There was a click and David stepped into the room.
‘She’s so lovely, isn’t she?’ he said.
Amy’s brow clouded. ‘Josie?’
‘Josie?’ said David with surprise. ‘I’m talking about Tilly. I’ve just been in to check on her.’
‘Oh,’ said Amy, looking down at the pool.
He walked across, glancing over her shoulder. Just a peek and a grunt: no interest. But then he would do that, wouldn’t he?
‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘Out with it. What’s wrong?’
Amy shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Come on, you haven’t spoken to me all evening.’
‘You embarrassed me. At the shoot. Implying I was a bloody bad mother in front of everyone. About the cream.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. But come on, Amy. She was burnt to a crisp.’
‘I put suncream . . .’ She stopped. There was no point trying to convince him. And anyway, it would have been a lie. She’d simply forgotten. People did.
‘Look, I’m sorry, okay?’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean any harm; we were all just having such a good time and . . .’
David took her gently by the arms. ‘I know, honey,’ he said. ‘It’s just that the stakes are so much higher when it’s Tilly, aren’t they?’
She moved to pull away, but he kept hold of her.
‘Amy, everyone knows you’re a great mother,’ he said firmly. ‘Beautiful and brilliant. If Tilly grows up to be half the woman her mum is, then I’d say we’ve raised a pretty sensational human being.’
Amy looked at him and nodded. She wasn’t sure if the situation had been reversed that she would have been so understanding. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘You’re pretty good too.’ She turned back to the window.
‘So what else is bothering you?’
She looked down at the water, blue black in the moonlight, ripples spreading slowly to the edge. Should she mention it? From this distance, it all seemed so stupid.
‘Look, I’m sorry, but I just didn’t like the way you seemed so cosy by the pool this afternoon.’
‘Cosy? Who?’
‘You and Josie.’
‘What?’
Amy didn’t say anything.
‘I was acting! Playing some stupid role for the camera.’ He stepped towards her, but she wriggled away. ‘Come on Amy,’ he said, staring at her. ‘What’s going on here? You’re jealous of the nanny now?’
She shook her head, struggling to put her feelings into words. ‘There’s just something . . . not quite right about her. I feel on edge having her here.’
She stopped herself, not quite sure why she’d said it. Yes she’d felt jealous by the pool, but that sounded . . . well, neurotic. Crazy, even. She looked up at him expecting accusations, but he just smiled and put his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging the knots.
‘I know it’s weird when we’re so used to Claudia, but Josie’s helping us out, remember? We asked her to come, not the other way around.’
‘I know all that,’ said Amy, arching her back, enjoying his touch. ‘It’s just it looked . . . like she was flirting with you. She was flirting with the photographer, too.’
David laughed. ‘Honey, she’s just a child. I think I can manage to control myself. And anyway, Tills loves her.’ He turned Amy around to face him, his hands still working on her neck. ‘And do you seriously want to spend the whole holiday staging Red Riding Hood?’
She gave a soft laugh. ‘No, not really. I mean, I loved it while it lasted, but it’s so exhausting.’
‘Exactly,’ said David. ‘And as you have other things to be doing . . .’ He nodded towards the notebooks and papers strewn over her side of the bed.
‘David, you know why I’m doing this,’ she began defensively, but he held up a hand.
‘Not a criticism, don’t be so sensitive. My point was that the application is important to you, and without Josie’s help, it won’t get done. You can’t have it both ways.’
Amy pulled a face. She hated it when he was right.
‘Look, I’d rather it was just us too,’ said David. ‘But it is what it is. We have to make the best of what we have, right?’ He bent to kiss her nose. ‘And don’t forget that you gave her this opportunity out of a desire to help her pull herself up out of the same place you came from, which was – and is – a nice thing to do.’
‘I suppose. But—’
‘No buts,’ said David, crossing to the bathroom and closing the door.
