The Perfect Life

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘The investigation continues. We’ll keep digging and hopefully come up with a connection between you and Pleasant that makes sense. Until then, stay inside, safe.’ He stood. ‘As soon as we have anything concrete, we’ll be in touch.’

  There was no point in telling him she was planning to go out the next day, to the very area where she’d been knocked down. He’d think she was crazy. Irresponsible. And he’d be right on both accounts. But she was worried about Jack. She had considered sending Stuart a message and asking him to come to Elystan Street. There was a time when she wouldn’t have thought twice about it but that was before Lucien Pleasant. Her judgement had been called into question; she wasn’t taking any more chances.

  She insisted on getting up to show them out. ‘It’s good to keep moving around. Thank you for keeping me updated.’ Ignoring Carstairs, she held her hand out to Fanshawe. When he shook it briefly, she added a smile. ‘And thanks for listening to me.’

  ‘Part of my job,’ he said. ‘Stay safe.’

  She watched them walk up the street before shutting the door and returning to the living room. She’d been pleasantly surprised about how forthcoming they were with information. Her previous experience with the police was courtesy of TV shows, where victims were normally kept in the dark.

  No doubt there were things they weren’t telling her, just as she hadn’t told them she was going to Casper’s the next day.

  She checked her watch. Five twenty. Jack would be home after six. She looked at the sofa. The pains and aches were starting to take over. If she sat, she wasn’t sure she could get up again. A medicinal glass of wine might do the trick.

  Gathering anything she might need: her laptop, phone and the remote control, she placed them all on the coffee table before fetching a large glass of wine and settling down onto the sofa, lifting one leg after the other and resting her head back on the cushion.

  She took a mouthful of wine before opening her laptop. There was no need to check the local time. If Freya or Remi were available, they’d answer her Skype call no matter what time it was. Freya answered almost immediately.

  ‘Maman!’

  She was lying on her bed, her hair in a ponytail, looking wonderful. Molly’s heart leapt. ‘Hello darling,’ she said, ‘what time is it there?’

  ‘C’est sept heure, Maman,’ Freya replied.

  Molly had enough schoolgirl French to understand that it was seven o’clock but she would be quickly out of her depth if her daughter continued to show off her language ability. ‘Everything okay?’

  Luckily, excitement required her daughter to revert to English in order to perfectly explain what an amazing time she was having. Finally, she paused. ‘You don’t look too hot, Mum.’

  Luckily, Molly had prepared an answer should either of her children enquire. ‘I’ve the flu,’ she said, ‘almost over it, actually, so nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay then. Look after yourself.’ Freya spoke to someone out of sight before turning back to Molly. ‘I have to go, Mum, we’re heading out for dinner.’

  ‘Have a good time, don’t forget to send a message every day so we know you’re okay.’

  ‘Mai oui, Maman,’ her irrepressible daughter said before the screen went dead.

  Molly sat back with a satisfied smile on her lips. Freya looked good, her eyes were bright, her mouth always ready to curve in a smile. She was one of nature’s happy people; Molly would have liked to coddle her, to protect her from a world that didn’t necessarily treat people well. Instead, both she and Jack had encouraged her to follow her dreams to the Sorbonne.

  There was no answer from Remi. Scrunching up her eyes, Molly tried to remember what time it was in Boston. Five or six hours behind. He was probably in class. She left a message asking him to Skype when he was free, adding that she was home all day with the flu. It made it simpler to tell the same lie to both children.

  Remi, she guessed, would send a quick message rather than Skype. It was enough.

  She shut the laptop and slid it under the sofa, the movement causing her to wince. She was being stupid; she should take some damn painkillers. Instead, she reached for the wine. She switched on the TV, hoping to find something to divert her attention, pleased to find Thor. It was her guilty secret, she absolutely loved Marvel movies. She’d seen it before; they’d gone to Cape Town for a holiday and it had been one of five movies she’d watched on the twelve-hour flight while Jack snored quietly beside her.

