by Karen Swan
‘And Cat talked you round?’
‘She wouldn’t leave it alone. For miles and miles while we ran, until eventually one day she just came in and handed me some tickets to go back to Rome the next day.’ He closed his eyes for a moment as he stepped back in time, and when he looked at her again, big, proud Italian tears started falling, unembarrassed. ‘My mother said she had always known, from the day I was born. She said I was too handsome to be a straight man.’
The woman was right – Laura had known it the second she’d clapped eyes on him – but she couldn’t help but feel it had been a risk. What if his mother hadn’t known? What if she hadn’t been able to accept it?
‘You said Cat saved you twice,’ Laura said, narrowing her eyes in concentration. ‘What was the second thing?’
Orlando gestured all around them. ‘This. It was her dream to set up her own business, so she backed me in this entire venture – put up the deposit, got Rob to go through my proposal, ironing out all the figures and projected growth, came to the bank with me, searched for the plot for me, helped with the concept and design. You name it, she did it. The Cube is as much Cat’s vision as it is mine.’
‘Really? So all the tinted glass . . . ?’
‘Her idea. And the heated floors in the changing rooms. And the lavender piped through the air-con. And the Parma violets frozen in the ice cubes. And the sweet almond oil dispensed for massage during the yoga classes. It does wonders for your skin, you see.’ He trailed a hand up his own smooth arm.
‘It sounds like she knows her luxury, then,’ she said.
‘Cat knows her market, and she was after a holistic feeling. We wanted the Cube to be a place you come to for a sense of well-being, not just another gym with banks of treadmills looking over the car park.’
Laura nodded. It was certainly a far cry from Charrington Leisure Centre, where the floors boasted verrucas, not ambient temperatures, and the municipal tiles had scarcely been cleaned, much less replaced, since the war.
‘And our pool is ozone treated.’
‘What’s that?’ Laura asked suspiciously, half expecting him to say it had been personally blessed by angels.
‘Chlorine-free. Cat said none of the women would get in it if the chlorine was going to damage their highlights, and I think she was right,’ he grinned. ‘It has proved very popular. Plus we have a hair salon in the changing rooms.’
‘You have a hair salon in the changing rooms?’ Laura echoed, remembering those swingy ponytails.
‘Yes – nourishing masks, blow-dries, cut and colour. Cat understands how busy our clients are. They have school runs and shopping and lunch appointments to fit in. Gym and hair need to be one stop.’
Laura sat back, deep in thought for a moment as she took in the level of detail at which this woman operated. It was little wonder Rob had looked so genuinely perturbed by the sight of her in her studio that day when his wife went to the trouble of making sure that the very air she breathed was lavender-scented. It was also a long way from sitting in trees and rescuing lambs. Somehow, she didn’t see Kitty fitting into this version of Cat’s life.
‘She sounds . . .’ Laura floundered for the right word. OCD. Neurotic. Irritating.
‘Perfect?’
‘Is that how you’d describe her?’ Laura countered.
Orlando put his elbows on the table and leant forward. ‘You hate her,’ he said, scrutinizing her face.
Laura was taken aback. ‘Absolutely not. I’ve never even met her,’ she lied, thoroughly sick to the back teeth of listening to the idol worship of Cat Blake, having to force a smile while the person sitting opposite her rhapsodized, fantasized, memorized and damn near immortalized a woman who was really nothing more than a pretty Surrey housewife. It was increasingly a wonder to Laura that she had got this far in her life without hearing about the woman. It was a wonder that her movements of the day weren’t discussed on the national news. ‘And finally, today Cat Blake ordered a loin of venison from Ocado for the white-tie dinner party she’s hosting on Saturday in aid of Save the Children. Her hair has already been highlighted in readiness for the event, and hairdressers all over the country are reporting a run on her favoured shade, salty popcorn . . .’
‘But you don’t want to meet her either. I can see the disdain on your face,’ he said, drawing a circle in the air.
‘It’s not that.’
‘What is it, then?’ he grinned.
‘Nothing at all, really. That’s just how my face is in repose. A little bit . . . scowly.’
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow and waited.
