‘How absolutely amazing,’ Annabelle gasped. ‘I wish I had a husband like yours, Harriet.’
‘Hands off,’ Harriet gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Talking of which, how is the husband-hunting going, Annabelle?’
‘I have my eye on one,’ Annabelle said slyly. ‘But don’t worry, not yours. I must say though, Martin is total class.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Alison nodded her head vehemently keen not to miss out on ingratiating herself to Harriet.
Daisy crow-barred her way back into the conversation. ‘Actually, I think champagne is very overrated.’ She gave a derisory sniff. ‘I’d rather have a nice bottle of Asti any day. Don’t you agree, Florrie?’ I smiled by way of response. ‘Not that you can have any for the next nine months,’ she waggled a finger playfully at me. ‘Florrie here is expecting a baby!’ She beamed at Annabelle and Harriet.
Both women looked shocked. For a moment, Annabelle looked almost…furious. Harriet was the first to recover. ‘Really? I thought you couldn’t have children?’
There was a sudden awkward silence. I gave Alison a searching look. Had she been gossiping about me? Alison didn’t meet my gaze. Daisy was oblivious to my dark look at Alison, and happily babbled on. ‘It’s taken Florrie a while, hasn’t it, duck? She and her sexy hubby have been to hell and back trying for a baby.’ She nudged me in the ribs. ‘Tell everyone how you used to lie on the bed for half an hour with your legs up against the wall.’ Daisy gave a cackle of laughter.
‘Congrats,’ said Annabelle. Her tone was cool.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured.
‘What do your respective parents think about the wonderful news?’ asked Alison.
‘Er, well, we…um…we haven’t told them yet.’
Daisy looked puzzled. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Oh, you know,’ I took a deep breath while my mind raced ahead to think up a plausible answer, ‘because… because…we’re waiting until I’ve reached the twelve week stage and…you know… out of the miscarriage danger zone.’ I could feel my armpits breaking out in a gushing mess at the lies I was telling. ‘We don’t want our mothers reaching for their knitting needles just yet.’ I smiled weakly as everybody nodded in agreement.
‘I really must put that kettle on.’ Alison took advantage of the natural break in conversation. ‘Daisy and Florrie, neither of you have told me what you want to drink. Coffee?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said, grateful to be off the baby subject.
‘Actually,’ said Daisy, ‘can I have a hot chocolate instead? I feel like I need something really sweet. I think I’ve got PMT again.’ There was a sudden silence. Annabelle and Harriet stared at Daisy as if she’d just announced she had a particularly nasty case of venereal disease. Daisy looked from one aristocratic face to another. ‘It’s an absolute bugger. Do either of you get it?’
‘No,’ Annabelle said faintly. ‘I can’t say I do.’
‘Me neither,’ Harriet said. ‘And if I did, I don’t think I’d be inclined to talk about it.’
‘Really?’ Daisy looked genuinely astonished. ‘Florrie and I talk about it all the time. Don’t we, Florrie?’
‘Er, well, just occasionally,’ I murmured. I cast around the room for something to comment upon and shift the conversation to a topic Alison would approve of. Her coffee table was loaded with all the latest magazines. I noticed Harriet Montgomery’s face was on the cover of one of the celebrity weeklies with the by-line: “How I love being a stay-at-home mum and raising money for charity”. Excellent, I’d try and turn the conversation back to the May Ball.
‘Yeah, Florrie and I talk about all sorts,’ Daisy confided. ‘Our mood swings…our menstrual flow.’ Out of my peripheral vision I caught Alison looking like she was going to self-combust. ‘Sometimes I want to murder my Tom. I’ve actually fantasised about it.’ Daisy shifted her weight from her left buttock, to her right, crossing one leg in the process. ‘Do you know that if you have three hungry pigs, it will only take them twenty minutes to completely consume one average-sized human, bones and all. The only things they can’t digest are teeth.’ She looked across at Harriet. ‘Mind you, if you were planning to murder your husband I’m sure the teeth bit wouldn’t be a problem to worry about. I expect your Martin has dentures, eh?’
I sprang up from my seat with such force that Harriet and Annabelle visibly jumped.
