by Jane Green
Recently she switched to the pill, telling Hugh it’s to balance her hormones, although her latest plan involves not taking the pill, and when she becomes pregnant telling Hugh that she had taken a course of antibiotics which negated the effects of the pill.
But she hasn’t quite got the nerve to go through with it. Not yet. Last year she put it off until her work schedule became easier, only that never happened. This year she keeps telling herself, and her girlfriends, that she’s going to go through with her plan, but although it seemed like a good idea at the time, the idea of the deception, the scale of the lie, is not something she’s certain she can live with.
So in the meantime she’s trying to persuade Hugh to change his mind. He would be a wonderful father, that much she’s certain of, and surely it’s just a matter of time.
‘We think it would be a great documentary.’ Hugh leans forward and looks Vicky square in the eye. ‘It was only ever a matter of meeting you and seeing if you have what it takes, and then of course meeting your choice for the life swap, but you’re the first step and I’d say this is going pretty well.’
‘Oh?’ Vicky raises an eyebrow and pauses, her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning if you’d been completely lacking in charisma and personality then I would have had to think twice.’
‘And what if I’d been desperate to become famous? How would you have got out of it?’
‘I would have come up with some excuse like the network had suddenly cancelled on me.’
‘Wimp,’ Vicky says, and Hugh and Elsa both laugh.
‘The only thing I’m nervous about is being recognized,’ Vicky says finally. ‘I’m not sure I can bear the thought of being famous just because I’m on television. It’s not like I would be well known for having achieved anything. I haven’t written a book, or invented a new kind of vacuum cleaner. I’m just being followed around by a camera crew.’
Hugh nods and leans back. ‘I do see your point, Vicky,’ he says slowly, ‘but I’m not sure that would be the case. The fact is you’re Features Director of Poise! which is one of the most popular magazines in the country. We wouldn’t be presenting you as Jo Schmo, just a woman on the street who we’re following. It would be very clear that you’re doing this as a journalistic exercise, and the publicity for Poise! would be fantastic.’
At that moment Vicky’s cell phone rings and Janelle’s voice comes through loud and clear as she apologizes profusely for being late. She claims to be stuck in a meeting, although the many junior hairdressers milling around Daniel Galvin while Janelle sits under a hair-dryer, her head covered with foil as her hair gently highlights, would beg to differ.
‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ she croons to Vicky over the phone. ‘Do you mind handling it by yourself? Will you apologize for me?’
‘Of course,’ Vicky says, unsurprised, as Janelle is known not only for her creative brilliance, but for her unreliability and unfailing charm.
‘As I was saying,’ Hugh continues, once Vicky has explained Janelle’s absence, ‘it would be great publicity for Poise!, plus you mentioned it’s not as if you’ve written a book, but I see no reason why you don’t use this for a book. We could tie them in together. Now that really could be a ratings winner.’
‘Hmmm.’ Now it’s Vicky’s turn to sit back. ‘That is an interesting idea.’ Something catches her eye as she sits there, and she turns her head to see a familiar face whose eyes meet hers at exactly the same moment.
‘Oh shit,’ she whispers, as Jamie Donnelly blinks, looks at who she’s sitting with, then quickly starts making his way over to the table as Vicky feels a hot flush rising up her cheeks.
‘Hugh!’ Jamie Donnelly is standing there shaking hands with Hugh; the pair of them clearly know each other well.
‘Jamie! How are you, mate?’ Hugh grins as he turns to introduce Jamie, first to Elsa who seems suddenly tongue-tied, and then he turns to Vicky. ‘And this is Vicky Townsley, Features Director of Poise!.’
‘We know each other,’ Vicky mumbles, willing the flush to disappear from her cheeks, barely able to look Jamie Donnelly in the eye. What she wants to say is, ‘You bastard. How could you not call? How could you not be who you appeared to be? Who I wanted you to be? Bastard!’
But of course she doesn’t say anything. Just looks at him and wishes she didn’t think he was so handsome. Didn’t remember how he tasted. How he looked when he had raised himself up on top of her and leant down to kiss her with lust-glazed eyes, moving down her body, down to her stomach, down further as she swooned with anticipation and passion.
