And Belgravia Private Clients is about to go under. Unless … unless … I get a loan extension and a juicy new client. I need to be pushy and schmooze. But this week I have been far from in the mood. I have spent most of my time sitting in my office keeping away from Julie and fretting. My whole life, everything I have built up, is collapsing around me.
This drive is calming me, though. I have Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake turned up full blast to soothe me. I’m on my way to do something about my plight. To find out what Julie has to say. And she is quite right. The drive is pretty. If everything goes wrong for me, perhaps I can move out of Esher, start a new life, further away from London. That’s what Julie has done, even though it’s a long way to travel to work.
The route takes me through Chiddingfold, with its duck pond and village green. Thatched cottages and Georgian country mansions. Past homes of brick and flint. Past its fourteenth-century wattle and daub pub. Winding through gentle farmland and woods of ancient trees. Northchapel. More brick and flint and characterful pubs. Through dripping valleys of autumnal trees. On to Petworth, the prettiest little market town I have ever seen.
My sat nav guides me to Julie’s new home, in West Wittering, just behind the beach. I ring the bell. The door opens and a tall angular man with jet-black hair stands in front of me.
‘Hi there,’ I say. ‘I’m Saffron Jackson. Here to visit Julie.’
‘I’m Conrad, Julie’s partner. Do come in.’
Conrad? Julie hadn’t told me she had a new man. I wonder if I should breathe a sigh of relief. Does a new man mean she’s not that interested in Miles? Or is she just a man eater? She always banters with Miles when we meet for drinks in the City. Have I been wrong to dismiss this as easy friendship?
She appears, walking towards me, through the hallway, beaming from cheek to cheek. Wearing blue jeans and a fluffy blue jumper with a large white star on. Her shiny hair glistens and her chocolate-drop eyes welcome mine. She hugs me, engulfing me with her trademark Chanel No. 5 scent.
‘Thanks for coming over. We need to talk.’
Panic rises, even though I was the one to instigate this meeting. What is she going to say?
We need to talk. I need to tell you I’m in love with Miles.
Conrad is hovering awkwardly in the hallway. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ he asks.
‘I’m fine thanks.’
‘Let’s go for a walk along the beach, and then come back here for supper. You must stay and eat. Conrad’s a wonderful cook.’ Julie kisses him. A short sharp peck. Too plastic. Too platonic? ‘See you later, darling,’ she says.
He disappears upstairs.
Julie and I step along the hallway, through a large dining room into the kitchen where Julie grabs a windjammer and hat from the hooks by the back door. Out into the garden. The salty tang of the sea assaults my nostrils, reminding me of happier times. Of childhood holidays. When life was innocent. Before sex and love and men contaminated it. The wind that is folding the plants to the ground in this well-stocked garden explodes against my face. I look down at the plants and wonder how they survive. Lavender. Salvia. Phormium. Cordylines. They are dry and bent. But alive. We push through the wind across a fragile lawn and step out through the back gate.
We weave in between the dunes onto the wet sand of the beach. The sea is pale blue with white horses on this bitterly cold but bright October day. The sky above is like a mirror. The horizon a grey line in the distance.
‘A walk on the beach always blows the cobwebs away. And we have some cobwebs we need to attend to.’ Her voice sounds stern and harsh. ‘At least the wind is behind us now, so we can have a decent chat,’ she continues.
‘I didn’t know you had a new man,’ I start.
‘Nice-looking, isn’t he?’
I nod.
‘Was he the problem between you and Aiden?’ I ask.
‘Oh no. Conrad is recent. I only met him a few months ago.’
I take a deep breath and swallow. ‘And are you only interested in Conrad? Or is there something going on between you and Miles?’
She splutters. ‘I told you in the office there’s nothing going on.’ She pauses. ‘What’s the matter? I’m so worried about you. Where on earth is all this coming from? Why are you even asking me this?’
I feel my eyes filling with tears. ‘It’s Caprice and Aiden. They say you and Miles were in love and that you still are.’