  It was complete escapism. She sipped her wine, relaxing for the first time. The police had her case in hand. The next day, she’d find out what Stuart had to say and hopefully, it would throw some light on Jack’s worries. Until then, she’d say nothing. Tonight, when he got home, she’d ask him to order a takeaway again and they could relax and watch TV together. There was no point in bringing anything up until she had some facts. And anyway, she didn’t have the energy. She’d find some before the morning.

  26

  If Jack objected to having a takeaway again, he said nothing. Apart from asking Molly if she was feeling a little better, he barely spoke the whole evening.

  ‘How’s Charlie?’ she asked, searching for a safe topic of conversation and anyway genuinely interested in how he was coping with his break-up.

  Jack pushed his plate away and shrugged. ‘Charlie isn’t the kind of man to let a little thing like his wife walking out on him interfere with his life.’

  ‘Zara walked out on him? They seemed such a happy couple.’

  ‘That’s you all over,’ Jack said, with a faint sneer. ‘You see what you want to see. Everything in your garden is always rosy, always so damn perfect.’

  Molly put her fork down and pushed her half-eaten meal away. ‘You make it sound like a bad thing, Jack.’

  He reached for his beer. ‘No, I’m sorry. Sorry, okay, I’ve had a tiring day.’

  While she’d been sitting around recovering from having been pushed in front of a car. The unfairness of it all stung. If he was tired, she was physically and mentally exhausted.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said abruptly, getting to her feet. She picked up her plate, then put it down again. Okay, he didn’t want her to be perfect, she’d leave the damn thing where it was. It was childish, and it might have made her smile if she hadn’t felt so miserable.

  ‘You’re obviously in pain, take some of the painkillers the hospital prescribed you,’ he said, reaching out to caress her arm.

  She took some comfort in his touch and put her hand over his. ‘Yes, I might do. Goodnight.’

  The tablets sat on one of the shelves of the bathroom cabinet. They’d probably help her sleep but she remembered the disconnected feeling she’d experienced after the pain relief she’d had in the hospital and shook her head. She was meeting Stuart in the morning, she wanted to be sharp. Instead, and with reluctance, she took a couple of paracetamols. They were enough to take the edge off the ongoing discomfort, but still she slept fitfully, waking finally at five, unable to drift back to sleep.

  She lay quietly and listened as the house woke; the rattle and hiss of the central heating, the creak of the floorboards, and finally the hum of the electric shower that told her Jack was up. He’d slept in the spare room again. ‘In case I might hurt you unintentionally,’ he’d said. She’d not had the energy to argue with him.

  Only when she heard the front door shutting, did she push herself gingerly from the bed, relieved to be feeling a little better. A peek through the window told her the weather, at least, was in her favour. It was a blue-sky day; she wouldn’t need to battle with an umbrella.

  By the time she’d showered and dressed, it was almost nine. She debated taking some more paracetamol but decided against. If nothing else, the aches and pains kept her focused. Unable to drag up any enthusiasm for food, she drank coffee as she watched the clock and wondered what it was that Stuart was so desperate to tell her.

  At ten, she pulled on her c
oat. It wouldn’t normally take her an hour to get to Casper’s, but she needed to walk slowly, too many parts of her body ached to move with speed. She took a different road; crossed in a different place, but fear shadowed her from the moment she left Victoria station and she was almost in tears by the time she saw the café loom into view.

  What an incredibly stupid idea this had been. There were thousands of places she could have suggested meeting Stuart. Stupid bravado, it would be the death of her. What on earth was she trying to prove? A tremor ran through her as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  She was surprised that Stuart had agreed to meet her here. He must know about what had happened on Friday by now. Even if Jack hadn’t told him, he’d have no doubt mentioned it to someone in the office and the story would have spread. Scanning the café, she saw he hadn’t yet arrived. It wasn’t quite eleven, she was early.

  Early, but the café was busy and there was only one table free in the far corner with a minefield of tables and chairs to shuffle around before reaching it. Finally, she pulled out one of the chairs and used the edge of the table to balance her descent, grimacing as she settled down, wondering at the same time if she was going to be able to get up again.

