An unfamiliar number, one I didn’t recognize at all.
Wary, I let it ring, and waited for it to go to voicemail. Then I listened to the message. A woman’s voice—she sounded elderly.
“Hello, Claire. My name’s Maude and I live next door to your parents. I’m so sorry to worry you on a Sunday morning, but there’s been an accident. Please call me back.”
Oh, God, something had happened to my folks…my worst nightmare realized. I felt icy cold inside. Quickly, I pressed the “Call Back” button. Would I hear her well enough over the noise of the water? Hurrying into the bathroom, I snapped off the tap, stopping the deluge.
“Hello, Maude?” I almost shouted as soon as she answered. “It’s Claire. What’s happened to my parents? Are they okay?”
“Hi Claire.” Her voice was quavering. “Your father’s out of town for the morning. He got a part-time job driving a delivery truck. He asked me to come in and help with your mother. I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t hold her when I was transferring her to the chair. She fell on the floor. She’s knocked herself out, and it looks like she may have broken her arm. I’ve called the ambulance, but I just wanted to…”
And then it happened.
With a musical tingle that signaled the battery was empty, my phone died on me.
I stared down at the useless instrument in horror.
“Shit, shit,” I shouted. “Shit!”
Did Patrick keep a spare charger anywhere? Oh, God, let him keep one somewhere.
Frantically, I ran through the apartment. The kitchen, the study, the lounge—nothing. Finally thinking straight, I sprinted back to the master bedroom and checked his side of the bed.
Thank goodness, there was one, plugged into the wall. But my relief was premature when I discovered it was not compatible with my phone.
I was sobbing from sheer frustration. There was a perfectly good landline right here in the bedroom, but I had no idea what my mother’s cell number was—she’d given up her contract when they moved and went onto a new pay-as-you-go phone. The number was stored on my phone, but not in my memory. There was no landline at their new house. And with my phone having died, I couldn’t get Maude’s number.
Only one option left…and I had to take it.
Grabbing Patrick’s cordless phone, I dialed my father’s cell number from memory.
Chapter 26
To my utter relief, my dad answered the call within four rings. He didn’t know who was speaking at first, with me phoning from a strange number and sounding hysterical with frustration and worry. It took him a minute to work out who I was.
“It’s me. Claire. Dad, I need Mom’s number.” My voice sounded high and squeaky from stress.
“Sure, hon. Why? What’s up?”
Dad always sounded calm; I’d never known anything to rattle him. Just as well, since he was driving while we were speaking. Panicking wouldn’t have done him any good. Probably, it wasn’t doing me any good either. With a huge effort, I fought for control, and managed to win the battle for long enough to tell him what the problem was.
“Oh, dear God,” he said in a totally different tone, and I could pick up on his frantic anxiety as well as something else…was he angry with himself?
For a moment, I put myself in my father’s shoes and realized what it must have taken to make the decision to leave my mom with someone else while he went off to try and earn some money, striving to claw his way back into the job market, one part-time job at a time.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I said. Now I’d taken on the role of comforter. “It was an accident. They happen. I’ll sort everything out and I’ll be in touch with you soon as I can. Drive carefully, okay?”
I keyed the number he’d given me straight into the cordless phone, then pressed the dial button with frantic haste, praying that my mother’s cellphone was somewhere that Maude could hear.
I thought it was going to go through to voicemail, but at the last moment Maude answered, sounding stressed.
“Claire? I’ve been trying to call you.”
“My phone died. I’m so sorry.”
“The ambulance is on its way.”
“Where are they taking my mom?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you as soon as I know. She’s conscious…well, she’s been asking for you. I’m scared to move her, though.”
“If she’s conscious and breathing, it may be safest just to leave her, if the ambulance is coming,” I said. My heart was breaking for my mother, sprawled on the cold floor, trapped by her immobile body, and I felt terrible on behalf of poor Maude, who had been doing a neighborly favor by trying to help.
“I’m going to get over there as soon as I can. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
I asked Maude for her cell number, realizing I had nowhere to write it down. I hadn’t put a pen in my clutch bag. I opened Patrick’s bedside drawer, feeling like I was invading his privacy. There was a pen there. No paper, only a few business cards for PR agencies, printers, electricians. I scribbled Maude’s number on the back of my right hand.
Then I closed the drawer again. I had to go, right now; this was an emergency and every second would count. I didn’t know Patrick’s cellphone number, so I couldn’t call him to tell him what had happened. I felt awful knowing that he’d come back to find me gone. I thought of leaving a note, but had no idea what to write, and jotting something on the back of a business card seemed rude. As soon as I had the chance to charge my phone, I would call his landline and explain.
I picked up my red ball gown, which was draped over the back of the leather sofa. I slipped Patrick’s dressing gown off, and it fell onto the carpet in a whisper of silk. I put on the ball gown, stepped into my heels, unlatched the apartment’s front door and let myself out, closing it behind me so that the latch locked again.
