Chapter Nineteen
Marcus’s words rang in my ears. I was in love with another man. Yes, it was true. Up until now, I hadn’t even dared admit it to myself. I knew, from the moment I’d laid eyes on Luca Serafino, that he’d set my soul on fire. But I’d reasoned such giddy feelings were more to do with the laws of attraction. Simple chemistry. Some people would have been blunter, citing lust. If I’d confessed to Daisy about the effect Luca had had on me from the moment we’d sat in his restaurant, she’d have simply snorted with laughter and told me I’d got the hots for the guy. Alison would have sniffed and told me not to be so ridiculous, and that true love was making sure you lived in a middle-class area with a man who provided a ski holiday in spring and guaranteed you white sand and blue surf in winter. For me it was very different. Whenever I thought of Luca I wanted to breathe the very air he’d exhaled. I was brought back to the present by my husband, who I’d once thought myself totally in love with.
‘So, where do we go from here, Florrie?’ Marcus asked sadly.
Where indeed? To the local solicitor’s office? To the divorce courts? To the front room for discussion about who’d paid for the television and who’d bought the three-piece suite? I shook my head.
‘Can we just leave things for now? Currently I don’t think we’re in any emotionally fit state to deal with the next step.’
Marcus nodded. ‘You’re right. My wife is always right.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry for…,’ he sighed, ‘just…everything.’
Tears sprang to my eyes again. ‘Me too.’ I wiped the back of my hand across my face.
‘Look, I’m going to…um…,’ Marcus stood up awkwardly from where we’d been sitting together at the kitchen table, ‘…see my parents and break the news to them.’
I must have appeared momentarily sceptical, because he immediately put up both hands in a gesture of surrender.
‘This time I mean it,’ he assured. ‘I think I ought to have a chat with them about…well…us.’
‘Sure,’ I nodded. But as my husband moved towards the kitchen door, I called out to him. ‘Marcus?’ He turned to look back at me. ‘Can you…for now…leave out the bit about me being pregnant? I think that’s something I’d like to explain to your parents myself. I think too much of them to have you doing my dirty work for me.’
‘Okay. But don’t worry, Florrie. I’ll tell them I’ve been no saint.’
I knew without a shred of doubt that Marcus would definitely be honourable where his parents were concerned. It would be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
‘See you later,’ he smiled ruefully and shut the door quietly behind him.
After Marcus had gone, for a moment I didn’t know what to do with myself. The urge to go back to bed, pull the duvet over my head, and sleep for a year was very tempting. Instead I washed up the breakfast things, wiped the worktops and hastened upstairs for a quick shower. There was an unfinished painting requiring attention. I had no idea whether Harriet Montgomery would once again keep me waiting while she languished in another long, drawn-out bubble bath, or if she’d be standing on her doorstep, tapping a well-shod shoe, absolutely furious about my tardiness.
Inevitably, when I arrived at the Montgomery-Martin-Wells’ household, only the housekeeper appeared to be home.
‘Go on up to the top floor, love,’ she gestured to the sweeping staircase. ‘Between you and me I don’t know what goes on in this household.’ Her hairy chin quivered with indignation as she clutched one hand to her ample bosom. ‘That little Piper has taken herself off to someone’s house to listen to music. All by herself! It’s wrong. And her ladyship isn’t even home at the moment,’ she sniffed, ‘although His Nibs is around somewhere. If either of them asks where I am, tell them the internet’s broken and I can’t do the on-line shopping. I’m off to the supermarket.’
‘Of course,’ I smiled by way of response before making my way up the stairs.
In the attic room I set to work squeezing out oils, relishing the smell of linseed and turpentine filling the musty air. Soon I was in another world, totally absorbed in building the image as I stroked paint onto the canvas. At this rate I’d have to leave the finer details of Harriet’s face until last. As I worked, my thoughts automatically drifted. Luca’s face flooded my mind. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. My desire to paint him was overwhelming, and I wouldn’t need a photograph to work from. Every cell of his being was ingrained in my memory. But Luca wasn’t just gorgeous on the outside. He was beautiful on the inside too.