Amy looked out of the window, then instinctively ducked back. Sitting on the edge of the pool, long legs trailing in the water, was Josie. And she was staring straight up at their room.
Chapter 14
Today, the village was almost unrecognisable. Sleepy and off the beaten track, Lourmarin was not usually a draw for day trippers beyond the chateau on the outskirts. But then came market day, and it was as bees descending on a hive. The lanes were crammed with stalls piled high with everything from olives and wine to hand-fired ceramics and rustic furniture, each one besieged by eager punters buzzing and shouting and waving wads of cash. Getting from the little playground to the square – usually a two-minute stroll – had taken Amy and Juliet fifteen minutes, elbowing the basket-wielding Frenchwomen out of the way. And that was another curious aspect of the village: even the tourists were French. None of the usual mix of Germans, Spanish and Brits; Amy could have sworn she had heard nothing but the local rolling dialect in the week they had been here.
‘I think the kids deserve an ice cream, don’t you?’ said Juliet, tugging Hettie and Alex through the crowd and out into a narrow space next to a deli.
‘Ooh, yes, yes! Can we?’ sang the children almost as one.
‘Of course,’ smiled Amy, nodding to Josie, who dutifully took the drooling children into the shop, where they pressed their eager faces against the counter, shouting out the names of flavours they wanted.
It had been two days since the photo shoot, and perhaps sensing Amy’s unease with her, Josie had wisely kept herself in the background. Amy took a minute to study her now. Her beaten-up tennis shoes, thin ankle chain and pretty sundress, ever so slightly sheer in the fierce midday sun, was hardly the look of an overt temptress. It wasn’t her fault that she looked fresh and sexy in the simplest of clothes, and it was not as if the girl had actually done anything wrong. Amy found herself feeling bad.
‘Look at these,’ said Juliet, wandering over to the shop next door, inspecting a case of silver and jade jewellery. There was a gorgeous green gemstone hanging from a gold chain that immediately caught Amy’s eye, but her first thought was how it would look photographed on a velvet cushion across a double-page spread. She knew that David’s dire predictions about getting over-stressed about the Mode application had come true. She couldn’t think about anything else and had spent the past two days obsessively scribbling in a series of notebooks.
‘It’s a yes from me,’ she said, pointing at the green stone.
‘Yes to what?’ boomed a voice, and Max put his arms around Amy and Juliet’s shoulders. ‘To a Maxie sandwich? I know you’ve both been dying to ask all these years.’
Juliet picked up Max’s hand with her finger and thumb, her face pinched as if it were a dead rat. ‘The jewellery, Max. Mind out of the gutter, please.’
‘See anything you like?’ asked David, joining them. Amy pointed out the green pendant. ‘Hmm, that’d go with your eyes.’
‘But my eyes are blue.’
‘It’s wotsit,’ he said. ‘Complementary, isn’t it? Like a feature wall.’
‘Thanks,’ said Amy, smiling to herself.
‘That’s lovely,’ said Josie, slowly licking an ice cream. ‘Is it real gold?’
David bent closer to the cabinet, then took a sharp intake of breath. ‘At that price, you’d hope so, wouldn
’t you? I thought little village markets were supposed to be full of bargains.’
‘Not on market days,’ said Max. ‘I’m sure they double the price for the day trippers.’
‘Are we day trippers, Uncle Max?’ asked Tilly, holding out her dripping cone for him to lick.
‘No, darling, we’re practically natives.’
‘What does natives mean?’
‘It means people who live here.’
Tilly frowned up at Amy. ‘Are we living in French now?’ she asked.
Amy laughed. ‘No, darling, just on holiday.’
‘Can’t we stay? I like it here.’
‘No, precious, Mummy and Daddy have work in London . . .’ She stopped, her head suddenly spinning. It was as if all her blood had drained out of her, and she reached over to a stone wall to steady herself. The others had already walked on ahead, and the noise of the market seemed to press around her, locking her in a muffled bubble of sound: alien accents, shouts and cries.
