‘Speaking of coffee …’ I lead the way into the kitchen, where we now have a kettle and supplies set up so the builders don’t have to traipse across to the guesthouse every time they want a brew. ‘We even have some biscuits, unless Todd’s scoffed them all again.’
‘Wow.’ Emma’s jaw has gone south again, and I can’t help but feel a swell of pride. Emma may be planning Vanessa’s party, but this kitchen is my legacy. I may not have physically laid the flooring or built the units with my own fair hands, but I was part of the team that created this beautiful room. Plus, I did help to shift the huge American-style fridge freezer into place, and I was first to flick the kettle on once the electrician had assured me it was safe to do so.
‘Look at the view!’ Emma heads straight for the bi-fold doors, her palms pressing against the glass. She turns to me, a frown creating grooves along her forehead. ‘Rebecca, is that a donkey in the garden?’
Of course it is. Bloody Daisy! I knew she’d been up to no good yesterday.
‘That’s just Franny.’ I give a wave of my hand and head for the kettle, as though having a donkey nibbling at your overgrown lawn is a perfectly normal occurrence. ‘She’s just wandered over from next door. She’s harmless.’ It’s the other mischief-maker you have to look out for. Well, Daisy’s in for a shock next week when the set of iron railings go up. I’d like to see the little madam work her way through those. ‘Anyway, come and fill me in on all the goss from the office.’
We have to stand at the breakfast bar with our cups of coffee as installation of the furniture is one of the final jobs of the refurb, and Emma fills me in on the goings on at Vanessa Whitely Events, from the mystery of the phantom non-flusher in the ladies’ loos (Emma suspects the new temp on reception) to the cleaner who was caught rifling through Vanessa’s drawers (of the desk variety, not her knickers).
‘And there’s something else.’ There’s a plate of bourbon creams between us on the breakfast bar and Emma takes one, nibbling at it before changing her mind and placing it down next to her mug. She catches my eye and holds my gaze. ‘But she swore me to secrecy so you can’t tell anyone else, okay?’
‘I won’t tell a soul. Cross my heart and pinky promise.’ I’m almost giddy with the forbidden knowledge I am about to receive. ‘What is it?’
Emma picks up the bourbon cream for another nibble and I have to dig deep to stop myself from slapping it out of her hand and demanding she part with the juicy scandal immediately.
‘I really shouldn’t say …’ She places the biscuit down again with a heavy sigh, and I fear she’s going to snatch away the dangled carrot of gossip. ‘It’s Vanessa.’ She sighs again while my giddiness notches up a gear. Gossip about your boss is the best kind of gossip as it tips the balance of power slightly in your favour. ‘She thinks Ty’s cheating on her. With someone from the office.’
‘No.’ My eyes are almost popping out of my head. ‘Who does she think it is?’
Emma’s nibbling at the biscuit again. I should have left them in the cupboard.
‘She thinks …’ Emma leans in close and lowers her voice, even though the only other living creature in the vicinity is Franny, out in the garden. ‘It’s Sonia.’
‘Oh my God.’ My mouth is gaping with outrage. I knew she couldn’t be trusted!
‘Do you remember that opening we went to? That new club?’
How could I forget? Emma says ‘we’ but I was excluded from the jaunt.
‘Vanessa thinks it started then. Sonia was almost manic in her need to pull a celeb, and Ty’s been super attentive towards Vanessa since then, taking her out for romantic dinners almost every evening, whisking her away for weekends away. It’s like he’s got a guilty conscience or something.’
‘But why does she think it’s Sonia? Tyler’s hardly a household name.’ He’s a model, but he isn’t on anybody’s radar outside the world of fashion shoots.
Emma shrugs. ‘Vanessa must have her reasons. All I know is that she’s keeping a very close eye on her. That’s why I’m here and not Vanessa. She doesn’t want to leave the office unnecessarily. Or rather, she doesn’t want to leave Sonia unsupervised unnecessarily. I feel a bit sorry for her, actually.’
‘For Sonia?’ I know Emma likes to see the good in people, but this is stretching her positive nature. ‘Even though she may be cheating with Tyler?’