It took me nearly an hour to get home, and when I arrived, I felt my hackles rise to see Dave’s Audi at its usual careless angle in the driveway, but they rose even further when I saw Monika’s car parked on the other side of the road. They must have spent the night at her place, believing I was here. Perhaps when Dave had arrived home and seen no sign of me, he’d called Monika to say the coast was clear.
I had a vision of them writhing in passion on our king-sized bed, and quickly suppressed it. Hopefully I’d be able to sneak in and out before they realized I was here. I didn’t want to get involved in a confrontation now – not when I had more serious issues to worry about.
I opened the front door as quietly as possible and tiptoed inside. I stood in the hallway, listening.
And then my fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms.
I could hear Monika’s voice coming from the living room.
My earlier shock was replaced with fury, which surged inside me as I thought about how she had lied, pretending to be my best friend while having an affair with my husband. Now, here she was, conversing with him in my home, as if she owned it.
I stood and listened, heart thumping, undecided whether to storm in and confront them, or sneak past and grab my keys from the spare bedroom. But the conversation seemed one-sided. I realized that she must be on a phone call. Well, hopefully she wouldn’t hear me as I tiptoed past.
But as I headed down the passage, a face flickered into my mind. Somebody I knew; a man I hated and feared. I recognized his lean, bearded face, and that oily-looking dark hair. It was Carlos… but in this image, his camera was nowhere in sight. Instead, he was speaking rapidly on his cellphone. Speaking to…
The vision gelled into memory and gooseflesh prickled up my arms as I realized who was on the other end of the line. These episodes hadn’t made me feel dizzy for years, but now I had to put a hand on the wall to steady myself from the impact of the cruel, clear reality that had etched itself into my mind.
“You need to do it,” Monika said pleadingly. Using the wall for support, I crept back to the half-open door, still not able to believe the truth of the picture I had seen, and th
e words I was now hearing. “No, she will have spent the night in his apartment. There’s nowhere else she could be now.”
Monika paused, listening. “Well, find it!” she snapped. “I thought you said you have good connections. You know his name… it’s the same guy she was with when you took the pictures in Ireland. Patrick Maguire. It can’t be that difficult to get his address, but you need to be quick, so you can be there when she leaves. I need those photos, Carlos. I have to have them today.”
I felt cold all over and my stomach clenched as I took in the full extent of Monika’s betrayal.
Even while my heart was screaming, “No, not possible,” my brain was racing to analyze the evidence. Monika had been at all the events where I was photographed. She’d handed me the alcoholic drink and practically forced me to take a sip, so that Carlos could shoot the compromising image. She’d tipped him off about the private party, and had probably helped him get into the building. It had been her, all her. Monika had singlehandedly set out to destroy my career.
The shock of this discovery prompted me into furious action. Before I knew it, I was storming through the doorway to confront her.
Chapter 27
“What the hell are you doing?” I spat the words at Monika.
She was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless top, standing on the other side of the room with her back to the window. She spun round when she saw me, snatching the phone away from her ear, and the expression of horror on her face was as much of a confession as I needed.
She fumbled with her phone, stabbing at the disconnect button. Blood flooded into her face, turning her usually sallow skin to crimson.
“I… I… er, hello, Claire. Dave was worried about where you were. He said you didn’t come back home last night, so he called me and I came here to help him search…”
“Don’t bother lying,” I told her icily. “I saw you dancing with Dave last night. And I’ve overheard enough of your conversation to know exactly who you were speaking to, and why.”
Her mouth worked, but no words came out. Usually so quick with her repartee or her blade, my accusations had disarmed her completely.
“I was just speaking to a friend…” she whispered eventually.
“To a paparazzi photographer friend. You were briefing Carlos to take another photograph of me.” My voice was filled with outrage. “Why, Monika? I thought we were best friends, for God’s sake. You’ve been having an affair with my husband. And now you’re trying to destroy my reputation.”
She physically flinched away from the words.
“I’m sorry…”
“Sorry?” I repeated incredulously. “You think you can just apologize and everything will be all right?”
“You don’t understand.” Monika was blinking tears out of her pale blue eyes. I noted this without any trace of sympathy.
“Oh, I understand all too well.” I spoke through clenched teeth.
“No, you do not.” Now there was a thread of defiance in her tone and she lifted her narrow chin. “You have no idea what it is like to live in your shadow, Claire.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve always been the golden girl. The beauty who gets the sponsorships and the publicity, the fame and the money, who’s so nice and friendly and squeaky clean. It’s all fallen into your lap. Even this strange mind-reading gift of yours… you’re not nearly the fastest fencer, not even the most skilled. All the coaches say so. But every so often you just seem to foresee where your opponent is going to move, and that makes the difference; it scores you points. It’s unfair. All the coaches have noticed it; have said you would never have been on the teams if it wasn’t for this weird ability that kicks in from time to time and wins you certain matches.”
I stared at Monika, unable to believe her words as she continued, “If you knew how hard I have worked, and how many tears I’ve shed, and what a struggle it’s been for me, you might see it differently. I mean, your parents get financial support from other sources, right? Dave told me so. Meanwhile, my parents also need help; I have to try and help them with my pittance of an income, and my earnings will always depend only on how well I do. I don’t have telepathy or whatever it is to help me out, or a sponsorship to fall back on. You don’t have a clue what pressure that creates.”
