up a fry and delicately nipped at it, before pointing the remainder in my direction. “Mystery man? And why is this the first we’re hearing of it.”
Fuckeroo.
“I’m free on Friday and a girls’ night sounds great. But is this girls’ night one that will end up including Max, Seph and all the rest?” I evaded the mystery man question, totally having no idea how to manage that. I didn’t like lying, especially to the two women who’d I’d become really good friends with in the last few months.
“No, because they’ll be babysitting. It makes it a lot harder for them to crash our nights.” Georgia rearranged Lucy in her other arm. “I’ll message Vanessa and see what Claire’s doing when we get back to the office.”
“You didn’t say who your mystery man was.” Vic poked a finger in my direction this time, the fries all gone.
My phone started to ring before I could answer, the office calling. I answered, hearing one of the admins telling me that my two o’clock appointment was early, doing me a favour as I had a meeting with someone I hadn’t seen since we were at school together about fourteen years ago afterwards, and I wanted the chance to catch up with him.
“Got to go. I’ll pay up on the way out!” I picked my handbag up, pressed a soft kiss to Lucy’s head, and fled, Victoria’s questions thankfully going unanswered.
My father had been a workaholic, leaving most of the childcare to my mother, Lynsey. Lynsey gave up her career to look after the five of us, but when we got to our early teens, she was keen to get back to doing what she loved most – performing. She was a classically trained musician, excelling at the violin, and had performed worldwide before meeting my father after a performance in Rome.
Maven, Catrin and I headed off to boarding school in England, spending holidays either with our parents in New York or over in Ireland at the farm owned and ran by our paternal grandparents. School was a good experience for us; we didn’t feel abandoned by our parents in the slightest, and the three of us had each other. We all made friends too.
It was at that school where I first met Noah Soames-Harrington, a boy in the year above who dated two of my friends. Noah was funny and cute, tall and hadn’t grown into himself at the time. He was also super posh, coming from a family that was about as aristocratic as I’d ever met. I’d been a bit in awe of him at first, his accent what you’d imagine a prince to have, but then I heard him tell what I thought was a dirty joke, and I realised he was just like the rest of us.
Noah had ended up taking over his family’s estate, which involved several properties, including a stately home that was used for partially living in, and partially for tourists or as a set for various TV mini-series or movies, and a shares portfolio that would make most Wall Street bankers cry.
There was currently a dispute about a boundary between one of Noah’s properties and the neighbouring one, with the neighbour claiming a road belonged to them and blocking it off, stopping access to one of Noah’s farms. I’d inherited the case from Payton, who’d extended her maternity leave. I liked property disputes, I had a decent win rate on them, and I was keen to prove to Noah that I wasn’t the mousy blonde with braces anymore.
When I saw him in our reception, I realised he wasn’t the gangly eighteen-year-old I remembered either. His width now supported his height, light brown hair cut so it looked messily styled, and a bit of stubble that instantly made me wonder how it would feel against my skin.
“Imogen Green!” He sounded pleased to see me, his smile wide and that dimple on his left cheek still there. “You don’t look seventeen anymore.”
I laughed, heading into his embrace and catching a woodsy musk. “That’s what an extra fourteen years does.”
“Yet it still feels like yesterday when I was helping you and your sisters sneak back into the dorms after going to a party in the town.”
There was another grin. No one should’ve been allowed to be that good looking. “Come through to the meeting room. We can catch up before I talk you through where we’re up to.” I put on my professional face, knowing this was no time to stare at him with heart-eyes.
He followed me down the corridor, past the copying room and Max’s office, to the smaller of the meeting rooms we had in the building. The table in there was mahogany, antique and polished so that it was almost possible to see your reflection. It provided a nice distraction from the man who sat in front of me.
“So how come you’re back in England? The last I’d heard; you were based in New York.” He sat down in one of the chairs opposite me.
I shrugged and gave him a brief rundown of moving over here, the conversation growing to include updates about some of the other people we’d gone to school with. “How’s working for your family treating you?”
He half smiled. “It’s better than I thought it would be.”
“I thought you were going to be a racing driver or something. I always imagined you in Monte Carlo, surround
ed by models, rocking the whole cool Brit thing.” Sometimes my mouth ran away with me. This was one of those times.
