Best Supporting Role

by Sue Margolis

  Clementine Montecute Quits over Storm in a D Cup

  Lingerie tycoon Clementine Montecute, supplier of bespoke bras and corsets to crowned heads as well as Hollywood royalty, has shut up shop amid accusations that she lied to customers about her credentials as a lingerie designer. It would seem that before opening her atelier, she did not—as she had previously claimed—work as a designer for some of the best lingerie houses in France. The nearest she got was working as a junior PR assistant for La Perla. Moreover, her Mayfair atelier—which Montecute claimed employed some of the best lingerie makers in the world—was a sham. Instead of being “handmade in Mayfair,” orders were outsourced to a women’s co-op in Bulgaria. One customer, who asked to remain anonymous, said: “The quality of the lingerie was no better than average, but because she was meant to be the best, nobody dared question it. It was a case of the empress’ new underwear. Clearly, the wealthy are easily deceived. What was more, she ripped us off shamelessly. Montecute was paying her workers pennies to make garments which cost her customers hundreds of pounds. This kind of profiteering almost amounts to fraud.”

  Clementine Montecute was a charlatan? I had to read the article three times before it sank in.

  It seemed that in order to get away with her scam, Montecute had spent thousands of pounds buying people’s silence. In the end one person had started demanding more money. When Montecute refused to pay up, the woman leaked the story to Paris Match. Kate and Pippa Middleton were thought to have withdrawn their patronage, along with several Hollywood A-listers, as yet unnamed. My heart was thumping. This changed everything. With Montecute gone, there was a chance. I had a chance.

  I hadn’t noticed Rosie come back into the room.

  “Sarah, you OK? You seem miles away.”

  I turned to look at her. “Rosie, do you believe in taking risks?”

  “Hang on, I thought we were going to talk about your bloke.”

  “We are… . It’s all connected… . So, do you take risks?”

  Rosie shrugged. “Depends what you mean by risk.”

  Twenty minutes and half a bottle of prosecco later I’d told her the whole story—about Aunty Shirley and the shop, Steve and his controlling behavior, the Clementine Montecute scandal. Rosie sat there, barely saying a word.

  “So,” I said finally. “What should I do?”

  “About the shop or Steve?”

  “Both.”

  “To be honest, I don’t think anybody can tell you what to do—it has to be your decision—but if it were me, I would absolutely give the business a go. You’re not keen on your job, Montecute’s gone and you’ve got the aunties to help. I’d say you’ve got a hell of a lot going for you.”

  “Except money.”

  “OK, first you need to get your lawyer to put some pressure on the landlord. There must be some legislation that forces him to keep the building up to standard. Plus it’s in his interest as well as yours.”

  I agreed. I said I would call him. “So you think it’s a risk worth taking?”

  “If you don’t take it, I think you could live to regret it. You’ll always be asking yourself ‘What if?’”

  “And if I fail?”

  “If you fail, you’ll always be able to say that you gave it your best shot. Life isn’t about certainty. If it were, it would be very dull.”

  “Which brings me to Steve.”

  She topped up both our glasses. “OK, after Mike I can see why you fell for him, but from what you said, the man sounds like a bit of a bully.”

  “So you think I should dump him.”

  Rosie raised both hands in front of her. “I’m only telling you what I think. Ending it has to be your call.”

  Just then her cell rang. She took it out of the Moses basket and looked at the number.

  “Sorry … it’s a client. I really should take it. Maybe I should go. I mean it’s one thing me doing this in my house… .”

  “No, stay. I’m sure the kids are asleep. I’ll go upstairs and check on them.”

  They were both dead to the world. Dan was cuddling his Monster Munch packet as if it were a soft toy. Ella was lying on her back with her mouth open, snoring gently. Her Monster Munch packet, still half full, was on her nightstand, propped up against the lamp. I kissed them both, straightened their covers and opened the window a crack to let in some air. “Sleep tight,” I whispered.