Luca had his own sad past to deal with. The premature death of his young bride was a well-known fact. Lesser known was that his wife had been having affairs before they were even married. I’d discovered that when we were chatting. Inevitably I’d found myself confiding in Luca about Marcus’s dalliances.
‘It seems, Florrie, we have much in common. Spouses who have loved the thrill of the chase, regardless of the wounds inflicted on those around them.’
Luca had found out about Maria’s many liaisons just days after shaking the wedding confetti from their hair. They’d been arguing about her refusal to give up her latest lover when Maria had slammed out of the house prior to the tragic accident.
I sighed. Every which way I turned, someone was having an affair. Was nobody happily married anymore? My thoughts strayed to my parents. Henpecked Daddy firmly under my mother’s thumb. Had he ever had an affair? I had a mental picture of him trying to be furtive:
“Ah, there you are, darling! And if I may say so, your blue rinse is looking exceptionally pretty today. It matches your eyes perfectly. Um, is it okay if I go out for a little while? To the, er, nursery? No, of course I won’t be long, dear. Is an hour permissible? Oh. Half an hour? Thank you, dear. Toodle-oo.”
I then tried to envision my father making a mad dash by car to seek out the homely lady in charge of garden furniture, before the pair of them sloped off for a breathless grapple behind the flowering petunias. Not exactly pulse-pounding romance.
My mind drifted to my in-laws. Margaret and Phil were both still a handsome couple happily growing old together. But then again, Margaret spent much of her time cuddling a gin bottle while Phil was more content to stride across local fields with a Labrador at his side.
My thoughts returned to Luca. I was looking forward to seeing him this evening, but equally I was dreading it too. My tummy instantly contracted with anxiety about what his reaction might be after I’d told him he was going to be a daddy. But before I could give Luca another thought, I was disturbed by a noise.
Behind me came the sound of frantic footsteps pounding up the last flight of steps. They were coming towards the old servants’ quarters. I paused, paintbrush suspended in mid-air, ears pricked. The footfall was heavy and out of time. I then realised it was two people, and they were clearly in a rush. There was nowhere else for them to go apart from here, within the linked row of rooms under the mansion’s rooftop. A male voice suddenly shouted out.
‘You bloody little tease,’ he roared. ‘Come here!’ His words were instantly followed by a shriek of female laughter and a playful response.
‘Catch me if you can!’
Automatically I turned to see who was heading my way, just as the main door at the far end of the attic burst open. Surprised, I was about to greet the two of them when the words died on my lips. The man in question had caught up with his frisky companion. With a speed that defied his years, he launched himself at his playmate who allowed herself to gleefully surrender to his ardent embrace. I paled as the two of them welded their mouths together; eyes tightly closed, and urgently began stripping off in synchronised movements.
There was no way I could speak up without causing major embarrassment for all three of us. Horrified, I realised there was only one thing for it. I’d have to hide. With a bit of luck they wouldn’t wander into my area, instead making use of the spare bed reserved for the scant visits of Harriet’s d
isliked sister-in-law, Gertrude. The man, his lips still glued to his companion’s, tossed his trousers to one side and, hopping briefly on one foot, whipped off a pair of designer boxers exposing the full state of his excitement. I nearly whimpered out loud. Horrified, I moved back into the shadows. Dear Lord. Get me out of here. But there was nowhere to go without giving myself away. Even worse, the lovers were now staggering through the connected door-less rooms and heading straight towards my studio area. Oblivious to my presence, their eyes still tightly shut, their kissing went on and on. I gasped. This was dreadful. Truly awful.
Frantically I cast around for somewhere – anywhere – to hide. If I’d been a pin-man I could have tucked myself behind the easel. Regrettably, the only feasible place to try and conceal myself was under Harriet’s chaise-longue. I nervously eye-balled the shallow space between its underside and the floor. It wasn’t much of a gap. Would I fit underneath? There was only one way to find out, and not a moment to lose. As the loved-up couple staggered past Gertrude’s bed, it was quite obvious they were heading my way.
