“Excuse our less than salubrious office space,” puts in the other man. “We’ve only just moved in.”
“I hadn’t even noticed!” I say with a shrill laugh. “Anyway, I must be off — I was just passing….”
“Have a good afternoon.” Luke kisses me.
“I will.” I hold on to his arm for a moment. “And maybe we can have our picnic later?”
Luke winces. “No, I’m sorry. I should have said, I’ll be late back tonight. New-client dinner.”
“Oh.” I can’t help feeling disappointed. But new business is new business. “Well, never mind. Who’s the client?”
“Venetia.”
My smile freezes on my face. “Venetia?”
“Venetia Carter,” Luke explains to the others. “You know, the celebrity obstetrician? Her old PR agency weren’t cutting it, apparently.”
Venetia’s hiring Brandon Communications. I do not believe this.
“Who’s going to the dinner?”
“Just me and her.” Luke shrugs. “I’ll be handling her account, as we’re old friends.”
I can’t help it. Suspicions are rising up inside me, as thick and fast as ever.
“So…you’re going to have meetings with her and everything?” I wipe my damp upper lip.
“That’s the general idea, Becky.” Luke raises his eyebrows quizzically. “I’ll send her your love, shall I?”
“Yes!” I manage a smile. “Do that!”
Luke walks off with the two men, and I stare after them, my heart thudding.
OK, so maybe I got things a tad wrong today. But there’s no doubt. She’s after Luke. I know it deep down in my heart, just like I know my new orange top from eBay was a mistake.
Venetia’s moving in on my husband. And I have to stop her.
Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers
INVESTMENT SUMMARY
CLIENT: “BABY BRANDON”
SUMMARY AS OF 24 OCTOBER 2003
FUND A: “LUKE’S PORTFOLIO”
Investment holdings to date:
Wetherby’s Gilt Fund 20%
Somerset European Growth Fund 20%
Start Right Accumulator Fund 30%
Remainder as yet uninvested
FUND B: “BECKY’S PORTFOLIO”
Investment holdings to date:
Gold (Tiffany necklace, ring) 10%
Copper (bracelet) 5%
Shares in First Mutual Bank, Bangladesh 10%
Shares in fabbesthandbagsonline.com 10%
Dior vintage coat 5%
Bottle of 1964 champagne 5%
Share in racehorse named Baby Go for It 5%
Sunglasses “once worn by Grace Kelly” 1%
Remainder as yet uninvested
ELEVEN
I’M GOING TO TALK TO LUKE, I’ve decided. I’m going to be mature and grown-up and just tackle this head-on. So with total resolve I sit up in bed until he arrives home that night. It’s way after midnight as the door opens, and he smells of smoke and drink and…oh my God. Allure.
OK. Don’t panic. Just because he smells of Allure, it doesn’t prove anything.
“Hi! How was the dinner?” I make sure I sound all friendly and encouraging, and not like some whingy wife out of EastEnders.
“It was great.” Luke takes off his jacket. “Venetia’s very bright. Very switched on.”
“I’ll…bet she is.” I twist my hands together under the duvet, where he can’t see them. “And what did you talk about? Apart from work.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Luke is loosening his tie. “The arts…books…”
“You never read books!” I say before I can stop myself. It’s true. He doesn’t, apart from how-to-run-your-magnificent-business-empire kind of books.
“Maybe not,” he says, shooting me a wry look. “But I used to.”
What does that mean? Before he met me? So now it’s my fault he doesn’t read books, is that it?
“And what else did you talk about?” I persist.
“Becky, honestly. I can’t remember.”
His phone beeps with a text and he checks it. He smiles, texts something back, then resumes getting undressed. I’m watching in growing disbelief and anger. How can he do that? In front of me?
“Was that in Latin?” I say before I can stop myself.
“What?” Luke wheels around, his hands still tugging at his shirtsleeves.
“I just happened to see…” I falter. Then I stop. Sod it. I’m not going to pretend anymore. I take a deep breath and look at Luke straight-on. “She sends you texts in Latin, doesn’t she? Is that your secret code?”
“What are you talking about?” Luke takes a step forward, his brow darkened. “Have you been reading my texts?”
“I’m your wife! What does she text you about, Luke?” My voice is rising in hurt. “Latin books? Or…other things?”
“I’m sorry?” He looks bemused.
“You know she’s moving in on you, don’t you?”
“What?” Luke gives a short laugh. “Becky, I know you have a vivid imagination, but really….” He pulls his shirt off and dumpsit in the laundry hamper.
How can he be so dense? I thought he was supposed to be clever.
“She’s after you!” I’m leaning forward in agitation. “Can’t you see it? She’s a home-wrecker! That’s what she does—”
“She is not after me!” Luke says, cutting me off. “To be honest, Becky, I’m shocked. I never thought of you as being possessive. Surely I’m allowed to have a few friends, for Christ’s sake. Just because she happens to be female—”