by Jill Mansell
‘I think it’s definitely been that,’ Millie announced, aware that the rest of the restaurant was in uproar around her. The other diners were either shrieking with laughter or rigid with disgust. This was probably a good moment to leave. Plonking the bottle of sparkling wine and the cellophane-wrapped T-shirt down on the table, Millie said cheerfully, ‘Enjoy the rest of your meal,’ and skated out of the room with the gorilla head tucked under her arm.
Rather gratifyingly, she got a round of applause.
‘Something tells me they’re not going to want these photos,’ sighed the receptionist, who had followed her out.
‘I’ll take it.’ Millie reached for the disposable camera.
‘Will you get into trouble over this?’
Millie unzipped the side of the gorilla suit and discreetly retrieved her car keys, which were tucked into her bra. That was the nice thing about Lucas: she knew he wouldn’t bawl her out or sack her when he heard why she’d done it. With a smile, she said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got an understanding boss.’
The receptionist, whose own boss was a complete pig, looked envious.
‘God, you’re so lucky.’
Millie nodded. Lucas might be a womanizer but he undoubtedly had his good points.
‘I know.’
***
Giles caught up with her in the car park as she was unfastening her roller skates. Martine hung back in the shadows beneath the trees, allowing him to deal with Millie in his own way.
‘Does Orla know about this?’ He spoke without preamble.
‘No.’ Millie was glad she’d already stuffed the camera into the glove compartment.
‘Are you going to tell her?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.’
Oh, and did I mention my middle name was Pinocchio?
‘Now you just listen to me.’ Giles was breathing heavily. ‘You wouldn’t be doing Orla any favors if you told her. You’d break her heart.’
I’d break her heart? Millie boggled.
‘Right.’ Sweat glistened on his brow as he drew out his wallet. ‘I’ll make out a check. Five grand, how about that?’
Millie stared at him. Slowly, she unfastened the second roller skate and dropped it on to the passenger seat.
‘Okay, ten grand,’ said Giles. ‘Ten thousand pounds not to say anything to Orla.’
He was trying to bribe her! Best of all, he was trying to bribe her with his wife’s money! Then again, Orla’s money and the lifestyle it afforded him were, of course, the reasons he was so keen to keep the marriage going.
‘Go on then,’ said Millie.
Giles’s hands shook with relief as he scribbled out the check. Taking it from him, Millie fitted the key into the Mini’s ignition.
‘Thanks. If I cash it, you’ll be safe.’ She smiled briefly. ‘If I decide to tell Orla, I’ll give it back.’
He stared at her, the expression on his face one of fury mixed with fear.
‘Are you going to tell her?’
‘Who knows? I haven’t decided yet.’ Millie shrugged and gazed innocently up at him. ‘Although if you ask me, life’s too short to spend it being married to a tosspot.’
Giles gritted his teeth. He was clearly dying to call her a bitch.
‘But will you?’
‘Let’s make it a surprise.’ Smiling to herself, Millie started the engine. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’
‘One o’clock?’ said Orla cheerfully, phoning the next day to check when Millie would be turning up for her regular debriefing session. ‘Then we can chat over a gorgeous lunch.’
‘Actually, my car’s broken down,’ Millie lied. ‘Would it be a pain for you to drive over to me?’
She watched from the bedroom window as Orla pulled up outside, jumped out of the gleaming, burnt orange Mercedes, and exchanged a joke with one of the neighbors. She was clearly in high spirits and looking radiant in a long turquoise strapless summer dress, flat silver sandals, and armfuls of bracelets.
Millie’s heart sank at the prospect of erasing all that radiance. She felt like a doctor having to tell someone their leg needed to come off.
Even if, in the end, you knew they’d be better off without it.
‘Okay, off we go.’ Orla was sitting on the floor with her elbows on the coffee table. She had a notebook open, her pen at the ready, and the ever-present packet of Marlboros within grabbing distance. She was wearing her favorite Ghost perfume, a pretty, shimmery bronze lipstick, and her hair fastened up in a giant tortoiseshell barrette. She was also looking happy, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
‘I’ll start with Hester,’ said Millie. ‘She had the most awful thing happen to her yesterday.’
