Marcus looked astounded. ‘How the hell does Alison know something like that?’
‘It was a combination of female intuition, a rummage through his credit card bills, and a conversation with the manager of a jewellery shop.’
My husband blew out his cheeks. ‘I’m shocked. And I’m also surprised at Alison going through Henry’s stuff, and absolutely flabbergasted at Henry having the balls to do such a thing. But then again, if he truly is bonking some ravishing little piece on the side, I can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t want a wife like Alison.’
I frowned. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say!’
‘Be honest. Ali is impossibly bossy. Henry has got to be the most hen-pecked spouse in the county of Kent.’ My husband had a point. ‘And anyway, if anybody was going to have an affair, I’d have thought it would have been Alison herself.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ I scoffed.
‘I’m not,’ Marcus folded his arms. A defensive gesture. ‘I see the way she looks at us in the mornings, Florrie. She’s envious.’
I immediately felt uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure she knows that’s just you deliberately teasing her.’
‘Even so, haven’t you seen the way she stares, and the look of longing on her face?’
My brow furrowed. ‘Are you suggesting she fancies you?’
‘I’m suggesting she wants attention. Let’s face it, Henry is never around. He’s up at the crack of sparrows, and spends eighteen hours out of the house. At weekends he’s either getting reacquainted with his daughter or playing a round of golf. When does he ever take Alison out? Or buy her flowers? Or romance her? Never! Mark my words, Florrie. Alison is ripe for a fling.’
I shook my head and tutted at my husband’s fanciful notions. ‘Alison would never risk being caught playing away. She’s the respectable mother of a star pupil at a highly regarded school. Apart from anything else she’s far too busy sitting on umpteen committees and organising the next mega charity event. Like the May Ball,’ I added. ‘Anyway, I’d like you to buy Henry a drink when we’re there. Get a bit cosy with him. See if you can impart any information about this secret lover.’
‘Huh. Chance would be a fine thing. The last time I tried making conversation with Henry he bored the pants off me. He prattled on about his brilliant golf handicap, and did I know Tiffany was on her fourth foreign language?’
‘Well just try, eh? And anyway, Daisy is going to do most of the legwork with Henry.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s going to set a trap.’
‘What sort of trap?’
‘You know. Like a honey trap. She’s going to ply Henry with wine, flirt with him big time and wheedle out all his sexy secrets.’
‘Will she be doing this in her pyjamas covered in baked beans and egg yolk? Tell me, Florrie, do you ever see Daisy wearing any proper clothes?’
‘Of course she wears proper clothes,’ I said defensively. The fact that Daisy didn’t do so much of the time wasn’t something I was going to admit to. ‘Actually, I’ll have you know she scrubs up very nicely.’
‘Well she’ll certainly need to if she’s planning on being some sort of enticement for Henry.’ Marcus rolled his eyes at the very idea. ‘And what about poor old Tom? He’s going to be quite happy, is he, watching his wife thrust her saggy breasts into Henry’s flushed face as they waltz round and round the dance floor?’
‘Er, yes, because he’s not really going to notice that bit.’
Marcus’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Why?’
‘Um, because…because Daisy wants me to flirt with Tom. Just to keep him occupied for five minutes,’ I gabbled. ‘It won’t mean anything. Nothing at all,’ I reassured.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Tom will think you’ve taken leave of your senses. And anyway, what am I meant to do while you’re making eyes at Tom, and Daisy’s leading Henry about with his tie in her teeth? Shall I perhaps waggle my eyebrows at a passing waitress as she offers me champagne from a silver tray? Maybe you’d like me to offer her some rumpy-pumpy behind one of Harriet’s perfect rosebushes seductively lit by streaks of silver moonlight.’
‘Ah, w-well. Now you’re talking. If you could actually see your way to doing a spot of eyebrow waggling at Alison in order to make Henry jealous, that would be absolutely brilliant.’
‘You do realise, Florrie, you three women clearly have way too much free time on your hands.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘I’ve never listened to such hare-brained nonsense in all my life.’ He moved away from me and made towards the studio door, suddenly irritable. ‘I’m going downstairs. As there’s no dinner ready, I’ll get us a take out.’