We stop walking. Julie stands looking at me, wide-eyed. For a moment I think she’s about to confess, but then she shakes her head and bursts out laughing. ‘That’s ridiculous.’ She puts her hands on my shoulders. ‘Miles and I have been just friends for years. Even before we technically split up. Even then it was friendship rather than passion. Whatever nonsense they are making up is a complete lie.’
‘But … but … why would they do that?’ I ask, wanting to believe her but finding it hard. ‘And why would both of them – quite independently – say the same thing?’
She shrugs. ‘It’s beyond me. But then again some people are very poor at understanding platonic friendships between men and women. And Aiden might want to get back at me after our divorce.’
We continue our stroll.
‘I promise you, nothing is going on.’
‘Then why are you texting each other?’
‘I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.’
‘It’s certainly a surprise that you are texting each other like a pair of adulterers. What am I supposed to think?’
‘That is insulting, Saffron. You need to trust us. What is a relationship if it isn’t based on trust?’
‘I’ve been watching The Crown on Netflix. I expect Prince Charles tried to keep Diana quiet by making statements like that, too.’
Julie puts her hand on my arm. We stop walking again, and stand, eyes locked. ‘Why are you so worried?’ she asks. ‘We’ve been friends for years. And you have been with Miles all that time. Why can’t you trust us?’
‘I’ve been wondering about this for years. It has been in the back of my mind; niggling me. Why did you run to our house, the night you left Aiden the first time? I know you didn’t come to see me, because I told you I was going away on a business trip. Why did you need to see Miles alone?’
‘I thought you were going to be there too.’
‘But I told you.’ My voice sounds whingey and plaintive.
She shakes her head. ‘I must have been so stressed at leaving Aiden that I forgot. When I arrived I was surprised you weren’t there.’
‘I even sent you a text.’
‘I never received a text, I promise. I wasn’t trying to spend the night with your husband alone. He’s been my friend, my sounding board, for many years now. But I wasn’t saying anything to him that I wouldn’t have shared with you.’
‘But Miles won’t tell me what was said. As if it was not for my ears.’
‘That’s just him being too private, too cautious. Because I was upset. In tears.’
‘So, leaving Aiden had nothing to do with your feelings for Miles?’
She laughs. ‘No way. Aiden became difficult. Too obsessed by money. I thought you’d have realised that. Over the years you’ve had to spend enough time with him.’ Her face is crumpling with concern, as she looks at me. ‘Please believe me, there is nothing between Miles and me, except friendship. We do get on well, but we just don’t fancy each other. What’s got into you? You and Miles are so close. You have such a special relationship. Why are you so worried?’
I’m crying now. Full-blown tears running down my face. ‘Caprice told me he’s about to leave me, for you. She said she heard you talking together on the phone last week.’
‘I haven’t spoken to Miles for months.’ Julie pauses. ‘Look, Caprice is a troublemaking bitch who has got it in for you because you’re married to her favourite son, who adores you. She’s jealous. Push it away. Don’t let her get to you.’
‘And Aiden?’ I ask.
‘Well, he’s Machiavellian too. And he
’s always had the hots for you.’
‘I do have trouble with him pestering me,’ I sniff, pulling out a tissue and starting to dry my tears. ‘But I thought it was because he was jealous that you loved Miles?’
‘Where do you get this from? I don’t love Miles. Our relationship ended over two decades ago. I am in love with Conrad. Aiden is a bastard who always wants what he can’t have and takes what he has for granted. That’s why I left him. There’s no more to it than that. All he cares about is money, and women he can’t have.’
I drive home, after stilted conversation over Conrad’s Thai stir-fry supper, still not sure whether Julie is telling the truth. If she is having an affair with Miles, would she tell me? No. Of course not. I would be the last to know. But … but … she sounded so sincere.
21
Hayley
Saturday afternoon. Saffron asked me to help Miles with the children today but Caprice unexpectedly released me, and told me to take the day off, so I’m sitting opposite Jono in the pub. He is drinking Doom Bar, whilst I sip a large glass of Merlot. The new serpent tattoo on his index finger has become infected. It’s bandaged and he winces every time he lifts his pint.
