by Lucy Diamond
Just as well a handsome colleague was free to accompany me, she typed. Read it and weep, Pete, she thought, stabbing the keys viciously as she went on. I don’t need you anyway.
Unlike the first dreary affair, this review practically wrote itself. The cloud had lifted and she flexed her writing muscles with glee, knowing that her copy was witty and sparky, with truckloads of that elusive zing.
Will I go back to Enrico’s? Hell, yes. And here’s the acid test. As Handsome Colleague and I left, heads spinning from the dangerously moreish PornStar Martinis, I felt so deliciously full and content that not even the sight of my ‘boyfriend’ smooching the face off another woman in the window of Nando’s could wipe the smile off my face. Plenty more pesce in the mare, as they say!
She checked it all through for any grammar and spelling mistakes, then copied it into an email and sent it to Imogen before she could change her mind. Sometimes, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. And a giant two-fingers up to Pete in the weekend review would do very nicely for starters.
On Saturday morning, Anna woke up early and reminded herself that this was the first day of the rest of her life. She dug out her sports bra then put on her tracky bottoms and running shoes and went dutifully to the weekly Park Run in Endcliffe Park. This was one New Year’s resolution she had actually kept up so far, and she loved meeting her friends every Saturday to take part in the huge, everyone-welcome five-kilometre run that took place rain or shine.
A run with the girls followed by a hearty brunch in the park café was just what she needed. Her friend Chloe was recently single too, and over their plates of eggs and bacon they planned a few girly treats together to prop one another up. Afterwards, Anna headed back towards her flat feeling much better about the world. She had some new recipes she wanted to try for next week’s cookery column and then she was going to spring-clean the flat from top to bottom. She might even look at flights to Rimini. Hadn’t Sophie told her it was the best cure for a broken heart?
She grabbed a paper from the newsagent on the way home and flipped through the pages to find her review. Imogen had pronounced herself ‘delighted’ with the new, improved piece when she’d read it (‘That’s more like it!’), and Anna had glowed with praise (and relief) for the rest of the day. Ahh, here it was. She stood in the street while she looked at it appraisingly – then nearly dropped the newspaper in shock.
Wait – somebody had changed her headline. Like, totally rewritten it. She’d titled the review: MAMMA MIA! ENRICO’S GRABS A PIZZA THE ACTION, but now the lettering screamed: MAMMA MIA! ENRICO’S … THE FOOD OF LOVE?
Worse than that, one of the designers (who? Wait till she got her hands on them) had added a broken-heart image to the layout as well as … Oh no. A silhouetted image of Joe’s byline photo with question mark graphics around it, clearly identifying him as the ‘Handsome Colleague’ of the piece.
Flaming hell. This was a disaster. This was spectacularly awful. Instead of two-fingers to Pete, the designer had made it look as if the piece was all about her falling in love with Joe. How had this happened? Had Imogen given the brief, or had the designer decided to make mischief?
Stuffing the paper under her arm, she ran all the way back to her flat and snatched up her phone. She had to warn Joe about it, tell him there’d been a terrible misunderstanding, let him know that this was not – repeat, NOT – her doing.
Too late. As she switched on her phone, she saw that he’d already sent a text, the cold unfriendliness of which left her chilled to the bone.
Just seen your review. WTF? Jules is fuming. Thanks a bunch.
‘But I didn’t mean …’ Anna protested out loud, then slumped onto the sofa in dismay. Bollocks. Worse and worse. How was she ever going to dig herself out of this one?
Chapter Twenty-Four
L’abito nuziale – The wedding dress
‘Ta-dah! What do you think?’
Catherine blinked her troubled thoughts away and lifted her gaze to see the vision that had just emerged from behind the velvet curtain of the Wedded Bliss changing room. Words failed her. ‘Oh!’ she said brightly after a moment. Was her smile staying on? She hoped it didn’t look too forced.
Meanwhile, Carole, the hairsprayed, permatanned manager of Wedded Bliss, was clasping her hands together in what looked worryingly like a gooey-eyed orgasm. ‘Ooh, it’s absolutely gorgeous,’ she breathed. ‘Ooh, I’m tearing up here. Sensational!’
