The Perfect Life

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get your home number,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried your mobile, but I must have the wrong number–’

  ‘I blocked you,’ she interrupted him without compunction. ‘I think you might have misunderstood my friendliness at the party and assumed it was something more. So, let me make this quite clear… I do not want to meet you.’ There was silence for so long that Molly thought he’d hung up, but then she heard the slight rasp of his breath. She was about to repeat herself when he spoke.

  ‘I think it’s you that have misunderstood,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure why I’m bothering except you always seemed like a nice woman, and there’s something I thought you should know.’

  Know?

  ‘I’m taking a big risk contacting you,’ he continued. ‘I’d be in trouble if it came out. Listen, forget I rang.’

  ‘No wait,’ Molly said quickly. ‘You can’t ring up, tell me there’s something I need to know, then bugger off. What is it you want to tell me?’

  ‘I can’t do this over the phone. Meet me. Tomorrow at one, in the coffee shop on the corner of Ebury Street and Lower Belgrave Street. You know it? Casper’s?’

  It was ten minutes’ walk from Jack’s office; she had been in it a couple of times in their early months together when they couldn’t bear not to see each other for a whole day. How long ago that seemed. How long ago it was. She couldn’t believe the café was still there. ‘Casper’s. Yes, I know it. Okay, tomorrow at one. Here’s my new mobile number, just in case.’ She reeled off the number and dropped the handset back on the stand.

  Maybe Stuart would be able to tell her what was bothering Jack. It would be one worry off her mind.

  19

  When Jack still hadn’t arrived home by midnight, Molly headed to bed where exhaustion closed her eyes and she drifted into a restless sleep. But turmoil wasn’t a good bedfellow and after only a couple of hours she was wide awake.

  The silence in the room was oppressive, uneasy. She felt pinned to the bed by the weight of all that was hanging over her and, panicking, she struggled to her feet and felt along the wall for the light switch. The sudden brightness swept the shadows and shades from the room. Her breathing, fast and rasping, slowed and quietened. There was no bogeyman hiding in the dark. She sank onto the bed and checked her watch. 3am.

  She hadn’t heard Jack come in. He’d not wanted to wake her; she’d have preferred if he had. A sudden need to see him sent her barefooted to the spare bedroom, turning the doorknob and easing the door open. The curtains weren’t pulled, and streetlights lit the room… and the empty bed. He hadn’t come home.

  Her eyes filled and she slumped against the wall. He had several friends; he could be with any of them. She returned to her bedroom and picked up her mobile, expecting to see a message from him. There were three: from Remi, Freya and Amelia, but nothing from Jack.

  She crawled back under the duvet and shut her eyes. For the next few hours, she dozed, waking each time with a pounding in her chest and the faint hope that he had come home. Each time she swung her feet to the floor and crossed to the spare room, each time desolate to find it empty.

  At six, she gave up, pulled a robe on and went down to make coffee and something to eat. Apart from half a sandwich she’d had at Amelia’s the day before, Molly had had nothing to eat since the hotel.

  She made toast and sat at the table nibbling it while she drank her coffee and waited for the world to wake up. Finding the quiet of the house depressing, she switched on the TV. She didn’t look to see what was on, it didn’t matter; all she wanted was the sound of voices to keep her company.

  It wasn’t until eight thirty that she heard a key in the lock. She kept her eyes on the kitchen door, waiting for it to open. When it did, Jack stood looking at her, one hand on the doorknob, a curious expression on his face. He was still wearing his suit, but it was creased, his tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. A five o’clock shadow shaded his jaw. It added an air of menace as he stood without speaking.

  The silence dragged out. Molly got to her feet and went to switch the kettle on, hoping that a hot drink might cure the chill that gripped her belly.

  She watched him take off his jacket and hang it carefully on the back of a chair, struck once again by how thin he’d become. The yearly annual check-up his company insisted upon had only been two months before. She’d seen the report, she knew he was in perfect physical health. Or, at least, he had been. ‘Are you okay?’ she said into the silence before spooning coffee into two mugs.