‘Lovely,’ I called after him.
Later, as we ate dinner, Marcus returned to the subject of the May Ball. ‘If nothing else,’ he said, popping an onion bhaji into his mouth, ‘I suppose I can always chat to Tom and Henry about their children. You know, get some fathering tips from them.’
‘Yes,’ I said lightly, breaking up a piece of poppadum.
‘After all,’ Marcus regarded me, ‘now that I’m an expectant father, parenting is something us men will all have in common.’ His eyes snagged on mine. ‘Isn’t that so?’
I met his gaze. ‘Of course,’ I murmured.
My eyes were the first to slither away.
Chapter Eight
The following morning I waved Marcus off to work. It was the usual doorstep display of shenanigans with Alison looking on and tutting loudly. She gave Tiffany a prod in the back.
‘Get in the car, darling. Mummy will be with you in two ticks.’
As Tiffany clambered into the car, Alison materialised by our sides. ‘I’ve told you both before. No groping.’
‘Marcus is not groping me,’ I protested.
‘Yes he is,’ Alison hissed furiously. She turned on Marcus. ‘You’re like some sort of enormous octopus. Hands everywhere. It’s outrageous.’
‘Want to join in?’ Marcus winked before giving our neighbour a cheeky pinch on the bottom.
Alison squeaked and jumped. ‘How dare you, Marcus. That is not remotely funny.’ She rounded on me furiously. ‘I think it’s about time you kept your husband under control, Florrie.’
I shrugged helplessly and mentally sighed. The day I managed to keep Marcus under control was not something I could ever foresee. Alison tugged her jacket down over her jeaned bottom. A protective action. Ignoring Marcus, she addressed me.
‘I’ll see you for coffee, Florrie, when I’m back from the school run. I have news.’
Marcus turned to me wide-eyed. ‘Oooh, news!’ he said mockingly. ‘Don’t you really mean gossip, Ali?’ My husband nudged me in the ribs. ‘I’ll bet Florrie can’t wait to hear all about Annabelle Farquhar-Jones deliberately buying the same jumper as you in Harrods and upstaging you by immediately wearing it at the school gate before you’d even got your own sweater out of that famous carrier bag.’
Alison gasped. ‘How did you know Annabelle did that?’
Marcus threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re so transparent, Ali. Seriously, I’m not sure my wife is interested in idle tittle-tattle. She has far more pressing things on her mind. Don’t you, darling?’
I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable, but cranked up a smile for Alison’s benefit. ‘A coffee would be lovely. Just a quick one though, I still have a painting to finish.’
‘That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ve had a word with Harriet Montgomery about the painting commission. She wants to meet you. I’ll give you all the details when I’m back from dropping Tiffany off at Darwin Prep. See you in a bit, Florrie.’ She bestowed me with a tight smile, nodded curtly at Marcus by way of farewell, then stalked off to her waiting daughter.
‘Don’t I get a kiss good-bye?’ Marcus called after her. Alison flicked her hair by way of response. Marcus turned back to me, lowering his voice. ‘And you want me to flirt with her at the May Ball?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’d even get to first bas
e with our Ali, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t,’ he hastily added.
‘Oh I don’t know.’ I looked my husband in the eye. ‘Try employing some of that deadly charm I’ve heard so much about.’
Marcus frowned. ‘Sorry?’
I bit my lip, thinking of the letter hidden away amongst my belongings. Not now, Florrie. It’s neither the time nor the place.
‘Just…you know…flatter her. You’re good at it. Everybody says so.’
For a moment my husband looked unnerved. ‘We’ll see.’ He cleared his throat indicating a change of subject. ‘So! The legendary Harriet Montgomery wants to meet my wife.’
‘Yes,’ I smiled brightly. ‘How amazing is that, eh? It would be brilliant to have a second client, and definitely one that’s so high-profile.’ A part of me wanted to rub Marcus’s nose in it after his comment last night about nobody else banging the door down for my work. ‘I’m really looking forward to meeting her. Who knows, we might have a few things in common.’
Marcus snorted. ‘I doubt it, Florrie. Women like her move in completely different social circles to the likes of you.’
