‘Good thinking. I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing little Rosie and having a cuddle. I’ve been feeling quite broody lately.’
I stared at Morag aghast. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. How can you feel broody when you’ve barely given birth?’
Morag shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess it’s my hormones. Apart from anything else, I don’t want a big age gap between Henry and the next one.’
‘Henry is only four months old. I thought you’d wait at least a couple of years before even thinking about nappies and broken nights again.’
‘We’ll see. Anyway, getting back to tomorrow. I’ll pick you up. I want to be sure that if we bump into Mr Van Driver again, I’m behind the wheel.’
‘Are you implying I’m no good at driving?’ I spooned the foam up from my cappuccino.
‘Let’s just say you’d never make a great getaway driver.’
I shrugged. My days of being a girl-racer were long over. However, my days of being able to rev up in other areas clearly had some mileage left on the clock. I grinned to myself as I thought of this morning’s bedroom antics with Jamie.
‘Why are you looking so secretive all of a sudden?’ demanded Morag.
I blushed. ‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t give me that. You’re all pink in the face. It’s to do with sex isn’t it?’ Morag peered at me. ‘Did you have a bonk this morning?’
To our right, a pair of permed pensioners threw Morag a disapproving look.
‘Morag, please!’ I whispered.
‘I was right!’ Morag crowed. She banged the table with the palm of one hand. ‘Come on, spill the beans. There’s obviously something to tell.’
‘Oh all right,’ I lowered my voice. ‘Jamie pretended to be a pirate.’
‘A pirate?’ Morag frowned.
‘Yes. You know. Johnny Depp.’
‘Don’t you mean Jack Sparrow?’
‘Him too. And I was Penelope Cruz. His sex slave.’
‘I’m not sure Jack Sparrow had a sex slave, Cass.’
‘Well this morning Jack Sparrow DID, okay!’ This time it was my turn to slap my palm down on the table. The permed pensioners looked in danger of swallowing their dentures.
‘Okay. Keep your cutlass on,’ Morag snorted into her coffee.
‘You shouldn’t be making fun of me,’ I wiped coffee froth off my upper lip, ‘I’m taking a leaf out of your book. Using my imagination for once. Getting my eye back on the ball, like you told me to do. And all without the aid of herbal sex jollop!’ I cried.
The permed pensioners had had enough and were creaking off, backs as rigid as their walking sticks.
‘Well I’m very glad to hear you have your mojo back. Meanwhile drink up Penelope. Retail therapy beckons.’
We set off to John Lewis and in no time at all had made short work in Glass and China buying a gift for Rosie. Hopping on an escalator, we alighted in the Designer section. I stopped dead in my tracks. Grabbed Morag’s arm.
‘Look!’ I pointed. ‘There’s a little black dress over there with my name all over it.’
‘You’re right Cass. I can see you in that. Go and try it on.’
Inside the dressing room, I eyed my reflection with delight. What a superb piece of tailored engineering. Thanks to an in-built bra and girdle, wobbly bits had been moulded and re-positioned. My boobs looked like they’d been blown up with a bicycle pump and were actually on my chest, rather than my navel. And as for my backside – I turned sideways and preened – definitely Jennifer Lopez and not Danny DeVito.
Morag stuck her head around the curtain. ‘How are you doing? Oh yes! Very glam Cass. What a transformation. A good dollop of slap and you’ll look like a celebrity when you walk into the Oxo Tower tonight.’
I beamed with pleasure. ‘And I see you’ve found something too,’ I nodded at the sparkly fabric adorning Morag’s shoulder. ‘Let me see the rest of it.’
Morag swished the curtain all the way back, and joined me in my changing cubicle.
‘Not too short is it?’ she twirled this way and that, admiring her reflection in the mirror.
‘Wow,’ I sucked in my breath. The hemline seemed to be just below Morag’s bust. ‘Are you sure it’s not a top?’
Morag continued to twist left and right. ‘No, definitely a dress.’
‘I don’t think it does you justice,’ I said carefully.
‘You’re right. I think I’ll try on the purple bandage dress I saw on the Whistles rail. Won’t be a mo.’
Several hours later, having finally exhausted our cash, we beetled back along the motorway, and in no time at all were at the stables. I transferred my shopping bags into the back of the Muck Truck, found Jamie and Eddie and, after another very quick coffee with Matt and Morag, we gathered the rest of the children up and headed home.
