The Trouble with Single Women

by Yvonne Roberts

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve ran away. I’m coming to live with you.’

  Fee, on the other side of the table, decided that was the best compliment she had been paid in months. Out loud, she said, ‘You know it’s not that simple, Percy. Mummy and Daddy would miss you for a start—’

  Fee had telephoned Gill and Simon Booth as soon as Percy appeared on the doorstep. She left a message on their answering machine. She learned from Percy that she had been dropped off at school and walked out again, taking a tube to Fee’s flat, using her pocket money. It was a journey to which she had become accustomed when Veronica had been temporarily in charge of the school run.

  Percy looked at Fee as if she was a dimwit. ‘Mummy and Daddy won’t miss me. They won’t even notice I’ve gone,’ she announced. ‘In the old days, Mummy used to shout and Daddy stayed quiet. Now, they both shout, all the time. The boys and me have had enough.

  ‘You choose your boyfriends,’ she added. ‘So I’m choosing my parents. You can be my mother.’

  ‘But I’ll be hopeless at it,’ Fee protested.

  Percy smiled grimly. ‘I know you will,’ she said crushingly, ‘but you’re still better than what I’ve got.’

  Half an hour later, Gill arrived. Fee hadn’t seen or heard from her for days and presumed that she had been too preoccupied with the joys of a rebirthed marriage. Judging from Gill’s appearance, it looked more as if she’d spent several days and nights in a very hot sauna. She had lost a considerable amount of weight; she had dark shadows under her eyes, and she looked drained and drawn.

  At the door, Fee whispered that Percy was sorry for the fuss she had caused.

  ‘I think she’s upset about all the upheavals at home. Perhaps she just needs a bit of a cuddle and some reassurance?’ Fee suggested tentatively.

  Accepting advice had never been Gill’s strong suit. She strode into the kitchen purposefully, took one look at her daughter drinking hot chocolate at the table, and roared at the top of her lungs, slamming both palms down on the table as she did so, making the spoon that lay by Percy’s mug jump as if electrified.

  ‘How dare you!’ she yelled. ‘How dare you cause me all this inconvenience? Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do than criss-cross London all day just for you? You are a wicked, naughty, horrible little girl – and I’ve a good mind to give you away.’

  Tears fell silently down Percy’s face. The confident, cheeky girl who had been in the room only minutes before Gill’s arrival transformed before Fee’s eyes into a dejected and miserable small child.

  A child who had already learned the lesson that there was only one reality, and that was the reality constructed by her mother. Percy knew she could give voice to no feelings, except those which her mother wished her to have.

  Percy was unhappy; Gill preferred to call her wicked. Percy was distressed by the fear of losing her father; Gill insisted she was simply being wilful, seeking attention. Percy might have only the vaguest ideas about the concept of power but she knew that her mother had it – and she had none.

  Above all, Percy just wanted her mother to say what she hadn’t heard in weeks: I love you.

  ‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,’ she sobbed and ran into the bathroom, banging the door behind her. The two women heard the key turn in the lock.

  Fee gestured to Gill to sit down. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Give Percy a minute or two . . . It must be difficult—’ she ventured.

  ‘No, not at all,’ Gill snapped sarcastically.

  Fee tried again. ‘What I meant was, it must be difficult for Percy. She probably thinks Simon or you are about to go off again . . . You know children, they like routine, they—’

  Gill interrupted coldly, ‘And what exactly would you know about it? You’ve never even had a child—’

  ‘No,’ Fee replied, ‘but I’ve been one—’ She refrained from adding the words that were running through her head, ‘And I’ve learned how to survive a mother like you—’

  Helen Travers was unsurprised by her daughter’s news. Fee had never known when to draw the line.

  Fee was telling her mother on the phone about the saga of Percy.

  ‘So I said Percy could stay as often as her mother would let her. Gill was a bit difficult about it at first, but she came round later.’

  ‘And?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Percy’s going to stay the weekend after next.’

  ‘Are you sure you know what you’re taking on?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Fee replied cheerfully. ‘But then who does when it comes to children?’

  ‘But why in your case does it always have to be other people’s children?’ Helen asked pointedly.