‘Let me help you with the drinks,’ I said to Alison. Anything to get out of the lounge. The air was slowly turning to poison but darling Daisy was blissfully ignorant of it. I left her prattling about the perfect husband homicide and followed Alison’s rigid back out to the kitchen.
Alison began rattling porcelain teacups onto saucers. Her face registered fury.
‘I want you to find me three starving pigs and give them Daisy,’ she hissed. ‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life. That’s Harriet Montgomery in my lounge. Not flaming Dot Cotton.’
‘Never mind that,’ I rounded on Alison. ‘Why did you tell Annabelle and Harriet I couldn’t have children? That’s personal stuff, Ali. I don’t appreciate being talked about to the likes of them.’
‘As if I’d tell anybody something like that,’ Alison huffed.
‘Well why did Harriet say what she did?’
‘I haven’t a clue,’ Alison shrugged. She stomped over to her huge American fridge and yanked the door open. Removing a carton of milk, she slammed it down on the worktop. ‘But in a village like ours, it strikes me everybody seems to know everybody else’s business anyway. I’ve already had that old biddy at the corner shop, Mrs Thompson, giving me a crafty look and asking if I liked my bracelet from Henry, and how she was sure she’d seen another totally identical bracelet on one of her customers. Naturally when I’d pressed Mrs Thompson to reveal who she’d seen wearing such a bracelet, she’d had sudden amnesia. But never mind that for the moment. What the devil does Daisy think she’s playing at? She’s talking inane topics to women she hardly knows and who are waaay out of her class.’
I decided to give Alison the benefit of the doubt, and sighed. ‘Daisy is just trying to be chummy,’ I soothed. I reached for the kettle and peered inside. It was full. I snapped the lid down and flicked the switch.
‘Chummy?’ Alison spat. ‘She’s a total liability. I’m going to have to rely on you, Florrie, to keep a close eye on Daisy at the May Ball. If she talks like this when she’s sober, can you imagine what she might come out with if she hits the vino? She’s a loose cannon.’ Alison shuddered theatrically as she removed some irregular-shaped cookies from a Fortnum & Mason bag and set them on a pretty plate. ‘Here. Take these and offer them around. And if anybody asks, you tell them I made them and say what a brilliant cook I am. Hurry up. Before Daisy starts talking about her second favourite subject.’
As I scampered back to the lounge, plate of biscuits held aloft, I could see from the horrified expressions on Annabelle’s and Harriet’s faces that I was too late and Daisy was in full flow.
‘Premenstrual tension upsets my whole body. I get terribly constipated. It was twice as bad when I was pregnant. My GP gave me this sugary liquid to get my bowels moving. It worked really well though. I do like to have a good pooh.’
‘As is evident by the verbal diarrhoea,’ Harriet murmured to Annabelle.
I thrust the plate of biscuits under Daisy’s nose. ‘Here. Alison made them herself. Have several,’ I urged. If Daisy’s choppers were busy, hopefully she’d be quiet for a while.
Alison appeared in the doorway, hands firmly grasping a beautiful tray set with exquisite china. ‘Here we are,’ she said in a sing-song voice. She moved towards the coffee table and, with the back of one hand, carefully nudged some magazines out of the way to make room for the tray. ‘That’s a lovely piece on you, Harriet.’ Alison nodded at the celeb mag as she set the tray down. ‘Your charity work is so admirable. I don’t know how you find time to oversee so many worthy causes when you are kept super busy looking after your beautiful home, being the pe
rfect wife to Martin, and a fantastic mother to Piper.’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘Oh pur-leeze,’ she said, spraying biscuit crumbs everywhere. She leant forward to address Harriet. ‘I don’t believe for one moment you personally put on a pair of rubber gloves and scrub all your own loo bowls in that mansion of yours.’
Harriet bestowed Daisy with an icy smile. ‘Of course not. I have help. But running a home like mine, looking after a highly successful man like Martin and tending to Piper – a celebrity child, remember, and incredibly needy – that all requires careful organisation and forward planning, and that I do organise totally by myself.’
‘And brilliantly too,’ Annabelle gushed.
Daisy swiped the back of her hand across her mouth to dislodge some crumbs. She gave Harriet an innocent look. ‘It must be a total nightmare having a gardener, a housekeeper and a nanny. I don’t know how you cope.’ She inspected her chocolatey fingers before wiping them down her inside-out pyjama top. She frowned at the dark smudge marks left across her chest. ‘Hell. I won’t be able to wear this tomorrow now.’
