Chelsea Wives

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  ‘Take your time,’ Sammie leaned forward and touched Cressida’s arm reassuringly, ‘take your time. Is it true that you only decided to come forward when you saw on the news that your friend and one-time protégée, Mrs Imogen Forbes, had been taken in for questioning regarding the recent robbery at her husband’s bank?’ Sebastian felt his heartbeat accelerate so fast inside his chest that he thought he might have a coronary.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Cressida explained, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Imogen Forbes is a dear friend of mine. She has been my rock throughout all of this, helping me to plan my announcement, to integrate myself back into society and come to terms with what’s happened. We had been meeting in secret and so when I heard on the news that she had been taken in for questioning, I had no choice but to bring my announcement forward, explain to the police that she was with me on the night of the alleged robbery …’

  Sebastian’s mind wandered back to the journey home following Imogen’s release. Their driver, Raoul, had picked them both up from the police station under a siege of paparazzi flashbulbs, Sebastian angrily pushing their intrusive lenses out of the way before they had sped off, tyres screeching as they went, adding to the high drama.

  He was beyond furious with the police. How they could have arrested Imogen like that beggared belief. Now he would have to deal with the paparazzi camping on his doorstep round the clock and Imogen would be in the spotlight once more. It was this that bothered Sebastian more than anything, his wife’s face splashed all over the newspapers and magazines. Editors would be sharpening their elbows to the ready, see who could get to her first, bag an exclusive with his beautiful, wronged wife who had simply been protecting a friend. Sebastian flinched. He knew how it worked. First came the papers and then came the job offers, big brands wanting to cash in on his wife’s newfound popularity. She would become famous again, overnight, and everything Sebastian had planned, all the hard work and effort he had put into keeping her to himself would all have been in vain. It made him want to explode with rage.

  Sebastian cursed loudly as he hit the off button on the remote control before throwing it onto the floor in protest. He had seen quite enough.

  CHAPTER 64

  ‘You should have told me,’ Sebastian said, as Imogen appeared from the en-suite, clutching a pile of summer dresses in the crook of her arm, her hands full of sandals and straw hats. ‘You should have told me about Cressida.’

  ‘How could I?’ she replied, throwing them all onto the bed. ‘I made a promise to her.’

  Sebastian grunted.

  ‘So you thought you would drag your own name – our good name through the mud just to save that old hag’s skin? Have the world believe that you were somehow involved in a break-in that took place at your own husband’s bank, to spare Cressida Lucas’s feelings?’

  ‘It’s called loyalty, Seb,’ Imogen riposted. ‘But I wouldn’t expect you to understand …’

  She threw the pile of dresses into the Louis Vuitton trunk that lay open on the bed and began sorting through the toiletries on her dressing table.

  Sebastian ignored the caustic remark.‘How long had you known that she was alive?’

  Imogen gave a casual shrug.

  ‘A few months, I suppose; I had no idea she was just going to turn up like that though,’ she said, aware that he was scrutinising her every move.

  ‘The bloody press will have a field day with this, you realise that, don’t you? Mud sticks, Imogen,’ Sebastian said, exasperated. ‘They’ll start digging into our pasts, our private lives, you mark my words.’

  Imogen continued with her packing, deliberately refraining from making eye-contact with her husband. ‘It was really rather reckless of you to go behind my back with this,’ he chided her. ‘I’ll have to take out injunctions and all sorts now, stop the bloody press intrusion, as if I haven’t got enough on my plate.’ Imogen could hear that he was talking himself into an angry state and was mindful of saying the wrong thing.

  ‘Stuff what the press say, Seb,’ she said, holding up a Missoni maxi dress and matching bikini for inspection before throwing them in the trunk. ‘It’s over now. Cressida is safe and well, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’

  Sebastian gave a nasty laugh.

  ‘And taking a holiday isn’t going to help matters much either … they’ll think you’re running away.’

  ‘It’s just a short break,’ Imogen lightly protested, ‘let the dust settle a bit. Besides, the press will get tired soon enough. Cressida’s the big story now. By the time I come home, we’ll be tomorrow’s chip paper, as they say.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’re right,’ he sighed. ‘A bit of distance might not be a bad thing.’

