Chelsea Wives

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  ‘You have to forgive me,’ she bit her lip. ‘I said some horrible things to you the last time I was here. I’m afraid I was a little overwhelmed. You see, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with, well … you know, I’m not very practised at this sort of thing.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ He smiled, his eyes narrowing playfully.

  ‘Oh, you know, this sort of thing … stop teasing!’

  ‘An affair, you mean?’

  Calvary wrapped her hair up on top of her head and let it fall loose again, an act that she was aware made her appear girlish and sexy – at least she hoped so.

  ‘Is that what this is then?’ she purred.

  ‘You tell me.’

  She smiled wryly.

  ‘Well, whatever you want to call it, I’m not used to it – at least, not this way round anyway.’

  Detecting a hint of bitterness in the last part of the statement, Josia reached out and lightly touched her face with his hand. He really must get round to painting her – when he wasn’t making love to her, that is. She really was quite beautiful; her soft auburn hair and her alabaster skin, like porcelain and virtually line-free, gave her an ethereal quality.

  A comfortable moment of silence passed between them before she slowly looked up at him, her green eyes a little glassy.

  ‘Henry knows,’ she said. ‘He knows about Tamara and Douglas.’

  Josia listened quietly. He was aware of her fragility and already knew better than to comment. Right now it was best to let her just talk.

  He pulled her close to him then, held her tightly in his arms as she began to cry. In a funny way he was relieved; finally she was beginning to open up to him. The ice had begun to thaw.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said, his voice low and soothing. ‘Just let it go …’

  Calvary caught a sob in her throat. His kindness had undone her.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said, wiping her eyes and attempting a small smile. ‘These tears are not for Douglas, they’re for Henry. They’re for my son.’

  Calvary looked into her young lover’s eyes then and felt that exhilaration, that initial rush of first falling in love. It was an odd feeling, simultaneously being at your most happiest and bereft.

  ‘It’s all just so bloody hopeless,’ she said, wiping mascara from underneath her eyes, suddenly aware of how ghastly she must look.

  ‘Nothing is hopeless, Calvary,’ he replied softly. ‘There is always hope. In my country, no one believed apartheid would end, but it did.’

  Calvary wrapped herself in a section of the bed sheet and, drying her eyes properly, composed herself.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she laughed at herself. ‘You must think I’m the most self-absorbed, selfish woman you’ve ever met!’

  He smiled. ‘It’s what first attracted me to you.’

  She playfully dug him in the ribs and he was pleased to see her smiling again.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said. ‘Tell me about your country and your life there.’

  He glanced sideways at her, his floppy, messy fringe hanging over his eyes, alive and glassy from their love-making.

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Yes! Yes, I do. I want to know what you were like as a child, where you went to school, the house you grew up in. I want to know it all!’

  Calvary settled her head onto his smooth chest, at once reassured by the methodical thud of his heartbeat and she listened as he began to talk, his soft voice lulling her into a conscious slumber, making her feel safe and comfortable.

  As she listened, she allowed herself to fantasise about what life might’ve been like if she’d met Josia ten years ago. If she had left Douglas and started a new life in Cape Town. Just thinking about it filled her with regret. She wondered if she would have been so concerned with money and status living in such sunny climes with a man who loved and respected her.

  ‘I could make a habit of this,’ she smiled as he ran the tips of his fingers along the contours of her soft, naked curves. ‘Making love in the afternoon.’

  ‘I hope so,’ he replied, feeling himself growing hard again. ‘Because I’m not letting you walk out on me this time.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not going anywhere,’ she cooed as he rolled her onto her back. ‘I plan to stick around, now I know what I’ve let myself in for.’ He took her nipple gently in his mouth and she arched her back in pleasure. ‘And then afterwards, I plan to stick around some more because …’

  ‘You talk too much, Calvary Rothschild,’ he said, pushing her legs apart with his knee. He was already hard again and she gasped as he gently slid himself into her.

  ‘I do?’ she breathed, feeling herself yield to him once more. And she had to admit, he did have a point.