  Downstairs, Rosie was on the phone, going through her usual spiel. “Of course I’m wet for you, Brian,” she said, chipping away at her nail polish.

  I thought I might go and unload the dishwasher. When I’d finished, she was still on the phone.

  “What? … . Your wife’s back? … OK, but you’ve still got to pay me for the time you’ve had… . Brian, are you there? Brian, don’t you dare hang up on me. You owe me money.” Rosie looked up at me. “Brian’s wife came home and he hung up.”

  “So I gather.”

  “Crap. I hate it when that happens.”

  Will was stirring. Rosie looked into the basket and then at her watch. “Time for his feed.” She picked him up. “OK, noodle, your late-night snack awaits.” A moment later he was guzzling happily.

  “Of course,” Rosie said, “if you decided not to take over your aunty Shirley’s business, you could always do what I do.”

  “Me? Giving phone sex? You have to be joking. I wouldn’t know where to start. Embarrassment wouldn’t even begin to describe it. I’d be totally tongue-tied. And … don’t take this the wrong way, but for me at least, it would feel really dirty.”

  “You soon get over that. Like I said, once you’ve memorized the script, it stops being real. It’s more like doing some kind of kinky corporate presentation.” She paused. “I could teach you if you like.”

  I burst out laughing. “No, you couldn’t. I’d be useless. My mind would go totally blank.”

  “I bet you’d be brilliant.” She picked up her phone. “Go on … take it.”

  “What? No.” But I’d already taken it. “You do realize,” I said, giggling, “that I’m only doing this because I’m drunk.”

  “OK, here goes … ring-ring … ring-ring …”

  I knocked back some more prosecco. “Hello?”

  “Right, let’s pretend his name is Otto.”

  “Otto?”

  “Yeah, he’s German… . So, Sarah … vhat are you vearing?”

  “Oh, I’m just in my bra and panties. I’ve been lying on the bed waiting for you.”

  “Excellent,” Rosie said in her real voice. “See—you’re really getting into it.”

  “So, Otto … would you like me to take my panties off?”

  “Ach … Jawohl!”

  “OK, I’m slipping them off now… .”

  “Gott in Himmel!”

  I snorted with laughter.

  “Absolutely no laughing,” Rosie said, barely containing her own. “You have to stay focused.”

  “OK, Otto … That’s it, big boy. Take me! Take me!

  “Mein Gott! Mein Gott!”

  “Oh, Otto! Otto!”

  “Sieg heil! Sieg heil!”

  By now we were both in hysterics—me more than Rosie because I wasn’t trying to breast-feed at the same time as laugh. Then, suddenly she stopped laughing. She was looking past me. I turned round to see Steve.

  “You two seem to be having fun,” he said, clearly not amused.

  “Steve … what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  “The front door was open. Didn’t you see it? Anybody could have walked in.”

  The catch had been sticking. I probably didn’t close it hard enough after I let Rosie in. At the back of my mind I must have been thinking about not waking the kids.

  Rosie was rearranging herself. “I think maybe I should be going.” She looked at Steve. “I’m Rosie, by the way.”

  He gave her a sniffy look. “Yes, I’d guessed that much.”

  “Rosie, don’t go. Stay and have another drink.”

  By no
w Will was back in his basket and she was tucking him in. I handed her back her phone.

  “No, I really ought to get going. Speak to you tomorrow.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  She scooped up the Moses basket, said a quick good-bye to Steve and was gone.

  “Did you have to be so bloody rude?” I said to Steve.

  “Me rude? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it would appear that your new best friend is schooling you in the finer points of phone sex.”

  “Christ, why do you have to be such a jerk? We were messing around, that’s all.”

  “And that’s your idea of fun?”

  “Yes, as it happens.”

  “What if one of the children had come down?”

  “For your information, I’d just been up to check on them. They were both sound asleep.”

  “So, you won’t sleep with me, but you’re happy to act out this … filth.” He spat out the word.

  “It was a joke. Let it go… . Now why don’t we sit down?”