‘How’s it going at the nobs’ house?’ he asks.
Not this again. I wriggle uncomfortably in my chair. ‘Why are you so scathing of my employers? From what I understand you were brought up in a posh house too, before you became rebellious for the sake of it.’
He grins a mischievous grin. ‘Well, the middle class in the UK are oppressive and controlling. No wonder I needed to pull away.’
‘You didn’t pull away. You were expelled.’ I hesitate. ‘From that school. I can’t remember its name. The boot boarding school.’
He laughs. ‘Wellington. It’s a famous English school.’ He pauses. ‘And yes, I decided not to conform. And then I was expelled, because of that. The sterility of the upper-middle classes is caused by their desire to fit in.’
‘Is that why you took expensive elocution lessons, after you were expelled? To sound less posh? To make sure you didn’t fit in?’
He scowls and winces as he lifts his pint. To make the pain and effort worthwhile, he takes three large gulps before he bangs the glass clumsily back down on the table. ‘How did you know about my elocution lessons?’
‘You told me when you were drunk.’
His face is riddled with embarrassment. ‘It’s not so strange. Many celebrities have done it. It’s not popular to be far back anymore.’
‘Far back?’
‘You know, using long vowels. Baath. Paath. Graass.’
I take a sip of wine and giggle at the strange way he overeggs his words. ‘What celebrities have taken elocution lessons to lose their educated accents?’ I ask.
‘Mick Jagger, for a start. He’s a posh boy really.’
‘He hasn’t rebelled by moving into a squat.’
Jono shrugs. ‘Maybe he did when he was up and coming.’
‘When he was up and coming he was studying finance and accounting at LSE. And he was a talented singer-songwriter with an amazing voice and magnetic stage presence, right from the start. I’m not sure you have much in common with Mick Jagger.’
‘Don’t diss me, Hayley.’
‘It isn’t dissing someone to say they’re not as talented as Mick Jagger. Not many people are.’
‘Stop arguing with me, Hayley,’ he snaps, then changes the subject. ‘Tell me how Miles, the super-wuss, is. Has he made any more boring vids lately?’
I fold my arms. ‘You asked me not to diss you. I’m asking you not to diss Miles.’
‘Oh, I see. Got a thing about him, have you?’
My face feels hot. I know I am blushing. ‘Of course not. No.’
Back at Wellbeck House, head woozy and mouth dry after drinking too much red wine, I step into the kitchen to make myself a hot chocolate and drink some water before I collapse into bed ridiculously early in an attempt to sober up. I couldn’t face going back to Jono’s tonight.
You are sitting at the kitchen table, nose in a book. ‘Hi, Miles,’ I say trying not to slur my words as I walk towards the kettle. Trying not to notice your dreamboat looks, your soft melting eyes. Your strong cheekbones that I have watched Saffron stroke, when she was canoodling with you on the sofa and didn’t know I was walking past the window. She loves you so much and I don’t blame her. If I had you, I would treasure you too.
‘What are you reading?’ I ask.
‘The Philosophy of Moral Attitude,’ you reply, looking up. Hmm, I think to myself, that’s what Jono needs to read. His moral attitude is seriously weird. Drink, drugs, and criticism. Never a nice word to say about anybody or anything. He doesn’t even like puppies and kittens.
You smile at me. ‘Hayley, you’re just the person I wanted to see. I’ve got a present for you.’
You stand up and walk across the kitchen, towards the dresser. You pick up a gift bag and hand it to me.
‘Thank you.’ I beam. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’
Your smile widens. ‘Well, I just saw it and thought you would like it.’
You saw something, thought I would like it and bought it for me. My stomach rotates with pleasure.
I open the bag and pull out my gift. A toy koala. Soft and fluffy and grey with a black leather nose.
‘You said you had one as a comfort toy when you were a child. I couldn’t resist it when I saw it. I thought you could keep it on your bed and it would make you feel at home.’
I want to pull you towards me and hold you and kiss you. But you are out of bounds.
‘Thank you so much, Miles. That is so kind of you – I love it.’