‘Fine. She maybe sounds a little too perfect, that’s all. I can’t help wondering whether she’s a little too good to be true. You know – reuniting your family, setting up your business, taking care of her clients’ scheduling problems, running marathons for charity . . . Can anybody really be that nice?’
Orlando’s chocolate-brown eyes twinkled naughtily. ‘You want dirt,’ he grinned, rolling the word over his tongue like a cork on water.
Laura fidgeted beneath his scrutiny. He had her number, she knew it. ‘Well, maybe just a flaw would be good. You know, for balance.’
‘It would make you feel better.’
‘It would,’ she nodded.
Orlando sat back in his orthopaedic chair and considered her words, one finger pressed thoughtfully against his bow-shaped lips.
‘That’s not helping,’ Laura said after they had sat in silence for a while, and Orlando laughed at her deadpan expression.
‘Don’t worry, I am actually just filtering out all the atrocities I could tell you about her,’ he said, one hand fluttering. ‘So many. Just terrible.’
This time Laura cracked a smile.
‘Well, there is one,’ he said finally. ‘But you will be horrified.’
‘I certainly hope so.’
He took a deep, nervous breath. ‘She likes her coffee instant.’
Laura sighed, deflated. ‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.’
‘Really. It’s true.’
‘No, I mean, that’s nowhere near damning enough.’
‘But you don’t understand. Rob bought her a one-thousand-pound coffee machine. Harrods is the only place in England to sell them, but she has never used it. She doesn’t even know how. She has to hide her Kenco in the biscuit tin.’
Laura wrinkled her nose. ‘Small fry.’
‘And she’s addicted to chocolate,’ he tried.
‘Show me a woman who isn’t,’ Laura challenged.
‘The cheaper, the better.’
‘I’m liking her more by the second,’ Laura sighed disappointedly.
‘She has ice baths before she goes out to big events.’
‘Why?’
‘It makes the skin tighter,’ he shrugged.
‘Tch, that’s just plain daft,’ Laura said dismissively, looking away.
‘Hmmmm. You are a hard customer.’
A red button buzzed on his phone and his face fell as he checked his watch. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I have body pump now. My ladies are waiting.’
‘What? But we’ve only just started,’ she protested.
‘I’m so sorry. One of my teachers is sick and I’m standing in for him.’
‘Can’t anyone else take the class? I’ve travelled nearly three hours to get here.’
He gave a big, hopeless shrug. ‘I’m so sorry. The schools break up next week and all the ladies are in, trying to drop weight for their Christmas parties. We are stretched to the limit.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Laura responded. ‘I need to get the necklace finished in time for Cat’s birthday. I have to get all the interviews done asap so that I can get on with actually making it.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘But you are coming to Verbier, no?’
‘I don’t know. I have to talk to my boyfriend about it,’ she sighed.
Orlando stared at her for a moment, obviously wondering who, in this day and age, required
permission from their boyfriend to take a work trip. Resting a light hand on the small of her back, he led her along the corridor and back down the stairs. They reached the reception area. ‘Okay, so then if not Verbier, why do you not come here next time you are in the area? Then we could have lunch and I promise you can have me as long as you like. In the meantime I will think of something hateful about Cat that will make you like her,’ he said conspiratorially.
Laura grinned. ‘Well, in that case . . .’
He kissed her happily on each cheek. ‘Good. Now I must pump, and you must see Kitty.’
‘Kitty?’
‘Yes. She has your mobile phone. Did I not tell you?’
Laura shook her head.
He smacked his forehead as he walked away. ‘It’s lucky my mother put a pretty face on this empty head.’
Keeping to the far side of the lane as she drove past Sugar’s field – windows up – Laura spotted Kitty coming home in the opposite direction. Samuel’s buggy was bouncing so alarmingly over the potholes that the poor child looked like he was trampolining.
‘Laura!’ Kitty cried, giving a happy wave as Laura parked Dolly on the grass verge opposite the cottage. ‘How super to see you.’
Laura opened her door and stood up, arms resting on the roof. ‘Hi, Kitty. Apparently I left my phone here?’