Abandoning my paintbrush, I dived under the chaise-longue. Wriggling frantically, I twisted myself underneath. Contorting into a horribly uncomfortable position, my head came to rest at an unnatural angle to my shoulders. It was debatable whose breathing was more ragged, mine or that of the unexpected visitors. They were now edging towards the very piece of furniture I was hiding under. If I’d been able to avert my eyes, I would have done so. Regrettably, there was no room to swivel my head away from the scene unfolding before me. I boggled silently as the man, bits and pieces jiggling, finally broke away from his companion’s mouth in order for her to divest the last of her clothing. Usually so prim and proper, she whipped off her spotless M&S undies before pausing, briefly, to unhook her sensible white bra. As her unsupported breasts drooped downwards, she paused briefly to wave the garment around like a football rattle. Then, with a cry like Tarzan’s Jane, she pushed her lover to the floor. Seconds later she was on top of him impersonating an out-of-control pneumatic drill.
I could have, indeed should have, tightly shut my eyes. I can only presume it was the terror of being discovered that kept my eyelids pinned back so my eyeballs could do nothing else but watch in fascinated horror the graphic scene taking place before me. Just when I thought things were reaching a noisy climax and the two of them might soon bog off, the woman instead jumped up and, hauling the man to his feet, tugged him towards the chaise-longue. The entire frame creaked alarmingly as she threw herself with gusto onto the faded velvet. Seconds later the man collapsed on top of her. I was petrified the ancient piece of furniture would buckle. As the two of them got down to the joyful task of bonking the living daylights out of each other, I tried not to think about the possibilities of me ending up headlining the national newspapers:
WOMAN SQUASHED TO DEATH IN MOVIE STAR’S MANSION!
For a man of seventy-seven years, I had to give it him. Martin Murray-Wells was in pretty good shape. Judging by the ecstatic grunts and groans coming from above, the two of them were thoroughly enjoying themselves. But it was his amorous companion who’d truly astonished me. Never in a million years had I ever anticipated this particular lady would put herself in such a risky situation. As her signature perfume, masculine with musky overtones, reached my quivering nostrils, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look her in the eye again. For above me, in all her naked glory, was my neighbour Alison.
Chapter Twenty
I lay under the chaise-longue for what seemed like an eternity. By the time things came to a juddering, groaning, noisy climax I’d completely lost sensation in my legs, and my neck muscles were in agony.
Finally my neighbour and Martin Murray-Wells rolled off the chaise-longue, collected up their discarded clothing and, exclaiming excitedly at their brazen antics, left the attic rooms. I was just about to come out from my hiding place when Alison returned by herself. Giggling naughtily, she went and stood in front of the easel for a minute. After that I was too scared to come out for another ten minutes in case either of them returned again. When I finally hauled myself out, I felt incredibly shaky. I sat down heavily on the chaise-longue, desperately trying to regain my wits and sense of well-being. It evaded me. Groaning, I put my head in my hands. I don’t know how long I sat like that, but a familiar female voice had me jumping off the chaise-longue like a schoolgirl in trouble with the head teacher.
‘What the hell’s happened to my painting?’ Harriet roared.
I clutched my hands to my thumping heart. ‘O-oh, Harriet. You took me by surprise.’
‘I take it the reason you’re sitting on that chaise looking like your world has collapsed is because of this?’ she snapped.
White-faced, I crept over and peered at the canvas. Alison had finished off Harriet’s facial features on my behalf. The image was now sporting blacked out teeth and a pair of Harry Potter glasses.
‘Y-yes,’ I stammered. ‘It was a bit of a shock. I had to, er, sit down and just…take a moment.’
‘That child of mine,’ Harriet fumed, ‘is turning into a delinquent.’ She dumped her handbag on the floor and stomped over to the chaise. ‘I’ve told Martin that I’m finding her behaviour more and more rebellious. I’ll be having words with that school of hers on Monday. We don’t pay thousands of pounds in fees to have our daughter carrying on like some sort of chav.’ Harriet’s eyes flashed with anger.