  ‘I’m right, you’ll see,’ Imogen said, allowing herself a fleeting glance in his direction.

  ‘Well, at least now the police can stop following a dead end and start getting down to the business of sorting out all this mess,’ Sebastian said ruefully, his self-pity returning in spades. ‘That McLaren had better pull his finger out or this time next week I’ll have his job. I’m telling you, the man’s been as much use as a back pocket on a shirt.’

  ‘To be fair, he hasn’t exactly had much to go on,’ Imogen said, unable to stop herself from leaping to his defence.

  Sebastian sighed. ‘Well, if you and your bloody friends hadn’t steered them off track they might’ve caught the bastards by now.’

  Imogen couldn’t help but smile to herself.

  ‘Yes, I know. And I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I never thought it would come to this.’

  Sebastian watched her place the last of her things into the enormous trunk and struggle to shut the lid.

  ‘That’s rather a lot of luggage for a few days in Portofino, isn’t it?’ he remarked. ‘Anyone would think you were off on a round the world cruise.’

  Imogen gave a breezy smile.

  ‘Well, you know me; I never travel light.’

  Sebastian stood. ‘I’ll come with you to the airport.’

  ‘There’s really no need,’ she replied quickly.

  ‘I insist,’ he replied. ‘I’ll ask Raoul to get a car ready immediately.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ she said, knowing better than to object.

  ‘I’ll have Jalena send someone up for your luggage. Someone strong,’ he remarked sarcastically, casting an eye over her Louis Vuitton trunk.

  As she watched him leave, Imogen took a final look around her magnificent bedroom and smiled wistfully before placing a small white envelope on her husband’s pillow, partially obscuring it inside the soft goose eiderdown. Imogen hoped that he would not discover it until he retired to bed that evening, by which time, she would be long gone.

  Staring out of the car window on her journey to the airport, Imogen felt lighter with the knowledge that in a matter of hours she would be a free woman, far away from Sebastian Forbes and their stifling marriage forever. But it was not until she had her daughter by her side that she knew she would be able to fully relax.

  Sighing as she gazed out of the window as the last of the King’s Road disappeared from view, her thoughts turned to Cressida and despite herself, she could not help but smile.

  It had been such an incredible shock to have seen her old friend standing there larger than life inside that police interview room; so unexpected and so very surreal!

  She had been unable to fully digest what Cressida had told the police, having been too paralysed in shock to absorb the words that had come from her lipstick red mouth. But whatever Cressida had said, before she knew what was happening, she was being released.

  Later that evening, joined by Calvary, Imogen had waited for Cressida to arrive for a celebratory dinner at Daphne’s, Cressida’s favourite restaurant.

  ‘Well, I’ll say this for the woman, her timing was impeccable,’ Calvary had said, tucking into the chilled bottle of Cristal. ‘I don’t think I could’ve spent another moment in that awful police st
ation, really I don’t.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Cal.’ Imogen had reached for her friend’s delicate hand. ‘I’m sorry I put you through this – all of it. I should never have …’

  ‘Enough, darling,’ Calvary had interrupted, her own guilt resurfacing. She had not told Imogen of her own motives from that fateful evening. Some things, she decided, were best left unsaid. ‘It’s over now. Finished. We can put it all behind us and start getting on with our lives. I for one intend to. Just as soon as this frightful wedding is over.’

  Imogen stared into her champagne flute, chewing her bottom lip.

  ‘I need to tell you something, Cal. I won’t be there, at the wedding, I mean. I’m sorry.’

  Calvary audibly exhaled.

  ‘Well, not to worry, darling,’ she sighed. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be able to watch it on YouTube – as that’s where I’m afraid it will end up.’ She was only half-joking.

  ‘I’m leaving, Cal. On a plane. Today.’

  ‘Somewhere hot and fabulous, I hope. Well,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t say that I blame you after everything that’s happened. A holiday will do you the power of goo …’

  ‘Not a holiday, Cal.’ Imogen had leaned in closer to her friend and whispered. ‘I’m leaving, for good.’