‘This is perfect,’ Orla declared, scribbling down the mud-wrap story.
‘Although I don’t know if she’ll want you using it.’ Millie felt it only fair to warn her. ‘It’s pretty embarrassing.’
‘People love being written about.’ Orla’s smile was reassuring. ‘I’ll show it to her when it’s finished. I bet you she won’t mind.’
‘It gets worse. When she got home last night, she rang Nat. But he wasn’t there.’ Millie ran through the details of Hester’s phone call. ‘So it looks as if he’s got himself involved with this Anastasia, whoever she is.’
Orla flipped over the page of her notebook and carried on furiously scribbling.
‘So Hester suspects he’s playing around, but she doesn’t know for sure?’
Millie nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.
‘Right, now here’s where I need your advice,’ she told Orla. ‘If you had a friend and you found out their other half was seeing someone else, would you tell her? Or would you keep it to yourself?’
Orla looked up, entranced.
‘You mean if you had absolute proof? Are you saying you do have proof?’
‘Um, yes.’
‘Oh well, no question about it. You have to tell her.’
‘She’ll be upset. She might not want to know.’
‘Come on! If she’s a good friend, it’s your duty to tell her.’ Orla’s eyes lit up as she reached for her cigarettes. ‘You can’t possibly keep something like that to yourself.’
Millie’s heart began to pound. ‘Yes, but are you saying that because you think it would be a good story line for the book or because you really mean it?’
‘Oh please,’ Orla declared indignantly. ‘I’m not that mean! Hester deserves to know. You have to tell her. It’s for her own good!’
‘Okay.’ Millie looked away, feeling sicker than ever.
‘But what intrigues me is how you found out.’ Avidly, Orla leaned closer. ‘Did Nat actually tell you himself?’
Deep breath.
‘This isn’t about Hester and Nat.’
Chapter 36
There was a horrible sensation in Millie’s mouth, as if she’d licked a battery. This is it, she thought unhappily, her gaze fixed on the carpet. No going back now. I am The Dark Destroyer.
She was startled to hear Orla laughing. Then came the sound of frenzied scribbling-out.
‘You tricked me! I really thought you meant you had proof about Nat. Now look at the mess I’ve made of my notes! So who is it then, this other friend of yours?’
Prevaricating, Millie said, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t tell her.’
‘Darling, you’re being ridiculous. You know you have to.’
Slowly Millie raised her eyes, her gaze locking with Orla’s.
‘Oh.’
Orla stared back at her. As Millie watched, recognition gradually dawned.
‘Oh,’ whispered Orla, all the color sliding from her face. ‘Oh. Oh. Oh God, nooo.’
Even her lips were white. She looked as if she’d just been drained of blood by a vampire.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Millie wished she could be somewhere else. ‘I didn’t know whether or not to say anything. But you just told me I should.’
‘Giles?’ It came out as a croak.
/>
‘Yes.’
‘But he promised me he wouldn’t do it again. Never ever again. He promised me that.’
And you actually believed him?
Instead, Millie said sympathetically, ‘I know.’
Cra-aack, went Orla’s pen, snapping in two between her fingers.
‘Martine Drew?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really? I thought it might have been that girl who was at the party last week. Anna the dressmaker.’ The words tumbled jerkily out of Orla’s mouth. ‘The one who recently joined the golf club? Remember her?’
Millie nodded, bracing herself yet again.
‘That was Martine.’
Orla blinked.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That was Martine Drew.’
‘What?’
Millie wondered how else she could possibly say it.
‘Last time, when the press found out about Giles and Martine… well, you didn’t meet her, did you?’
Dazed, Orla shook her head.
‘You just saw pictures in the papers. Not very clear photos, when she was trying to hide her face.’
‘But she had blonde hair. Long blonde hair.’ Orla’s hand shook as she took a drag of her cigarette. Then her shoulders sagged as she realized the stupidity of what she’d just said.