Emma shrugs. ‘That’s the thing, though. There’s no actual proof that it’s Sonia. It’s just a hunch coupled with office gossip.’
I want to explore this deeper, as it does seem a huge leap to suspect Sonia, but my mobile starts to ring and it’s Stacey. Excusing myself, I scuttle out of the room to answer it in case I say anything incriminating in front of Emma and give away my deception.
‘Hello?’ Slipping into the living room, I gently close the door behind me and scurry to the far end of the room.
‘Franny’s gone walkabout again.’ There’s a short sigh on the other end of the line. ‘She isn’t in your garden, is she?’
She is. I can see her snacking on the grass through the living room’s bi-fold doors. But do I tell Stacey this? If I do, she’s bound to come over to retrieve the donkey, but if I don’t, Stacey’s going to be out of her mind with worry as she searches the village for her missing charge.
‘Yes, she’s here.’ I lean against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. ‘But you don’t have to pick her up right now. In fact, leave her for a while. She’ll be doing the gardeners a favour. There’ll be less grass to cut at this rate.’ I try to laugh but I can’t muster the required enthusiasm.
‘I’ve already sent Oliver round to check, just in case.’
I make a dash for the window, just in time to see Oliver appear at the top of the drive. My stomach lurches, knowing that I’m about to be rumbled.
Chapter 30
I garble something vaguely coherent into the phone before hanging up and taking a few deep breaths to stave off the blind panic that is ready to step in and take over. Watching Oliver’s rapid journey across the drive really isn’t helping so I move away from the window, barrelling my way into the kitchen, where Emma is working her way through the bourbons.
‘Upstairs!’ My voice is a rasp, both from the sprint and the fear that is closing up my throat. ‘Why don’t you have a look upstairs? Photos. Notes. For the party.’ I slump against the doorframe. What does a panic attack feel like? And does it count as a panic attack if your lies catching up with you is the cause of the distress?
‘Okay.’ Emma is giving me a very odd look, which is understandable under the circumstances but I’m hoping her uncertainty won’t hinder her movements. Because I need Emma to be as far away from Oliver as I can get her and time is running out.
‘The top floor!’ Pushing myself off the doorframe, I scuttle out into the hallway, hoping to encourage Emma to speed up. ‘You have to see the top floor. There’s a balcony!’ Which overlooks both the canal and the part of the garden Franny is currently munching her way through. ‘Which is unsafe. So don’t go out onto it. Or even near the window. Just in case.’ I’m almost running towards the staircase now, though Emma is merely ambling.
‘Is everything okay, Rebecca?’
My eyes dart from Emma to the front door. What if Oliver is on the other side, right now? Could he have overheard the use of my real, lie-destroying name? The door is pretty chunky, but still …
‘Everything is absolutely fine.’ My mouth is smiling reassuringly but the less said about my eyes the better. Needless to say, they aren’t exuding calm. ‘But you really should take a look upstairs.’
‘Right.’ Emma is nodding but her face tells me she isn’t convinced and she’s stopped moving, feet planted in the middle of the hallway. I’m about to usher her forward when the front door swings open. Why didn’t I lock it? And bolt it? And build an electric fence around it?
I turn slowly, prolonging the time I have left before the brown stuff hits the fan. Part of me hopes it isn’t Oliver standing on the th
reshold, about to step into the house and kick down the fantasyland I’ve created for myself. It’s a foolish part of me, but I allow it to blossom, to take over and fill my heart with optimism, albeit for a microsecond.
Of course it’s Oliver at the door. Except now he’s in the hallway, nudging the door closed and shutting us into a situation I can’t see a way out of. I have no control over Oliver or Emma, no control over what they say, what they reveal. My fate is in their hands.
‘Oliver!’ My voice is full of false cheer. Unnatural and jarring. ‘You’re here for Franny, right?’ I’m marching towards the front door, ready to eject him before he can say something I’ll regret. ‘I’ll take you round now.’
‘Sorry, I’m disturbing you.’ Oliver – praise be – is backing towards the door of his own volition. ‘I didn’t realise you had company.’
‘Not a problem.’ As long as he gets out of the house right now.