‘You did!’ Kitty called back across the lane. ‘Did Orly pass on my message? He’s such a poppet. I spoke to your girl and she said you were seeing him today. Golly, aren’t you just racking up the miles? Here Tuesday and again today.’ She leant down and unbuckled Samuel, who jumped out and promptly tripped over one of the ducklings. ‘Come in, come in. It’s just on the kitchen table. We can have a cup of coffee. I’ve made a splendid coffee and walnut cake.’ She lowered her voice into a stage whisper. ‘It was supposed to be for the Christmas fete last Saturday, but I decided it was far too good to give away.’ She flicked a hand as though batting away protests.
‘Thanks, but I really should head straight off.’
‘I insist. Besides, I’ve been thinking about you since you came and I’ve thought of some more cracking stories to tell you about Cat.’
Damn. She checked her watch. It was just gone twelve.
‘Well, okay then,’ Laura replied, reluctantly shutting the door and crossing the lane. ‘But I really mustn’t stay for long. The traffic will be shocking if I leave too late.’
‘Understood,’ Kitty nodded, a delighted smile plastered all over her pretty pink face.
Two hours later, half the cake was gone, along with all of Laura’s resolve. Samuel had made out like a bandit and was charging round the yard on his caffeine high, in direct contrast to Pocket, who’d been foraging underneath the table and was now, like any good libertine, sleeping it off.
‘I’d offer you a proper drink if you weren’t driving back,’ Kitty sighed, pouring the last of the coffee from the cafetière. Laura didn’t have the energy to put her hand across the top of her mug. She had rapidly learned that resistance was futile with Kitty. ‘I’ve drunk so much coffee, Joe will think I’ve been at the gin anyway,’ she giggled.
Laura stiffened at the mention of his name. She had forgotten all about him. ‘Where is he?’ she asked, casually tapping the side of her mug.
‘Still cutting back the hedges. He’s got nearly eighty linear miles to do, but the days are so short now he can’t even stop for lunch.’
Laura thought it was frankly a shame that he stopped at the eighty-mile mark and didn’t just carry on going until he hit the Scottish border. Quite what somebody as lovely as Kitty was doing with a man like Joe, she didn’t know.
‘So tell me what Orlando told you,’ Kitty said, half slumped on the table and stacking the sugar cubes into a tower.
‘Not a huge amount yet, to be honest. I’m going to need a lot more time with him at the next interview.’
‘He’s fun, though, isn’t he? Such a scamp.’
Laura nodded. ‘He was very amusing.’
‘And so handsome! It’s a shame he’s gay.’
‘Yes. He and Cat must make a beautiful couple. Platonically speaking, I mean.’
‘Gorgeous. In fact it’s as well he is gay, or I don’t think Rob would let him near her.’
‘Is Rob the jealous type? He’s hardly a slouch to look at either,’ Laura said mildly.
Kitty leaned in, a wicked look in her eyes. ‘Do you think he’s attractive, then?’
‘Who? Rob?’
Kitty nodded.
‘He’s my client. I tend not to eye up my customers – especially the married ones making grand, sweeping declarations of love to their beautiful wives.’
Kitty sat back, disappointed to have been knocked back in her girly gossip. ‘Does your boyfriend get jealous?’
‘Jack? No. He’s so laid-back he’s practically horizontal.’
‘And you’re happy together?’
Laura folded her hands, one on top of the other. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘Like Joe, then,’ Kitty said, taking a slurp of lukewarm coffee.
Laura smiled, disagreeing vehemently in her head. She let her eyes wander around the rambling, dark cottage. It was so chaotic and cluttered, she half expected to see a little old lady living in a shoe in the corner. She thought of the light, minimal perfection that she’d just come from at the Cube, the very embodiment, Orlando had said, of Cat’s own vision, and it seemed increasingly hard to believe that a woman who cared about mood colours and clean lines would want to spend any significant amount of time here, dodging low beams and dog hairs.
‘Do you see much of Cat these days?’
Kitty looked at her, alarmed, her cheeks a rising pink. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was just wondering,’ Laura replied, surprised by her defensiveness. ‘I mean, people change all the time and you’ve got your hands full with five children . . .’
