Chelsea Wives

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  Yasmin rolled her eyes.

  ‘A girl can still look at the menu, even if she’s not planning to order from it, no?’

  ‘Ah, and that’s the difference,’ Calvary sighed, attempting to hide the bitterness in her voice with a modicum of humour. ‘Women look but men touch.’ She bristled, adjusting the slim belt on her silk Alberta Ferretti summer dress. ‘They all stray at the end of the day. It’s in their DNA.’

  ‘Oh, Calvary, don’t be so cynical. Not all men do the dirty on their wives,’ Imogen chipped in light-heartedly, wondering if now was a good time to make her announcement. She could hardly contain herself.

  Calvary snorted and threw back her glass of champagne. It was going down well tonight. Too well in fact. Now that she had an inkling of where Douglas may have stashed his cash she felt able to relax and enjoy herself a little more. Her biggest concern now was how she would go about getting her hands on the damn stuff. To her bitter disappointment, Calvary had learned that any access to her husband’s vault had first to be requested in writing, with signatures checked and verified before coming in person to make any deposits or withdrawals.

  She cocked her head to one side and looked at her friend in mock sympathy.

  ‘Oh, darling, it’s what I love most about you, your naivety. Listen, I was in the dark for years about Douglas screwing half of London behind my back. It was only until I caught him red-handed … or should I say butt-naked, that I was forced to face the ugly truth.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, Calvary Rothschild,’ Yasmin piped up, keen to keep up with her pretence. ‘Just because you’ve a husband who can’t keep it in his trousers for longer than a lunch at Langan’s, doesn’t mean to say the rest of us have. Jeremy would never cheat on me. After all, why would he need to go out for burgers when he has filet mignon at home?’

  Calvary shook her head in consternation.

  ‘That’s never the point. Look at all these fabulous movie stars, A-listers, politicians, sportsmen, married to some of the world’s most beautiful women, yet plenty of them choose to find their jollies elsewhere with some little piece of trailer park trash. Take Tiger Woods for instance, or Hugh Grant.’ Calvary raised her hand, animated. ‘Now there’s a perfect example for you. Stepping out with my good friend, the divine Liz Hurley …’

  ‘Divine being the operative word,’ Yasmin giggled.

  ‘Men don’t choose to cheat because they no longer find their wives unattractive. Or even because they’ve stopped loving them. They do it because they can,’ Calvary said, matter-of-fact. ‘It’s really as simple as that.’

  Yasmin let out a little whinny of disbelief.

  ‘Really, Calvary, next you’ll be saying that actually, money can buy you happiness and love.’

  Calvary turned to her and smiled evenly.

  ‘Oh but, darling, you of all people should know that it can and it does.’

  The two women glared at each other, their eyes locked in a stand-off. What had started out as playful banter had quickly descended into confrontation.

  ‘Cal,’ Imogen interjected gently, ‘leave the poor girl alone … she’s only been married for five minutes.’

  Calvary felt the first flutters of remorse settle on her stomach. Imogen was right; she was being a hypocrite.

  The three women sat silently around the table for a few seconds, though it felt like much longer, staring out at the beautiful tranquil setting overlooking the lake before them. The sun was gradually disappearing behind the pink and purple pastel-coloured clouds, signifying the end of the day and bringing with it the hopeful promise of another.

  Imogen opened her mouth to speak but Yasmin beat her to it.

  ‘So, you’re more or less saying that while I’m here, Jeremy is probably at home screwing the hired help?’ It would’ve been an appropriate time to change the subject but if she could just keep the conversation about her husband going …

  ‘I’m saying that it’s possible, that’s all,’ Calvary reiterated, her tone softer this time. ‘After all, sweetie, you don’t get a nickname like “Lecherous Lord Belmont” for nothing.’

  Yasmin’s thoughts turned to the recent conversation she’d had with Sammie Grainger and felt her heartbeat accelerate in her chest.

  According to Grainger and her ‘reliable’ sources, Jeremy had stashed the tape down in the vaults at Forbes Bank some years ago, where it had remained, untouched, ever since.

  ‘He kept it for collateral. In case anyone ever tried to blackmail him – or so the story goes,’ Grainger had said. ‘The police knew of it but, well, your husband is a rich man, Lady Belmont, and everyone has a price …’

  Yasmin looked up from her plate and met Calvary’s line of vision.

