‘I just wanted to check you were still back at nine p.m.,’ Amy said when Rosemary came back on the line.
‘It might be a little later. Stuart’s talking about moving into Cinderella’s castle, but I’ll tear him away for the early-evening Eurostar.’
‘I’m glad you’ve had a great time.’
‘We really have. David said you’d had a very big week at work. Is everything okay?’
She felt a dart of envy for David’s parents, happily retired and happily married, pottering around Disneyland with nothing more to worry about than what to have for lunch.
‘Fine, Rosemary, fine. Just glad it’s Friday,’ she said.
Rosemary said goodbye, and Amy slid the phone back into her bag and continued down the lane. As she turned the corner, she saw the little red sports car parked under the shade of a tree and smiled. Her guess had been correct; it would have been annoying if Juliet hadn’t been here after all when she had driven all this way.
The cottage was to the right, a high hedge shielding it from the road, a wrought-iron gate opening onto a little stone path. Amy swung it open and walked up, trying the latch to the front door. Locked. Curious: Juliet never locked the house when she was in.
She went back to the lane and followed the hedge down to where the sports car was parked. Its bonnet was making that ‘tick-tick’ noise suggesting it had been driven recently. She knew there was a side gate leading into the back garden. Juliet often sat out there in good weather, her work spread across a gnarled wooden table, Radio 3 turned up full blast. Amy cocked an ear: no music, but the sound of a door opening. She put her hand on the handle to the side gate, then stopped.
Something wasn’t quite right.
The gate was slatted, with gaps between the wood. Craning her neck, Amy peered through and saw a man walk across the back patio. He was tall and tanned, perhaps late twenties, with a floppy blonde fringe. And he was muscular too: she could see that because he was only wearing boxer shorts. Careful not to make a sound, she stepped back, her thoughts in a whirl. Was this why Juliet hadn’t told her PA where she was going, and why she hadn’t answered her phone? Was she having an affair?
She held her breath as another figure came out of the house. Not Juliet; Peter. Wearing an unbuttoned shirt and not much else. Amy watched with rising horror as he smiled, crossed to the tanned guy and kissed him full on the mouth.
She closed her eyes, stifling the scream she knew was building. She had to get out, had to get away. She stepped carefully on the path, using all her concentration to avoid snapping twigs or scuffing stones, anything that might alert Peter and his friend to her presence. Peter and his lover.
As she turned the corner of the house, she stumbled into a patch of brambles, snagging her tights. She stopped again, freezing as she heard laughter. Distant, still in the garden. No doubt preoccupied with other things. Oh Christ, she thought. Juliet. What was she going to say to Juliet?
She ran up the lane to her car, checking over her shoulder every now and again to make sure she hadn’t been seen, then jumped in and fired up the engine, only concerned with putting distance between her and that scene in the garden.
She stopped after just a few hundred yards, when she was far enough away, and sat frozen, listening to her own breath, gripping the steering wheel as if it were a life raft. As she stared at her hands, she could see the gold band of her wedding ring glinting on her finger. She had to close her eyes to stop looking at it.
Was there anybody you could trust any more?
She’d always thought of Peter as steady and reliable. Too steady if the truth be told, but his presence was comforting and reassuring. She thought back to Provence, where his kind calmness had got her through that last night at the villa.
This would destroy Juliet, rip her whole life apart. Peter had never been Amy’s idea of a perfect match for her friend, but Juliet loved him – and this was how he repaid her.
For a moment, Amy considered the alternative. Let sleeping dogs lie? Wasn’t that the phrase? How appropriate. She shook her head. She couldn’t, not now she knew the truth. Juliet deserved to know. Some women might be able to live with it, but not Jules. She was straight-down-the-line, uncompromising; she wouldn’t stand for it.
So that meant Amy had to tell her.
Swearing, she pressed the ignition and turned the car back onto the road. New York, she thought; she would tell her in New York.
Chapter 25
Crossing the bridge into Manhattan was one of Amy’s favourite things. It was breathtaking at any time of day, but at sunset it was nothing short of spectacular. The dark outline of the concrete ramparts, the random fairy-chain lights of the skyscrapers, the Vegas wattage of the lit-up Empire State: it always gave her shivers of anticipation. Almost always. Because this time, there was a dark cloud hanging over Manhattan. A trip to the New York shows was the last thing she needed. The gala was a little over a week away, she’d had no word about the job application from Douglas – not that seeing her around the Genesis office would prompt him into putting her on the shortlist, but she could still hope – and she had hardly seen Tilly.
It was a weekend spent with her daughter that had saved Amy from sinking further into depression. Listening to Tilly’s gleeful stories from Disneyland had cheered her up no end, even when David had returned from Hong Kong on the Saturday morning.
Her phone beeped and she read the incoming text.
At the Whitby. Call when you get in. Drinks? Jx
She looked at it again, then clicked off the phone, concentrating on the city skyline, urging the magical city to work a miracle.
‘Straight to the hotel, ma’am?’ asked her driver from the front seat of the town car that had picked her up from JFK.