Vicky Townsley stands in the middle of the Wolseley and again feels a shiver of excitement at the memory. Oh shit. This isn’t supposed to happen.
‘Vicky,’ Jamie says softly, moving forward and kissing her on the mouth, except at the last minute Vicky turns her head slightly so he just catches the corner of her lips.
‘I’m going to have to assume you two know each other, then?’ Hugh laughs, as Elsa bites her lip in envy.
‘Oh yes,’ Jamie says, never taking his eyes off Vicky. ‘I’ve been meaning to call you, Vicky,’ he says, and despite herself, despite the pictures she’s seen of Jamie Donnelly and Denise Van Outen, despite the fact he never called, Vicky feels her heart skip with hope.
‘You know where I am,’ she finally manages, the coldness in her voice betraying her feelings. The feelings that haven’t changed. The hope that still remains. That somehow the papers got it wrong. That he wasn’t with those other women, that he’s been desperately trying to track Vicky down, to tell her he wants to see her again, can’t stop thinking about her.
‘What are you doing after lunch?’ he says, his eyes focused intently on hers.
‘Back to work,’ she says, even though she doesn’t want to. Wants to cancel her afternoon, call in sick, something, just to follow Jamie Donnelly wherever he wants to take her.
‘I’ll call you later,’ he says, as Hugh raises his hands up in the air.
‘Whoa, you two,’ he laughs. ‘Talk about serious chemistry. Should Elsa and I leave?’
‘No, you’re all right,’ Jamie says. ‘Vicky and I just have some unfinished business to take care of. Speaking of which, you and I never followed up on the meeting we had about that comedy show. I’d still love to work with you, Hugh. Loved The Robinsons. Really. Fantastic show.’
‘I’ll call you,’ Hugh says. ‘Sorry I didn’t get in touch after that meeting, but life’s been crazy. Let’s do lunch. Next week?’
‘Sounds great. Nice to see you. And Vicky,’ he turns to Vicky and touches her lightly on the arm as a shiver goes through her, ‘I’ll call you in an hour.’
‘So…’ Hugh grins at Vicky.
‘Okay,’ Elsa butts in. ‘Can I just say that if you’ve shagged Jamie Donnelly I may have to kill you.’
‘Ah,’ Vicky grimaces. ‘Am I allowed a final dessert?’
‘I knew it!’ Elsa says. ‘God, I am so jealous! Jamie Donnelly! I love him!’
‘What’s going on with you and Jamie Donnelly?’ Hugh grins. ‘Because clearly something is.’
Vicky shrugs and shakes her head. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. Something did happen but it didn’t seem to lead to anything.’
‘He’s a nice guy,’ Hugh says, ‘but are you concerned about his reputation as a womanizer?’
‘Womanizer? Who? Jamie Donnelly? No! You’re not serious!’ Vicky clutches her heart as if in shock.
‘Okay, okay. Not that it’s any of my business, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘I’m a big girl,’ Vicky says. ‘I can take care of myself.’
‘Just as long as you don’t end up either getting married or having a broken heart before we start filming. The whole point of this exercise is that you’re single.’
‘Hang on a minute. I haven’t agreed to do it yet. There’s a hell of a lot to think about. You have to give me some time. Plus we haven’t even found the perso
n we’re going to swap with yet.’
‘What kind of people are on the shortlist?’
‘The names themselves won’t mean anything to you, but there’s Sarah Evans, Sally Lonsdale, Hope Nettleton and, funnily enough, a woman in America called Amber Winslow. I can email details about them to you when I get back to the office.’
‘There’s someone from America? You mean you’d actually go to America to do this? Okay. Well I suppose we could find it in the budget to do that if that’s what you decided, although if we did go ahead with the filming I think we ought to be in on the selection process. How would you feel about that?’
‘Let me speak to Janelle. I know that at the moment she’s most keen on the American woman because she’s obsessed with the show Desperate Housewives, and Amber Winslow sounds like she’s a real-life Desperate Housewife. She’s out in the suburbs in an enormous house with a golden retriever, two kids, a four-wheel drive and a husband she never seems to see. Janelle thinks it might be far more interesting to swap with her, but I’m trying to set up some meetings with the women here, and I’ve still got to get in touch with Amber Winslow.’