‘Don’t blame Piper,’ I soothed. ‘It’s probably just a cry for attention.’
I desperately hoped Piper didn’t get into trouble due to Alison’s prank back-firing.
‘If Piper wants attention, she only has to ask. After all, her father is downstairs with Alison.’
I looked at Harriet uncertainly. Surely she didn’t know of or condone the shenanigans her husband had so very recently been up to with my neighbour? Harriet met my gaze.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ I said quickly as a vision of Martin Murray-Well’s erect private parts instantly sprang to mind. The mental picture faded to Henry and his third leg. Dear Lord, the Montgomery-Murray-Wells’ house was certainly seeing a lot of extra-marital action.
‘I was, um, just surprised to hear my neighbour is downstairs.’
Harriet flapped a hand dismissively. ‘The May Ball. Apparently there was some minor tweaking that just couldn’t keep.’
‘Ah,’ I nodded. So that was the excuse for Alison being here.
‘Well shall we get on with it?’ Harriet said, suddenly business-like. ‘I want this painting finished tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ my head jerked. ‘I’m afraid I’m seeing somebody this evening and–’
‘Cancel them,’ Harriet ordered.
‘It’s a long-standing arrangement. Apart from anything else, you told me I had a week’s slot for this commission. I’m afraid I can’t drop everything to suit–’
‘I’ll pay you another thousand pounds.’
‘Look, Harriet, it’s not about the money. It’s–’
‘Okay, I’ll double your fee. Eight thousand pounds.’
I gasped. Eight thousand pounds! Dear Lord. Aware that I was staring divorce in the face and would shortly be going it alone, I determined that my meet-up with Luca would regrettably have to be postponed.
‘Okay,’ I nodded. ‘But first, I need to make a phone call.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Harriet waving one hand in a don’t-mind-me gesture.
‘Ah. I was hoping for a bit of privacy.’
‘I’m not listening,’ Harriet assured as she began stripping off her clothes. One way or another that chaise-longue was seeing rather a lot of nudity today. ‘Just hurry up,’ she ordered.
‘Er, right.’
I whipped out my mobile phone and found Luca’s number. It rang and went straight to voicemail. I hung up and tried the restaurant. A female voice answered.
‘Pronto?’
‘Oh! Um, hello.’ Out of my peripheral vision I could see Harriet was
now entirely in the buff and draping herself over the chaise-longue. ‘Is the manager there please?’
‘Who?’
I really didn’t want to say names in front of Harriet.
‘The proprietor, please.’
‘Il proprietario?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
Bugger.
‘It’s quite urgent.’
‘Luca upstairs. With viz-ee-tor.’
‘I see. Look, is it possible to tell him Florrie is on the phone?’
‘Do you have mobile number?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ring mobile. I will shout up the stairs. I will say Flor-ee is calling.’
‘Thank you.’
I hung up again. As I redialled Luca’s mobile number, Harriet’s fingers began to tap impatiently against one creamy thigh.
‘I thought you said you had one call to make? This is phone call number three.’
‘Yes.’ Thank you for reminding me you can count. ‘I haven’t been able to reach the person in question, but I’ve been assured I now will.’
Harriet rolled her eyes by way of answer just as my call connected to Luca’s mobile. As the sound of ring tones once again went unanswered, I had a flicker of doubt. What if Luca had changed his mind about seeing me this evening and was deliberately avoiding speaking to me? Just when I thought his voicemail would kick in again, my call was answered.
‘Hello?’
For a moment I couldn’t speak. I knew that voice. What on earth was she doing in Luca’s upstairs apartment? Moreover, why was she answering Luca’s phone?
‘Er, hello.’
I could imagine her at the other end of the phone, smirking like a cat with the cream.
‘Ah, Florrie. It is Florrie, isn’t it?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘And what do you want, Florrie?’
Her tone was supercilious. She sounded like Cinderella’s step-mother demanding to know why I wanted to go to the ball. It was obvious from her tone of voice that I was intruding.
The Corner Shop of Whispers Page 11