The Model Wife

by Julia Llewellyn

  ‘Poor thing,’ Thea crooned and then, ‘But she will be down soon?’

  ‘W-e-l-l. As I said before. She’s a little sick. The hotel’s called a doctor. But don’t worry!’ Leanne cried seeing Thea’s face. ‘Once he’s checked her out she’ll be along. It’s nothing serious. Just a precaution.’

  So they waited and waited. They ordered in sandwiches, sushi and pizza. They watched the rugby match on one of the flatscreen TVs. The pregnant make-up artist went to lie down in the bedroom complaining of Braxton Hicks contractions.

  ‘You do realize if I go into labour Channel 6 is going to have to foot the bill for the best hospital in Edinburgh.’

  ‘Of course,’ Thea cooed.

  ‘Time to read our horoscopes?’ Alexa said, picking up the Daily Mail. ‘Luke, what are you?’

  ‘Aquarius,’ Thea said before she could stop herself. Perfect match with her Libra. Everyone turned to look at her.

  ‘How did you know that?’ George teased.

  ‘Years of being bored on the road together,’ Luke said lazily. ‘Oh, hello, Leanne. Any new developments?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid Minnie’s still got a bit of a stomach ache, but when the Nurofen kicks in she’ll be down.’

  Half an hour later, Minnie had terrible period pains. Thirty minutes later it was potential food poisoning. ‘But don’t worry,’ Leanne cried again, as a grinning George made a motion to pack up. ‘She really wants to do this interview. She will be down in a minute.’

  ‘Models,’ Luke said miserably. He was dressed in a slightly too-tight Bing Parsons suit in a rather nasty shade of green that matched the bags under his eyes. ‘All flakes. I should know, I’m bloody married to one.’

  Thea looked at him. She wondered if he’d read Poppy’s column in Wicked. But now was not the time to find out.

  The next time Leanne appeared it was half past six.

  ‘She’s on her way,’ she announced in the tones you might reserve to announce a battalion of enemy tanks moving in to your village.

  ‘Here I am,’ bleated a cartoon helium whine. Everyone’s head turned to the threshold where one of the most legendary beauties of all time stood dressed in a purple Juicy tracksuit, head bowed and a hand over her Cupid-bow mouth. Minnie Maltravers sniffed loudly into a purple spotted handkerchief, then looked up, dazzling them with her moist violet eyes. ‘I don’t feel good,’ she said heading, arms outstretched, towards Carlo the hairdresser.

  ‘Oh, Minnie, poor baby.’ They exchanged kisses. ‘Would you like one of my head massages?’

  ‘Yes, pweeze.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Thea said softly to Leanne, as Minnie slumped in an armchair and Carlo began running his hands through her thick blonde locks.

  ‘Oh, you know what hotel air-con systems are like. They make the air dryer than the Sahara desert. And they just pump bugs round the system like there’s no tomorrow. Poor Minnie.’

  Thea looked at the object of all their attention in fascination. She’d always imagined Minnie Maltravers as Amazonian, but like most famous people she was, in fact, unnervingly petite. Her ego, on the other hand, was colossal. Head massage over, she leafed dismissively through the stylists’ rack of clothes, refusing to wear any of the outfits they’d selected.

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  ‘I hate red,’ she muttered. ‘Bing knows that. Why the fuck are there so many red dresses? I’m not sure I want to be wearing one of Bing’s outfits. Maybe we should call Marc and see if he has anything for me.’

  After much flattery, she was finally persuaded to put on a velvet violet dress that matched her eyes. Then she turned her attention to the jewellery.

  ‘But this is all Tiffany! I never wear Tiffany!’ She turned to Leanne. ‘Go up to my room and fetch my Bulgari necklace,’ she snapped.

  It was nearly seven. Thea had been awake for what felt like a week by the time Minnie in full make-up allowed Alexa to usher her into the interview chair.

  Luke sat in his, straightened his tie and flashed her the legendary Norton smile. Minnie looked right through him. Luke cleared his throat.

  ‘OK,’ said Thea, ‘lights, camera—’

  Dring, dring. Dring, dring.

  ‘Oh my God I have to get this!’ Minnie bolted across the room and snatched her phone out of Leanne’s hand. ‘Hellooo? Oh hi, bunny rabbit. Yeah, I’m really well. The baby is adorable, thank you, yes! I know, he does look a bit like me. Weird, isn’t it? Though God, changing diapers is the pits. I mean, of course, Rosalita does most of them but… uh, huh, uh, huh… So did you hear about Lily? Uh huh. Uh huh.’

