The Other Wives Club

by Shari Low

  Mona stepped out on to the balcony and inhaled the sea air with a sense of achievement. They were here. Right up until the last minute she’d expected Piers to pull out, to claim some kind of work crisis and head back to sportswear HQ. He’d surprised her. Not only was he here, but he was getting into the spirit of things, having already changed into olive Bermuda shorts and a white Hugo Boss polo shirt. He was actually quite handsome. Or at least Emily the Frump would probably have thought so.

  She wondered if he had any intention of confessing to the affair. Doubtful. If there was one thing that Piers loved more than himself it was money, and there was no way he’d choose to divorce again. His first wife took him for plenty and he’d partially learned his lesson. On the day before their wedding, his lawyer had appeared with a prenup and Mona had happily signed it. That’s what love did to you... Made you stupid. However, even with the prenup, her settlement would be significant. Not that she’d take a penny of his money. Piers wouldn’t risk it, though. Unless this fling escalated to something serious he wouldn’t make a move that would dent his bank balance.

  Anyway, there was no chance of his clichéd little affair escalating to anything permanent. Mona knew her husband. He was all about image and class. Emily might be an amusing distraction, but she wasn’t the kind of girl that Piers would marry. The thought should have cheered her, but it didn’t.

  She took a sip of champagne and watched as a majestic liner left its moorings, passed them and headed out to sea, a crowd on the top deck cheering, laughing and dancing as they went. They looked so ecstatic and carefree that for a moment she wished she was with them instead of here, with a husband she could no longer stand, in a marriage that obviously wasn’t enough for either of them. In the early days, Piers had struggled to accept that she refused to take his name, preferring to keep the Gold surname. She’d argued that it was the professional name by which everyone knew her. Now it seemed that refusing to take Piers’ name was more of a premonition than an image choice.

  ‘What are you thinking out here?’ Piers moved in behind her and put his arm around her waist. She had to fight the physical urge to slap it away. Instead, after a moment’s breather she turned to face him, leaning back on the balcony rail for support. ‘Nothing at all. Just watching the world go by.’

  ‘How long have we got before we have to meet up with the others?’ he asked, and Mona groaned inside. He had his sex voice on. Bloody hell. She’d popped in for a quick blow-dry on the way to the airport this morning, and then spent half an hour expertly reapplying her make-up as soon as she got here. If he wanted sex he was going to have to do it standing up and without any activity that would ruin her gleaming mane of 40s style, wavy black hair or smudge her mascara. Did Vivien Leigh ever look like she’d just been energetically hot and sweaty? Nope.

  Of course, she could always say no, but that would set the alarm bells off. Piers might criticize many things about her, but she was never one of the ‘headache’ brigade when it came to the conjugal schedule. Sex was one of her favourite things in life when they married and that remained the case. Just not necessarily with her husband.

  She cast a glance over her shoulder and realized that another ship was passing by them. Sex in public was all very well and thrilling, but she had a hunch this would be less than smart given that she had no inclination to inspect the inside of a Barcelona police station.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ she murmured, taking his hand. Best get it over with. And she’d go on top. Preserve the make-up.

  They crossed the suite to the circular bed in the middle of the room. It was going to be heaven to wake up every morning and see the ocean only feet away. A sharp nudge sent Piers sprawling back on to the white cotton sheets and he reached up to her with a seductive grin.

  ‘Christening the room, are we?’ he murmured, like a cat that got lucky and found a bowl of double-whipped, extra rich, organic, truffle-infused cream.

  ‘Well, it would be a shame not to,’ she teased, when all she really wanted to say was, ‘yes, make it quick, and if you mess up my hair I may turn homicidal.’

  Straddling him, she flicked open the button at the top of his shorts, and felt around for the zipper. Got it. She was just about to pull when she was quite literally saved by the bell.

  Yes, there was a God.

  ‘Ignore it,’ Piers ordered, his hand sliding under her white shift dress and probing for the elastic of her thong.

  Too late. With the agility of an Olympic gymnast, she vaulted off him, headed for the door and swung it open.