Catherine still hadn’t managed to string a sentence together. ‘Um …’ she croaked.
Penny turned to the side and struck a pose, one white-gloved hand on her hip, the other pulling down the brim of her white-ribboned Stetson. She jutted her chin as if eyeing up a rodeo horse. ‘Not what you were expecting, Cath?’ she asked.
‘Not exactly,’ Catherine confessed. Truth be told, she wasn’t quite sure what she had been expecting. Definitely not the fringe-edged, mid-calf-length dress coupled with white-sequinned cowboy boots, though.
‘It’s an excellent fit,’ Carole went on enthusiastically, taking a step closer. ‘Very flattering. This style has just come in, so it’s very “on trend” as they say.’
Penny stamped a foot and pretended to swing a lasso above her head, admiring herself in the full-length mirror the whole time. ‘It was Darren’s idea,’ she told Catherine, ignoring Carole’s sales witter. ‘I told you, didn’t I, me and him have been going line dancing together? You should come, it’s such a scream. And we thought, well, why not go the whole hog with a bit of a western theme? You know how he loves his cowboy films.’
‘Right,’ Catherine said politely. Darren was usually a jeans and T-shirt kind of bloke, occasionally donning a striped shirt and some aftershave for a night down the Plough. She couldn’t envisage him galloping up to the register office in chaps and a black Stetson, silver spurs gleaming on his boots. Still, it would be original. ‘So what’s he going to wear?’
‘We’re not here to talk about him, love,’ Penny snorted. ‘What do you think of this?’
‘I think it’s very … you,’ Catherine replied truthfully, taking in the lace sleeves, the tight satin bodice, the zigzag hem. ‘I thought you’d decided not to wear white, though?’
‘I know. But have you seen what most cowgirl dresses are like? There’s a lot of fringed brown suede. And much as I love my Dazza, I’m not wearing brown suede to my own frigging wedding.’ She eyed herself in the mirror and smiled. ‘Whereas something like this definitely says Bride.’
‘Oh yes, absolutely,’ Carole agreed fervently. ‘It says confident, modern bride, unafraid to defy convention.’
Penny stared quizzically at Carole as if noticing her for the first time, then turned back to Catherine. ‘Cath?’
Catherine gave a weak smile. The dress definitely said something. ‘Er …’
Penny tipped her head on one side and frowned. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked. ‘Only you seem a bit quiet. Not yourself.’
Catherine took a deep breath. ‘I was going to tell you later,’ she began, flicking a glance at Carole who took the hint and instantly pretended to be rearranging a tiara display. ‘This morning I—’
‘Sorry I’m late!’ The door of the boutique crashed open just then and in strode Leona, Penny’s sister. Catherine had met her at Penny’s parties over the years, not to mention at her first two weddings; she was blonde and busty, with a cackle that could shatter glass and hips that could break a man’s heart. ‘Sweet Jesus, what are you wearing, doll?’ she asked, throwing her hands up dramatically.
‘This is our Savannah dress,’ Carole interjected, her smile becoming slightly frosty. ‘It’s for the fun, romantic bride who wants an informal yet stunning design.’
‘It looks shit though,’ Leona said. ‘Pen, are you out of your mind?’
‘Oh, here we go,’ Penny said, pulling a face. ‘Wedding dress advice from my sister who’s never actually been able to get her own husband.’
‘Oi! Cheeky mare. Do you want my help o
r not?’
‘Not if you’re just going to start bossing me about, no,’ Penny retorted. ‘There’s no need to be rude the second you get here.’
Catherine and Carole exchanged a glance. ‘We do have a wide range of other styles,’ Carole began tactfully. ‘Perhaps you’d like to try something else?’
‘Perhaps my sister would like to show a bit of gratitude,’ Leona said, drowning out the rest of Carole’s suggestion. ‘Perhaps she’d like to say a word of thanks that I’m here yet again, helping to choose a third flaming wedding dress when we all know it’ll be divorce papers six months down the line.’
‘Oh, don’t trouble yourself,’ Penny said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I mean it – if that’s your attitude, just do one. I don’t need your help anyway!’