  A waiter appeared before she’d time to even look at a menu. It didn’t matter, she knew what she wanted. ‘A large Americano,’ she said. She’d have liked, despite the early hour, to have ordered a large glass of wine but she needed to keep her wits about her – no medication, no alcohol.

  She looked around as she waited. It hadn’t changed much since her last visit several years before. Wooden tables of various sizes were still surrounded by an eclectic mix of old chairs, but with a nod to comfort that was new there were now floral-patterned chair pads on each. The cream painted walls were hung with art for sale; some very good, some not, the same as it had been then. It was like stepping back in time.

  With a smile of reminiscence, she picked up the menu; the food had always been classic, and good. She scanned it and closed it with a snap. It too, hadn’t changed much, perhaps more vegetarian options, and a lot of sourdough bread and avocado but otherwise much as it had been. But her appetite wasn’t, and she wasn’t tempted to order anything to eat.

  Her coffee arrived and there was still no sign of Stuart. She checked her watch, sipped her coffee, then checked again. Ten past eleven. Where was he? It wasn’t until fifteen minutes past, that he bustled in the door, a frown between his eyes, a grim tightness pursing his lips.

  When he saw her, his expression relaxed and he rushed over to her table, bending down to plant a kiss on each cheek as if they were old friends. ‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ he said, taking the seat opposite. ‘Something came up as I was about to leave.’

  She indicated her coffee. ‘I’ve kept myself company. And at least you turned up.’

  He smiled. ‘True.’ He lifted a hand to attract the waiter’s attention. ‘A double espresso, and an avocado and brie sandwich on granary bread.’ Stuart grinned at Molly’s surprise. ‘I never look at the menu, I have the same thing every time I come. Are you going to have anything to eat?’

  ‘No, but another Americano would be good.’

  The waiter nodded, reached for her empty cup and left.

  Stuart sat back and looked at her with critical eyes. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look at all well. And you’ve lost weight since the party.’ He leaned closer and dropped his voice. ‘Is everything okay?’

  She frowned. He didn’t know. ‘I thought you’d have heard,’ she said. ‘Even if Jack hadn’t had a chance to tell you, I would have thought the news would have spread around the office by now.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re talking in riddles, Molly.’

  ‘The reason I didn’t turn up the last time. I was on my way to meet you, but I was knocked down. The police think someone deliberately pushed me in front of a car.’ As Stuart’s eyes widened in horror, she attempted a smile that wavered on one corner of her mouth before fading. ‘I broke a rib, have more bruises than I can count, and ache all over, but apart from that I’m okay.’

  Stuart ran a hand over his mouth and shook his head. ‘Seriously? Someone tried to hurt you?’

  She wanted to correct him. Someone had wanted to kill her, but his disbelief brought a weary chuckle and she let it go. ‘Seriously! I appear to have got mixed up with the wrong kind of people.’

  The arrival of the coffees and sandwich gave Stuart a moment to recover. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ he said, looking around anxiously. ‘Should you be out?’

  She shrugged. ‘The police told me to stay indoors, but I don’t feel any safer there. I thought meeting you would take my mind off things.’ She leaned both arms on the table, the cup of coffee between her hands. ‘Why did you want to meet me?’

  Stuart, in the act of taking a bite of his sandwich, stopped, put it down and groaned. ‘How can I tell you bad news, after what you’ve told me?’

  Molly’s fingers tightened on the handle of the cup. Bad news. Across the table, Stuart had picked up his sandwich again and was making inroads into the first half. Why had she never noticed his weak chin before, his rather watery blue eyes? ‘Well,’ she said, her voice sharp, ‘I know there’s something going on. Jack has been so stressed recently but he won’t talk about it. Now you’ve told me there’s bad news. It would be kinder to tell me the details, rather than leaving me guessing, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Okay, let me finish this,’ he said, picking up the second half of his sandwich, his eyes avoiding hers.