  ‘So what if he has a past? You don’t get to his age – or yours for that matter – and not have racked up a few notches on your bedpost. Anyway, it’s fine by me – let’s just say I reap the benefit of all that experience.’

  ‘Oh please,’ Calvary grimaced, ‘spare us the details, darling. The main course is about to arrive.’

  As if on cue, a flurry of models-cum-waiters brought a selection of sizzling meats and fish to the table. Yasmin smiled provocatively as her waiter carefully spooned herb encrusted rack of lamb and rosemary jus onto her warmed plate, leaning forward to afford him a better view of her own impressive rack.

  ‘Mmm. Delish,’ she said, licking her lips, as she stared up at him. ‘Anyway, I mean, it’s hardly a crime; it’s just sex at the end of the day.’ She put an emphasis on the word ‘sex’, briefly making eye contact with the waiter. ‘It’s not like he’s murdered anyone, is it?’ She had chosen her words carefully and deliberately.

  Calvary glanced quickly at Imogen but Yasmin caught the exchange.

  ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What’s the look for?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Imogen said, busying herself with her knife and fork. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, she has a right to know,’ Calvary spluttered. ‘It’s hardly a secret anyway.’

  ‘Know what?’ Yasmin’s heart began to pound like a jackhammer against her ribs.

  ‘Don’t, Cal,’ Imogen gently implored, ‘don’t spoil the evening.’

  ‘Look, is one of you going to tell me what you’re on about?’

  Calvary looked up at Yasmin’s overly made-up, pretty face, the more capricious side of her nature spurred on by alcohol.

  ‘Well actually, darling, rumour has it that in fact he did murder someone.’ She squeezed a wedge of lemon onto her sardines. ‘Polenta anyone? Asparagus?’

  Yasmin switched to full-on acting mode.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snorted dismissively. ‘Jeremy, a murderer? I don’t think so.’

  ‘It was never proved anyway,’ Imogen quickly interjected. ‘It was all just a horrible rumour. No one really knows what happened.’ She swung her legs underneath the large handcrafted wooden table hoping that the tip of her Lanvin wedge might make contact with Calvary’s shin.

  ‘Jeremy has never mentioned anything of this.’

  ‘Well, it’s hardly pillow talk, is it, darling?’ Calvary snorted, between mouthfuls of fish. ‘Oh, by the way, sweetheart, I was once accused of murder …’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ Yasmin cried, ecstatic that her plan was working. ‘So who in God’s name is he supposed to have murdered?’

  ‘Well,’ Calvary settled into her seat, enjoying the undivided attention of the two women opposite her, ‘he was somewhat of a playboy in his prime, was your husband. Liked to throw these terribly debauched parties; sex and drug orgies and all that. Never went to any myself, more’s the pity. Was far too young. But they were legendary in their day.’

  ‘And?’ Yasmin was shaking now, willing her to cut to the chase.

  ‘And on one occasion a poor little prostitute ended up face down in the pool.’

  Yasmin bit her tongue until it hurt. Prostitute!

  ‘Rumour had it some sex game went awry and when she threate
ned to go to the police she was drowned in the pool. Terrible business, sent shockwaves through society.’ Calvary shook her head. ‘Poor thing was only nineteen.’

  Eighteen, she was only eighteen! Yasmin screamed so loudly inside her head she felt sure the others had heard her.

  ‘Are you saying Jeremy killed her?’ Her voice was shaking almost uncontrollably now as she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

  Calvary shrugged.

  ‘No one really knows, there were so many rumours flying round at the time. The police got involved – eventually – but nothing was ever proved. Jeremy’s always protested his innocence. But then again, who wouldn’t? Anyway, mud sticks, darling. Apparently there’s a videotape of it all floating around somewhere. Supposedly, Jeremy paid a handsome sum to keep it out of circulation.’

  ‘It’s rubbish,’ Yasmin spat. ‘I don’t believe a word of it. Jeremy would’ve told me all this himself if it were true.’