‘Ladies, please,’ Carole said, wringing her hands.
‘Great – so now I’ve come into town and paid an hour’s parking for nothing,’ Leona huffed.
‘Oh Christ, Leona, two quid, are you seriously giving me grief about two poxy quid for the car park?’
‘Just shut up! Both of you!’
Everyone fell silent at Catherine’s shout. Penny looked startled, while Leona fixed her with a ‘Who the hell are you?’ kind of look. Carole, on the other hand, gave her a small smile of appreciation, then quickly resumed her poker face and pretended she was rearranging the tiaras all over again.
‘Sorry,’ Catherine said, blushing, ‘but this is not getting us anywhere. Penny. No offence, but I’m with Leona on that dress. The zigzag hem is kind of weird, but the Stetson and boots actually look quite cool. Carole, is there another cowgirl-type dress she can try instead?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Carole said. ‘We’ve got the MaryLou and the Sapphire. Let me just see if we have those in a ten …’
She bustled away, leaving Catherine faced with the sisters, both of whom were still staring at her. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t mean to shout. I’m having a bit of a strange day, that’s all.’
‘You’re fine, love,’ Penny said, recovering herself. ‘And I’m sorry you got interrupted by my sister barging in. She was just about to tell me something,’ she explained to Leona.
‘Oh, right,’ Leona said. ‘Go on then, what is it?’
Catherine swallowed. This was not how she’d envisaged things panning out. Leona settled herself on a velvet banquette, crossed her thigh-booted legs and leaned forward expectantly, showing an inch of plump cleavage. Penny folded her lace-clad arms and nodded. ‘Go on, Cath.’
‘I phoned up Rebecca,’ she said baldly.
‘Her husband’s fancy woman,’ Penny added to Leona in a stage whisper. ‘What did you say? I hope you gave her a piece of your mind.’
Carole came bustling back with a pair of white satin dresses, but melted discreetly into the background again as she took in the serious atmosphere. Years of dealing with brides-on-a-knife-edge, emotional mothers and uptight friends had given her a hyper-sensitive trauma radar.
‘I’ve found something out,’ Catherine said, not caring who heard any more. ‘Rebecca and Mike – they’re in it together. It’s her who’s been paying him all this time. Thousands and thousands of pounds.’
Carole tried and failed to suppress a gasp.
Leona’s eyes bulged. ‘She’s been paying your hubby for sex?’
‘Mike?’ Penny was incredulous. ‘I mean, no offence, hon, but he’s hardly—’
‘No, not for sex,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s even worse.’
She had worked it out all by herself in the end: the payments, the conferences, the affair. All it took was a single phone call to the number on Rebecca’s business card and everything fell into place.
‘Schenkman Pharma, how can I help you?’
‘Is Rebecca Hale there, please?’
‘I’ll just check, hold the line, please … I’m sorry, she’s in a meeting, would you like to leave a message?’
Catherine held her nerve. Time for her shot in the dark. ‘I was hoping to talk to her about a payment I received through Centaur,’ she said crisply. ‘Is there anyone else in the department who might be able to help?’
‘Of course. Let me put you through to Rebecca’s assistant, Paul.’
It had been as easy as that. Then she’d had a pleasant and very revealing chat with Paul, who sounded rather young and not the brightest bauble on the Christmas tree. He’d cheerfully assured her that yes, all their payments for this particular project did come from Centaur, rather than directly from Schenkman. ‘I’m not sure why,’ he added. ‘I suppose it’s easier for them to account everything separately.’
Guessing wildly here, Paul, but it could be something to do with the fact that this is all ethically suspect, Catherine thought grimly. ‘Thanks,’ she said at the end of the call. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Would you like Rebecca to call you back, Mrs … I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.’
‘That’s fine, Paul. I think I know everything I need to now.’
Penny frowned as Catherine finished recounting this. ‘So what are you saying? The pharmaceutical company have been paying Mike? What for?’
Leona had slumped back on the banquette, clearly preferring this version of events less than the cash-for-sex one she’d originally anticipated.
‘For prescribing their product,’ Catherine replied, ‘and advising other GPs to do the same at all these swanky conferences he goes to.’