  He lowered himself into an armchair. I took the sofa.

  “So you still haven’t told me why you’re here?”

  “I came to apologize for last night. I was out of order. I’m sorry.” He still sounded huffy. He wasn’t about to forgive me for Otto anytime soon.

  “Apology accepted, but I’ve made a decision. I’m taking over the shop.”

  “Fine. Do what you like. I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

  “Hang on. Hear me out. Things have changed. I just read this article in the Sunday Times and apparently Clementine Montecute has gone out of business. Now that she’s no competition, I’m prepared to take the risk.”

  “OK, but for the record I still think you’re crazy.”

  “That’s all you can think about, isn’t it? … The risk, the failure. Has it occurred to you that I might succeed? I can’t live the way you do—like a permanently scared rabbit. I have to make something of my life.”

  He handed me a newspaper clipping. “It’s a list of local government job vacancies. There are a couple in the town planning department I thought might suit you.”

  “Steve, we’ve had this conversation. For the umpteenth time, I’m not about to take a job in local government. I’m taking over the shop.”

  “Well, I hope you’re not expecting any help from me.”

  “I’m not expecting anybody’s help. I intend to do this on my own.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. You need me. You’ll never cope on your own.”

  “Of course I won’t … because what I need is a pompous, condescending, arrogant son of a bitch undermining me and telling me what to do the whole time.”

  “OK, I’ve heard enough. You and I are through.”

  “What? You can’t dump me. I’m the one doing the dumping.”

  “Fine. Whatever. You know what, Sarah, I’ve done my level best to help and look after you. What have you given me in return?”

  He meant the lack of sex. He was right to be angry. I’d been cruel stringing him along, promising something that I knew deep down was never going to happen. Then just now, he’d come in and seen me messing around on the phone—being sexual and having fun. It was clearly more than he could bear.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I led you on. That’s unforgivable. All I can say in my defense is that my head is still a bit of a mess. Nevertheless, I’m hugely grateful for everything you’ve done—the pro bono work, going over Aunty Shirley’s accounts—and I will pay you back.”

  “I don’t give a toss about the money. It was you I wanted.”

  “I know, but I can’t be with somebody who wants to control me.”

  “Control you?” He sounded exasperated. “Not this again. Why is it that all the women I’ve ever dated think I’m out to control them? You’re insane. My whole life, I’ve attracted insane women.”

  Still muttering to himself, he was out the door.

  Chapter 7

  “Mummy,” Ella said, swirling Coco Pops around in her bowl in order to make the milk go brown, “do mummies have penises?”

  Before I had a chance to say anything, Dan leaped in. “Of course they don’t have penises, dummy. Mummies have beards.”

  Ella looked confused. I groaned inside. Seven thirty in the morning was way too early for discussions about female genitalia.

  “You know—hairy vaginas?” Dan added helpfully.

  “Yes, but Chloe in my class says they have tiny, teensy-weensy penises as well.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “They do. Chloe says.”

  “They don’t.”

  “Do. They’re called kit-risses.”

  Ella looked at me for confirmation.

  “Actually, Chloe’s quite right,” I said. “Women and girls have something called a clitoris and it is a bit like a tiny penis—except that you don’t pee out of it.”

  “See. I told you I was right,” Ella said to Dan. She poked her tongue out at him. “So,” she said, turning back to me. “If you don’t pee out of your clit’ris, what’s it for?”

  The death conversations had been so much easier than this.

  “Tell you what—why don’t you finish your cereal and we’ll talk about this later when there’s more time?” I could have added, “and I’m not so fantastically hungover from lack of sleep.” I’d lain awake most of the night, furious with Steve for being a controlling jerk. At the same time I hated myself for stringing him along. I’d been dishonest and cruel. Deep down, Steve was a decent, kind man and he’d meant well. Maybe, instead of dumping him, I should have suggested he, slash we, see a counselor to help him work on his control issues. My brain had been so full of Steve that I’d barely thought about Clementine Montecute or my plan to reopen the shop.