‘Thanks, Jimmy.’ She grinned. The old Irishman was her regular driver for the shows. You had to have a dedicated and experienced driver for Fashion Week if you wanted to get anywhere on time. And Jimmy was the best: he could find a way through traffic and seemed to know every cop in New York. If he double-parked, they wandered over to chew the fat.
The town car was moving through the deep shadows of Manhattan now: twenty, thirty floors towering above them, like a forest of vast concrete trees so tall you couldn’t see the sky, however much you craned. But at street level, the avenues were awash with backlit neon signs and flashing headlights; all bustle, energy and excitement. Despite her mood, Amy couldn’t help but smile. It was all so alien yet so familiar: the corner delis, the pizza joints, the yellow cabs, the distilled essence of a million Hollywood film sets and eighties cop shows. Just being here made you feel like you were a part of it all, dropped into your own little adventure in the city where anything was possible. At the same time, she suddenly felt old. Manhattan was a young person’s town, all hot eateries and underground clubs, and here she was crossing Seventh Avenue weighed down with work and marriage problems.
‘Your hotel, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Jimmy,’ said Amy, climbing out of the car.
‘Always a pleasure, Mizz Shepherd,’ replied Jimmy. Always? That made her feel old too. This had to be the tenth – twelfth? – time they’d worked together. Maybe it was a young person’s town.
‘You ready for another week of this madness, Jimmy?’
‘I was born ready,’ he grinned. ‘And fashion ain’t nuthin’. You want crazy, you come on over for the dentists’ convention.’ He whistled through his teeth. ‘Those guys really let loose.’
Manhattan hotel rooms – even suites – were notoriously poky at the best of times, but Amy’s room was particularly crowded. A huge pile of invitations and VIP passes for the shows sat on the desk, with various parcels and gifts from the fashion houses on the floor next to it. And right by the window, a large bouquet of flowers that made her heart jump. From David? she wondered, snatching up the accompanying card. No, from the hotel manager, welcoming A
my and her ‘team’.
She had a quick shower and changed into a Valentino jumpsuit even though she was tempted to climb into her pyjamas. She was here to press the flesh, make a good impression with advertisers and the industry, and she had to look forward-facing at all times. During Fashion Week you never knew who you were going to bump into, and she knew she had to make an effort.
Juliet was staying around the corner at a new hotel called the Whitby, which described itself as ‘the hottest new destination in Midtown’. The unimaginatively named Sky Bar was on the twenty-ninth floor, with a view of the park, glorious in the day of course, but a strangely ominous blank space at night, like someone had forgotten to finish the city.
‘That was quick,’ she said as Amy arrived.
‘I can’t stay long.’
‘Make that call after you’ve tasted their amazing gingertinis.’
‘Great place,’ said Amy, looking around her.
‘Great people-watching. I’ve seen two world-class strops already and I’ve only been here ten minutes.’
They both laughed.
‘How was the flight?’
‘The usual,’ said Amy. ‘Matt Damon movie, two G and Ts and about half an hour of sleep. When did you get here?’
‘Sunday. I spent all day yesterday and today shooting the CEO of the hotel group in the penthouse suite. But at least I get to sleep in it.’
‘Lucky thing. Genesis keep downgrading the hotels I’m allowed to stay in. Once upon a time it was the St Regis. Now I have to beg for the YWCA.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ smiled Juliet.
‘No, it’s not,’ said Amy, enjoying their moment of banter.
The waiter brought over two drinks in elegant long-stemmed glasses.
‘I’ve hardly seen you since Provence,’ said Juliet. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Okay. At least Claudia’s back on her feet. Literally. She came back yesterday.’
‘That’s good news.’
‘You know Josie has landed a job at Genesis?’ Amy asked.
‘Where?’ Juliet said with surprise.
‘She’s Douglas’s new PA.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope. Grace has been fired and Josie is the temporary replacement. Apparently she impressed him at William’s party.’
Juliet puffed out her cheeks. ‘She certainly lands on her feet.’
‘By chance or design?’
‘You think she hustled for the job?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she slept with him.’
Juliet didn’t laugh. ‘It was quick work if she did. We only got back from Provence on Saturday.’
‘Josie is the sort of determined young woman who can accomplish a lot in a short space of time.’
Amy took a sip of her drink before she spoke again, impatient for the heady kick that came with drinking spirits, bracing herself to bare her inner thoughts.
‘I think she’s got it in for me,’ she said finally. ‘I went to Douglas’s office for my Mode interview and she was there. And the look on her face – it was as if she knew she was unsettling me and was enjoying it. I lost my step in the interview, I couldn’t think straight—’
‘You’ve had the interview?’ Juliet said. ‘How did it go?’
‘It was awful, Jules. I totally blew my opportunity and it’s all because of Josie.’
Juliet reached over and put her hand on Amy’s.
‘Are you going to let some stupid twenty-one-year-old get the better of you?’
‘She’s not stupid, Jules. That’s what scares me. She’s tough, determined. She knows what she wants and the only thing standing in her way is me.’
Juliet gave a sympathetic smile. ‘She’s a kid, a little ambitious perhaps, stars in her eyes, but I very much doubt she’s out to get you.’