But as we drew close to Lilac Lodge, the driveway was blocked by a transporter. Perched askance, in all its ramshackle glory, was a boat. Although from this angle it looked more like an ocean liner. Edna and Arthur stood on the driveway, feet planted wide. Arthur gave the driver the thumbs up as the vehicle cleared the gatepost by a millimetre.
‘Bloody hell,’ I muttered.
‘I don’t think that’s going to fit into the garage,’ Jamie said faintly.
I slid out of the car. ‘I’ll leave you to assist them darling. I must crack on and get the kids fed. I want time to get ready for this evening.’
And so it was that a couple of hours later I found myself once again slipping into Jamie’s BMW X5, and heading towards Greenwich. We were to leave our car in Ethan’s underground car park, and then transfer to a taxi which would take us to the South Bank of the River Thames. For once I was pleased with my appearance. The cat’s claw marks on my scalp and forehead had healed enough for a coating of foundation. My skin actually looked flawless. My recently highlighted hair fell like a waterfall over my shoulders. And, thanks to a dress that had cost an eye-watering amount of money, I appeared to have a bootylicious figure.
‘By the way,’ said Jamie interrupting my thoughts, ‘I just want to say that I’d like you to wear that dress all the time. Morning, noon and night.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because you look so damn good in it,’ Jamie grinned.
‘It wouldn’t last five minutes with Eddie on my hip. I hope Edna doesn’t feel too put upon with all this extended babysitting she’s doing.’
‘Of course she doesn’t,’ Jamie said dismissively.
‘I’m not so sure. She looked like she was itching to roll up her sleeves and start on the boat restoration.’
‘Ah yes. The boat. I didn’t realise Mum and Arthur had got themselves a scaled down version of HMY Britannia.’
I giggled. ‘It’s a good thing our garage is the size of an aircraft hangar.’
‘You’re not kidding. Here we are,’ Jamie slowed down and indicated right. An oncoming car gave way and flashed him to proceed. Suddenly the X5 was purring into the familiar underground car park. As if on cue, Ethan and Selina appeared from the lift and strolled over. I realised that a private taxi was already parked and waiting for us. After initial greetings – reserved on Ethan’s part and overly enthusiastic on Selina’s – we settled into a Mercedes. Ethan plumped for the front passenger seat. I found myself wedged between Selina and Jamie in the back. It wasn’t a comfortable ride. In more ways than one.
Chapter Thirteen
I was glad to leave the confines of the Mercedes. Selina had been wearing a cloying perfume that had intoxicated my senses, but not in a pleasant way. It reminded me of a fragrance from long ago. Poison. The irony of the name wasn’t lost on me.
We took the scenic lift – a mix of mirror and glass – to the restaurant. As it slowly crept up the iconic art-deco tower, I caught my breath at the view of the City spread below. The Capital’s lights twinkled warmly. Up on the eighth floor, the restaurant was packed. Three white walls showcased one that was entirely of glass. For miles, diners could
see the banks of the River Thames, and historical landmarks like Big Ben, Saint Paul’s Cathedral and the immense London Eye. A team of waiters, dressed in black trousers and blue shirts, were working flat out. Conversation was buzzy, and everybody seemed to be having a good time. I hoped our party of four would loosen up a little, because conversation in the taxi had been stilted. A waiter showed us to our table. It was set with white linen, silver cutlery and a centrepiece candle. Throughout the restaurant a blue light pervaded, lending ambience to the atmosphere. The waiter pulled out blue leather chairs, and we sat down.
Ethan picked up a wine list. I ran my eye over it and nearly fell off the chair. The dessert wine wouldn’t give much change from a hundred pounds.
‘Champagne?’ Ethan looked around the table.
‘Definitely,’ said Selina. ‘I like my fizz.’
I didn’t dare look at the price. ‘Lovely,’ I smiled. Personally I would have preferred to hoover up a gin and tonic. But then again, this wasn’t our local pub serving chicken in a basket on a ring-stained table.
A minion handed out menus with much bowing and scraping, before hastening off to fetch the bubbly. Ethan cleared his throat.