Kitty sat rooted to the spot. ‘It doesn’t matter how little or often I get to see her. I’ll be her best friend for ever, no matter what, no matter how busy or different our lives become.’
Laura nodded. It was like some kind of mission statement. ‘Great.’
There was an awkward pause and Laura shifted uneasily, having hit such a raw nerve. Her suspicions were confirmed: Kitty had been dumped.
Chapter Eleven
It was late on Friday afternoon, the end of a hard week, and Laura smiled as she rounded the corner and saw Fee already waiting for her, piles of Argos and Accessorize bags fanned out on the pavement around her ankles.
‘You’ve got your Christmas shopping sorted, then?’ she asked, stopping six feet away, the nearest she could get.
‘Oh yeah,’ Fee smiled. ‘I’m on it this year. No more Christmas Eve panics for me. Mum was not happy with her iTunes gift card last year, I’m telling you.’
‘I did tell you she didn’t have an iPod.’
Fee bit her lip and looked at Laura guiltily. ‘Anyway, what have you had going on that was so interesting you couldn’t come with me today? We always do our Christmas shopping together.’
‘Can’t you guess?’ Laura asked, striking a pose. She’d been so excited walking down the old high street.
Fee narrowed her eyes. ‘You do look different. What’ve you done?’ she demanded, grabbing Laura’s hand and checking her nails before scanning her teeth like a pushy parent. ‘Have you had your teeth whitened?’ she accused, then stood back to get a better look. ‘No, don’t say it’s a fake tan. Never thought I’d see the day!’
‘I’ve had layers put in my hair!’ Laura said, amazed that her friend hadn’t clocked the dramatic new shaping around her face. She checked her appearance in the window. Was it too subtle?
‘Aaaah! Uh-huh. Uh-huh,’ Fee murmured, stepping over her bags and taking long, slow steps round her, appraising the cut. ‘I like,’ she said finally, crossing her arms with satisfaction. ‘Very classy. At least now you don’t look like one of those protestors camping outside St Paul’s.’
‘Good. So it gets the official Fee Tisham seal of approval, at least,’ Laura said, starting off towards Tom’s.
Fee gathered her bags together hurriedly and trotted after her. ‘So what prompted it?’ she asked, swinging the bags so that they just clipped Laura’s legs.
‘I caught sight of myself in the mirror the other day and thought I looked a bit . . . drab?’ She looked over questioningly at Fee, who was the official fashionista of the two. She was glad Fee hadn’t been with her and clocked the glamazons leaving the Cube the other day or she’d have been busted right away.
‘Good. I’m glad you’re finally listening to me and beginning to take care of yourself a little. You’re so pretty, Laur. You ought to make the best of yourself. You won’t be thirty-two for ever, you know.’
‘Jack doesn’t care what I look like.’
Fee was quiet for a bit.
‘Well, it’s a good start, but it’s not the cut that really matters. I keep telling you, it’s the colour. Your hair pretty much matches your eyes.’
‘My hair is not grey,’ Laura said sulkily. ‘Most people in Britain are mouse.’
‘Mouse? You should be so lucky!’ Fee raised an eyebrow. ‘I saw a colour in Homebase on the Farrow & Ball chart that was exactly your colour: wanna know what it was called?’
‘Not particularly,’ Laura muttered, already wincing.
‘Elephant’s Breath.’
‘Oh, thanks! So now you’re saying I’ve got hair like an elephant with halitosis?’
Fee cackled mischievously. ‘Has Jack seen it yet?’
‘No. And from your rubbish reaction, he might not even notice – you know what men are like.’
‘Are you mad?’ Fee wheezed. ‘He notices whether you’ve changed deodorant. He notices when you’ve plucked your eyebrows. Hell, I bet he knows your monthly cycle better than y—’
Fee’s voice trailed off and Laura shot her a sidelong look. It was supposed to be withering and dismissive – her preferred form of riposte – but there were times when she was almost blind-sided by the astute accuracy of her whimsical friend’s observations. It was true – he did know her cycle better than she did. She bit her lip nervously as she realized she might not be the only one who’d woken up suddenly in the middle of the night, counting off days.