‘How are the arrangements for the May Ball coming along?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely brilliantly,’ Harriet beamed. ‘And it’s all thanks to my marvellous Events organiser here,’ she nodded at Alison who instantly turned pink with pleasure.
‘So you’ve even got somebody doing that for you,’ Daisy pointed out. She reached for her hot chocolate and slurped noisily. ‘Whatever do you do with your free time?’
‘Believe me, I rarely have a moment to myself,’ Harriet glared at Daisy. ‘Time is scarce. Which brings me to why I came here this morning.’ Harriet turned her attention to me. ‘Alison told me you’re an artist.’
The biscuit in my mouth momentarily threatened to choke me. I hastily swallowed, suddenly nervous. ‘Y-yes.’
‘Do you paint portraits?’
‘Mostly landscapes actually. But yes, I’ve produced one or two small portraits for family members.’
‘Good. Well I’ve seen your work in Serafino’s. If your portraits are as good as your landscapes, I’d like to commission you.’
‘She’s not cheap,’ Daisy piped up. ‘Florrie charges four grand a painting.’
Harriet raised an eyebrow and looked at me enquiringly. ‘Luca told me he paid you two thou.’
‘That’s for the landscapes,’ Daisy interrupted. ‘Her portraits are double.’
Alison was giving Daisy murderous looks.
‘Whatever,’ Harriet shrugged. ‘Money isn’t an issue.’
Daisy shot me a sidelong glance. I caught her expression. It was one of triumph. Whilst I wanted to kiss her for effortlessly pricing and securing work for me, another part of me hesitated. Four thousand pounds was a huge sum of money. I gulped as Marcus’s words floated back from earlier on. If Harriet offers you a commission, I think you should decline. Think about it, Florrie. If you did a bum job, she’s the type who’d put you out of work forever. ‘I’m flattered to be asked, Harriet.’ My hands began to anxiously pleat the hemline of the top I was wearing. ‘Realistically, I’m someone who paints for a hobby. Wouldn’t you like to find somebody more eminent?’
‘No,’ Harriet replied. ‘I haven’t the time or the inclination. Apart from anything else, I would prefer to have a female artist.’
‘Why’s that?’ I asked. Somehow I knew the answer to the question before Harriet even replied.
‘Because when you paint me, I’ll be in the buff.’
Chapter Ten
‘Oh God, Daisy,’ I snorted into my coffee cup. The two of us were in my lounge, drinking companionably. In the background the television was on. Daisy wanted to keep tabs on Jeremy Kyle’s latest dysfunctional guests. ‘Fancy telling Annabelle Farquhar-Jones and Harriet Montgomery about your bowel motions yesterday. Did you see Alison’s face?’
‘Yes,’ Daisy nodded. ‘Anybody would think Annabelle and Harriet have never so much as farted.’
‘They probably haven’t,’ I replied.
We were now minus Alison who’d been summoned, last minute, to the Montgomery-Murray-Wells’ household.
‘Rather her than me,’ Daisy had said after Alison had picked up a text message, instantly becoming both flustered and elated before gabbling apologies to Daisy and myself as she rushed out of my house. ‘Gawd knows why she wants to suck up to Harriet anyway. I mean, what’s in it for her? The woman’s a nightmare.’
I leant back, relaxing into the depths of my comfortable sofa and sighed. For the first time this week I was feeling a little less on edge. Marcus had left at the crack of dawn for a meeting in London, so there had been no doorstep nonsense for Alison’s benefit. Also, Luca Serafino’s landscape was finished and ready to be delivered. The painting was still drying, as such, but Luca was chomping at the bit to have it as soon as possible. It would be a relief to be distracted with a new project. I was meeting Harriet this afternoon to discuss where and how she would like to be painted. I paused mid-sip and frowned.
‘That’s strange.’
‘What?’ asked Daisy, one eye on Jeremy Kyle’s guest who was squaring up to a bouncer.
‘Alison took off like a bat out of hell to see Harriet.’
‘Yeah. And?’