‘Hello.’ Emma, finally, is moving, but it isn’t towards the staircase. She’s heading for Oliver, hand outstretched. ‘I’m Emma. I’m planning Vanessa’s housewarming party.’
Oliver takes her hand and gives it a short but firm shake. ‘I’m Oliver, one of Vanessa’s builders.’ He catches my eye and winks, because he’s more than my builder. He’s my friend. My … well, who knows what the future holds, but it probably won’t be that date on Saturday night if he finds out the truth. Obviously I’m going to have to come clean about my true identity at some point, but having the truth blurted out here in the hallway isn’t how I imagined it would happen.
‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ Emma turns away from Oliver, widening her eyes at me and mouthing ‘wow, he’s gorgeous’, which I can’t disagree with.
‘Emma was just going upstairs to have a look around.’ With my hand on the small of her back, I give her a little prod towards the staircase. ‘Shall we go and sort Franny out?’
Oliver reaches behind him to open the door. ‘I can do that. You continue the grand tour.’ He smiles charmingly at Emma but I’m too tense to appreciate its beauty. ‘Todd practically inhaled the food as soon as it was put down on the table, so the others won’t be far behind me and you know how hectic it can get round here. Better get that tour in while you can.’
Damn it! I knew my plan wasn’t foolproof but I didn’t expect it to crumble so quickly. I’m already coming across as unhinged – if I bundle Emma out of the house now, before the guys descend and without showing off the utterly amazing top floor, I’m going to come across as highly suspicious.
‘The pub!’ There’s that overenthusiastic voice again. I need to calm down. ‘I forgot to mention it earlier. The afternoon tea was only the beginning of your treat. You should go to the pub.’ I left my handbag in the kitchen earlier, dumped on the breakfast bar, so I make the quickest of dashes to retrieve it, mentally crossing my fingers that Oliver and Emma won’t strike up a conversation in the few seconds it takes me to return. ‘Here. Make sure everybody gets a pint.’ I rummage in my purse and hand over a couple of notes. ‘Don’t let Harvey have more than one. But don’t rush back either.’
‘Are you sure?’ Oliver looks down at the notes I’ve thrust into his hand.
‘Absolutely.’ I sidestep Oliver and widen the door. ‘And don’t worry about Franny. You can take her back later.’
Oliver tucks the money into his pocket. ‘Thanks, Vanessa.’ Looking past me, he raises his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Emma.’
If Emma responds, I don’t hear it. I can’t hear anything other than my fantasy world crashing around me, brick by brick.
The front door closes behind Oliver but I remain fixed to the spot, eyes settled on a knot in the grain of wood. I can’t move. I can’t turn around and face Emma.
It’s over. My lies have been exposed. How did I ever think I would get away with it?
‘Rebecca?’ I don’t have to turn around to see how confused Emma is. I can hear it plainly in her voice. ‘Why did he just call you Vanessa?’
Chapter 31
Emma watches me as I explain the whole situation, from Vince’s initial mishearing in the pub when I introduced myself, to the downright lies I’ve told ever since. We’re back in the kitchen, fresh cups of coffee in front of us, the plate of bourbons now a plate of crumbs as I’ve systematically shoved the biscuits in my mouth to try to sooth the apprehension gurgling in my stomach. Emma’s eyebrows have been moving up her forehead, a tiny fraction at a time, as my story has unfolded and they’re now in danger of disappearing into her hairline. She must think I’m completely bonkers. Or terribly dishonest.
‘I know I shouldn’t have let it get this far.’ I press a finger to the plate, tapping my way across the crumbs before licking them off my fingertip. ‘I should have made it clear who I was, right from the very beginning.’ Emma hasn’t said a word while I’ve been confessing my faux pas, and there’s no indication she’s about to break her silence. ‘But they seemed to really respect me when they thought I was Vanessa, and I knew I’d never have that sort of influence if they knew I was just mousy Rebecca Riley.’
‘You’re not mousey.’ Emma reaches out, placing her hand gently on my arm and giving it a comforting squeeze. ‘You’re lovely and kind and all the nice things Vanessa will never be. You should be proud to be Rebecca Riley. I’m proud to be her friend.’
