“You should wear a feather boa,” he says suddenly. “Like, an oversize one. Like…huge.”
An oversize feather boa. That’s so brilliant. It could be the next big thing! It could be the new Fendi baguette!
“There are feather boas in accessories!” I say. “Come on!” I grab my bag and zip it up, first making sure the manila folder is safely in there. I’m going to shred it as soon as I get home. When Luke isn’t looking.
We head down the escalators to the ground floor, where the accessories department is located.
“We’re closing….” begins Jane, the accessories manager, but then she sees it’s us.
“Sorry,” I say breathlessly as Danny heads to a stand displaying feather boas and scarves. “We won’t be long. It’s just we’re having a key fashion moment here….”
“There,” says Danny, garlanding me with colorful feather boas. “Like, the biggest feather boa you ever saw.” He’s tying eight boas together into a massive sausage-shaped one. “This is a great look.”
I feel a frisson as he drapes the boa round me. We’re making fashion history, right here! We’re setting a whole new trend! Next year everyone will be wearing huge Danny Kovitz boas. Celebrities will wear them to the Oscars, high street shops will rip them off….
“The Giant Boa,” Danny says as he ties back a stray feathery strand. “The Giant. It’s fabulous. Take a look!” He swivels me round to face the mirror, and I gasp.
“Er…wow!”
“Great, isn’t it?” He beams at me.
To be absolutely truthful, I gasped because I look so stupid. You can hardly see my head for feathers. I look like an enormous, pregnant feather duster.
But I mustn’t be narrow-minded. This is fashion. People probably thought skinny jeans looked ridiculous when they first saw them.
“Amazing,” I breathe, trying to get the feathers out of my mouth. “You’re a genius, Danny.”
“Let’s go and have that drink.” Danny is flushed with animation. “I’m in the mood for martinis.”
“Can you put these boas on my account?” I say to Jane. “There’s eight of them. Thanks!”
We head out of the shop on a total high, and I lead Danny round the corner into Portman Square. The street lamps are on, and some people in black tie are coming out of the Templeton Hotel. They eye me weirdly as we pass and I hear a couple of giggles, but I just hold my head higher. If you’re going to be at the cutting edge of fashion, you’re going to get a few strange looks.
“Shall we go to the bar here?” I suggest, coming to a halt. “It’s a bit dull, but it’s right here.”
“As long as they can mix a drink…” Danny pushes open the heavy glass doors and ushers me in. The Templeton Bar is a very beige bar: beige carpet, plushy chairs and waiters in beige uniforms. It’s crowded with business types, but I can see some space by the piano.
“Let’s nab that table over there,” I say to Danny—and then I stop dead.
It’s Venetia. Sitting in the corner a few yards away, her hair glowing under the lights, with a suited guy and another smart woman. I don’t recognize either of them.
“What?” Danny peers at me. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s…” I swallow and jerk my head discreetly toward her. Danny follows my gaze and gasps theatrically in delight.
“Is that Cruella de Venetia?”
“Shut up!” I squeak.
But it’s too late: Venetia’s turned. She’s seen us. She’s getting up and coming across, an impossibly elegant figure in a black trouser suit and heels, her hair as immaculate as ever, a wineglass in her hand.
It’s fine, I tell myself. Calm down. I don’t know why my heart is pounding and my fingers are sweaty.
Oh. Well…maybe because in my bag is a folder containing ten long-lens pictures of Venetia. But she doesn’t know that, does she?
“Becky!” She smiles and kisses me on both cheeks. “My favorite client. How are you? Only four weeks to go now, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. So…um…how are you, Venetia?” My voice is jerky and my face has turned red—but other than that I think I’m acting quite naturally. “This is my friend, Danny Kovitz.”
“Danny Kovitz.” Her eyes light up in recognition. “It’s an honor. I bought one of your pieces in Milan recently. In Corso Como. A beaded jacket?”
“I know the one!” says Danny eagerly. “I’ll bet you look fabulous in it.”
Why’s he being nice to her? He’s supposed to be on my side.