  ‘Stepmother,’ Max grinned, loving the automatic effect that word always had on her expression – straight from ‘welcome’ to ‘irritation’.

  Her prodigal stepson leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m kidding.’ That mollified her. ‘And you look beautiful.’ She checked out of ‘irritation’ and headed straight for ‘happiness.’ The power of the compliment was considerable, especially when coming from a thirty-five-year-old, six-foot-two-inch tall man who – while perhaps more Matt Damon than Brad Pitt – was charming, fit, and had just saved her from having to do some serious repair work on her make-up.

  ‘Hey, how was your flight?’ she asked, lingering just a little bit longer than usual on the hug. He deserved it.

  ‘Yeah, fine. And the room is really great. Although,’ he whistled as he scanned the suite, ‘it’s nothing on this.’

  ‘Your father upgraded us. He heard that Drew had booked a suite and of course had to do the same. Apparently this one has five square feet more than the birthday boy, so he’s a happy man.’

  ‘Still feels the need to prove he’s the richest guy in the room?’ It was said with amusement rather than malice.

  Mona smiled knowingly. How true that was. As a newspaper editor Drew was paid well, but he wasn’t even close to Piers’ league, yet somehow, Piers felt the need to wear his wealth on his bespoke-tailored sleeve.

  Piers strode into the room from the bathroom, his hand out to greet his son. Mona checked that he’d readjusted himself and there were no tell-tale bulges in the groin area.

  Coast clear. And escape from conjugal obligations complete.

  ‘Good to see you, son.’ He greeted Max effusively, pulling the younger man from a handshake into a hug. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m good, Dad. Although not as good as you, clearly. Tell me that tan isn’t fake.’

  Mona clamped her teeth shut. Now wasn’t the time to raise the subject of last week’s alleged business trip to Tenerife. Or to bring up his little jolly to New York. Or to enquire as to who exactly was in the party for a golfing break to Palma last summer.

  The right time to introduce a few truths into this marriage would come soon.

  But only when she was absolutely ready to rock the boat.

  Sarah

  ‘Is the cabin to your liking, Mrs Gold?’

  ‘It’s absolutely wonderful.’ Sarah wondered if she should tip the nice young man who had gone out of his way to show her where to go, but then she remembered that John had told her that the tips were paid up front at the time of the booking so that you didn’t have to carry cash on board.

  ‘Thank you,’ she told the cabin steward. He was wearing a badge, but without her specs on she couldn’t read it. However, she could make out that the very nice young man was smiling an extra-friendly smile at Eliza. Not that Eliza noticed – she was too busy reapplying her lip gloss at the dressing-table mirror.

  With a sinking feeling, Sarah realized that she was going to have to keep a surreptitious eye on her daughter this whole trip. Eliza might only be sixteen, but with the hair of a sun-kissed beach babe who’d just stepped off a surfboard, and legs that went on for ever, she looked at least nineteen. When you threw in the fact that she thought she was twenty-five, there was a sure-fire recipe for disaster.

  Sometimes it was difficult to believe she’d actually given birth to this glorious creature. Her side of the family didn’t do Amazonian beach babe. They did
petite and cuddly with a predilection to matronly. She subconsciously ran her fingers through her short, light-brown hair. Patsy had made her get it cut and asked the hairdresser to put some highlights through it, but Sarah wasn’t sure it was really her. At least the sprinkling of grey was gone, though. This was going to be a tough enough week without lining up next to the glamorous Mona and the decades-younger Tess with her silver roots showing.

  ‘Mum, come look out here.’

  She was momentarily confused. It was definitely John’s voice, she just wasn’t sure where it was coming from.

  ‘Mum, the balcony!’

  If she squinted she could just see the top of John’s head, in the corner of the floor-to-ceiling glass door.

  They had two rooms, next to each other, on the port side of the ship, deck nine. Apparently they were ‘superior ocean-view balcony rooms’, but she wouldn’t have minded if they were ‘bog-standard next-to-the-engine rooms’. Hadn’t she and Drew taken John to a caravan at Berwick every year for ten years?