I sink into bed after drinking a pint of water and a large cup of hot chocolate. Red silk engulfs me. I pull my koala towards me, hold it against my naked body and wish it was you, Miles. Then my body stiffens, leaden with guilt for admiring you so much when Saffron is so kind to me. For using Jono for company, when all he will ever be to me is a stopgap. I know I wouldn’t feel like that if I was with a man like you, Miles. If I was with a man like you, it would be a forever thing. Maybe, one day, I’ll find someone to love.
22
Saffron
Returning from my trip to visit Julie, I step inside the house. It’s quiet. Too quiet. And I know Miles isn’t home. There’s no jazz blaring from the radio; his Saturday night favourite. No aroma of curry to tantalise me. No whistling as he potters around the house.
I leave my coat and handbag in the hallway and step into the kitchen. You are hovering by the kettle.
You turn to me. ‘Busy day, dear?’
Dear, with your usual weird emphasis. I know you don’t hold me dear.
‘Yep,’ I reply.
That’s all I’m telling you. I wish you would fuck off back to the annexe at the side of the house. Do you remember? The annexe where you’re supposed to live. Carefully agreed before you moved in.
‘Where’s Miles?’ I ask.
You purse your lips. You blink. ‘He went to the gym. He needed to relax after a busy day with the children. They are in bed, by the way.’
Emphasis on by the way. Be careful, Caprice.
‘I paid Hayley to look after them, so that Miles could have a rest,’ I tell you as I pour myself a stiff G&T.
You give me your critical smile. The one you save for me. ‘But he wanted to spend time with them. So I gave her the day off.’
‘So which is it, he wanted to spend time with them, or he needed a rest?’ I find myself snapping.
Your smile increases. You like it when I snap. You enjoy reporting my misdemeanours to your beloved Miles. I ought to try and control myself. Not allow you to rile me. It’s just, with all this Julie business, I’ve really had enough.
Even though what I really want to say is Fuck off and get out of my kitchen, I manage to ask, ‘What are you up to this evening?’
‘I’m going to have a quiet evening in my bedroom, and watch a film.’
; Well then fuck off to do it quickly, I want to retort. I want my home to myself. Without you, Caprice.
Sighing with relief as you leave the room, I flick the Sonos on with a tap of my iPhone. Shostakovich begins to enrich the kitchen. I sit at the quartz table, head in my hands, and breathe deeply. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. Breathe. Breathe. He loves me. He loves me. He has always loved me. I mustn’t envy Julie – my friend and his.
23
Miles
After a busy day with the boys – Mother helping me – when they are settled in bed, I finally escape to the gym. My exhausted mother has retired to her boudoir for a hot bath and an early night. Our squiffy nanny has done the same I think, clutching the small gift I couldn’t resist buying her when we visited the toy shop with the boys this morning.
I spend an hour doing circuits – cable chest presses, chin-ups, push-ups, Smith machine squats. Just as I’m about to leave, my phone vibrates and pings. A text from Aiden.
Bored stiff. Any chance of meeting up for a drink?
Saffron, when I left home, you weren’t back from your jaunt to the south coast. I called you, I texted you, but there was no reply. Was your phone dead? Out of battery? Or were you without reception? As I step outside onto the pavement I try again. Still no reply. Maybe you have decided to stay overnight. It is a long drive.
Love to meet up. Saffron’s away. Fancy some company?
Where shall we meet?
The Cricketers’ pub, Richmond Green. Come on the train so you can have a few pints.
Midnight. I’m in the Uber on the way home. I’ve had more than a few pints. I’ve overdone it by mistake. I try and text you again, but sending you a message is too confusing for my fingers. Maybe I should be worried. It’s not like you to be uncontactable is it, Saffron? I try to work out when I last heard from you, but I can’t remember. The fug in my brain is becoming thicker, tighter. Lights whirl past me as the Uber pushes home through darkness. Streetlights, car lights, lights from pubs and restaurants. They rotate in my mind. Saffron, where are you? Are you at Julie’s? Have you come home?
The Unwelcome Guest Page 6