‘I think your editor may have a point. Real-life Desperate Housewives. That might be television gold. Just let me know as soon as you decide so we can set up a meeting with the swap. Vicky, let me tell you, I’ve got a really good feeling about this.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Vicky says as the waiter comes back to the table. ‘Because quite frankly I don’t know what in the hell I was thinking.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘That goddamned Amber Winslow thinks she’s better than me,’ hisses Suzy as she finishes pinning her hair up at the back.
‘Well she’s not going to be better than me tonight,’ she says, snapping open the black velvet box on the bathroom counter and smiling as she surveys the diamond necklace she’s wearing for the gala.
It’s not actually hers. Lawrence, her husband, is a jeweller, which means that Suzy not only has the biggest and best jewellery in town, but whenever there is a special occasion she gets to wear jewels the others can only fantasize about. And who has to know she’s only borrowing them? Whenever any of the girls comment on her ‘newest’ ring, or bracelet, or, on this occasion, flower-drop necklace, she just smiles sweetly and gestures over at Lawrence, saying only that she’s the luckiest girl in the whole world.
Tonight, as chairperson of the gala, Suzy is going all out. With her Dolce & Gabbana plunging dress, her strappy Manolos, her diamonds and her beautiful bronzed skin courtesy of the tanning salon yesterday afternoon (she chose the spray, so much healthier although she did have to put up with smelling like a herd of camels until she was able to finally take a shower this morning), Suzy has no doubt that she will be the belle of the ball.
Whenever Suzy feels threatened, she tells herself that she is better than the others. She is prettier, thinner, and has more money, and up until Amber Winslow moved to town, she was leagues ahead of everyone else. But there’s something about Amber. Amber doesn’t seem to care that Suzy has bigger diamonds or, up until the Winslows built their house, the biggest house in town. And it pissed Suzy off that Amber got that decorating firm first, just because she’s a Winslow.
And just because she’s a Winslow, Amber seems to think she’s special. But Suzy will show her tonight. As she twirls in front of the mirror in her diaphanous backless dress, the carats glittering around her neck and at her ears, Suzy grins to herself. Bring it on, Amber Winslow, she thinks, looking forward to outshining everyone. Bring it on because I’m ready and waiting.
‘You look beautiful.’ Richard turns to look at Amber as she comes down the stairs. He’s sitting with Jared and Gracie as they have supper, both of them behaving like angels given the rare treat of having Daddy home to have supper with them.
‘Mommy, you look like a princess,’ Gracie says, smiling with delight at Amber’s dress.
‘You look sooooo pretty,’ Jared coos.
Even Lavinia comes back into the kitchen to see.
‘Oh my goodness,’ she says, ‘you do look lovely.’
Amber does a little twirl in her champagne dress, the ostrich feathers at the hem brushing her knees.
‘I have to say I do feel like a princess,’ she grins. ‘All I need is a tiara.’
‘No, a crown,’ Gracie says, climbing down from the table. ‘I’ll give you a crown, Mommy.’ She skips out of the room, and reappears a few moments later bearing a plastic sparkly pink crown. ‘Here, Mommy,’ she says very seriously, as Amber bends down so Gracie can place it carefully on her head.
‘How’s that?’ Amber stands slowly so the children can examine her crown, as Richard smiles at her lovingly.
‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘Now, shall we go?’
‘You really do look beautiful,’ he says again in the car, turning to smile at his lovely wife.
‘You just forget how good I look when I scrub up,’ Amber laughs, but she takes the compliment and allows it to warm her heart. And she does feel beautiful. She didn’t want anything over the top. Knows there will be plenty of mutton dressed as lamb, of women who should have learnt that plunging, backless chiffon in your late thirties and early forties doesn’t do anyone any favours. She knows exactly what people have been buying at Rakers, and is so much happier in her simple, elegant dress, just the feathers adding a dash of exuberance, pretty pearl earrings at her ears, and her hair swept back in a sleek, simple chignon.