Amy didn’t respond.
‘Call Douglas, ask to see him again,’ said Juliet briskly. ‘Make your pitch.’
‘I tried that yesterday. He didn’t even reply to my email.’
‘He will. How are things with David?’
‘He’s still in the spare room.’
‘Awkward.’
‘I’ll say.’
They’d moved on from the silent treatment over the weekend, but they were still using the sort of clipped, over-polite demeanour usually reserved for tradesmen they suspected of ripping them off. Amy knew she was getting a glimpse of some terrible future where they were forced to tolerate each other for Tilly’s sake, but she couldn’t seem to back down, and the longer things went on, the more David seemed to harden from apologetic to obstinate.
‘How was she? On the flight home?’ Amy had dreaded asking.
‘Josie? She fell asleep on the way to the airport and we weren’t sitting together on the plane. She expressed some concern about your levels of stress, but other than that she seemed pretty unbothered by everything that had happened.’
‘Unrepentant,’ said Amy through tight lips.
‘Or maybe she felt she had nothing to be repentant about.’
‘The bra, Jules. The invoice for the necklace.’
‘It’s hardly a smoking gun.’
Amy finished off her gingertini and summoned the waiter for another one; not because they were so good – although on any other occasion she would have found them deliciously smooth and spicy – but because she wanted to blot everything out and forget.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Juliet asked. Amy nodded. ‘Is it Josie you don’t trust, or David? Is it her you feel threatened by, or is it David?’
‘I hope you’re not making excuses for her, Jules.’
‘All I’m saying is that sometimes, when we worry about something, we project it onto the wrong thing.’
‘She wants my life, Jules. My husband, my job, my house.’
‘Maybe. And do you blame her? David’s rich and handsome. You’re a magazine editor with an amazing home in Notting Hill. She’s hungry and ambitious – you were too, but she might just have fewer morals about what she has to do to get what she wants.’
Amy didn’t want to admit that her friend might be right. Increasingly these days, she was feeling old. Old when she came to New York, old when she talked about social media with Douglas, old when her hairdresser at the Charles Worthington salon suggested a colour, not as a playful change but to cover up the silvery grey at her temples. Her forty-second birthday was just a few weeks away, but sometimes she felt a decade older.
Her husband, on the other hand, looked in his prime. Success, maturity suited him. She’d been ready to believe that he was having an affair with a woman half his age because in her heart she’d been expecting someone like Josie Price to come along and seduce him, and for him to let it happen.
‘I thought you said David loved me,’ she said quietly.
‘He does. But plenty of marriages wobble because you don’t pay them enough attention. Forget Josie for one minute, and think about David. Why you’ve banished him to the spare room on a hunch. Why you were quick to think a bra in the bed meant he was having an affair.’
Amy looked at her friend incredulously. She had expected sympathy; instead she was getting tough love.
‘I can’t believe you somehow think this is my fault. I came all the way out to your cottage on Friday because I was so upset, upset because that girl is trying to wreck my life. And it’s working, too. My marriage, my job . . . it’s as if she’s there, everywhere, putting the boot in. And you think it’s just me being complacent . . .’
Her head was spinning now. That second gingertini had been a mistake.
‘Amy. I’m just saying you need to be more honest about why you’re upset. Why you’re so suspicious of David.’
‘Don’t lecture me about honesty and relationships, Juliet.’
Juliet flin
ched. ‘It sounds as if there’s a point in there.’
Amy bit her lip. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just jet-lagged and drunk.’
‘What are you not telling me? At least we can be honest with each other after all these years.’
Amy took a deep breath. The thing that had been gnawing away at her for days was her need to know the truth. A confession from David that he had slept with Josie would crucify her, but at least she would know. She would know and she could move forward. It was the not knowing that was driving her mad; the constant sense of feeling so stupid that was grinding her into the ground. Would Juliet want the truth too?
‘Like I said, I went to the cottage on Friday. I needed to talk to you about my car-crash interview with Douglas and you weren’t answering your phone.’
‘I was at the Four Seasons spa.’
‘I didn’t know that. I just took a chance and drove down. I saw Peter. He was with a friend.’
‘A friend?’ said Juliet, the penny beginning to drop.
‘I didn’t recognise him.’
‘Him? What are you suggesting here, Amy? Just tell me.’
‘I saw them kiss.’
‘So what? You know what Peter’s like. He’s so fey with some of his school pals. They like to think they’re still twenty-three and in a college production of Brideshead Revisited.’
Amy knew this was the point at which she could pull back, but Juliet was no fool.
‘It wasn’t a school friend. And it looked intimate. You need to have an honest conversation with Peter about where he was on Friday afternoon and who he spent it with.’
‘She’s poisoned your mind, you know that.’ It was Juliet’s turn to let rip. ‘You neglect your marriage, and instead of working out how you can improve it, you just lash out at other people. If you have to be miserable, then so does everybody else,’ she mocked harshly. ‘You need to grow up.’
She slid out of the booth and summoned the waitress.
‘Put that bar bill on my room,’ she said, and walked out without looking back.
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