  ‘Okay?’ he snorted. ‘Gosh, why wouldn’t I be?’ He hit his forehead so hard with the heel of his hand that she heard the sound across the room. ‘Oh yes, I remember why I wouldn’t bloody well be okay, why I’m a million miles from being even remotely near okay, because my wife got herself involved with a stranger, a stranger who was murdered, and now I have the police calling to the damn office because my wife… my wife is under investigation.’

  She added milk and shoved his mug across the counter. ‘I wasn’t involved with him, Jack, and I’m not under investigation,’ she said, hoping she was right. ‘I’m simply helping the police with their enquiries.’ She allowed the bitterness in her voice to spill out. ‘Thanks, by the way, for giving them my phone number and not bothering to tell me.’

  Without responding, he picked up his coffee and took it to the sofa. He sat, crossed his legs and switched the TV to a news channel.

  She clasped her hands around her mug and lifted it to her lips. It would be nice to throw it across the room and watch the arc of coffee shatter his composure. ‘Where have you been, anyway?’ She knew it would have been with one of his friends, but she couldn’t resist saying, ‘Did you find yourself a pretty shoulder to cry on?’

  He moved so suddenly that she was startled even before he threw the mug. It missed her head by inches, hot coffee splashing her skin, causing her to jump up with a yelp of fright. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him lose his temper. The man standing glaring at her with his hands clenched in fists was a stranger. Brushing away the splashes of coffee with a tea towel grabbed from the rail, she stared at him. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Me? It’s you that’s lost your mind. How dare you accuse me? Just because you’ve the morals of an alley cat, don’t put that on me.’

  The mug had hit a cupboard and crashed onto the floor where it had smashed into shards of china. She looked at it in confusion. It felt like her life. Trying to get her thoughts in order, she used the tea towel to mop up the coffee that had streaked the countertop, the wall behind her and the floor. She mopped it slowly, conscious of Jack’s heaving body standing a few feet away. With a final sweep across the counter, she threw the cloth on top of the broken china, moved to the sofa and sat.

  ‘You didn’t come home.’ Her voice sounded broken, pathetic.

  His temper gone as quickly as it had come, he ran a hand through his hair, and took a step towards her. ‘I’ve never cheated on you, Molly. I always thought we had something so precious, so special, I wasn’t going to risk destroying it.’

  Guilt seared her. She wanted to say she felt the same, that what they had was special, and so very precious. Too precious to be destroyed by her stupid moment of weakness, a meaningless nothing. She wanted to grab him, scream at him until he listened, until he acknowledged the stupidity of risking what they had for something that never happened. Instead, keeping her eyes on his, she asked quietly, ‘So, where did you go?’

  He took a step closer. ‘I cadged a bed at a mate’s.’

  She wanted to ask which mate, but she didn’t because she’d known him too long and she knew, without a doubt, that he was lying.

  20

  Molly could see the lie in the way Jack’s eyes were unwilling to meet hers, and in that slight restlessness that had him shuffle from foot to foot. She wanted to challenge him, but a wave of weariness swept over her and took all concern for him with it. Perhaps he’d stayed
overnight in the office, trying to iron out whatever problems he was having. Maybe, despite his protestations, he had been with a woman.

  Too tired and numb to deal with any more grief, she pleaded exhaustion and went back to bed. As she lay trying not to cry, she heard Jack moving about, the hum of the shower and the opening and closing of doors. Exhaustion, both mental and physical, had seeped into her bones and when the house quietened, she drifted off to sleep, waking confused a short while later. Checking her phone, she saw it was after nine. Using the same throaty voice she’d used before, she rang her office to say she was still unwell, hanging up before they could query when she’d be back. It wasn’t something she knew.

  She lay staring at the ceiling, thinking. What did Stuart want to tell her? His voice had sounded worried, concerned even. It had to be something important; something to do with Jack’s troubles at work. The two men weren’t friends as such, but they were friendly in the way that work colleagues often were.

  Colour rushed to her cheeks when she remembered thinking he was making a play for her. He and that stranger; she’d been wrong both times. A stupid self-deluded fool, desperately clinging to a version of herself that no longer existed.