*
Suzy is standing at the door greeting everyone as they arrive. She sees Amber and feels the hatred well up. God, would you look at her? Boring old cream dress. Pearl earrings. Ha! Suzy has definitely outdone her.
‘Amber!’ She gives her a warm hug. ‘Look at you! You look beautiful!’
‘Oh so do you,’ Amber lies perfectly. ‘I love your dress.’
‘Dolce,’ Suzy says, her hand rising to play with the diamond necklace, just to make sure Amber notices.
‘Oh yes, I remember you saying. And what a beautiful necklace.’
‘Thank you. I really am the luckiest girl in the world, aren’t I? My husband just spoils me rotten.’
‘God, isn’t she awful?’ Amber says pleadingly to Richard as they walk away.
‘Is she?’ Richard, like most of the husbands, is largely oblivious to the social interactions of the women in Highfield. ‘But she seemed to be so nice to you,’ he says sarcastically, aware this time of the game that has just been played.
‘You know it’s all false,’ Amber says as she smiles at him. ‘But never mind. I’m not going to let her spoil my evening. Oh look! There’re Deborah and Spencer. Come on, let’s go and join them for a drink.’
Given the amount of preparation, the amount of trepidation that has preceded this event, Amber is astonished to find she has a wonderful evening. It is by far the busiest and most successful gala thus far, and Amber found that a couple of Cosmopolitans were all she needed to ease the stress of such a serious social situation, and now she’s positively having a blast.
She and Richard wander round the tables displaying the silent-auction items, and even Amber has to admit they did a wonderful job. There are Cartier watches on display, diamond earrings, the opportunity to visit the set of Oprah, plus have tea after the show with Oprah and Gail.
Amber manages to persuade Richard to write his bid down for a luxury cruise around the Caribbean. The value is $15,000. Richard’s name is the fourth one down, and he writes $12,000, revisiting the table while Amber is in the Ladies room, relieved to see that six more people added their names after him so he’s in the clear.
It seems the entire town of Highfield has turned out for the event – or at least, the people that matter. The women are all checking one another out, seeing who has the best dress, the best jewels, and the men are grouped together over by the bar, catching up on work talk.
And Amber, standing there with a Cosmopolitan in hand, in her quietly elegant clothes, suddenly has an epiphany. As she wat
ches the women jostle one another to have their photograph taken by the Highfield magazine social diary photographer, Amber suddenly realizes how ridiculous this lifestyle is.
She watches the whispers, the glances, the social smiles, and Amber sees how false it is, and as the photographer comes over to her and asks her to smile, she shakes her head and turns away.
I can’t do this any more, she thinks, as she heads over to Richard in a trance. This isn’t who I am. This isn’t what I want. She looks at Richard, standing awkwardly with a group of men, with them but not with them, not really joining in their conversation, and her heart goes out to him. It isn’t Richard’s scene either. What the hell are we doing? she thinks. Why has it mattered so much to keep up with these ridiculous people, this ridiculous lifestyle?
And all of a sudden Amber wants to be away from this. She wants to be at home, with her children, with her husband. Doesn’t want to have to play this game any longer. Doesn’t care about being queen bee, about doing this so-called charity work.
I want a simpler life, she thinks, as she slides next to Richard and slips her hand into his, smiling up at him as he looks down in surprise. I want to get rid of all this stuff. She leans up and whispers in his ear, ‘Come on, darling, take me home.’
‘I really love you,’ Amber smiles, after they’ve made love and are lying in bed, looking into one another’s eyes.
‘I really love you,’ Richard says, unused to this spontaneous affection from his wife. It’s a Friday night, and Sunday is always their ‘date night’, and far be it from him to presume that he may be getting his oats at any time other than a Sunday night.
‘No but I really love you.’ Amber snuggles into his arms.
‘What’s brought this on?’ Richard pulls back and looks at her suspiciously. ‘Do you have something to tell me?’
‘No, don’t be silly. As if I’d have the time. It’s just that at the gala tonight I suddenly realized how much I love my whole family. I feel like I’ve been so caught up in all the social stuff here, I haven’t been focused on you all, and tonight I suppose I just realized that none of that material stuff matters.’