‘What product is it? Viagra or something?’ Leona asked with a shade more interest.
‘It’s called Demelzerol, some kind of betablocker. Brand new on the market, from what I can find out, very little clinical research.’
‘So? You’ve lost me.’ Now even Penny had an Is-that-IT? kind of expression.
Catherine opened her mouth to reply, but Carole beat her to it. ‘So,’ she said, as if speaking to a pair of idiots, ‘it’s a clear case of ethical conflict. Is he prescribing the drug because he genuinely thinks it will benefit the patients, or is he doing it to line his own pockets?’
‘Exactly,’ Catherine said.
‘That’s dodgy as fuck,’ Penny pronounced.
‘That’s outrageous,’ Leona agreed.
‘I know,’ Catherine said. She spread her hands wide and gazed around at them. ‘But now that I’ve found this out – what do you think I should do?’
Catherine’s head had been buzzing with ideas of what she should and shouldn’t do ever since she stumbled upon her new information. So far the list of possible courses of action went as follows:
One: she could report Mike to the General Medical Council. Carole (who seemed to know a surprising amount about medical ethics) thought he would face a disciplinary hearing and could possibly be struck off. He might even go to court if it was proved that patients’ health had been affected by his actions. It would be justice, sure, but what would it do to the children? The shame would ruin their lives.
Two: she could blackmail Mike for a share of the money. This was Penny’s idea. ‘Tell him you’re not moving out of the house either,’ she added for good measure. ‘That’ll stick it to him.’ It was tempting. Her money problems would be over in a flash. But could she live with her conscience? No. Never.
Three: she could blow the whistle on Rebecca and the dodgy pharmaceutical company and blackmail Mike. This was Leona’s contribution. ‘Let them both hang,’ she said viciously. ‘They’ve been in it together, they should go down together. And good riddance to the rotten pair of ’em.’
Or, of course, there was option four: do bugger all. That way, Matthew and Emily never had to know their father had tarnished his professional reputation. Plus, she would avoid a nasty confrontation with Mike. If she was honest, that was the part she was dreading most of all. He was not going to take any of this lying down, that was a given.
This last suggestion didn’t go down too well with the other three, though. By now, Carole had made everyone a coffee and cracked open the Gypsy Creams (althou
gh Penny was refused either until she changed out of the Savannah dress and hung it safely out of spilling distance). To a woman, they all shook their heads when Catherine put forward the fourth option.
‘Do nothing? You can’t let him get away with this,’ Penny told her.
‘Do nothing? When you could bleed the bastard dry? Give over,’ Leona said, spraying crumbs in her indignation.
‘It would be morally wrong,’ Carole said sagely. ‘People might have died because of your ex-husband’s greed.’
They were right. She had to do something. Besides, Anna had spelled it out only too clearly last week after Italian class: if Catherine did nothing with her evidence then she herself might be liable for punishment. She could be done as an accessory to the crime! The last thing she wanted was for the cell door to slam shut on her.
Oh, it was so difficult. So complicated. She wished she’d never come across the bank statements and the conference brochures and Rebecca flaming Hale’s business card. But she had. And now she had to think very hard about what, if anything, she was going to do about it all.
By the time Italian class rolled around again that night, she was still to make any kind of decision.
‘Buonasera, Catherine,’ Sophie said, looking up from where she was going through some notes at the front of the room. ‘Come estai?’
‘Non c’é male,’ Catherine replied. Not bad. Kind of confused. Not sure what to do. But overall, not bad.
‘Is everyone here now?’ Sophie asked, counting heads.
‘Roy and Geraldine aren’t,’ Anna said, twisting in her seat to glance around. Roy and Geraldine always sat in the same seats, on the left, but both were empty tonight.
‘Ahh,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ve had a bit of bad news about Geraldine, actually. I’m sure Roy won’t mind me telling you that she’s in hospital with a fractured pelvis.’
A gasp went around the room. ‘Oh no!’ cried Anna. ‘Is she going to be all right?’
Ouch, thought Catherine. As a doctor’s wife – a doctor’s ex-wife – she knew that a pelvic fracture was a very painful injury and took weeks to recover from.