‘I’d just like to say thank you Cass for inviting Lena over for kitchen supper while I was in America. I really appreciated you looking after her, and extending such warm hospitality.’
‘Not at all,’ I inclined my head graciously, jaw rigid.
The waiter reappeared with the champagne, popped the cork and – to dutiful oohs and aahs – filled long-stemmed flutes.
‘Cheers,’ Ethan raised his glass. ‘A toast to a triumphant business move – and here’s to many more successes.’ We all clinked glasses, and there was a pause while we sipped. ‘Although it’s nice to be home,’ Ethan turned to Selina, ‘and be with my beautiful fiancée again. Did you miss me darling?’
‘Of course, hunny-bunny,’ Selina pouted.
‘Poor Lena hates her own company,’ Ethan took another sip of champagne.
‘Make the most of it,’ I smiled and picked up the menu, ‘before the children come along.’ The champagne was delicious. Obscured by the carte du jour, I took a few more nifty glugs.
‘Lena was so lonely the night before I came home, she stayed overnight with a friend,’ said Ethan, ‘didn’t you angel?’
‘Yes. Laura.’
I frowned. That wasn’t right. The night before Ethan returned to the UK was when Stevie had driven Selina back to Greenwich. ‘Really?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ Selina said again. ‘After a little while I couldn’t bear the four walls of the apartment. So I took a taxi round to an old school friend’s place.’
‘Given the lateness of the hour, that must have been one very accommodating school friend,’ I murmured.
‘She is,’ Selina gave me a level look. Was it my imagination, or was she pissed off?
‘Well at least you managed to ditch Stevie without any trouble,’ said Jamie. ‘I was half expecting him to do a number on you,’ my husband guffawed with laughter. Nobody else joined in.
‘Who’s Stevie?’ asked Ethan. The question was said in a mild enough tone, but there was an undercurrent of surprise that an unknown male had escorted his fiancée home.
‘My ex-husband,’ I informed Ethan helpfully. ‘He turned up without warning while Selina was with us. He said it would be no trouble to pop Selina home afterwards.’
An expression of relief passed across Ethan’s face. ‘Then you must thank him for me Cass. Lives local to Greenwich does he?’
‘No,’ I smiled cheerfully, and disappeared behind my menu. In my peripheral vision I was aware of Selina giving me a murderous look. Good. Serve you right after inviting yourself into my home, sucking up to my kids, flirting with my mother-in-law and cuckolding your kind fiancée while you bonked my love rat of an ex-husband. I was aware the champagne was now hitting its spot very nicely. I’d better watch my consumption. It was all very well making Selina edgy, but I didn’t want my mouth giving me away. Jamie had no idea about Stevie ringing Matt’s stables for a horsy day out with Selina tomorrow, or later cancelling it to go riding elsewhere. Nor did Selina know that she’d been rumbled by Detectives Harding and Mackerel. I put my glass down, and pretended to study the menu. Selina leant across the table to inspect the cocktail list. Her wrist caught the end of my champagne flute and it wobbled precariously.
‘Oops, sorry.’ She righted the glass.
‘No harm done,’ I said coolly, before taking the drink from her. ‘So did you have a good time at Laura’s?’
Selina met my gaze head on. ‘Great thanks.’
I wondered how Selina was going to ditch Ethan tomorrow in order to see Stevie. I didn’t have long to find out.
‘Laura and I go back a couple of decades. She’s between husbands at the moment, so has loads of free time on her hands. She gets pretty lonely herself. In fact,’ Selina turned to Ethan, ‘I completely forgot to mention it darling, but Laura is very keen to see me again tomorrow.’
‘Are fiancés included?’ Ethan attempted playfulness.
‘Of course,’ Selina beamed. ‘Laura is absolutely longing to be introduced. After all, she’s heard so much about you.’
Calling Ethan’s bluff, eh? My forehead muscles clung on to my eyebrows, lest they shot off my forehead. Clever move Selina. I focussed on the Starters. But would inviting Ethan along be a gamble that paid off? As I waited to find out, my eyes roved across the menu without absorbing a single dish.
‘Another time,’ Ethan patted Selina’s hand. ‘I’m still feeling pretty jet-lagged and would much prefer to veg out at home. You go and have fun’
‘Only if you don’t mind sweetums,’ Selina squeezed Ethan’s hand, ‘because I wouldn’t want you to feel abandoned.’