  CHAPTER 37

  ‘Ah, Grainger, come in, sit down.’

  Sasquatch beckoned Sammie to a small, plastic chair that looked as though it had been designed for a place where comfort was actively discouraged, like an airport or a police station.

  Sammie duly sat, her knees tightly pressed together, hoping he would just get on with whatever it was that he wanted as quickly as possible. She had deadlines to meet. The fallout from fashion week was taking up a lot of her time at the moment, as was trying to find the perfect military coat about which to write 500 exhilarating words. None of that fashion stuff was important to her now. If she was honest with herself, it never really had been. What was important, however, was Stacey Jones – and her story. She’d honoured her side of the bargain. Now it was Stacey’s turn.

  Pugh fiddled with the top button on his expensive designer shirt, which he somehow managed to make look cheap, eventually opening it. Sammie stared in barely concealed disgust at the thick black thatch of curly hair that protruded from his collar like a comedy chest wig.

  ‘Thing is, Grainger,’ Pugh cleared his throat, ‘I’ll cut straight to it … we’re letting you go.’

  He paused and glanced at her in a bid to gauge her initial reaction. Was she going to cry? He really hated the criers. You had to pretend to be nice to them, offer them tissues and words of comfort, something he had never had much truck with. If you were sacked it simply meant you hadn’t made the grade. Only in this case it was nothing of the sort. Grainger had made the grade alright. And he knew it. She was a natural little hack, good nose for a story, diligent, tenacious. No; the problem was, no matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn’t get the girl to suck his dick. And that alone was reason enough to let her go.

  ‘You’re sacking me?’ Sammie said quietly. ‘May I ask why?’ Her voice was laced with indignation from which he gleaned a tiny slither of satisfaction.

  ‘You must understand, Grain … – Sammie,’ his voice was duplicitous now and his expression one of over-exaggerated earnest. ‘It’s nothing personal. Times are tricky at the moment. My budgets are getting smaller and competition is fierce. You have to understand, it’s not really me who wants this to happen. It’s the powers that be.’ He looked up to the ceiling as if to a higher being.

  Sammie watched him with a mix of disbelief and contempt. He really was an odious little prick. He must’ve thought she’d been born yesterday. Feeling her heartbeat begin to accelerate inside her ribcage, Sammie took a deep breath.

  ‘This is all because I won’t drop my knickers and lay on my back for you, isn’t it?’

  Pugh dropped his pen lid and stared at her open-mouthed in shock. She was, of course, bang on the money, but he had never in a month of Sundays expected the girl to come right out and say it! Saying it aloud sounded too much like an accusation. And an accusation was something to be worried about.

  Pugh laughed then, an incredulous chuckle that was supposed to convey the fact that she must be joking. Only it didn’t. It made him sound nervous and exposed.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Grainger. That’s got nothing to do with it.’ As the words left his dry, cracked lips, he realised himself how much they had sounded like an admission of guilt. Fucking hell. Pugh felt
his irritation rise, making his ears hot.

  ‘What I mean is,’ he continued, flustered, ‘I haven’t been trying to sleep with you. Whatever gave you that impression? You think too much of yourself, young lady. You’re really nowhere near as irresistible as you think you are.’ He winced at himself. The more he spoke, the less convincing he sounded.

  ‘Whatever gave me that idea? Hmm, now let me think.’ Grainger’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she tapped her lip with her finger. ‘Forbes’ Annual Ball. Yes, you leering at me all evening, making lewd comments about my breasts – something about “more than a handful being a waste” – then proceeding to try and convince me that, gasp, “conveniently” there was only one room left in the hotel, which would mean us sharing a bed …’ Sammie paused for effect, ‘but no, Mr Pugh, sir, I really have no idea where I might’ve got that idea from.’ She blinked at him innocently, mocking him with every bat of her lashes. ‘Though we could always go to HR, ask them to give us a second opinion, what do you think?’ She cocked her head to one side and flashed him a sardonic smile.