‘Really?’ There’s a giant lump in my throat but I manage to push the word out.
‘Really.’ Emma gives my arm another squeeze. ‘But obviously it’s far too late to reintroduce yourself now.’
‘Is it?’ I swallow against the giant lump. I’d been planning on coming clean to Oliver before our date on Saturday. It’s the right thing to do, surely. How can I date a man who doesn’t even know who I really am?
‘Jeez, can you imagine it?’ Emma snorts. ‘Hey guys, guess what? I’m not really Vanessa Whitely, I’m her PA, Rebecca. I’ve been lying to you all this time. Ha ha ha.’ She shakes her head, tittering to herself. ‘No, you’re just going to have to keep up the charade until you leave.’
‘But then what?’
Emma gives me an odd look. ‘Then you go back to your normal life – your Rebecca life – and hope Vanessa never finds out that you pretended to be her.’
‘How will she find out?’ I reach for the biscuits, realising too late that they’re all gone. ‘She isn’t going to speak to the builders once the house is finished, not when she hasn’t bothered to meet them in person during the refurb. She doesn’t want to bother herself with the actual mechanics of having a newly refurbished house. She just wants the glory.’ I really, really wish there were more biscuits. ‘And she isn’t going to bother making polite conversation with her new neighbours. She won’t give them the time of day. She’ll rock up here at the weekend, lord it about her manor, and then waltz back to Manchester. If she wants friends here, she’ll bring them with her.’
‘I hope for your sake that’s true.’ Emma gathers the mugs and plate and takes them across to the sink.
‘She hasn’t made any effort to introduce herself so far.’ Otherwise I’d never have got away with playing her for this long.
Emma turns on the tap, testing the water until it’s hot. ‘It sounds like you’ve got it all under control then.’
I nod, though I’m biting my lip. ‘What if I wanted to stay in contact with the friends I’ve made here though?’
‘I don’t think you can, under the circumstances.’ She gives the mugs a quick scrub under the tap and places them on the draining board. ‘If you tell them the truth now, they’ll probably think you’re pretty weird, to be honest.’
‘Even if I explain it like I did to you?’
Emma turns, a wry smile on her face. ‘Even then.’ She washes the plate before drying her hands on one of the tea towels I brought over from the guesthouse.
‘But what if I really liked one of them?’
Emma is folding the tea towel into a neat square but she pauses, looking up to meet my eye. ‘Like like someone, y
ou mean?’
I glance down at the breakfast bar, tracing an invisible pattern with my finger. ‘Just hypothetically, but yes.’
‘Then you’d be in a hypothetical pickle.’ Dumping the tea towel on the side, Emma joins me at the breakfast bar. ‘Who is he? Is it that guy who was just here? Because he was pretty cute.’
‘Oliver?’ I make a strangled spluttery sound that I hope is convincing in its derision. ‘No way. And there really isn’t anyone. I was just wondering what you would do in that situation.’
‘That made up situation?’ Emma shrugs and grabs her handbag. ‘I guess it would depend how much I liked him and whether I could see a future for us.’
‘And if you could?’
‘Then I’d have to tell him the truth. Preferably before the wedding ceremony, otherwise that could turn out to be a bit awkward.’
‘Wedding ceremony? Steady on there. We’ve only known each other a few weeks.’
The corner of Emma’s mouth lifts into a smirk. ‘A few hypothetical weeks?’
‘Yes. Obviously.’ I clear my throat, tracing that imaginary pattern on the breakfast bar again.
‘Okay, hypothetically speaking, I’d at least leave it until this job’s done.’ Emma’s eyes flit around the room. ‘Because if it doesn’t go down all that well, you don’t want to jeopardise all your hard work. And then at least Vanessa will only maim you for stealing her identity and not messing up her dream holiday home and messing up her party plans.’
‘I’ve only borrowed her identity.’ I desperately need a bourbon cream right now.
‘I’m not sure Vanessa will see it like that. Trust me, you’re best keeping it zipped for as long as possible.’ Emma heads for the hallway. ‘Come on, Vanessa. Show me the rest of the house before I have to head back to the office.’
The Accidental Life Swap Page 19