  Calvary had almost dropped her glass in shock.

  ‘Leaving? For good? But where … where will you go?’ Her stomach fluttered with the onset of panic. Imogen was her greatest friend. The thought of losing her forever was too big a blow for Calvary to contend with.

  ‘I will let you know when I get there,’ Imogen said, tears suddenly visible in her eyes. She seized her friend’s hand once more. ‘You know I love you, you’ve always been like a big sister to me, Cal.’

  ‘Less of the big,’ Calvary had laughed, holding back tears of her own.

  The heat was rising on the concourse at the private airfield, making the air above the tarmac rippled and hazy.

  ‘Well, this is me,’ Imogen said, turning to Sebastian who was busy admiring the Gulfstream – his pride and joy – from a distance. ‘I’ll call you when I arrive at the house,’ she smiled, squinting at him in the harsh glare of the sun.

  She stared at Sebastian, the g-force from the jet engine causing his shirt to stick to his arms and his neat hair to flap in the wind.

  ‘Have a good trip,’ he said, suddenly feeling a rare moment of regret and shame for all he had done to her. In spite of everything, he loved her. He always had. He decided that when she was back he would run that idea he’d had of them renewing their marriage vows by her.

  Sebastian embraced Imogen, allowing himself to fleetingly enjoy the warmth of her skin against his own. She smelled fresh and clean, like a bouquet of flowers and he was suddenly struck by the terrible thought that he might never see her again. Sebastian released her from his arms abruptly. He was getting all maudlin, quite unlike himself. She was only going away for a few days to their house in Portofino, for goodness’ sakes.

  The private butler stood, welcoming, at the doorway to the plane and Sebastian watched as his wife gracefully took the stairs, the natural curve of her slim body as she walked a pleasure to the eye. As she reached the top she turned to him, her long dark hair whipping up around her face.

  ‘Goodbye Seb,’ she called out to him. ‘I wish things could’ve been different between us – and I’m sorry. It was never meant to end like this.’

  Sebastian smiled. She had said something but he couldn’t hear her, the noise from the engine was too loud.

  ‘See you in a few days’ time,’ he called out to her, waving.

  *

  The inside of the Gulfstream was the height of decadence. Its ultra-luxurious retro chic combined with the latest state of the art technology smacked of a potent combination of sex and danger – it was the ultimate boy’s toy. Whenever Imogen had ridden in it, she had half expected a man in a white suit with a fluffy cat under one arm to appear at any given moment.

  ‘Can I fix you something to drink, Mrs Forbes?’ the butler asked, bowing obligingly.

  ‘A dirty martini would be absolutely lovely,’ she smiled up at him. After all, why shouldn’t she celebrate?

  ‘The captain has instructed me to let you know that we will be preparing for take-off in five minutes,’ the butler informed her.

  ‘Perfect,’ she smiled, ‘only I wonder if you could send a message to him, let him know that our destination has changed and that instead of flying out to Genoa we will be landing in Eivissa.’

  ‘Very well, Mrs Forbes,’ the butler said, nodding graciously. ‘I will inform him right away.’

  Imogen watched from the window of the plane, feeling the tension in her body gradually ease as Sebastian returned to the limousine and began to drive from the concourse. She would start over again in a different place, somewhere no one knew who she was.

  Imogen appreciated the warming sensation of the alcohol as it hit her belly and softened the edges of her thoughts. Once she had settled in her destination, she would call Calvary and let her know that she was safe. She knew it would be a long time before she saw her friends again and the thought made her curse her husband once more. The source of all her pain could be traced back to him, every time.

  Sipping her martini, Imogen’s thoughts inevitably turned to Mickey. She saw his face as he had watched her leave the police station, a mask of sadness and regret. Were they cursed, she wondered. Her mother had always told her that ‘what is for you won’t go past you,’ and yet Mickey had, twice. But somehow Imogen could not believe that it was not meant to be. The love she had felt for him had never left her heart; from the day they had met it had pulsed like a vein under her skin.