  Everyone looked at their watches, but Minnie was oblivious. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. The chatter continued until suddenly: ‘Nicole? She’s coming? But you know how I feel about her. No, forget it.’

  She flung her phone on to the floor. ‘Bloody Nicole,’

  324

  she said to the room at large. No one dared answer. Minnie stood up and headed towards the bedroom. ‘I’ve got a headache, I need to lie down.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ a panicked Leanne said to Thea. ‘I’ll go and talk to her.’

  She was gone for half an hour. Raised voices could be heard. Finally, a battle-weary Leanne emerged.

  ‘She’d like a word with you,’ she said to Thea and Luke.

  In the bedroom, Minnie was curled up in an armchair, her twenty-thousand-dollar gown replaced by a towelling dressing gown. At the sight of them, she groaned.

  ‘Do I have to talk to them now? I feel really sick.’

  ‘No, no, Minnie, of course not.’ Leanne sounded like a doctor about to perform a smear test with a freezing speculum. She turned to Thea and Luke. ‘Perhaps you should go outside again?’

  They backed out of the room, like minions at the court of the Sun King.

  ‘This is getting beyond a joke,’ Luke growled.

  Leanne reappeared.

  ‘Thea, Luke, I am so sorry. Minnie really doesn’t want to do the interview now. You’ve been kept waiting so long, she thinks you’ll give her a hard time.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Luke said, as George stuffed his hands in his mouth to contain his mirth.

  ‘Yeah, she was really angry that you’d been kept waiting so long. But she will give you an interview. Soon.’

  ‘Like how soon?’ Thea asked. ‘Tomorrow?’

  Leanne twisted uncomfortably. ‘Actually, tomorrow she and Max and little Cristiano are going to Barbados.’

  ‘So the interview’s not going to happen?’

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  ‘No, no, it will! We’ll just have to reschedule.’

  Suddenly, Minnie’s head popped out from behind the door. ‘Sowwy,’ she whispered, ‘but I’m weally not feeling tho good. But I will do the interview. I pwomise. I always keep my word, don’t I, Leanne? By the way, could you make a reservation for me and Max for Rhubarb tonight?’

  ‘Of course, Minnie,’ Leanne said instantly. ‘What time?’

  Minnie yawned. ‘Say nine. And call Witchery to say we’ll be along later.’

  ‘But it’s nearly nine now,’ Leanne pointed out. Thea eyed her sympathetically. What was it Gran said about how there was always someone worse off than you?

  ‘Well, ten, then.’

  ‘You couldn’t do the interview before you go out for dinner?’ Thea tried. ‘It will only take half an hour.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Minnie shrugged and smiled winsomely. ‘We’ll just have to take a raincheck. How about next time I’m in London? We’re going to be in London some time soon, aren’t we, Leanne?’

  ‘You are, Minnie,’ Leanne said. Minnie walked out of the room and with a mouthed, ‘Sorry’, Leanne followed her.

  34

  Thea broke the news to Dean from the bedroom of the Balmoral suite, while the rest of the team dismantled the unused lights and cameras, packed away the candelabra and folded up the billowy, white sheets.

  ‘I fly people in from all over the world to interview Minnie Maltravers and she blew you out. Are you
taking the piss, Thea?’

  ‘She didn’t feel well,’ Thea said. ‘We tried, Dean, honestly. We tried everything. But she just wouldn’t play ball. She says she’ll do it in London.’

  ‘When will she do it in London?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some time next week, her PA says. Hopefully.’ The last word was whispered.

  ‘She’d fucking better, Thea. Because this is a joke. Sort it out. Or else.’

  Her spirits didn’t improve when, at around eleven, their taxi pulled up outside the Hootsmon Hotel. From the website, Thea had hoped for a cutting-edge joint epitomizing minimalist, funky cool. What she got was a shabby unchic building on the outskirts of town with a lobby full of wilting flower arrangements and a blazing fire in the grate, despite the fact it was a warm May night. As they bundled through the door, they were greeted by the strains of ‘Hi ho, silver lining’ blaring through ancient fire doors.

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  ‘It’s a wedding,’ said the elderly lady at reception, who looked as if she’d wandered out of an Agatha Christie series. ‘I do hope they warned you. It might be just a wee bit noisy.’