Noah almost choked on his laughter. “Me? Jesus, I had no idea what impression I was giving out. I was so awkward when I was at school.”
I laughed, remembering how half my year group had crushed on him. “You weren’t. We all thought you were like Hugh Grant.”
He shook his head and looked mortified. “Hugh Grant is… not someone I want to be compared to.”
“Seriously? He’s still got it even now he’s older.”
Noah laughed. “I remember you following around the music teacher. He looked like the singer from that boy band you all tried to stalk.”
“Mr Robertson?” I nodded, remembered exactly who he meant. “We started a fan club. I hope he never found out about it.”
“He knew. Zeke told him.”
I pulled my hair back from my face. “Zeke Brooksbank! I haven’t thought about him in years. What’s he doing now?”
“Painting. He’s made it fairly big in the art world. Helped of course by his family having three galleries worth of art.”
“He always seemed like a tortured soul. Are you still in touch?” I vaguely remembered Zeke and Noah being good friends, although Zeke was always quietly brooding, while Noah was the life and soul of everything, even if he didn’t remember it that way.
“Just about. He’s got a little girl so he’s even less sociable than he used to be. We meet up a couple of times a year for a night out.” He pushed his hand through his light brown hair, blue eyes glistening. “It would be more but he uses his daughter as an excuse.”
“I can’t imagine him being a dad. What about you? Are you with someone?” I’d wanted to ask since he’d first sat down, mainly nosiness, but also because that tiny crush hadn’t gone away. He’d been cute as a teenager, but now he was downright handsome. I hoped I hadn’t been staring too much, although I doubted Noah would notice. He’d always been oblivious to the girls who’d fancied him at school.
“Due to get married in a few weeks. Claire O’Hara’s looking through my pre-nup.” Noah’s expression wasn’t joyful.
“Pre-nups are crappy. Hopefully you won’t need it.” I wondered what his bride to be was like.
“We’ll see.” His said the words quietly, too seriously. “Do you want to talk me through where we’re up to with this boundary dispute?”
I nodded, taking his lead on changing the subject, and started to go through the updates on his case. When he was at school, Noah had been adamant that he wouldn’t end up taking over from his father. He’d clearly chosen that option and I wondered why. He’d also embraced it, understanding the process we were going through to resolve the dispute and knowing enough to suggest that this wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in such a case.
He was half-way through telling me more about the nightmare neighbours when Claire entered, carrying a few sheets of paper that I imagined were the pre-nup. There was no way Noah would marry anyone without one. His family were worth millions if not more, and while my family were hardly paupers, Noah’s were in a different league, several leagues up.
“I’m really sorry to interrupt.” Claire sat down next to me. “But this came through about fifteen minutes ago, and you could do with reading it sooner rather than later.” She pushed the papers across the table to him.
Noah looked at them as if someone had told him they were full of fleas.
“You need to read them. Page four, specifically.” Claire pointed towards them.
“How many pages are there?” I was only half familiar with pre-nuptial agreements, it not being my area of expertise, but I had heard my cousin talking about some of what had been included occasionally. Killian, her husband, had turned her into a romantic and now she was pretty anti having them.
“Seven. It’s comprehensive to say the least. I’ve highlighted the key elements on that page, Noah. It’s unacceptable what Carla’s asking for.” She sat back, watching Noah, looking far too serious. The glance she gave me told me volumes.
“What?” Noah whispered the word at first. “What the fuck? The house?”
“How far out from the wedding are you?” Claire’s tone was low.
“Six weeks.”
“How big a wedding is it?”
He put the papers down, his face pale. “Fucking huge. She wanted a spread in some glossy magazine, but I said no. I wanted low-key.”
“The pre-nup is not low key.” Claire tapped her nails on the table. “You want me to re-negotiate?”
“No. Not yet.”
I watched him, saw the tension in his face. Hoped he wasn’t going to negotiate at all and just tell her where to stuff it.
Noah stood up. “I’ll start the re-negotiations myself. Sorry, Imogen, we didn’t get finished.”
“Same time tomorrow. Or just pop in. I have a clear day and you have other… priorities to deal with right now.”
He looked grim. “That’s one way to put it.”