  Imogen Banks glanced at her watch for the third time in fifteen minutes. Where was the man?

  She gave a perfunctory smile in the direction of the man’s wife sitting opposite her on the olive-green leather sofa.

  Where was he? And why was she feeling so nervous?

  After all, the skills required to make this little exercise successful were ones that Imogen had practised again and again over the years. She glanced again at Shona Spannier. The woman might lack backbone but, Imogen grudgingly admitted, she made up for it with a sense of style.

  She wore a simple white dress, pearl-drop earrings and heeled sandals. Her dark hair was swept up in a French pleat. The only make-up she wore was mascara and lip gloss.

  Imogen didn’t find it surprising that a man who had Shona for a wife should still feel the need to stray. In Imogen’s experience, it wasn’t an even better-looking woman or a greater degree of lust that drew men like Spannier away from the marital bed, it was the need to feel indulged – uncritically indulged.

  ‘More coffee?’ Shona asked. ‘Or wine? Or a gin and tonic?’ Conversation between the two women had long since dried up. The misapprehensions each had about the life of the other had proved too big a hurdle.

  To Shona, unaware of Imogen’s inability to permanently hold on to a man, this woman was sexy, witty, and content.

  To Imogen, Shona was a wife. What more was there to say?

  Shona was speaking again. ‘I’m going to have a gin and tonic, why don’t you join me? I’m sure Teddy won’t be much longer.’

  When Shona left the sitting room, Imogen got up and checked her appearance in the mirror on one wall. In order to survey the bottom half of her body, she took off her shoes and stood on a chair.

  She wore black. It had to be black. A tailored suit with a low neckline. The suit was severe in its cut, which drew the eye to the neckline all the more rapidly. Black suit, black stockings, very high-heeled black shoes, small diamond clips at her ears.

  Different men, same or similar outfit. Boring, really. The notion stuck Imogen forcefully. Boring? Imogen shook herself. What a ridiculous thought.

  ‘Are you all right?’ said a man’s voice. It held a hint of amusement in it. Imogen took the hand that was offered and stepped down from the chair. Fee had been right. Edward Spannier was a good-looking man. He smelt of Christian Dior’s Eau Sauvage, a faint whiff of cigar smoke and Chanel No 5 which might or might not have been wafted over him by his wife.

  Imogen gazed boldly into his eyes.

  ‘I don’t believe we’ve met?’ Edward Spannier said. He still had hold of her hand. ‘Are you a friend of my wife’s?’

  Imogen smiled her slow, lazy smile. ‘No, not at all,’ she replied, taking her time to slip on her shoes. ‘Actually, I may be renting this flat when you leave. The landlord arranged with your wife for me to see it and when he was unexpectedly called away in the middle of my viewing, she kindly suggested that I stay—’

  ‘That’s why I was on the chair,’ Imogen added. ‘I thought I’d spotted some dry rot.’

  ‘Aah,’ Edward Spannier replied.

  And after that, it was almost too easy.

  Claire brought the camcorder into F.P. & D. late the following morning. It was built into a small attaché case and
designed for secret filming. Typically of Claire, having bought it in Hong Kong on a whim, she had yet to find a use for it. So she had readily agreed when Fee asked if she could borrow it and asked no questions.

  Claire said she had a meeting near Fee’s office, so she would drop in the camera.

  For several days now life at F.P. & D. had been disturbingly quiet. The HAH! report had been completed, but progress had been halted because Harry Macklin was away in Thailand. Doing what, Fee was not inclined to ask. Diana Woods and Gerry Radcliffe were out of the office in pursuit of fresh business in Italy.

  Will Evans had taken Hannah Jaspan on a walking holiday in Scotland. Walking was one of his hobbies, and so far the few romances he hadn’t himself throttled in early life had been finished off by five days following Hadrian’s Wall.

  Fee had been glad for Will’s sake that Hannah hadn’t slept with Edward Spannier, but she had also been surprised to find herself faintly disappointed.