  Restless, she threw on a robe and went downstairs for coffee. She’d need her wits about her when she met Stuart Mercer, for whatever it was he was going to tell her.

  When the doorbell chimed, she put her mug down and headed to the front door, hoping it wasn’t the police with yet more questions. She pulled the door open and immediately relaxed when she saw Amelia standing there. ‘Thank goodness it’s you,’ Molly said.

  ‘I did text you to ask how yesterday went but you didn’t reply. I was going to ring and then decided, what the hell, I’d come over.’ Amelia stepped inside and enveloped Molly in a hug. ‘I can’t stay long.’

  Molly led the way back into the living room. ‘Have a seat. There’s coffee, or I can make tea?’

  ‘Coffee is fine.’ Throwing her coat on the back of a chair, Amelia sat and looked at Molly. ‘Tell me everything.’

  Molly took another mug and poured coffee, placing it carefully on the table before sitting back against the cushions and telling Amelia about her visit to the police station the day before and Jack’s behaviour earlier that morning.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Amelia shook her head slowly. ‘The man on the canal, the police think he was waiting for you?’

  ‘It looks like it,’ Molly said. ‘He has form for duping gullible older women. Pathetic women like me who were seeking something that doesn’t exist. I was an absolute fool.’

  Amelia picked up her mug and took a drink. ‘It’s your friend with his amazing brown eyes who’s at fault, Mol, not you. You must stop blaming yourself.’

  Moll’s fingers tightened on her coffee. Amazing brown eyes? Where had she heard that before? Then she remembered. During her interview at the police station, DI Fanshawe had mentioned a witness who’d commented on Lucien Pleasant’s amazing brown eyes. ‘Turquoise,’ she said softly. ‘He’d turquoise eyes, not brown, and they weren’t real. He wore tinted contact lenses and changed the colour to confuse his victims.’

  ‘I told you nobody really had turquoise eyes,’ Amelia said. She lifted her mug. ‘Is there more coffee?’

  ‘Of course.’ Molly stood and fetched the cafetière from the counter. She brushed the eye-colour error aside. It wasn’t important. After all, it wasn’t as if Amelia had seen his eyes. If she had she’d have remembered the colour. Molly filled both their mugs, wondering how much caffeine she’d need to ingest before she felt in any way alert.

  ‘You have to stop blaming yourself,’ Amelia said, adding milk to hers. ‘Eventually it will all blow over. Jack won’t stay mad with you, he’s not that sort.’

  He’s not that sort. Molly picked up her mug and took a long drink to hide her annoyance. Since when had Amelia become an expert on her husband. For goodness’ sake, they barely knew one another. Over the years, they’d met maybe a handful of times and only on a couple of occasions since Amelia and Tristan had returned to live in London.

  Molly lifted her eyes from her coffee to regard her friend suspiciously, remembering how pleased she was to see Jack mixing with her female friends at their party. Maybe it was only one he had mixed with, Amelia tossing her damn hair around and laughing at something he had said. And what was it she had said later… oh yes, that Jack was one of the sexiest men she’d ever met. Molly had thought she’d imagined the expression of lust on her friend’s face. Maybe she hadn’t.

  ‘Is Tristan still away?’ Molly asked, having a vague recollection he’d said he was flying somewhere after the weekend.

  ‘Yes, he’s in Berlin for a couple more days, endless meetings about something or other. I would have gone but Berlin isn’t my favourite city. And anyway,’ she said, ‘I’ve a lot on here.’

  Jack never had said where he’d spent the night, could he have gone to Amelia, maybe to question her about the weekend, staying for the comfort she would have happily given? That Jack was her friend’s husband wouldn’t have stopped Amelia from taking what she wanted, especially if it wasn’t the first time.

  Molly shut her eyes on the tears that had begun to gather as if it would stop them falling. It didn’t work, she could feel them squeeze their way out to tremble a moment in the corner of her eyes before gathering momentum and careering down her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, don’t cry, Mol!’

  Amelia did sincere entreaty so well, Molly thought, opening her eyes. She brushed the tears away with her fingers and looked at her friend. She looked sincere too. But suspicions, once aroused, were hard to put to sleep. Amelia and Jack. Was it possible? And what about that amazing brown eyes remark? What was it the police had said, something about Lucien Pleasant liking rich, vulnerable women?