“Did you buy the pants?” he’s saying now. “Because we did them in two styles, a capri and a boot cut. You’d look great in the capri pants.”
“No, I just bought the jacket.” She smiles at him, then glances at me. “Becky, you seem hot in all those…feathers. Are you OK?”
“I’m…fine!” I blow a couple of feathers off my lipstick. “This is Danny’s new fashion concept.”
“Right.” Venetia gives my giant feather boa a dubious look. “Only, you know, it’s not healthy for you to overheat during pregnancy.”
Typical. Bossing me about again. Telling me fashion’s unhealthy. But the truth is, I am starting to sweat in all these layers, so reluctantly I unpeel the boa and take off my coat.
There’s a weird silence. For a moment I’m not quite sure why Venetia is staring at my chest. Then my stomach plunges as I realize I’m wearing Danny’s T-shirt. I glance down, and there it is, clear as day.
SHE’S a RED-HAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER
Shit.
“Actually, I’m quite cold!” I clamp the boa round my neck again, trying desperately to cover up the words. “Brrrrr! It’s freezing in here. Isn’t it freezing, for the time of year?”
“What does that say?” Venetia says in a peculiar voice. “On your T-shirt.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, flustered. “Nothing! It’s just a…joke! I mean, obviously it’s not you. It’s another red-haired bitch. Er…woman. Person.”
This is not going well.
“Good work, Becky,” says Danny in my ear. “Tactful.”
Venetia is inhaling deeply, as though trying to control herself. She looks pretty annoyed, now I come to notice it.
“Becky,” she says at last. “Might we have a little talk?”
“Talk?” I echo nervously.
“Yes, talk. The two of us. Speaking to each other alone. If you wouldn’t mind?” She glances at Danny.
“Sure. I’ll get us some drinks.” He disappears off to the bar and I feel a quailing inside as I turn to face Venetia. There’s a frown line between her eyes and she’s tapping her fingers against the stem of her glass. She looks like a young, glamorous headmistress who’s about to tell me I’ve let down the whole school.
“So!” I muster a bright tone. “How are you?”
She can’t read your mind, I’m telling myself feverishly. She doesn’t know you had her trailed. She can’t prove the T-shirt is about her. Just act innocent.
“Look, Becky.” Venetia drains her glass in one gulp. “Let’s cut the crap.”
I stare at her in shock. Did she just say “crap”?
“We were trying to spare you any unpleasantness.” Venetia’s frown deepens. “We wanted to be as…I don’t know…as amicable as possible. But if this is the attitude you’re going to take…” She gestures at the T-shirt.
I’m missing something here. In fact, I’m missing everything.
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” I say.
Venetia gazes at me as though suspecting a trick. Then, very slowly, her expression changes. She exhales and rubs her brow. “Oh God,” she says, almost as though to herself.
I feel a thud of foreboding deep inside. A kind of hot nausea is slowly rising through me. She can’t mean what I—
She can’t.
The noise and chatter of the bar has dwindled to a rushing in my ears. I swallow several times, trying to keep a grip on myself. I know I thought something might be going on. I know I talked about i
t with Suze and Jess and Danny.
But all of a sudden, standing here now, I realize I didn’t ever really think it was true. Not really. Not really.
“What are you saying?” I can’t quite control my voice. “Exactly.”
A waiter is passing with a tray of drinks, and Venetia puts out a hand to stop him.
“Vodka tonic on the rocks, please,” she says. “Straightaway. Anything for you, Becky?”
“Just…tell me.” My eyes burn into hers. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”
The waiter moves away and Venetia thrusts a hand through her hair. She looks a little ruffled by my reaction. “Becky…this was always going to be difficult. You should know, Luke feels terrible about what’s been going on. He really cares about you. He’ll be livid that I’ve spoken to you, even.”
For a few moments I can’t reply. I’m just staring at her, my whole body tensed up. I feel like I’ve swung into some parallel universe.
“What are you saying?” I repeat huskily.