  They’d come a long way. Separately, of course.

  She weaved through the space between the two single beds and stepped through the open doorway, immediately feeling the heat of the sun and inhaling the smell of the sea. Outside she realized that John must be standing on a chair, as his head was popping over a six-foot partition.

  ‘Would you like me to open the balcony door between the two staterooms?’ the steward asked from the doorway. He was so unobtrusive; Sarah had almost forgotten he was there. She looked up at John for the answer to the question.

  John nodded. ‘Definitely. I wouldn’t fancy trying this after a few beers.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, I’ll understand if you want your privacy…’ she quickly added, very aware that this was the first holiday that John and Penny had been on since the kids were born. In fact, she was pretty sure that was the only reason she’d been invited – chief babysitter. Drew knew that Penny wasn’t keen to leave the kids with strangers, so he’d come up with a way to make sure he got to spend some chill-out time with his son. That suited her perfectly. It would be good to see John and Penny get a break, too. They deserved it. If she got to sit on this balcony all day, and alternate between a great book and taking care of her two favourite grandchildren, she’d be perfectly happy.

  The cabin steward carried out the request. ‘Can I help you with anything else, madam?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Very good.’ With that, he left, carrying the partition, leaving her slightly incredulous. Was this how it happened on the seas? There was always someone there to get you whatever your wanted? You just asked for something and it was carried out immediately? After fifteen years of living on her own, doing everything for herself, that was definitely something she could get used to.

  John climbed down from the chair, casually slung an arm around her and gave her a hug. ‘It’s a long way from a caravan in Berwick, isn’t it, Mum?’ he said with a wink.

  ‘I was just thinking exactly the same thing. And you look exactly like your dad did when we used to take you there.’

  ‘Handsome and debonair?’ he joked.

  ‘Nope, scruffy and in need of a good haircut.’

  A piercing shriek came from inside John’s cabin. ‘Bet you’re regretting getting that barrier removed now,’ he laughed as he headed inside to investigate the latest crisis.

  At three, the twins were beautiful, cuddly and LOUD. Very, very loud.

  Penny appeared two minutes later. ‘Oh, Sarah, Lavinia just threw up all over the bed. Can you take Lawrence until I get her showered and changed? John is away to track down some cleaning stuff.’

  Sarah nodded immediately. It was only the afternoon and already Penny looked exhausted. Bringing up two babies while working nights as a nurse in the A&E department of one of Glasgow’s busiest hospitals was taking its toll. Sarah’s heart went out to her. ‘Of course I can. I’d be delighted to take them anytime, you know that.’

  Stepping into their cabin, she revised that decision slightly. She’d be happy to take care of her grandchildren as long as they weren’t projectile vomiting. Poor Lavinia was a grim shade of grey. Sarah gave her a huge hug and then reversed to a safe distance.

  ‘Come on, Lawrence – how about we go up to the top of the ship and watch the other boats?’

  There was no doubt whatsoever that her grandson was a Gold. He was the double of his father at that age, and already she could see there was a resemblance to his grandad, too. Thankfully, it was only his looks John had inherited from his father and not his ruthless self-centredness or infidelity gene

  ‘Thanks, Sarah – I really appreciate it. And don’t worry, we won’t be asking you to babysit all the time.’

  ‘Penny, I don’t mind in the least. I love looking after the twins.’

  Penny nodded. ‘I know you do. But Drew has lined up a ship’s nanny for us and he was very explicit about the fact that this is your holiday, too, and you’re not here to look after everyone else.’

  Puzzlement descended. So if she hadn’t been invited to look after her family and provide babysitting backup, then what exactly was she doing here?

  4.

  Holiday Home Sweet Home

  Tess

  How did Drew not hear that? Her heart was banging out a tune that could drown out the steel band playing on the top deck, yet Drew remained oblivious. Tess took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

  ‘You OK?’ Drew asked, his face a picture of concern.