She tried to focus; wanted to shout out for someone to give her a glass of water or a chair to sit down on, but no one seemed to pay any attention to the stylish English lady who was struggling just to stand. Snapping her eyes shut, she began to breathe deeply, forcing her lungs to fill with air. It was a hot day and she could feel the sun burning on the nape of her neck. A touch of sunstroke, that was all it was. She just needed to rehydrate and have a lie-down.
She could see David up ahead, holding Tilly’s hand at a stall selling a selection of paper kites. Tilly was smiling, happy at her father’s side with her ice cream and her friends to play with. Amy made her way over.
‘I’m going back to the villa,’ she said quietly, rubbing her tight chest.
David spun around. ‘Already?’
‘I don’t feel great.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I feel a bit sick and dizzy.’
‘I’ll come back with you.’
She squeezed his shoulder and forced a smile. ‘Don’t be silly. Stay with the others. I’ll just go for a little lie-down.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll just slip off, otherwise Max will make a fuss.’
‘I’ll cover for you.’ David winked.
It was just an ordinary washbag. Stripy, with a gold zip, stylish enough, but not the sort of thing that would make anyone uncomfortable. Yet Amy stared at it sitting on the bathroom sink, butterflies blooming in her stomach.
‘This is silly,’ she whispered, reaching for the bag and unzipping it, quickly emptying the contents. Miniature soap and body wash, travel toothbrush. And half a dozen BlissVit vials and a box of syringes. She had been worried about putting Dr Al Saraf’s vitamin boost kit into her hold baggage, but clearly no one had bothered to X-ray it, or perhaps vitamin shots were a common item in French women’s luggage, along with flimsy lingerie and Gauloises.
Remembering Dr Al Saraf’s instructions, she pulled up her skirt and exposed the side of her right buttock. Not very dignified, but then medication rarely was. Opening a vial, she used a syringe to draw up the liquid, then, tapping the barrel, squirted a stream of the fluid into the air like the fountain in the courtyard. Pressing her lips into a grim line, she jabbed the needle into her buttock and pressed down.
She had always been dubious about the various procedures her friends and colleagues seemed to use with abandon – Botox, fillers and vampire facials – and had so far steered away from them, preferring expensive creams and a constant bottle of Evian water on her desk. Six months ago, she doubted she would ever have used anything like BlissVit, but when everyone else seemed to be doing it, when she just needed something to help manage the stress and keep her energy levels up, it seemed like a quick-fix solution to her needs.
She wrapped the used syringe in tissue paper and pushed it to the bottom of the chrome bin. Wouldn’t want Max and Claire’s cleaner to jump to the wrong conclusion, although Amy was sure that working in this household, an important attribute was being unshockable. Then she sat back and closed her eyes, but although she tried to imagine the goodness pumping around her bloodstream, she didn’t feel any different. Actually a little more nauseous, if anything. Disappointed, she grabbed the vials and needles and stuffed them back into the bag, zipping it up and shoving it into the back of the bathroom drawer.
She wasn’t sure if it had been sunstroke back at the market, but she wasn’t entirely surprised that she had almost passed out. Exhaustion had been creeping up on her for weeks. Juliet had been right that she hadn’t had a holiday for a year; she had even worked over Christmas. The office had been officially shut, but Amy had spent the time reading the competition and planning future issues, wanting to start the new year with six months of future issues planned.
Clarity of mind – that was what kept her sane. The key to being in control was being organised.
Sighing, she took in the bomb site that was their room. Trousers draped over a chair, a shirt hanging from a cupboard door, two – no, three – damp towels just dropped on the floor; another on the desk near her Mode application.
‘Why are men so incapable of picking stuff up?’ she groaned, bending to grab a flip-flop poking out from under the bed.
Admittedly this was her room too, but she had barely spent any time here in the past few days; it was so hot in here, and there was more space to spread out her notes and magazines on the terrace or in the garden under the dappled shade of one of the trees.