  She wanted to grab it and throw it across the room. Worryingly, she wanted to grab him and throw him across the room. The thought made her smile briefly. She didn’t know herself these days. Finishing her coffee, she waved a hand for the waiter and this time ordered a double espresso. It came as Stuart finished the last of his sandwich. Adding a few grains of sugar to her coffee, she stirred it before saying quietly, ‘Tell me.’

  He pushed his plate away. Picking up his coffee, he took a sip and put it down before he met her eyes. ‘Jack couldn’t have told me about your accident, Molly. He hasn’t been in the office in over a week.’

  She choked on her coffee, coughing and spluttering, her hand going automatically to hold her ribs. It was a few seconds before she was in control. Ignoring the eyes that had swivelled to stare, she took out a tissue, wiped her eyes, held her arm tightly against her ribs and gave another cough. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘what do you mean he hasn’t been in the office? He goes every morning.’

  Stuart shook his head. ‘I don’t know where he’s going but it’s not into work. He was suspended.’ He wiped a hand over his mouth, brushing away crumbs. ‘The details are being kept hush-hush, but it has to be something pretty serious. The company doesn’t suspend willy-nilly, it’s bad for morale and makes investors nervous.’

  A wave of dizziness swept over Molly, forcing her to shut her eyes. The coffee churned in her stomach and, for one awful second, she was afraid she was going to eject the lot.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Stuart squealed, seeing her colour drain away. ‘Don’t faint on me!’

  She dropped her head into her hands and took some deep breaths.

  After a few minutes, when the churning had stopped and the dizziness eased, she lifted her head, reached for a serviette and wiped her face. She stared across the table with dislike. ‘God forbid, I should embarrass you, Stuart. Now tell me the rest.’

  ‘That’s it,’ he said.

  He was lying. It was obvious in the shifty way he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to be polite. ‘Don’t lie,’ she said bluntly and watched as he pretended to look outraged. ‘You may as well tell me. If you don’t, I’m going into the office. I’ll ask to speak to the CEO, tell him what you’ve told me, and ask him to elaborate.’

  His mouth turned down when he saw she was deadly serious. ‘I should never have contacted you,’ he muttered. ‘I should have minded my own business.’

  ‘Ye
s, but you did contact me, so finish it.’ She pushed her empty coffee cup away, leaving her hand resting on the table. His pale-blue eyes darted around the café. She wasn’t sure if he was checking to see if there was anyone listening or searching for the fastest route out. ‘Oh, get on with it, Stuart,’ she said, losing what little patience she had left.

  He licked his lips nervously and leaned a little closer. ‘Fine. You mentioned Jack’s frequent business trips to Las Vegas.’

  Was he going to tell her Jack had a mistress there? ‘Yes, so?’

  ‘The company doesn’t do any business in Vegas, Molly. There were tentative enquiries, a few meetings, but it didn’t work out.’

  This wasn’t what she expected. She laughed uncertainly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve spent so long in Hong Kong you’re out of the loop, Stuart, you said it yourself.’

  He reached out and gripped her hand. ‘We do business in New York, Boston and Seattle. Not in Vegas. After the initial talks fell through, the idea was shelved.’

  She looked down at his hand. ‘But he’s been away several times–’

  ‘He’s been sick several times in the last year,’ Stuart interrupted her. ‘I’d take a guess that if I looked at the dates, they would coincide with the dates you said he was in Vegas.’

  Pulling her hand away, she sat back and crossed her arms. ‘This is all ridiculous.’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours in the office. Does Jack have a gambling problem?’

  A gambling problem? ‘Of course not!’ Her voice was firm. Jack didn’t have a gambling problem. She’d know if he had. Wouldn’t she? A little voice whispered nastily, the way you knew he’d been suspended. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted with a gulp. She wanted to add that she didn’t know anything anymore, but she was afraid she would fall apart and never be able to put herself together again. ‘I’ll speak to him,’ she said, standing abruptly. Too abruptly. She gasped at the sudden pain, putting a hand on the table to steady herself, hearing, as if at a vast distance, Stuart asking if she was okay. She rode the pain out, waiting until it eased before straightening slowly.