“But I…” Now I was the one gaping in disbelief. I couldn’t believe that Dave had fed Monika such a huge untruth about my parents, and that she had swallowed it. They had no other sources of income…they never had.
“You think I’m just a cheerful training partner who loves to party, but you have no idea about my life.” Monika’s words felt like blades. “You don’t understand how much I worry about every parry I flub, about every muscle twinge that could mean an injury, or a missed competition. Yes, I admit, even though we’re friends, I’ve been jealous of you for years.”
Her words made me recoil. I blinked hard as she continued.
“I didn’t start the affair with Dave. He started it. And that’s all it was… an occasional affair. He said you were frigid. So from time to time, we’d go out and dance and have some fun, and sleep together. You know, at first I thought it would lead somewhere. That he would leave you and start a life with me, especially when you went off and started fooling around with Hassan. But even there, I didn’t get what you had. Dave never even contemplated divorcing you. I was just a sideline for him; some entertainment. From time to time he’d help me out financially if I had a bad month, give me cash or buy me things. But I always had to ask nicely. To beg him, more like.” She scrubbed tears from her face.
I could find nothing to say that would stem the tirade of bitterness that Monika had kept locked inside.
“Carlos is an old school friend of mine,” she explained. “He needed money, and so did I. We set you up and shared the profits from selling those shots. Dave never knew about it. I was angry and I wanted to hurt you, so that you could see what it felt like to be pulled down. And I thought maybe, if the affair with Hassan became public knowledge, Dave might change his mind and leave you. I… I started hating you, Claire. And that’s why… I’m sorry.” Her thin shoulders sagged as she stared down at the floor.
“We were supposed to be best friends,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse. “I trusted you. You can’t believe how wrong you are about so many things, because you never bothered to find out the real story. Because you were so quick to believe lies, and jump to conclusions without asking me for the truth. You wanted to destroy my life? Well, you succeeded beyond your wildest dreams. Not only in destroying my life, but my parents’, who are in desperate financial straits. You came very close to destroying Hassan’s future, too, in a way you don’t even understand and which I’m not going to explain. Well done. Are you happy now?”
She was crying now; bent over with her hands covering her face as her shoulders shook with huge, racking sobs.
I turned to go, but stopped at the door. “I hope you and Dave get together eventually. One thing I can truthfully say is that you deserve each other.”
Then I closed the door and headed for the spare room.
Luck was not on my side. As I passed the master bedroom, I almost collided with Dave, who was coming out. He must have been showering; he was wearing a different shirt and I could smell his freshly applied deodorant.
“Claire! Where the hell have you been?” I could see his mind working at full speed as he tried to come up with an explanation for Monika’s presence. Obviously deciding attack was the best form of defense, he continued, “You’re still in your evening gown and you never came home. Do you know how worried I’ve been? I called Monika to see if you’d spent the night there, and you hadn’t. Where were you?”
A little voice inside me said, “Ignore him, just ignore him, let the lawyers deal with this.”
I decided to ignore the little voice.
“Last night, I was in the Bohemian Ballroom,” I spat out, and had the satisfaction of watching his mouth drop open.
&nb
sp; “I…” he began.
“Dave, it’s over. Everything. Our marriage, the sponsorship deal. I can’t renew a contract based on nepotism, or spend my time doing P.R. for a firm whose management treats me like shit. Maybe you can suggest that Monika replaces me, because I’m done with this. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” As soon as I’d worked out how I was going to afford them.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers!” he shouted. “Claire, you must be crazy. Look what you’re throwing away!”
“I don’t care what I’m throwing away. I care about a future where I’m happy. Where my husband doesn’t screw around behind my back. Where I can trust my friends, and where those friends don’t hire paparazzi photographers to try and incriminate me.”
Dave’s mouth dropped open. I could see from his stupefied expression that he hadn’t known.
“Maybe you should ask your lover about her school friend Carlos, and find out why she asked him to take those pictures of me,” I said. “And now, I’m out of here. My mother’s had a fall and I have to go and help her. Send my apologies to Toby and Daniel for the meeting tomorrow. Tell them the answer is no, I’m not renewing the contract. And wish them a nice life.”
I marched, as best I could in my high heels, to the spare room. Opening the wardrobe, I quickly chose a pair of jeans and a pretty, cream jersey that my mother had given me a few years ago.
I pulled on socks, Skechers, dragged a brush through my tangled hair and tied it back. I made sure I had my phone charger, together with my wallet and I.D. I was desperate to call Patrick. I’d charge my phone as soon as I reached my parents’ house; there was nowhere in my car to plug it in. I was panicking twice – mostly for my mother, but also at the thought of him coming back to his apartment and finding me vanished, Cinderella-like.
The journey seemed to take forever. I tried my best to keep calm, to drive sensibly, even though I was still seething inside as I relived the awful confrontations I’d just had, and struggled to come to terms with the shock of what I’d discovered.
Soaring Page 20