  Ella was getting down from the table.

  “Where are you going?” I said. “You haven’t finished your breakfast.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going upstairs to look at my clit’ris.”

  “Yuck. Gross. Mum, tell her that’s gross.”

  Sarah … do not make a big deal of this. Girls should feel free to explore their bodies and not be made to feel embarrassed or ashamed of them.

  “Dan, be quiet.” I refrained from adding, “Like you’ve never played with your penis.”

  I called after Ella, “That’s fine, sweetie, but make it quick or we’ll be late for school.”

  • • •

  I was in the middle of making the kids’ packed lunches when the phone rang. It was Rosie, checking to see if I was OK after last night.

  “Sorry to call so early, but Will and I are off in a bit. I’ve got this friend who works at T.J. Maxx and apparently they’ve just had a delivery of Vivienne Westwood. She’s holding a couple of things back for me, but I need to get there for opening time.”

  “God, I miss clothes shopping,” I said. “Even at T.J. Maxx.”

  I gave her a quick rundown of what happened after she left.

  “Do you think I was too hard on him?” I said when I’d finished. “He seemed genuinely upset and confused when I accused him of being controlling.”

  “Hon—you had to end it. What choice did you have? And as for him being upset—it’s not your fault he doesn’t understand his need to dominate women. That’s why in all these months you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep with him.”

  “I know. I get that, but instead of dumping him, maybe I should have suggested counseling. I mean he wasn’t a bad guy. Deep down, he meant well.”

  “You know why you didn’t suggest counseling?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you spent years trying to mend Mike, and the sensible, sane part of you has no intention of taking on another project.”

  “You’re right. And if I’m honest, I’m relieved that Steve and I are over … but at the same time I can’t help feeling lonely.”

  “Of course you feel lonely. Steve filled an emotional vacancy and even though he was a jerk—OK, a well-meaning, ge
nerous jerk—you’re going to miss him.”

  “I guess… . You know, I’m so cross with myself for not seeing through him sooner.”

  “Sarah, please don’t start beating yourself up. We’ve all been there. I went out with this bloke Dennis for two years. He permed his eyelashes and hardly ever wanted to have sex. When he finally admitted he was gay, I couldn’t believe it. All my friends had seen it the moment they met him, but the thought had never occurred to me.”

  “You’re kidding. Never?”

  “Not really.”

  “Huh.”

  “OK, I admit it was pretty dumb of me, but I just want you to know that I understand how you feel. OK?”

  “OK … and Rosie … thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She said she had to go because Will was squawking. I went back to the lunch boxes. As I started spreading egg mayo onto slices of granary, I found myself thinking about Steve again. God help me, I had fallen for a man who wore gray suits and parted his hair like a Mormon. I’d found him sexy. I still did. What was going on with me? What would Judy have said? She would probably have said that despite the feelings I still had for Mike, I felt a powerful compulsion to get as far away from him as possible. Steve had been about as far away as it got. What I actually needed was somebody who fell between the two extremes: a relaxed, happy-go-lucky, creative type, who made me laugh, preferably owned his own place, but definitely had savings and a pension plan. I didn’t know for certain, but I suspected that happy-go-lucky guys with pension plans were pretty thin on the ground.

  • • •

  I’d dropped Dan and Ella at the school gates and was heading back to the car when Imogen Stagge moved into view. “Yoo-hoo, Sarah.”

  As she came trotting towards me, I couldn’t help noticing that the hem of her skirt didn’t quite cover her navy knee-highs. “Won’t keep you—just wondering if you’d heard anything from Greg Myers.”

  “Not yet. I called my cousin Rupert and he promised to drop him an e-mail. I’m sure I’ll hear something in a few days.” I hated lying to Imogen. She was a bit hard to take, but she was a decent sort—the archetypal good egg. If I did the right thing and owned up about there being no cousin Rupert, she’d probably understand. But I couldn’t trust her not to gossip. The chances were that any confession I made would get back to Tara and Charlotte.