‘I won’t,’ Ethan assured. ‘Spend as long as you like with Laura. Just so long as you’re home for me to tuck you up in bed.’
I stared grimly at some blurb about a lamb dish. The frilly description and niceties of buttered cabbage completely bypassed me. Watching Selina duping Ethan was sickening to witness. What a manipulative bitch.
‘I’ll definitely be back for bedtime,’ Selina giggled, before leaning into Ethan. She whispered something in his ear, and he visibly melted. Putty in her hands. Where had I seen that before? Ah yes, when Stevie had been around her.
‘So,’ I put the menu down again, ‘what do you and Laura have on the agenda for tomorrow?’
Selina looked taken aback that I should be so interested in her plans, but rallied. Clearly she was under the impression I was making an effort at being friendly. Tolerating her.
‘Oh, this and that,’ she shrugged, but failed to expand.
‘I love Sundays,’ I enthused. ‘Indeed I plan to be out all day tomorrow. Lots of fresh air!’
Jamie looked slightly alarmed. This was news to him. ‘Er, darling, I don’t know what you have in mind but there’s a very important football match I’d like to catch up with tomorrow–’
‘No problem,’ I waved my hand airily. ‘I’m meeting up with Nell and Morag, so your footie is quite safe.’
‘Oh good,’ Jamie visibly relaxed. ‘So what’s Nell going to be doing with you and Morag in the Great Outdoors?’ my husband looked perplexed. ‘After all, she’s just had a baby.’
‘I’m borrowing Rocket. My friend’s loopy red setter,’ I added looking at Selina. ‘Morag – my other friend – wants to walk the dog with me. She’s very big on exercise. Rides horses too.’
‘Does she?’ asked Jamie in surprise.
‘Well no, not yet. But she’s learning. At night school.’
‘Night school?’ asked Selina.
‘Yes, just to get to grips with the basics.’
Selina looked confused. ‘Without a horse?’
‘Yes. It’s a sort of advanced stable management course. Except in the arena. At night. She’s up to date with lunging. Perfected her trot and canter. Even been doing some cavaletti jumps. She jumped
a whole stack of them the other night, including a small triple and wall.’
‘All on her own two feet?’ Selina’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.
‘That’s right. She’s going to be amazing when she finally gets into the saddle.’
Jamie seemed to be concentrating very hard on his hands.
‘Are you sure you have the right sport?’ Ethan appeared flummoxed. ‘Your friend Morag sounds more like she’s training to be a hurdle jumper.’
‘She’s doing that too,’ I nodded. I reached for my champagne. Tossed it down my neck. This conversation needed redirecting. ‘Do you run Selina?’
‘Yes. On pavements.’ Selina gave me a look reserved for the educationally subnormal. ‘I do, however, ride horses from time to time. As it happens, Laura and I are horse riding tomorrow.’
‘How marvellous! Where?’
‘Where what?’
‘Which yard?’
Selina gave me a curious look. An expression flickered across her face. Suspicion?
‘Only you don’t want to go to Pearson’s,’ I gabbled. ‘I’ve heard all their hacks are ex-racehorses and completely hyped up. They can’t trot past a hedgerow without trying to jump it.’
‘Better introduce your friend Morag to them,’ Selina remarked dryly, ‘sounds like the perfect equine partnership.’
‘Oh, very good Selina! Ah ha ha ha! And don’t go to Glebe Farm because all their horses have one hoof in the grave. Not to mention ringworm. And lice.’
‘Right,’ Selina said faintly. ‘Well Laura and I certainly won’t be experiencing any of those problems. We’re going to Maxwell’s Equestrian Centre. They have a superb selection of pristine horses and ponies for all skill levels. More champagne Cass?’
‘Thanks,’ I slumped over the menu, verbally exhausted. Maxwell’s. I had a rough idea where it was. Certainly Morag would know. I picked up my refilled glass and sucked greedily, just as a waiter zoomed over. He was clearly affronted that Selina had poured the champers rather than himself.
‘I think we’re ready to order,’ Ethan said.
Were we? I’d spent so much time talking nonsense, I hadn’t a clue what to have. I scanned the menu hastily.
Lipstick and Lies Page 14