  Claire placed the attaché case on Fee’s desk. ‘It’s dead simple to use,’ she instructed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Fee asked. ‘You look tired—’

  ‘Thanks,’ Claire snapped. ‘Of course I’m tired. I’m tired of nobody being able to make a decision about anything and the wedding is only weeks away. Now, do you want me to show you how to use this thing or not?’

  At seven that evening, Fee delivered the camcorder to Shona Spannier.

  ‘She’s phoned,’ Shona’s cheeks were flushed with alcohol and excitement. ‘Imogen’s phoned. He’s taking her for dinner in Knightsbridge and she’s already suggested this hotel she knows—’

  Fee placed the camcorder on the coffee table, already doubtful that Shona would be able to keep a grip on the handle, never mind focus it on her husband at the appropriate time.

  ‘What’s special about this hotel?’ she asked.

  Shona grinned wickedly. ‘I don’t know what Imogen’s told Teddy, but I know why it’s special to us. It only has one set of lifts. I told Imogen I was too squeamish to burst into the bedroom or anything like that, so the idea is she kisses him in the lift and I capture it to add to our library of happy family videos . . . Imogen’s quite smart about things like this, isn’t she?’ Shona giggled drunkenly. ‘Makes me wonder what else she gets up to—’

  Fee had picked up on one word. ‘Us?’ she repeated. ‘What do you mean by “Special to us”?’

  ‘I can’t do this on my own,’ Shona squeaked. ‘I’ve never done anything like this in my life before. I need moral support. I need help. Besides,’ she added, ‘it was mostly your idea. And, anyway, I’m too sizzled to drive.

  ‘No,’ Fee said firmly. ‘This part has nothing to do with me. Call a taxi, Shona.’

  At nine forty-five, the second call came from Imogen.

  ‘We’re leaving the restaurant. It will take us roughly fifteen minutes to reach the hotel,’ she told Shona.

  ‘How do you know?’ Shona, with yet another glass of wine in her hand, asked, apparently more intrigued by the mechanics of infidelity than organizing her husband’s exposé.

  ‘Darling, you don’t think this is the first time I’ve made this little trip, do you?’ said Imogen. ‘I flatter myself that you chose me because I’m a professional. I’m a genuine bad girl, not an amateur like too many women these days.’

  It took Fee thirty-five minutes to make the journey from the flat. When the two women arrived at the hotel, Fee realized that Imogen had chosen well. It was expensive, exclusive and small. The reception area was to the left. Opposite the entrance was the one set of lifts. On the right, facing away from the entrance, were two chairs, high-backed and with wings.

  Anyone could check in and walk to the lift without knowing who might be seated.

  ‘How do we know that they haven’t already checked in?’ Shona said nervously.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ Fee told her calmly. She directed Shona to one of the chairs and helped her to make sure that the camcorder was in position. She placed the attaché case on Shona’s lap, the lens pointing towards the lift.

  ‘As soon as they step into the lift, get up and walk towards them. Try not to swing the case too much,’ she directed. ‘Edward will probably be so surprised to see you he won’t notice what you’re carrying. Whatever you do,’ she added, ‘don’t put the case down. If you do, all you’ll get – literally and metaphorically – is a pair of heels.’

  Fee regretted making the feeble joke since Shona instantly doubled up with mirth, laughing so loudly too many people glanced their way. She made her way to the reception desk and asked if Imogen Banks had checked in. The man consulted a computer.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘There appears to have been a cancellation.’

  Fee had never ruled out the possibility that Imogen might decide to turn business into pleasure – and take a genuine interest in Edward. But so soon?

  Five minutes later, Fee returned to Shona. She had ordered coffee and brandy.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked anxiously, slurring her words.

  Fee reassured her. ‘It’s fine. There was a mix-up. Imogen’s on her way. She used her car phone when I was at the desk. They were held up at the restaurant but they should be here shortly.’

  Shona swallowed more brandy. ‘I’m awfully sorry to put you to so much trouble, Fee.’ She waved the glass in the air. ‘But do you think it would be all right if we went home now? I think I’ve had enough—’

  Before Fee could answer, she heard Imogen’s voice at the desk. She pushed Shona back into her seat, put a finger to her lips and indicated furiously with her other hand for Shona to press the ‘on’ button on the camcorder, disguised as a lock on the attaché case.

