“Right,” I say doubtfully. “So…what’s the other option?”
“Turn a blind eye an’ live a sham for the rest of your days.”
Neither option sounds that great.
We’re edging along Oxford Street by now, making slow progress through all the buses and pedestrians. I’m craning my neck, scanning the road ahead, when all of a sudden I glimpse Luke’s Mercedes, turning into a side street.
“There! He went that way!”
“I saw ’im.”
The cabbie deftly changes lanes and a few moments later we’re turning into the same side street. The Mercedes is at the end of the road, turning the corner.
My hands are starting to sweat. It almost felt like a game when I first hailed the cab. But now this is serious. At some point his car is going to stop and he’s going to get out and…then what am I going to do?
We’re winding round the narrow streets of Soho. It’s a bright, sharp autumn day, and a few brave people are sitting out at pavement cafes, cradling cups of coffee. All of a sudden, the taxi driver signals sharply and pulls up behind a van. “They’re stopping.”
I watch, breathless, as the Mercedes comes to a halt on the other side of the road. The driver opens the passenger door and Luke gets out, without even glancing in our direction. He consults a piece of paper, then heads to an unsalubrious-looking brown-painted door. He rings a buzzer and a moment later is admitted.
My gaze travels up to a battered sign hanging from a first-floor window: ROOMS.
Rooms? Luke has taken rooms?
I feel as if something’s clenching me tightly round the chest. Something is going on. Venetia’s up there. She’s waiting for him in a black fur-trimmed negligee.
But why some grotty room in Soho? Why not the Four Seasons, for God’s sake?
Because he’d get spotted. He’s come here because it’s out of the way. It all makes sense….
“Love?” Through a haze I realize the taxi driver is talking to me.
“Yes?” I manage.
“You want to sit here and wait?”
“No!” I grab the picnic basket and thrust the door open. “Thank you. I’ll…take it from here. Thank you so much.”
“Wait a mo’.” He gets out and offers me a hand to help me step down from the cab. I scrabble in my bag and give him a wodge of cash without even counting it. The taxi driver sighs, peels off a few notes, and hands the rest back.
“Not used to this game, are you, love?”
“Not really,” I admit.
“You need any more help…” He feels in his pocket and produces a gray business card. “My brother Lou. Does a lot of work for divorce lawyers. You might want to get yourself one of those an’ all. Make sure you and the kid are taken care of.”
“Yes. Thanks.” I pocket the card, barely aware of what I’m doing.
“Good luck, love.” The taxi driver gets back in his cab, still shaking his head, and drives away.
I’m standing outside the building with the “rooms” sign. I could buzz at the door and see what happened.
No. What if she answered?
My legs suddenly feel wobbly. I need a seat. The ground floor of the building is a business print shop, and I find myself walking inside and sinking into a chair. What am I going to do? What?
“Hello there!” A voice makes me jump and I turn to see a cheerful man in a short-sleeved striped shirt. “Are you interested in some printing? We have a special offer on all our business cards. Vellum, laminated, textured…”
“Um…thanks.” I nod, just to get rid of him.
“Here you are!” The man hands me a sample book and I start to leaf through it blindly. Maybe I should just go up and…and burst in. But what if I really do find them together?
I’m turning the pages more and more feverishly. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m here, in the middle of Soho, wondering if my husband is upstairs with another woman.
“Here’s our form. If you’ll just fill it in…” The man has come back with a clipboard and pen, which he thrusts at me. On automatic pilot I take them from him and write “Bloomwood Inc.” at the top of the page.
“What kind of business are you in?” the man asks chattily.
“Um…double-glazing.”
“Double-glazing!” The man frowns thoughtfully. “I’d suggest a nice laminated white card with a border. With the address here and your company motto here…Do you have a motto?”
“For…for all your glazing needs,” I hear myself saying. “London, Paris, Dubai.”
I have no idea what I’m saying. The words are just coming out of my mouth.
“Dubai!” The man looks impressed. “I’ll bet they have a few windows out there!”
“They do.” I nod. “It’s the window capital of the world.”
“Now, I never knew that!” the man says with interest.
I stiffen. I just heard a rumbling-footsteps kind of noise. Someone’s coming down the stairs.
Luke. It has to be.
Except…that was a bit quick, surely?
“Er…thanks very much! I’ll think about it….” I shove the clipboard back at the man and rush out of the shop and into the street. In front of me the brown-painted door is slowly opening and I quickly edge behind a small tree.
My entire body is clenched with dread. Blood is rushing through my ears. Stay calm. Whatever happens, whoever he’s with—
The door swings open — and Luke steps out, followed by a couple of men in suits.
“Let’s discuss it over lunch,” he’s saying. “There’s a couple of clients I think could really benefit from that approach.”
He’s not with Venetia. He’s not with Venetia!
I feel like doing a little dance on the pavement. Relief is flooding through me. How could I have thought he was up to anything? I’m so paranoid. I’m so stupid! I’m going to go home and totally trust him from now on….
“Ms. Bloomwood?”
The guy from the print shop has come out and is peering at me, shading his eyes from the sun. Damn. Maybe this tree wasn’t such a great hiding place. I forgot my bump would be poking out.
“Becky?” Luke swivels and stares at me in astonishment. “Is that you?”
I feel my cheeks turning beet red as the three men peer at me. “Er…hi!” I say brightly.
“I’ve got a mock-up of that business card, if you’d like it.” The print shop man is advancing on me.
“Thanks!” I swipe it from him. “I’ll let you know.”
“Becky, what are you doing here?” Luke is coming toward the tree.
“Just…shopping! What a coincidence!”
“As I said, Ms. Bloomwood, I recommend a laminate finish.” The man from the print shop is still bloody talking. “But it is more pricey, so I’ve put in a list of options for you….”
“Thanks! Actually, my husband’s here, so I’ll…I’ll get back to you.”
“Aha!” The print shop guy beams at Luke. “Pleased to meet you. Are you in the double-glazing trade too?”
“No, he’s not.” I cut him off desperately. “Thanks so much. Bye!” At last, to my relief, the print shop guy retreats toward his door and there’s a pause.
“The double-glazing trade?” says Luke at last, a little bemusedly.
“He got…me confused with…someone else.” I shove the mock-up card into my bag. “So, anyway, what are you doing here?”
“Meeting some possible new media consultants for the company.” Luke still looks puzzled. “Let me introduce Nigel and Richard. My wife, Rebecca.”
“Very glad to meet you, Rebecca,” says Nigel, grasping my hand. “You’re the one who identified the need for