“He really doesn’t want to hurt you.” Venetia leans closer, and I get a sickening waft of Allure. “As he keeps saying…he made a mistake. Pure and simple. He married the wrong person. But that’s not your fault.”
Something starts stabbing at my chest. For a moment I’m not sure I can speak, for shock.
“Luke didn’t marry the wrong person,” I manage at last. “He married the right person. He loves me, OK? He loves me.”
“You met right after he split up from Sacha, didn’t you?” Venetia nods, even though I haven’t replied. “He told me all about it. You were a refreshing change, Becky. You make him laugh. But you’re hardly on the same level. You don’t really understand what he’s about.”
“I do.” My throat isn’t working properly. “I totally understand Luke! We went round the world on our honeymoon—”
“Becky, I’ve known Luke since he was nineteen.” She cuts across me, invincible, inexorable. “I know him. What we had at Cambridge was powerful. It was intoxicating. He was my first real love. I was his. We were like Odysseus and Penelope. When we saw each other again in my consulting room…” She breaks off. “I’m sorry. But we both knew, instantly. It was just a matter of when and where.”
My legs seem to have turned to dust. My face is numb. I’m clutching my stupid feathers, trying to find a pithy, witty…something. But my head feels like a heavy lump of flannel. I have a horrible feeling there are tears on my cheeks.
“It’s been appalling timing.” Venetia takes her drink from the waiter. “Luke didn’t want to say anything until after the baby came. But I think you deserve to know the truth.”
“We went looking at prams together yesterday.” My voice comes out thick and rushed. “How come he went to look at prams, then?”
“Oh, he’s excited about the baby!” says Venetia in surprise. “He wants to see his child as much as possible after…” She pauses delicately. “He wants the whole thing to be amicable. But obviously that depends on you.”
I can’t listen to her sweet, poisonous voice anymore. I have to get away.
“You’re wrong, Venetia,” I say, struggling clumsily into my coat. “You’re deluded. Luke and I have a strong, loving marriage! We laugh, and we talk, and we have sex….”
Venetia just looks at me with infinite pity. “Becky, Luke’s just playing along to keep you happy. You don’t have a marriage. Not anymore.”
I don’t wait to say good-bye to Danny. I head straight out of the bar on stumbling legs and hail a taxi. All the way home, Venetia’s words are going round and round in my brain, until I want to throw up.
It can’t be true, I keep telling myself. It can’t be.
Of course it can, a small voice replies. It’s what you suspected all along.
I let myself into the flat and immediately hear Luke moving around in the kitchen.
“Hi!” he calls out.
My throat’s too tight to answer. I feel paralyzed. At last Luke pops his head round the door. He’s already in dress trousers and a crisp Armani dress shirt. His bow tie is loose around his neck, ready for me to tie it like I always do.
I stare at him wordlessly. Are you leaving me for Venetia? Is our whole marriage a sham?
“Hi, darling.” He takes a sip of wine.
I feel like I’m standing on a cliff edge. The moment I speak, it will all be over.
“Becky? Sweetheart?” Luke takes a few steps toward me, looking puzzled. “Are you OK?” He peers curiously at the feathers.
I can’t do it. I can’t ask him. I’m too frightened of what I’ll hear.
“I’ll go and get ready,” I whisper, unable to meet his eye. “We need to leave soon.”
I head to the bedroom and strip off, bundling Danny’s T-shirt into the bottom of the wardrobe where Luke will never look. Then I take a quick shower, hoping it’ll make me feel better. But it doesn’t. As I catch sight of myself in the mirror, wrapped in a towel, I look scared and pale.
Come on, Becky. Chin up. Think glam. Think Catherine Zeta-Jones. I get out my slinky new midnight-blue dress and slip it on, thinking this at least will cheer me up. But somehow the dress doesn’t look as good as it did before. It’s not clingy, it’s puckering. I haul at the zipper but it won’t go up.
It’s too small.
My perfect dress is too small. I must have grown some more. My bump, or my thighs, or somewhere. My whole body’s suddenly got huge.