  ‘It really was a rather spectacular scandal at the time,’ Calvary continued. ‘Everybody knew about it. Ludmilla stood by him, of course, silly mare that she was. Look where it got her …’

  ‘Really, Yasmin, don’t listen to her.’ Imogen squinted at Calvary menacingly. ‘It was all just malicious gossip and rumour.’

  Yasmin sat back into her seat, her mind shooting off into all directions like a lit match in a box of fireworks.

  ‘Look, you’ve upset her now,’ Imogen said.

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ Calvary raised her palms. ‘He should’ve told you all of this himself. I’m only telling you because I think you have a right to know. Hearsay or otherwise, it’s better it comes from us than from some smug, dirt-digging hack, don’t you think?’

  ‘It was all a long time ago.’ Imogen turned to Yasmin, trying to reassure her. ‘Long forgotten about.’ She pushed her plate of food away from her. All this talk of murder was putting her off her fish. It was time to change the subject.

  Inhaling deeply, Imogen reached into her enormous Bottega Veneta envelope clutch and pulled out a set of photographs, dramatically throwing them down onto the dinner table like a pack of cards.

  ‘While we’re on the subject of revelations …’

  ‘What’s this?’ Calvary asked, reaching for one of the pictures.

  ‘Is this you?’ Yasmin moved in for closer inspection. ‘From the LA shoot?’

  Imogen nodded.

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Hang on, something’s different,’ Calvary said, bringing one of the shots closer towards the enormous candelabra for a better look. Imogen’s small, neat, upturned nose looked somehow rounder and flatter in the picture. The lighting around her eyes had given them a puffy appearance and her trademark full lips looked much thinner and downturned. The effects were subtle and clever, perhaps even undetectable to someone unfamiliar with the intricacies of Imogen’s face.

  ‘Good God! These have been tampered with!’ Calvary’s shrill voice rang out across the open lake like an alarm. She looked to Imogen for an explanation. ‘But who would want to … oh, hang on a minute. You don’t mean … surely not … Seb!’

  Imogen nodded slowly.

  ‘The pictures were the final proof,’ she said, throwing the last of the offending photos down onto the table, unable to look at them a moment longer. ‘My darling husband set me up.’

  ‘Set you up?’ Yasmin’s heart was still galloping in her chest from their earlier conversation.

  Imogen drew breath as she began to explain; Seb’s uncharacteristic easy-going attitude towards the LA test shoot; Mylo’s odd behaviour in the studio; the ‘mysterious’ Duncan Phillips and her subsequent conversation with Lorraine Harlech.

  Dumbstruck, Calvary lit an emergency Sobranie cocktail cigarette.

  ‘Oh, darling, how could he? And I thought I was the one married to the biggest shit of all time.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. Why would he do that?’ Yasmin asked. ‘That speech he gave … about how much he loved you …’

  Calvary snorted derisively, blowing smoke into the warm night air. ‘See what I mean,’ she nodded, ‘naive.’

  Imogen reached for Calvary’s packet of cigarettes. She rarely smoked but right now she needed something, anything, to take the edge off her frazzled nerves. She took a deep drag.

  ‘I can’t believe he would do something so cruel,’ Yasmin sympathised. But in truth she could believe it. Every word. She had seen firsthand how abysmally human beings could treat one another. How they hurt and destroyed even those they claimed to love.

  ‘Sebastian Forbes has taken everything from me over the years,’ Imogen said coldly. ‘My career, my daughter, and now my dignity … I should have left him years ago.’ She looked wistfully out onto the beautiful low sunset, reds and purples all melting into a rich degrade pattern as the sun disappeared behind the clouds. ‘I always knew his ego was out of control but I didn’t realise just what he was capable of.’

  ‘Why don’t you just divorce him?’ Yasmin suggested. ‘You’d certainly have grounds for unreasonable behaviour. Take these prints to any half decent solicitor and then take the bastard to the cleaners.’

  Yasmin felt genuinely, if reluctantly, sorry for Imogen. She had more heart and soul than most, and, trapped inside her own private hell, they had more in common than Yasmin cared to admit. Imogen’s cage might be a gilded one, but it was still a cage nonetheless.

  ‘Divorce? He’d see me dead first.’ Imogen shook her head. ‘Besides, I couldn’t risk having him take my daughter away from me permanently. Seb’s a well-connected man; he’s in bed with QCs, politicians, people high up in the police force … there’s no one he can’t buy. Anyway,’ she suddenly smiled a wicked smile, ‘I have something far better in mind for him than divorce.’