‘Harriet’s not at home.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because she told me yesterday, when we were discussing the painting commission, not to arrive at the house until after lunch. You surely can’t have missed her boasting about her interview this morning with Holly and Philip on breakfast telly?’
‘I think I’d zoned Harriet’s voice out by that point. The woman is a crashing bore. She was jabbering on and on about the day she and her husband met the Royal family and how Prince Charles winked at her when Camilla’s back was turned. I mean, really? The woman is a total narcissist.’ Daisy reached for my remote control to change channels. ‘Well let’s have a look and see how Ms Harriet Hog-the-Limelight comes across on the small screen.’ Daisy pressed a button and Harriet’s face instantly dominated the television. ‘Perfect timing.’
‘You have to admit she is a stunning looking woman.’
‘Any woman can look stunning, Florrie, if they have the luxury of ten hours sleep at night and somebody waiting on them hand, foot and finger.’
‘But movie stars aren’t really like the rest of us mere mortals, are they?’ I took another sip of my coffee. ‘Somehow they’re always so…,’ I paused, trying to think of the right word, ‘…glossy.’
‘Listen, I can look glossy if I want to,’ Daisy waggled a finger at me. She was still wearing her inside out pyjama top smeared in yesterday’s Fortnum & Mason melted chocolate. Her hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in days and her face was shiny and devoid of make-up. She also had a huge spot brewing on the end of her nose. ‘Oh, I missed that bit. What did she say?’ She turned the volume up.
Harriet was treating Philip to her tinkling laugh. Clearly they’d just shared something terribly amusing. Harriet’s face suddenly became serious.
‘In all truth, Philip, I was seriously thrilled when Angelina Jolie rang me up. She absolutely begged me to think about starring in her latest project. Naturally it’s been written by herself and she will be directing too. Brad is in the lead role, and he’s just such a fun guy.’
‘So the Jolie-Pitts are managing to stay amicable, despite their divorce?’ Philip asked nosily.
‘They are professionals,’ Harriet gently chided, ‘so that goes without saying.’
‘Whilst I don’t doubt they are professional where their work is concerned, nonetheless the paparazzi have been hinting at gin bottles and bongs being hurled at each other long after the midnight hour. There have also been rumours about another woman coming between them.’
‘I wouldn’t know, Philip.’ Harriet was starting to look put out. Her expression said it all. I haven’t come on your programme to discuss the Jolie-Pitt marriage meltdown. I want to talk about me. Me, me, me, me, me.
‘I can’t say too much at the moment, but I have seen the script. It is a high-octane action project with lots of romantic suspense. Obviously I’m Brad’s love interest. If I do take the role it will be so nice to play opposite someone who is not just charismatic but seriously good looking.’
‘Are you saying,’ Phil smiled goofily into camera, ‘that you fancy Brad Pitt?’
Harriet threw back her head and gave another tinkling laugh. How on earth did Martin Murray-Wells put up with it? It was beyond irritating. ‘Between you and me, Philip,’ Harriet paused and winked into the camera lens, ‘if you’re watching, Angie, look away now!’ She turned back to Philip Schofield. ‘I think Brad’s divine.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ Daisy put two fingers into her mouth and mimed puking. ‘The woman is beyond ghastly. As if Angelina Jolie would make a point of tuning in to watch Harriet Montgomery on breakfast telly.’ She pressed the remote’s off button. ‘Anyway, enough of her. Tell me more about your baby news. How are you feeling? If you don’t mind me saying, Florrie, you don’t seem terribly excited.’
Caught off guard, for a moment I could only gape at Daisy. ‘That’s a daft thing to say,’ I said, recovering my composure. ‘Firstly, I feel fine. Secondly, I’m thrilled to bits. Ecstatic. Totally over the moon.’
‘And Marcus?’
‘Yes – obviously!’
‘So when are you seeing your GP?’
‘Isn’t it a bit early?’
‘I don’t think it’s ever too soon. I was hot-footing down to the surgery the moment the tester showed “Positive”. It doesn’t hurt to get checked over, Florrie. Do you have any idea how many weeks’ pregnant you are?’
‘No,’ I lied. ‘It’s very early days.’
‘And Marcus hasn’t gone off the boil yet?’
The Corner Shop of Whispers Page 6