I can feel my chin wobbling, but desperately clamp my lips shut. I am not going to cry. I wrench off the dress as best I can and head to the wardrobe to find something else. And then I glimpse myself in the mirror, and freeze. I’m waddling.
I’m a white, fat, waddling…monstrosity.
I sit down on the bed, feeling dizzy. My head is pounding and there are spots before my eyes. No wonder he chose Venetia.
“Becky, are you OK?” Luke is at the door, surveying me in alarm. I hadn’t even noticed him.
“I…” Tears are blocking my throat. “I’m…”
“You don’t look well. Why don’t you lie down? I’ll bring you some water.”
As I watch him go, Venetia’s voice is in my head like a coiled snake. He’s playing along to keep you happy.
“Here we are.” Luke’s voice makes me jump. He hands me a glass of water and two chocolate biscuits. “I think you should rest for a while.”
I take the glass without drinking. Suddenly everything feels like acting. He’s acting. I’m acting.
“What about the reunion?” I say at last. “We need to go soon.”
“We can be late. Or we can miss it. Darling, have some water, lie down….”
Reluctantly I take a sip of water, then put my head on the pillow. Luke tucks the duvet over me and quietly leaves the room.
I don’t know how long I lie there for. It feels like about thirty seconds. Or six hours. Afterward I work out it was about twenty minutes.
And then I hear the voices. His voice. And her voice. Approaching down the corridor.
“…hope you don’t mind…”
“No, absolutely. Luke, you did the right thing to call. So, how’s the patient?”
I open my eyes, and it’s a nightmare come true. There, looming in front of me, is Venetia.
She’s changed into a full-length strapless black taffeta ball gown with a swirly skirt. Her hair is pinned up in a chignon, and diamonds are flashing at her ears. She looks like a princess.
“Luke says you’re not feeling well, Becky?” Her smile is syrupy sweet. “Let’s have a look.”
“What are you doing here?” I spit out.
“Luke called me. He was worried!” Venetia puts a hand on my head and I flinch. “Let me see if you’ve got a temperature.” She sits on the bed with a rustle of taffeta and opens a little medical case.
“Luke, I don’t want her here!” With no warning, tears are spilling from my eyes. “I’m not ill!”
“Open.” Venetia is advancing a thermometer toward my mouth.
>
“No!” I turn my head away like a baby refusing its porridge.
“Come on, Becky,” Venetia says in cajoling tones. “I just want to take your temperature….”
“Becky.” Luke takes my hand. “Come on. We can’t take any risks.”
“I’m not ill—” My words are stifled as Venetia jams the thermometer in my mouth and stands up.
“I really don’t think she should come tonight,” she says in a low voice, drawing Luke aside. “Can you persuade her to stay here and rest?”
“Of course.” Luke nods. “Please send our apologies.”
“You’re staying behind too?” Venetia frowns. “Luke, I really think…” She beckons Luke out of the room and I can hear low murmurings coming from the corridor. A few moments later Luke appears around the door again, holding a jug of water.
Someone’s tied his bow tie up, I suddenly notice. I want to burst into tears.
“Becky. Sweetheart, Venetia thinks you should take it easy.”
I stare at him silently, the thermometer still in my mouth.
“I’ll stay with you, of course. If you want me to.” He hesitates awkwardly. “But…if you didn’t mind me popping out just for half an hour, there are a lot of people coming to this reunion I’d like to see.”
My throat is thickening. Fresh tears are springing to my eyes. I can see it all plainly now. He wants to go to the party with Venetia. They’ve probably engineered this whole thing.
What am I going to do, beg him not to? I’ve got more pride than that.
“Fine,” I mumble, turning my head away so he can’t see my tears. “Go.”
“What?”
“Fine.” I take the thermometer out of my mouth. “Go.”
There’s a rustle as Venetia comes into the room again. “Let’s have a look.” She studies the thermometer with a small frown. “Yes, you’re slightly feverish. Let’s give you some paracetamol….”
She hands me two tablets and I gulp them down with the water which Luke brought in.
“You’re sure you’ll be OK?” he says, watching me anxiously.
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