She almost tripped over a pair of shoes David had evidently kicked off in a hurry, then scooped up a pair of shorts and a jumper, along with a pair of pants, which she dropped into a carrier bag. Seeing something peeking out from the rumpled bedclothes, she bent – and stopped.
Her heart was immediately in her mouth. Just touching the edge, she knew instantly what it was – a bra, it was a bra – and she knew it wasn’t hers. Gingerly she lifted the edge of the sheet to look. It was lacy. Pink. Definitely not hers, then. Amy never wore pink; it just didn’t suit her.
She sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress, her mind whirring through the possibilities. Another guest had left it behind? No, they had been there a week, and Max and Claire’s maid service had changed the sheets twice already. A joke? Maybe David had put it there as a prank. She shook her head. He wasn’t that kind of man. He had a dry sense of humour, not the juvenile sort required for practical jokes. Which of course led her to Max. But not even Max . . . He was an idiot, but this was far too subtle for him. He might put a live tiger in their bed, but nothing as straightforward as underwear.
‘So what then?’ she whispered, her head pounding. For a split second, she let the suspicion leak in: had David cheated?
She felt her stomach flip, then drop like the first loop on a roller coaster.
She forced herself to look at the bra again, feeling it in her hand. It wasn’t expensive, its scratchy nylon a giveaway that it was from the sort of cheap fashion store where teenagers and students liked to shop.
Josie.
It couldn’t be; he wouldn’t, would he? After seven years of marriage, this was the first time Amy had ever seriously faced up to the possibility that David might actually cheat. But then why not? Means, motive and opportunity: she had seen enough TV cop shows to know that was the detective’s trinity. Means? He was handsome, charming and rich. What else did you need? Opportunity? He worked long hours, went to conferences, hung out entertaining clients in hotel bars; Christ, he could be at it all day for all she knew. And motive? That was the killer, the one where the dark oozed in under the door. Why would he cheat? Because he’d fallen out of love with her? Because she wasn’t putting out enough – or worse, she was actually crap in the sack? How would she know? The sex had certainly trailed off in the past few years, but wasn’t that normal?
Breathe, Amy, breathe. She reminded herself that the chemistry she had seen between Jos
ie and David at the photo shoot was just acting for the camera. Taking a ragged breath, she crossed to the dresser and stuffed the bra in the back of a drawer. Before she closed it, she took one last look at the offending article, at the lacy edges, imagining David kissing her there, his lips against her skin, his hands feeling for the clasp . . .
‘Stop it,’ she hissed, slamming the drawer shut.
She had to think logically. The question wasn’t whether David could cheat – of course he could; any man could cheat – it was whether he would. And Amy had no reason to think that. Beyond a few arguments about work on both sides, they never rowed; in fact they seemed to enjoy each other’s company a lot more than other couples they knew, who seemed to take every opportunity to get away from each other. So why was the bra there?
‘Amy?’
David’s voice from downstairs made her freeze, air halfway to her lungs. She could hear the sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs.
She rubbed her hands over her face, then, with a final glance at the dresser drawer, she made for the door. It was time to play detective.
Chapter 15
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ Claire said.
‘What do I need more cheese for?’ smiled Amy, scooping her hair up into a ponytail as she stood at the front door of the villa.
‘There’s always room for more cheese,’ shouted Max from the window of the blue Range Rover. ‘What about you, Josie? Camembert?’
Josie shook her head. ‘I’m going to hang out by the pool for a bit,’ she said.
Amy stood and waved as the Range Rover disappeared through the gates and Josie put on her panama hat and disappeared towards the pool. ‘Finally,’ she whispered. After an hour of fussing and goodbyes and running back into the house for a wallet and sunglasses and God knows what else, Max, Claire, Hettie and Alex had departed for a wine and cheese run into the village. She’d thought they would never leave.
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