I watched him walk out of the room with Claire, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been studying his ass.
It was even better than it had been when we were younger.
Chapter Three
Noah
I had no idea how I got to Carla’s apartment. I could’ve flown there and I wouldn’t have known. All I could focus on were the alterations she’d had made in the pre-nup, the one about our properties.
On completion of the marriage, Noah Soames-Harrington will gift Carla Soames-Harrington 14 Cathcart Road, making her the sole proprietor of said property. In the unfortunate event of the marriage ending under any circumstances, Carla Harrington, née Corrigan, will retain possession of said property.
She will be in receipt of a monthly allowance of…
I’d stopped reading at that point. She’d left this late; Claire O’Hara had tried to have the pre-nup in place before the deposits for the venues and the other shit Carla had insisted on were paid, but Carla had pulled the whole ‘do we really need one?’ line. We did. Her family was wealthy, but so was mine. More so. And I wasn’t born yesterday. When we agreed to get married, we agreed to get married. My mother mentioned the idea to me a few weeks after Carla and I had been on our first date, suggesting it could be advantageous – this was before she had seen more of her in celebrity gossip columns. I told Carla about the conversation, and she thought it was the best idea ever, going through a list of reasons why it was something we should totally do.
I’d proposed, not in public like she’d told me she wanted, but in my home, where it was private. She’d acted shocked, her reaction slightly too dramatic given that she knew it was coming. Within thirty seconds of me putting the ring on her finger, there was a picture of it on social media. Of course there was.
This amended pre-nup was her trying to solicit more. A lot more. I felt my temperature grow to furnace-hot, annoyance stifling my chest. We were both getting something out of this marriage that wasn’t going to be a long, loving relationship. I got to have my grandfather see me get married and stop my mother grating on me to settle down. She got the status, and her family married into old money, and she appeased her father by settling down. We’d agreed to stay away from each other’s property and wealth.
I had a key to her apartment, given to me by her flatmate when I arranged a romantic evening in for her birthday. I’d figured I should do something like that given we were getting married, and she’d seemed to like the flowers and the meal that I’d made. The following night she’d insisted we go to one of the top restaurants where she’d managed to get a table so we could be ‘seen’.
I rang the bell for her apartment before I used the key, knowing she was in as her car was badly parked outside, as if she’d been in a rush. Her bathroom window was open, another sign that she was in. I tried calling, but it went almost straight to voicemail, as if she was cancelling the call, and that was when my temper boiled over.
I unlocked her door and
headed straight up the communal stairs to her apartment, taking them two at a time. Music came from behind her door, loud and booming R & B, stuff that was too early to be played in the afternoon. I didn’t bother to knock; she wouldn’t have heard me anyway.
When I walked into her lounge, I understood why she hadn’t taken my call, or answered the intercom. Her mouth was too full.
Full of another man’s cock.
I stopped walking, closing the door behind me, and trying to not look at the scene in front of me. The guy she was giving a blow job to was familiar, his skin more orange than brown and his hair looking like he’d just stepped out of some man-spa. His hand clutched her hair and there were various words spilling out of his mouth. Clearly he was enjoying Carla’s blow jobs more than I had, but maybe she’d been practicing her acting skills by pretending she was in to me.
I had no intention of seeing any more. I tore the pre-nup in two and deposited it on the floor next to his underwear, then left, feeling something that I suspected was relief. But before I left, I had the sense to use my phone for one thing.
I took a photo.
When Angus turned up at the Kensington Rooms, a members’ only bar and restaurant in Kensington, I was half-way to having veins full of whisky instead of blood. I’d ignored the seventeen calls from Carla, sending each through to voicemail; I hadn’t read the texts, and I’d also dismissed the single call from my mother. Carla wasn’t stupid. The torn up pre-nup would’ve been enough to tell her I’d been there; the unanswered calls underlining what I’d seen. Her getting in touch with Lady Soames to tell her I was being ungentleman-like would certainly be a wise move, especially as she didn’t know her Ladyship well enough to understand her loyalty to family.
She might’ve struggled with Robbie coming out as gay, but she wouldn’t let anyone say a homophobic word, and I knew the amount she had donated to charities supporting young people in the LGBT communities.