  Calvary’s eyes lit up in anticipation.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Sebastian thinks I’m stupid,’ Imogen said. ‘He’s always underestimated me. I sussed him out about that diamond from the off.’

  ‘The Bluebird?’ asked Yasmin. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Everything,’ she replied cryptically. ‘Which is why I’m going to take it right from under his nose.’

  ‘You’re going to steal the Bluebird?’ Yasmin gasped, unable to disguise her excitement. The Bluebird was kept down in the vaults, which was just the place she needed access to if she was to get her hands on this videotape that she was by now utterly convinced existed.

  ‘Not steal it, exactly,’ Imogen corrected, her voice low with gravitas. ‘I want to show that bastard just who the smart one is in our sham of a marriage.’ She smiled slyly.

  Calvary felt her pulse race.

  ‘You’re not serious are you, darling?’ she asked, though the look on Imogen’s face already gave her the answer. ‘But how on earth would you get down into the vault? Everybody knows that security system he’s got down there is unrivalled.’

  Imogen’s wicked grin expanded.

  ‘It’s not going to be easy, and yes, it’s a bit of a risk, but –’ she paused for effect, ‘I think I might have come up with an idea.’

  ‘Well, out with it!’ Calvary shrieked. If Imogen had found a way of getting inside that vault undetected then she damn well wanted in on it!

  As Imogen began to reveal her plan, her voice low and conspiratorial, Yasmin twitched in her seat. The line of coke she’d snorted earlier, combined with the thought that she might somehow manage to get her hands on that tape was causing a fresh wave of adrenalin to pump furiously through her body.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Imogen sat back, her speech over, her face alight with possibility. There was a long pause as the two women took in her words.

  ‘Hell hath no fury, eh?’ Calvary raised an impressed eyebrow. ‘I think it sounds difficult, dangerous, potentially disastrous … and absolutely bloody ingenious!’ she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in excitement. ‘But you can’t possibly do it alone.’ She shook her head. ‘Someth
ing of this magnitude needs more than one pair of hands. I’ll have to help you.’

  ‘Me too,’ Yasmin chipped in quickly. ‘I mean, I’m game if she is,’ she nodded at Calvary nonchalantly, not wanting to make her ulterior motives obvious. ‘Like you said, we won’t actually be stealing anything … it’ll be more of a … a practical joke.’

  Imogen shook her head.

  ‘No! I couldn’t possibly expect you to do that, either of you!’ She was surprised and touched by her friends’ show of support. ‘Seb’s my husband. He’s my problem …’

  ‘Nonsense, darling,’ Calvary cut her off. ‘That man needs to be brought down a peg or two. And if your friends can’t help you, then who can? Besides, it’ll be a victory for us all, outsmarting the great Sebastian Forbes.’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Yasmin was quick to agree.

  Imogen had not been expecting this. The fact that Calvary and Yasmin were willing to put their necks on the line for her caused tears to prick the backs of her eyes, though it crossed her mind that perhaps they might have their own motives for wanting to help. Something was going on between Cal and Douglas, something her friend wasn’t telling her. Imogen had seen the look of pain on Cal’s face the day of the ESL shoot and had been uncharacteristically reticent when gently probed. Her friend was all too vociferous when it came to Douglas’s misdemeanours, so she knew that this time it must be serious. As for Lady Belmont, well, she and Calvary had both agreed that there was more to that one than met the eye. Much more …

  ‘Seriously, you’d do that for me?’ she said, blinking the tears back. ‘You’d help me get back at Seb, for everything he’s done?’

  ‘The bastard deserves it if you ask me,’ Yasmin said. ‘Call it retribution for womankind!’

  ‘Here’s to friends with plans,’ Calvary said, raising her champagne flute high into the air. The three women chinked glasses, high on adrenalin and Krug.

  ‘To revenge,’ Imogen said, watching her friends’ reactions closely.

  ‘Revenge,’ Yasmin allowed the familiar word to roll off her tongue. ‘What is it they say? A dish best served cold?’

  ‘No, darling,’ Calvary interjected, ‘that’s gazpacho!’