‘It’s called going to the hairdresser,’ said Millie.
‘But… she rang, just the other day… she’s living back in London,’ Orla whispered. ‘Except I suppose she isn’t. It was just another lie, to put me off the scent.’ She frowned, crumpling the cigarette into the ashtray, then looked up. ‘How did you find out?’
‘She hired me to turn up last night. They were in a restaurant, celebrating their anniversary. I thought she meant wedding anniversary.’
‘Last night. Giles told me he was with the Freemasons. Look,’ Orla blurted out hopelessly, ‘are you sure this is true?’
‘Here.’ Millie slid the envelope containing the just-developed photos across the coffee table. ‘There’s something else in there too. The check Giles tried to bribe me with, to keep my mouth shut. I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
Wine was a big temptation but getting roaring drunk wouldn’t help Orla right now.
Ten minutes later she returned from the kitchen with two mugs of tea and—in the absence of Twiglets—a plate of nutella sandwiches.
Orla was pale and dry-eyed, and the ripped-up photographs were scattered over the coffee table.
‘He promised,’ she told Millie, her voice calm. ‘He promised faithfully.’
Faithfully. That was a good one.
‘Do you wish I hadn’t told you now?’ Millie held her breath.
‘No. He brought her along to our party. All these months he’s been lying to me. Seeing her, and cheating on me. I want to kill him. I do.’ Orla’s jaw was clenched. ‘I do, I really want to kill him.’
Feeling brave, Millie said the unsayable. ‘So long as you don’t want to kill yourself.’
‘God, no. I don’t deserve this.’ Shaking her head, Orla lit another cigarette. ‘I really don’t. I deserve better. He’s got a fucking nerve. It’s all over, you know. This is the last bollocking straw. I won’t spend the rest of my life forgiving him and forgiving him and always wondering when it’ll happen again… I mean, what kind of marriage is that?’
‘The rotten miserable lousy kind,’ said Millie.
‘Giles is a rotten miserable lousy husband! He’s a complete and utter shit.’ Orla thumped the table for emphasis. ‘And I’m just not going to take it any more. I’m going to go home and kick him out and divorce him faster than you can say… divorce.’
‘Well, good.’ Although Millie privately wondered if she’d go through with it. When push came to shove, Orla might chicken out.
‘You don’t think I will, do you?’ As she rose to her feet, shaking the creases out of her turquoise dress, Orla smiled slightly at Millie. ‘But I’m going to. I am. I can promise you that.’
At five o’clock, the first fat raindrops began to plop out of the sky.
Good, thought Orla, watching with satisfaction as the thick, charcoal grey clouds rolled overhead. She wanted it to rain. The harder the better. A thunderstorm would be fine. A typhoon would be perfect.
Twenty minutes later, Giles’s car came into view. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, Orla followed his progress through the open gates and up the drive.
When the car braked, she knew he’d seen them. His clothes, strewn across the lawn, sodden with rain.
Not just some clothes, either. All of them. Every single thing he owned, right down to his underpants.
What with Giles being so vain, the lawn was actually pretty crowded.
Orla, who had thrown the lot out of the bedroom window, was feeling pleased with herself. Giles had always been so persnickety about his clothes, insisting that each shirt was precision-ironed, each handmade shoe flawlessly polished.
Except they weren’t looking quite so flawless now, with the rain pelting down and his best dinner jacket dangling like a hanged man from the mulberry tree.
He knew the game was up, of course, the moment he saw what she’d done. Glancing over her shoulder at the empty wardrobes—so many empty wardrobes—Orla unfolded her arms and pushed open the bedroom window. She watched Giles climb out of the car and gaze up at her.
He looked like a cornered animal.
‘What’s all this about?’
‘Oh, I think you’ve probably got a rough idea.’
‘That bitch!’ shouted Giles, his sandy hair already darkening in the rain. He shook his head in despair. ‘I knew she’d tell you. Sweetheart, I can explain everything. It’s not how it looked, I promise.’