  Pugh jumped up from his chair. It was all he could do to stop himself from giving the girl a short sharp crack around her insolent bloody face. The working class ones, they were always the worst. Bloody great chips on their shoulders. And this one had one the size of the Watford Gap.

  ‘Now you listen to me, Grainger,’ he was at his full height now, all 5 foot 8 inches of him. ‘I gave you a fucking fantastic chance here and you blew it, you blew it big time.’

  ‘Perhaps if I had “blown it” we might not be having this conversation at all,’ she smirked.

  ‘Very good, very good,’ Pugh nodded, though could think of nothing to better it.

  ‘But the fact remains, you’re out. It’s nothing personal. It’s just the way the cookie crumbles. You’ll receive a month’s salary and I’ll see to it that you get a half-decent reference when the time comes. Can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘Can’t say fairer than that …?’ The injustice of it almost choked her.

  Pugh watched the expression on Sammie’s face cloud over as the realisation slowly began to dawn upon her; she was out of work, living in London, with rent and bills to pay, and instantly he felt a little better.

  ‘You see, I just don’t think your heart and soul is in it, Grainger,’ he continued, suddenly enjoying himself. ‘To be top of this game, you need to be prepared to do whatever it takes. And I mean, whatever it takes, to get on.’

  Sammie began to laugh then. A shrill, high-pitched sound that made him want to cover his ears with his hands.

  ‘You’re something else, do you know that, Pugh?’ She stood up to him now, her 5 foot, 10 inch frame dwarfing his. ‘Prepared to do whatever it takes? What, like jump into the sack with a dirty old has-been like you, you mean?’

  Has-been? Has-been? Pugh looked genuinely affronted. Since when had people started referring to him as a has-been?

  ‘Well, if that’s what it takes to get on in this game then you’re right, this isn’t the world for me. I’d rather lose a limb than prostitute myself to the likes of you with your massive ego and tiny,’ she squeezed her thumb and forefinger together, ‘tiny cock.’

  He pulled his head into his chin, his mouth forming an ‘O’ shape.

  ‘Oh yeah, don’t look so surprised. Girls talk you know, Mr Pugh,’ she spat his name from her lips. ‘We’ve all had a bloody good laugh at your, how shall I say, shortcomings?’ She gave a short, sharp laugh, throwing him a look of contempt. ‘I’m onto something so hot right now – you’ll kick your shins bloody when you find out what it is. But hey, I’m not your concern anymore. I’m out of here …’

  ‘Hang on a moment.’ Pugh held his arm out, preventing her from moving any further towards the door. She brusquely pushed his hand aside.

  ‘What do you mean, “onto something hot”?’

  She faced him then, her smile triumphant. ‘I mean super hot. The hottest story this paper’s seen in a decade, maybe more.’ Sammie knew she shouldn’t even be mentioning it, but she just couldn’t help herself.

  Pugh felt himself wobble. Suddenly he was intrigued.

  ‘Well, look, Grainger,’ he said, his tone suddenly switching to amenable. ‘We can always talk about this. Why don’t you sit back down and tell me what you’re onto and I’ll see if I can’t have a chat with the powers that be …’ He rolled his eyes to the ceiling again, to the invisible God above.

  Sammie snorted derisively as she picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder in one deft movement. Fuck Pugh. Fuck all of them. She didn’t need anyone, apart from Stacey Jones and her story.

  ‘I would say you can kiss my ass for it,’ Sammie said, suddenly feeling as if a strange weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Only a pervert like you might take that too literally. So I’ll say this: Go screw yourself, Pugh. One day, very soon, you’ll regret this moment with every miserable breath in your pathetic body.’

  He watched as she stalked from his office in a cloud of Ted Baker body spray and attitude, her dark cropped hair unmoving as she flounced. And though he hated to admit it, Ralph Pugh had a sickening feeling that in all probability, the girl was right.

  CHAPTER 38

  Standing in front of the mirror, Calvary took a long, hard look at herself. Rubbing a generous dollop of Crème de la Mer into her skin and slathering her body in bronzer, she wondered if she looked different somehow. If people might actually be able to tell that she was having an affair. And not just any old affair either. An affair with a younger man.She was officially what Grazia magazine referred to as a ‘Cougar’ and despite herself, the very idea made her want to laugh out loud.