  Imogen let her head flop back against the cool leather seat and raised her glass in the air as she felt the jet begin its ascent.

  ‘Here’s to freedom,’ she whispered softly to herself, watching as the UK gradually disappeared from view.

  ‘To freedom,’ a familiar voice said from behind her.

  Startled, Imogen’s heartbeat accelerated inside her chest as she swung round.

  ‘Mickey!’

  ‘Well,’ he said, his warm smile telling her she had nothing to fear as he took the glass from her hand and brought his lips close to her own, ‘you didn’t really think I was going to let you go without saying goodbye this time, did you?’

  ‘How … how did you know I was leaving?’ she stammered in shock as his lips met her own.

  ‘A lucky guess,’ he replied, his eyes searching her own.

  Imogen smiled. He was the only man ever to have understood her, to know her better than she knew herself. It was as if he had been born this way.

  ‘Freedom,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion as she took her glass and tapped the edge of his.

  It made a perfect sound.

  CHAPTER 65

  Tamara Du Bois admired herself in the ornate full-length mirror of her dressing room and sighed happily. Life would struggle to get any better than this, she thought, twisting and turning her body, enjoying herself from every angle. She couldn’t wait for Henry to clap eyes on her as she strutted down the aisle in her wedding dress, an exquisite and expensive Temperley strapless gown, embellished with thousands of tiny beads, uncut diamonds and hand sewn crystals. As she moved, it dazzled and simmered, highlighting her generous curves, her breasts spilling out over the top like a pair of peach cream puffs. She looked every inch the fabulous, rich, society bride-to-be.

  ‘Oh, darling,’ Alexis Du Bois, mother of the bride, cooed breathlessly, covering her mouth with a gloved hand and feeling the tears welling up behind her eyes, ‘you look … you look like an angel.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a Hermès handkerchief and stood back to admire her daughter as though she were a rare piece of art.

  ‘Don’t I just,’ Tamara remarked without a hint of modesty as she continued to preen herself in the mirror, slapping her personal dresser’s hand away as she made to straighten an imperfection that wa
sn’t there.

  ‘Where’s my bouquet?’ She turned to her long-suffering wedding planner, Eliza. ‘The flowers should be here by now,’ she barked. ‘Find out where the hell they have got to.’

  ‘They’ll be here,’ Eliza nodded her reassurance.

  ‘Now!’ Tamara added, without taking her eyes from herself in the mirror.

  Eliza Fairbrother gritted her teeth and smiled obligingly. She had come across some serious Bridezillas but Tamara Du Bois trumped the lot of them.

  Tamara eagerly rubbed her glossy lips together and took one last look at herself in the mirror. This was her big moment and she was determined to make the entrance of a lifetime. Having already slept with half the male congregation, she wanted to make sure that every single one of them took one look at her and wished that they had ‘put a ring on it’ when they had had the chance.

  Tamara secretly congratulated herself; she had done well to get this far, especially in light of what her soon to be mother-in-law knew had gone on between herself and Douglas. But none of that mattered now. Calvary Rothschild could drop dead for all she cared. She was marrying her precious son and there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it. ‘Poor Calvary,’ Tamara had said to Douglas one afternoon in his office as he pumped away at her from behind. ‘She’s beside herself about this wedding, you know.’

  ‘Fuck Calvary,’ Douglas had chortled, as he flipped her over, pulling her down on top of him. ‘Just fuck me!’

  Yes, she decided, smiling wickedly to herself, she was going to enjoy married life very much. Very much indeed.

  *

  It was a beautiful day for a wedding, even Calvary had to admit as much. The sun was high in a cloudless, pastel blue August sky. The perfect light for photographs, she surmised, her years spent on-location at fashion shoots giving her an eye for such things.

  Today, over 250 prominent guests would all congregate together for what the society rags had dubbed the ‘Wedding of the Summer’.

  Hello! magazine were already setting up shop in a prime location just outside of Blenheim Palace in a bid to secure some superb shots befitting of the six-page spread that Calvary had secured. Little did they know that they would be getting a far juicier exclusive than they had anticipated.