‘Déjà vu,’ Orla bellowed down at him.
‘What?’
‘I’ve heard that line before. Except last time I was stupid enough to believe you.’
‘But it’s the truth. Look, let’s sit down and talk about this over a drink.’
As he made his way to the front door, he stooped to retrieve a sodden Jaeger sweater of which he was particularly fond.
‘The door’s locked,’ yelled Orla. ‘In fact, all the doors are locked. And I’ve had the locks changed. Because you don’t live here any more.’
‘Orla. You’re overreacting. This is ridiculous.’ Giles shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Look, I’m out here getting wet.’
‘You’re lucky you’re not getting shot.’
‘Open this front door.’
‘I’ve got a much better idea. Why don’t you move in with your mistress?’
‘Martine means nothing to me!’
Orla looked bored.
‘I really don’t care. All I want is a divorce.’
‘But my clothes… you can’t do this!’
‘Watch me,’ Orla said pleasantly, as he bent to pick up an armful of sodden underwear. ‘Oh, nearly forgot.’ Reaching for the packet of black trash bags, she hurled it out of the window like a grenade. ‘You’re going to need these to put your clothes in. Don’t say I never give you anything.’
Ha, that was a joke; she’d spent their entire married life giving him practically everything. It had been ten years since Giles had even had a job.
‘You have to let me explain,’ he shouted up, squinting as the torrential rain splashed into his eyes. ‘I tried to get rid of her but she wouldn’t let me go. She’s been stalking me—’
‘You’ve got a fantastic imagination.’ As she prepared to slam the window shut, Orla said conversationally, ‘Know what? You should write a book.’
Millie was asleep in bed when the phone rang at midnight. She heard Hester, who was still downstairs, answer it.
‘It’s for yooou,’ Hester sang up the stairs and Millie’s heart began to thud with fear.
‘Orla.’ Hester pulled a face as she handed over the receiver.
Millie had known it would be Orla. Tucking her Robbie Williams T-shirt over her knees, she sat do
wn on the bottom step of the staircase.
Oh please don’t be where I think you are…
‘Hi, it’s me. Did you tell him?’
‘Hmm?’ Orla sounded odd, distracted. ‘Oh yes. I told him. I definitely told him.’
Millie pictured Orla in a distraught state, her long dress and hair whipping around her as she wandered in the pitch darkness and driving rain ever closer to the cliff edge.
‘Orla? Now listen to me. Where are you?’
‘Sorry? God, this is a terrible signal, I can hardly hear a thing.’
‘Tell me where you are,’ Millie shouted. ‘And I’ll come and get you.’
‘Come and get me? Darling, what are you talking about? Ah, that’s better,’ said Orla as the line cleared. ‘Must be the storm.’
‘Where are you?’ repeated Millie, her feet jiggling with agitation.
‘In my office, of course! You daft thing, where else would I be at this time of night?’
Millie exhaled noisily. All the muscles in her legs relaxed. She felt as if a door had opened in her chest wall, allowing a flock of birds to whoosh out.
‘So why are you phoning?’
‘For my update! You told me about Hester but you forgot to tell me what’s been happening with you!’
Forgot?
In a daze, Millie said, ‘Nothing’s been happening with me. Orla, are you working ?’
She’d imagined Orla doing a lot of things—weeping and wailing, getting drunk, slashing her wrists—but not this.
‘Of course I’m working! I want to crack on, and since I can’t sleep I may as well make the most of it. So…?’
There was an expectant pause as she waited for Millie to start regaling her with all the latest gossip.
‘I haven’t got anything to tell you.’ Millie couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.
‘What, nothing at all? Honestly, you’re hopeless.’ Orla tut-tutted. ‘If things carry on the way they are, you’re going to end up as a lowly subplot. Hester and I will just have to be the stars.’
She was in shock, Millie decided. In deep, deep denial.
Either that or Orla had decided—oh God—to forgive the lying cheating slimy little bogweasel.
Cautiously she said, ‘Um, where’s Giles?’