  ‘Fine,’ she smiled and added a wink for effect. Too much? She never winked. Now he would definitely know something was wrong. It was safe to say that if MI6 were in need of a new spy to add to their ranks, they’d best look elsewhere. Subterfuge obviously wasn’t her thing.

  ‘Just something in my eye,’ she blurted, in the hope that it would explain her anxiety and the wink of a crazy woman.

  ‘Here, let me see.’

  Drew gently cupped her face, then prised her eyelid up a little. ‘Look up. Look down. Look left. Look right. Nope, can’t see anything in there.’

  ‘Must have blinked it out.’

  He took her hand and they continued to walk along the sun deck. The highest level on the ship, it was a great vantage point for checking out the views and it was filled with fellow shipmates of all ages, most of them leaning over the railings to watch as yet another huge liner left its mooring and passed them en route to open waters. The captain announced over the ship’s tannoy that they’d be leaving next and a cheer went up among the crowd.

  Drew must have studied the ship’s layout because he seemed to know exactly where to go. That didn’t surprise her. That was why he was so good at his job. He planned. He prepared. He delved into the details.

  Hopefully he wouldn’t delve into her bra and find a letter from her best pal demanding an illicit rendezvous. What the hell was Cameron thinking? How bloody reckless!

  His hand slid around her waist as he held open a glass door that led into a bar. A neon sign informed her that it was the Ocean View Lounge, a completely round structure that had windows halfway down to the floor, giving a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view.

  In the bar, he immediately took charge. ‘A San Miguel, please. What would you like, my love?’

  My love. He hadn’t called her that in a long time. Oh, crap, the guilt just nudged a little further up the scale. She needed to process what Cameron had done. Needed space to think it through. If ever there was a time when she actually needed Drew to be distant and neglectful for a few hours, it was now.

  ‘Erm, a white wine please.’

  ‘Pinot Grigio?’ asked a very happy Chad, USA.

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

  At which point Chad, USA – who had, she noticed, the most perfectly straight, blinding white teeth she’d ever seen in her life – threw a glass up in the air, caught it by the stem, pulled a wine bottle out of a bar-top fridge, popped the cork and poured. Drew’s beer was almost an
anticlimax after that.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asked again.

  No, she was not OK. Extremely not OK. She’d realized in the last few days that something was going wrong in her marriage. She was on holiday with her husband’s entire family. She was about to spend ten days with his two ex-wives. And her best friend had declared his love for her and wanted to meet her in bloody Monaco. She was definitely not OK.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she reassured him. Maybe there was a chance for her in the spy business after all.

  He sighed softly. ‘Look, is it because Mona is about to arrive? I know you find her difficult…’

  ‘I don’t. What makes you think that?’ she argued, deploying an expression of surprise.

  ‘Because you chew your lip every time you see her coming.’

  Right, then. So he did still notice some things. Right now, that wasn’t a reassuring thought.

  ‘It’s not that I find her difficult…’

  Drew laughed. ‘But you do.’

  ‘OK, I do. I don’t dislike her though. I just find her… cold. A bit brittle.’

  Drew nodded. She wasn’t saying anything he didn’t know already. Not for the first time, she wondered why they’d actually split up. On the face of it they had so much in common. Both in the same industry. Even worked in the same office. Both driven. Ambitious. A little ruthless. With a real thirst and excitement for what they did. And both a little inconsiderate of other people. Or a lot, actually.

  The disloyalty in that last thought caused yet another chew of the bottom lip. Many times she’d asked Drew why they’d parted ways and he stuck to the same story that they’d just grown apart. Tess had taken it at face value and didn’t take it personally that Mona had never been overly friendly. There were no harsh words, no arguments and no disputes – as Drew always said, they were all grown-ups. Even if one of the grown-ups was always irritatingly perfectly turned out and just a smidgen on the smug side.

  ‘You know she doesn’t mean any offence. It’s just her way. There’s a nice person underneath there, though.’ She was sure the parents of serial killers and third world dictators thought the same thing.