  Luke groaned and smote his forehead with his fist. George rubbed his hands in glee.

  The receptionist glared at him over the top of her glasses, then turned to Thea. ‘Your shower’s a bit temperamental,’ she warned her, handing over a brass key attached to a wooden plank so hefty it could double as a murder weapon, ‘but otherwise it’s a very nice room.’

  ‘Is there a mini bar in the room?’ George was asking the receptionist.

  ‘No sir. This is a small, family-run establishment. No mini bars. However, the bar is open for the party, but I should respectfully ask you to make it clear you are not an invited guest and to pay for all your drinks.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ George smiled, a huge grin spreading across his face. ‘Anyone care to join me for a nightcap?’

  ‘All right,’ Rhys said gamely. Luke, Alexa and Thea shook their heads.

  ‘I, for one, am looking forward to my bed,’ Luke said.

  Four hours later, Thea was woken by a text bleeping. She rolled over and stared at the clock radio: 3.02 blinked the neon digits. In the dawn light filtering through the curtains, she fumbled for her phone.

  Heard about the cock-up. Really sorry. Call me if you want to talk. Sure we can sort something. Jake x She flung the phone across the room. Bloody incompetent dwarf. He should have known something like this was going to happen. He should have somehow stopped it. It was her own stupid fault for thinking someone so young, so inexperienced, someone who should have been working as an extra in The Hobbit could deliver her a scoop.

  She lay back on her lumpy polyester pillow and closed her eyes, but thoughts of the aborted interview rampaged round her head like a mad bull. It was no good. She wasn’t going back to sleep. The plane was leaving at eight, they had to be at the airport at six. From downstairs, she could hear a faint wheeze of bagpipes. She might as well go and see what was happening rather than fester here. Cursing, she pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt and headed down the corridor to the creaking lift.

  The wedding party was still in full swing. Bodies were draped across sofas, in armchairs, on the floor. Thea stepped over them and headed towards the library where a hard-core posse of three men in kilts were reeling vigorously with Alexa and another young woman in an unfortunate yellow dress. A CDplayer in the corner rattled out ‘Scotland the Brave’ as they clapped and stamped.

  ‘All right,’ bellowed one of the reddest-faced men. ‘Gentlemen. Right hands joined over ladies’ shoulder. Left hands joined in front. Walk forwards four steps, that’s right…’

  ‘Haii, caramba!’ cried Alexa spotting her. ‘Come and join us, Thea. Everybody salsa!’

  ‘You’re not in Guatemala now.’

  329

  ‘Oh shit. Nor I am. Arriba, arriba!’ She clicked a pair of imaginary castanets.

  ‘I thought you were going to bed?’ Thea couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘I was talked out of it.’

  ‘How nice to see you,’ said a voice behind her. A flushed but slightly more cheerful-looking Luke was leaning back in an armchair, nursing what looked like a large glass of Scotch.

  ‘I thought you wanted to go to bed. Am I the only one old-fashioned enough to think a few hour’s kip might be in order?’

  ‘Looks like it. The rest of us decided it would be rude not to toast the happy couple.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They left for their honeymoon at midnight.’ He laughed.

  ‘Right.’ Thea looked at the devastation. ‘Where’s Rhys?’

  ‘Head down the toilet. These young ones are such lightweights.’

  ‘George?’

  ‘In bed with the matron of honour.’

  ‘The matron? You mean the maid.’

  ‘I mean the matron; the bride’s elder married sister. Her husband’s over there.’ He nodded in the direction of a chaise lounge, where a man with a ginger beard lay comatose.

  ‘Oh, good Lord,’ Thea started to laugh.

  ‘It’s good to see you smile again.’ He nodded towards the bar. No one was tending it. ‘Fancy a tipple?’

  ‘Yup, I think this calls for a large… Oh, I don’t know, let’s make it a pina colada.’ She smiled at him, as he held a glass up to an optic, which dispensed a measure of whisky.

  ‘That’s a bit miserable,’ Luke said. ‘Let’s double it. No, sorry, triple it.’ He handed her the glass brimming with neat alcohol and raised his. ‘Cheers, then.’

  ‘Cheers.’ They clinked. Memories of other bars, other late nights, other large whiskies flooded Thea’s mind. She swallowed hard.