Stung, for a second I couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘I’m perfectly able to hold my own with the likes of Harriet Montgomery,’ I eventually said.
Marcus regarded me for a moment. There was that uneasy tension between us again.
‘If she offers you a commission, I think you should decline.’
I boggled at my husband. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Why on earth would I do that?’
‘Think about it, Florrie. If you did a bum job, she’s the type who’d put you out of work forever.’
‘Thanks, Marcus,’ I said, inwardly seething, ‘but if I decline a commission, whether from an ex-movie star, a restaurateur, or Trevor the flippin’ postman, it will be my decision and my decision alone.’ For a moment the air crackled between us.
Marcus was the first to speak. ‘Of course, my darling. After all, you’re not a woman who knows how to say no.’
My eyes flashed. ‘What’s that remark supposed to mean?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ He leant forward and pecked me on the cheek. I noted the lack of passionate snogs now there wasn’t a captive audience. ‘I’m going to work. See you later.’
I folded my arms across my chest and watched my husband take his leave. My private thoughts were interrupted by Daisy opening her front door to wave Tom and their brood off.
‘Oooh, you’re scowling,’ Daisy observed. ‘What’s up?’
I immediately gave my neighbour a mega-watt smile. ‘Nothing’s up.’
‘Don’t talk rot. You never could tell a porky to save your life, Florrie.’ She looked away for a moment to blow noisy kisses to the children and Tom, before turning her attention back to me. ‘Tell me what’s upset you over coffee. It’s your turn this morning.’
‘Actually, coffee will be at Alison’s. She apparently has some exciting news for me.’
‘Bugger,’ Daisy heaved a sigh. ‘That means I’ll have to get dressed.’ She was still in yesterday’s pyjamas which were additionally sporting brown marks. She caught me looking. ‘Chocolate spread,’ she explained. ‘I dropped my toast down me. So what’s this exciting news Her Ladyship has?’
‘It’s to talk about a commission for Harriet Montgomery. Apparently she wants to meet me.’
‘Get you,’ Daisy gave a low whistle. ‘Next you’ll be having a phone call from the Duchess of Cambridge wanting a portrait of George and Charlotte!’
I grinned. ‘Hardly. Anyway, look sharp, Alison’s returning.’
We watched as our neighbour parked her immaculate four by four on the drive. Daisy tutted under her breath.
‘Fancy driving that petrol-guzzling thing to Tiffany’s school. She could walk it in two minutes.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t think any of the mothers at Darwin Prep ever walk.’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘No, the breeze would ruffle their hundred quid salon blow-dries.’
Alison pushed her driver door open and slid out. ‘Morning, Daisy. Would you like to join me and Florrie for coffee?’ She paused to look Daisy up and down. ‘When you’re dressed, naturally. Annabelle Farquhar-Jones will be joining us too.’
Daisy audibly groaned. I was inclined to agree with Daisy. Annabelle wasn’t somebody I’d ever managed to warm to, despite my best efforts. She had a reputation as something of a man-eater and seemed to have a new guy on her arm every other week.
‘There’s no need for that attitude, Daisy,’ said Alison firmly. ‘Annabelle is a perfectly decent sort.’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘You only tolerate her because her cousin’s husband’s best friend knows George Clooney.’
Alison smiled thinly. ‘Don’t knock it, Daisy. I’m putting in a lot of spadework in that direction. Wouldn’t you just be thrilled if George Clooney turned up at the May Ball?’
Daisy’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you winding me up?’ Alison instantly looked affronted. ‘Okay, you’re not winding me up. Right, give me two ticks, Ali. I’ll just get these PJs off and I’ll be right with you!’
Alison opened her mouth to say something but her attention was diverted. Turning into our little dead-end road was a sleek Range Rover. I recognised it instantly as Annabelle Farquhar-Jones’s vehicle. Sitting in the passenger seat was an unexpected visitor, but with an equally familiar face, albeit not one I’d met before. It was Harriet Montgomery.
Chapter Nine
‘Oh Gawd,’ Daisy yelped. ‘I haven’t had time to change.’