  Pouring herself into an unforgiving, figure-hugging, cream Roland Mouret dress that she worried was too young for her, Calvary inspected herself from all angles. Those Spanx she had invested in certainly hid a multitude of sins, she thought pleasingly as she slipped on a pair of vertiginous Chanel heels. Maybe, just maybe, she would get away with it, she thought, spritzing herself liberally with her signature No. 5 and checking her reflection once more.

  Douglas waltzed into the bathroom then, paying scant regard for her privacy and, turning to look at her, raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You’ve scrubbed up well tonight, Calvary,’ he said. ‘Looking quite lovely, I must say.’

  Calvary, who was now applying eyeliner in the mirror, stopped what she was doing and stared at her husband, open-mouthed.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Would you mind repeating it?’ she retorted.

  ‘I said you look rather nice … lovely, in fact,’ he nodded his approval, the corners of his mouth turned outwards. ‘Not bad at all.’

  Calvary was speechless. It had been years since Douglas had paid her a genuine compliment. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

  ‘What have you done, Douglas?’

  ‘Done? I’ve done nothing,’ he shot back. ‘Why should I have done anything? Can’t I pay my wife a bloody compliment these days without there being an ulterior motive?’ He tugged at his tie, a little indignant, loosening it before discarding it onto the floor.

  Calvary raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, let’s face it, Douglas, it wouldn’t be true to form, would it? You paying me a compliment for no other reason than the sake of paying me a compliment.’

  Douglas sighed. ‘Why don’t you just shut up, woman, and accept it?’ he snapped. ‘That’s always been your trouble, Calvary. You really do talk too much.’

  She smiled then, remembering what Josia had said to her, right before they had had crazy, passionate and meaningful sex – for the second time that afternoon. She felt the heat in her loins just thinking about it.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Douglas stared at her.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said dismissively, opening the compact and dabbing her face with powder in a bid to disguise her hot flush. ‘It’s just something someone said to me recently, that’s all.’

  Douglas wasn’t sure he
liked the sound of that. He above all people knew that ‘someone’ often meant ‘a lover’. He continued to watch her in the mirror, surreptitiously, as she applied powder to her skin. He wasn’t quite sure what was different; her hair perhaps, her style of dress or her make-up, but something had changed. Maybe it was in the way she carried herself. Like she had discovered a new air of confidence. It had made him think about her again. After all, she may be getting on a bit but she was still an attractive woman.

  ‘Another charity function, is it?’ Douglas asked, tactfully changing the subject. ‘What is it this week: Save The Hoodies, Hug a Leper …?’

  Calvary had to laugh despite herself.

  ‘Fashion Against Fur, actually, darling.’

  Douglas snorted derisively. ‘But you love fur, Calvary – you know you’ve always been partial to a nice bit of mink,’ he chuckled, amused by what seemed to be her hypocrisy.

  ‘I could say the same of you,’ she shot back. ‘Anyway, I used to be partial, darling. Used to being the operative word. But then again, I used to be partial to a lot of things I no longer care for,’ she cast him a loaded look, adding, ‘I’ve finally seen the error of my ways.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Douglas smiled wryly, amused, as he took off his cufflinks and opened his shirt, exposing his toned torso. Walking over to where she was standing in front of the mirror, he stood behind her, naked from the waist up. Undeniably, his body looked good for a man of his age, but it wasn’t a patch on Josia’s six-pack, she thought. She could see time beginning to show on his face now too. His chin, once sharp and angular, had softened slightly and the skin on his cheeks had finally begun to give in to gravity. Calvary looked at her husband and saw him for what he was, an aging old playboy long past his sell-by date. The longing she had once had for him, so strong and powerful that it had kept her prisoner all her life, had seemingly evaporated into the ether, almost overnight, and now, looking at him in the mirror behind her, Calvary felt something she never thought she would as far as her husband was concerned: indifference.