  Vulnerable like her; rich like Amelia.

  If Amelia had been one of his victims, Molly knew she’d never have told anyone. She’d certainly never have gone to the police to expose herself as such a fool. She’d have paid up and shut up.

  Molly put her mug down and dragged a smile into place. ‘Tears come easily these days. I’ve an appointment myself at one,’ she added, looking at her watch. ‘I’d better go and get ready.’

  ‘You look worn out,’ Amelia said, ‘you should get a taxi to wherever you’re going.’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine. I’m meeting a friend in Casper’s, it’s only a few minutes’ walk from Victoria station. A taxi would take forever.’ She stood and gathered the mugs, hoping Amelia would take the hint. It would be a relief when she was gone. Molly was probably being ridiculous, but the life she had considered as mundane, almost boring, had become a crazy rollercoaster that sent her thoughts churning. Apart from Freya and Remi, who thank goodness, were away from it all, there appeared to be nothing solid, nothing reliable left in her life.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Maybe the sudden inexplicable suspicion of her friend was crazy but when was it that she’d started worrying about Jack? Wasn’t it around the time that Amelia and Tristan had come back to London?

  ‘Okay,’ Amelia’s voice interrupted Molly’s thoughts, ‘I’ll head off.’ She looked at Molly with concern in her eyes. ‘You should try to get some rest when you get back, you look shattered.’

  ‘Always good to know,’ she said with an attempt at humour. ‘I’ll try to sleep later.’

  Amelia put an arm around her, gave her a quick hug and picked up her coat and bag. ‘Why don’t we meet later for a glass of wine in O’Dea’s? Maybe around six?’

  O’Dea’s? Why not? She could text Jack and get him to meet her there. ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Great, I’ll let myself out.’

  There was a sharp clip-clip as Amelia’s stilettos crossed the wooden floor of the hall but it wasn’t until Molly heard the front door shut that she let out the breath she’d been holding and stumbled to the sofa where she sat and shut her eyes. It was over an hour before she moved. She didn’t want
to meet Stuart. Any more complications and her brain might explode. But maybe, whatever it was he wanted to tell her, would clarify whatever was going on in Jack’s life. If she could be convinced all his problems were work-related and nothing to do with a woman, she might be able to think straight.

  On that slim hope, she stood. She’d enough time to have a quick shower and dress.

  Twenty minutes later, wearing heavier make-up than she’d normally do during the day, she pulled on her coat, grabbed her bag and headed out.

  The rain had stopped, the day was blue-sky bright, but it didn’t lift her mood. She walked, eyes down, mind swirling with conflicting thoughts, one minute sure Amelia was having an affair with Jack and involved somehow with Lucien Pleasant, the next castigating herself for her crazy paranoia.

  Molly reached South Kensington station in a daze, waited for the Circle line tube and ten minutes later was making her way through the crowds at Victoria station. Outside, the pavement was a heaving mass of people; fast-moving Londoners intent on their destination, dawdling, gawping tourists stopping abruptly to take photographs, selfie-sticks wielded like dangerous weapons forcing passers-by to duck and dive.

  As a veteran London commuter, she weaved and dodged without much thought and with little attention to what was going on around her. Strange notions chased through her head and befuddled her brain. Nearer to the café, the crowds thinned. She stood at the roadside waiting for pedestrian lights to change, throwing a sympathetic glance at the woman beside her who was trying, unsuccessfully by the sound of the cries, to soothe a fractious child. When Molly looked back to the crossing lights, it was turquoise eyes she saw, and she closed her eyes briefly on the stupidity of it all. Maybe her sudden suspicion of Amelia was trying to deflect attention from her own idiotic behaviour. Tears welled as she watched the lights, waiting for them to turn.

  A blow to the small of her back made Molly cry out as she was pushed forward into the moving traffic. She sought desperately to regain her balance, arms flailing, twisting her body so she was at an angle to the car that was bearing down on her. That one movement saved her from the full brunt of the collision but the contact was enough to send her flying.