Alison gave Daisy a look that dared her not to go and freshen up. She was just about to give Daisy a stern talking to when Annabelle and Harriet stepped out of the car and onto the drive. Alison, ever the gracious hostess, immediately dazzled the two women with her whiter-than-white smile. Distracted, I couldn’t help staring. As well as discreet bits of nip and tuck, Ali had clearly been at the dental bleach too. She was certainly pulling out all the stops to win Henry back from his anonymous bit of crumpet.
‘Quick, Florrie, shield me,’ hissed Daisy.
I turned to face my neighbour. ‘Why?’
‘Don’t ask. Just do it,’ Daisy hissed. A second later she’d whipped off her pyjama top just as Trevor, the postman, peddled into The Cul-de-Sac. Spotting a group of women, one of whom was an ex-movie star, the other completely topless, his mouth dropped open and he almost crashed his bicycle into Annabelle Farquhar-Jones’s car.
‘Aye say,’ Annabelle squawked, ‘do watch where you’re going.’
‘He’s obviously not used to seeing somebody famous in your little road,’ Harriet smirked.
In that moment I knew Harriet would never be a mate.
‘Brilliant diversion,’ hissed Daisy swiftly pulling her pyjama top back over her head and smoothing it down. ‘You can move out of the way now.’
I stared at her in puzzlement. ‘Your top is inside-out.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Daisy grinned. ‘But it looks clean now, so Alison can’t moan at me!’
‘She’ll notice.’
‘No she won’t. C’mon, let’s go and meet a real live film star! I expect Alison will say Harriet’s presence has just put our house prices up fifty grand.’
I giggled as we followed the other women into Alison’s house. Unlike Daisy’s, the entrance hall was uncluttered and devoid of anything other than a pristine doormat on a polished wood floor.
‘Do come through,’ Alison trilled, clearly in her element. We followed her into the equally immaculate lounge where even the sofa cushions were standing to attention on their points. ‘Sit down, ladies, and I’ll make the introductions. Annabelle, you’ve met Daisy and Florrie before.’ We bared our teeth at each other. ‘Daisy…Florrie…I’m thrilled to introduce you to…Harriet Montgomery.’ Alison said her guest’s name in the sort of hushed tone one might adopt if God himself had dropped by.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said politely, and gave a neutral smile.
Harriet’s eyes snagged on Daisy’s inside-out pyjama top. She inclined her head as if considering. ‘I’m ever so sorry,’ she drawled, ‘but my autographs are far too valuable to give out willy-nilly. However, I will be auctioning one off at the May Ball, if you want to put in a bid.’
‘Oh that’s all right,’ Daisy said sweetly. ‘It was for my mother, not me. Mum said she’d watched all your old films, whereas I’d never heard of you until Ali mentioned your background.’
I froze, Alison visibly jerked, Annabelle’s eyes widened, and Harriet’s nostrils flared. There was a moment’s deafening silence where nobody seemed to breathe. I didn’t dare look at Daisy, so concentrated hard on Alison’s botoxed forehead. She was the first to recover.
‘Coffee or tea, ladies?’
‘Darjeeling for me, sweetie,’ said Annabelle settling into one squashy sofa and making herself comfortable. Harriet sat down next to Annabelle, putting as much distance as possible between Daisy and I who moved to the second sofa.
‘Jasmine,’ Harriet snapped. It was clear her feathers had been ruffled.
Daisy leant forward, adopting a cosy tone. ‘Her name’s Alison,’ she said helpfully.
‘I know that,’ Harriet gave Daisy a withering look. ‘I was referring to the tea.’
‘Ah,’ Daisy sat back. ‘Sorry,’ she put up her hands by way of apology. ‘In my house we just drink whatever muck the supermarket has on special offer.’
‘I do too,’ Annabelle smiled superciliously, ‘but only where wine is concerned.’
Harriet gave a tinkling laugh, humour suddenly restored. ‘We only drink champagne in our house. Martin insists on stocking the cellar with high quality champers. He has a superb collection. One of the bottles was released in 1961 – the year Princess Diana was born. It was also the official champagne at the royal wedding of Charles and Diana. A limited number of bottles were released to celebrate the occasion, but only a few people in the know managed to get their hands on such an important part of royal history. Martin was one of them,’ she smirked.
The Corner Shop of Whispers Page 5