  Instead, Shona sat paralysed. Fee peered around the back of the chair. Imogen and Edward were walking towards the lift.

  ‘Shona!’ Fee hissed. ‘Shona, get up now!’

  Shona said nothing and moved not at all. The lift had arrived, the door opened, Edward and Imogen stepped in. Fee stood up as Imogen, on cue, placed her arms around Edward as the lift doors began to close.

  Shona suddenly let out an earsplitting scream as the attaché case fell on her foot. ‘Aaargh!’ she yelled.

  The pain in her foot at least galvanized her into action. She was now hopping forward, brandishing the case as if it was a weapon of war, shouting, ‘It’s too late, Fee, it’s too late, the doors have shut—’

  Fee privately cursed Imogen. She of all people could have used a little imagination once she realized how badly the scheme was progressing. Shona stood in front of the lift forlornly, the case under her arm.

  Then Fee realized that the lift doors were reopening. Edward Spannier’s tongue was buried deep in Imogen’s ear, while her foot, encased in plum-coloured suede, was stuck in the door.

  ‘Gotcha!’ Shona shouted in exhilaration.

  Edward turned and almost sprang out of the lift, lunging at his wife’s throat, oblivious to the camcorder recording his reactions or the small audience that had begun to gather. Imogen and Fee acted as one, shoving him sufficiently hard to send him sprawling. After years of marriage, Shona finally had her husband at her feet.

  She gave Fee and Imogen a broad smile.

  ‘Do me just one favour, Shona,’ Imogen said, watching as Edward gathered himself together, promising all types of vengeance on ‘you three bitches’ before slamming out of the hotel.

  ‘Do me one favour. Deal with him how you like, but please don’t apologize while you’re doing it. There’s a good girl.’

  ‘What will you do about Edward now?’ Fee asked as they drove away from the hotel ten minutes later. Shona sat in the passenger seat, the small videocassette clutched in her hand.

  Fee had decided to return Claire’s camcorder on the way home, not least because she didn’t like the possibility of returning to the flat at the same time as Edward.

  ‘I’ll have him back,’ Shona replied. ‘Except that now he needs me more than I need him.’


  ‘Why not make a complete break?’ Fee asked.

  Shona sighed. ‘He’s all I know. It must be difficult for you to understand, Fee. I don’t suppose you’d ever let yourself become that dependent, would you?’

  ‘All too easily,’ Fee answered. ‘That’s what keeps me running.’

  It was after eleven by the time Shona and Fee arrived at Claire’s flat. Clem Thomas opened the door. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and glasses which he had pushed to the top of his head.

  ‘Claire’s not back from work yet,’ he said by way of a greeting, then immediately apologized.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He opened the door wider. ‘Come in. Let me get you a drink. I’ve been trying to plough through a mountain of marking and didn’t realize the time—’

  He looked at Shona expectantly and Fee introduced them. ‘Shona, this is Clem Thomas, Claire’s . . . fian . . . fi . . . friend—’

  Clem Thomas looked at Fee, amused that she found it so difficult to say the word ‘fiancé’.

  For the next half-hour or so, until Claire’s arrival, Shona rambled drunkenly through her life story, sipping yet more wine while Fee stuck to coffee and Clem listened politely. Claire’s arrival coincided with Shona falling into a doze on the sofa. Fee watched while Claire fussily collected up the papers that Clem had been marking on the large glass coffee table. And Fee said nothing when Claire tutted at the piles of books Clem had left scattered on the dining-room table.

  ‘Well, you asked me to move back in—’ Fee heard Clem Thomas say when the two disappeared into the kitchen together.

  When Claire returned stony-faced with fresh coffee, insisting that Fee stay longer – ‘You, at least, look cheerful’ – Fee attempted to ease the tension by lightheartedly recounting the story of her experience with HAH!’s introduction agency and her meeting with Alan Munsen.

  ‘He’s had an even worse time than me,’ she chuckled. ‘He met one woman who said that she knew from his application form that they had a great deal in common. He thought that was a bit odd because she was dressed entirely in black and had hair dyed the colour of marmalade.’