  ‘Good luck to the happy couple,’ Luke said. ‘May they have better luck than I have.’ He nodded towards a pair of French doors. ‘Shall we go outside? Snatch a breath of air?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Luke opened the door and she followed him outside on to a terrace. The Hootsmon was on a hill. The craggy spires of Edinburgh lay spread out beneath them in the midsummer dawn like a city in a fairy tale. They leant against the parapet.

  ‘Christ, I thought we’d never be alone,’ Luke said.

  Despite the whisky, Thea’s throat was suddenly dry. ‘It’s been a busy day.’

  ‘I’ll say.’ He grinned. ‘Busy week. Manic. I’ve enjoyed it, though. I miss my old life on the road, bumbling from place to place not knowing where you’re going to lay your head that night.’ He paused. ‘But I realize my full-time roving reporter days are over. Getting too old.’

  You’re only as old as the person you feel, Thea thought with sudden viciousness, but she said, ‘You’re hardly old. You’re what – forty-five?’

  ‘Fifty-one.’ Her white lie cheered him enormously. ‘That’s not that old these days, is it?’

  331

  ‘Of course not. John Simpson’s sixty-three or something and he’s still going strong.’

  It was the wrong thing to say, she realized. Luke loathed his BBC rival. He scowled.

  ‘Well, hardly going strong, Thea. I mean, those reports he did recently from South Africa were pretty weak.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she agreed hastily. ‘What I meant was he’s still working as much as ever and no one’s talking about replacing him.’

  ‘What do you mean? Are they thinking about replacing me?’

  God, she shouldn’t have taken such a big slug of whisky. ‘No, no, of course not, Luke. You are the Seven Thirty News. It would be unthinkable without you at its helm.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Luke frowned, then looked at her again. ‘Just like old times, isn’t it? You. Me. A hotel. On location.’

  ‘Um…’

  ‘Anyone in your life right now?’ he asked, staring straight ahead towards the mossy green mound of Arthur’s Seat. Before she could reply, he continued, ‘I can’t believe you’re still single. An attractive woman like you.’

  ‘I’m happy this way.’ She shrugged. ‘You know that.’
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  A great weariness came over her, a weariness that had nothing to do with the dawn hour and everything to do with the fact she was sick of pretending, sick of having to act as if she was indifferent to Luke when just standing next to him she was aware of her body tingling and the fact that she was wearing boring black M&S knickers.

  ‘What do you think of your wife’s new column?’ she said, desperate to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You know, in Wicked magazine.’

  ‘What column?’

  ‘Oh. I guess you haven’t seen it. You were in Guatemala. It’s nothing,’ Thea said hastily. ‘Ask Poppy about it.’

  He turned to look at her. ‘I don’t ask Poppy about anything any more. Our marriage is a farce, Thea. The worst mistake of my life.’

  She gulped.

  ‘I’ve really missed you, you know,’ Luke said softly, taking her face in his hands.

  ‘I…’ she said, looking up at him. Her body felt as if it had been turned inside out and her ears buzzed with deafness. A voice just behind her broke through the static.

  ‘Minnie Maltravers is the hor-se’s arse!’

  They jumped away from each other as if goaded by electric prods.

  ‘She’s the meanest! She sucks the horse’s penis.’

  ‘Bloody hell, George. You gave us a shock.’ Luke was quite red in the face.

  ‘Her left tit hangs down to her belly,’ George warbled to the tune of ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean’. ‘Her right tit lies down to her knee.’

  ‘George,’ Thea said firmly, ‘perhaps you should cool it.’

  ‘If her left tit did equal her right tit, she’d get lots of weenie from me.’ He slumped on an iron chair, wiping away tears of mirth.

  Thea and Luke looked at each other. They smiled.

  ‘It is just like old times,’ Luke said.

  Then, as if in slow motion, he leant towards her, put his hand on her arm and whispered in her ear, ‘Things might be quieter back in my room.’

  35

  Without Brigita, Saturdays were the day Poppy dedicated to chores like the shopping. She strapped Clara in the buggy and set off to Tesco’s, stopping at the cash machine outside to extract the enormous wodge of cash she needed to pay Brigita at the end of every day. Briefly, she thought of Luke, probably in Scotland now, cosying up to Minnie. When he’d called to say that was his next port of call, Poppy realized her heart had acquired some kind of double glazing. The sadness that hit her was a niggly draught rather than the freezing-cold blast she’d endured for so long.