I open my eyes, and it’s a nightmare come true. There, looming in front of me, is Venetia.
She’s changed into a full-length strapless black taffeta ball gown with a swirly skirt. Her hair is pinned up in a chignon, and diamonds are flashing at her ears. She looks like a princess.
“Luke says you’re not feeling well, Becky?” Her smile is syrupy sweet. “Let’s have a look.”
“What are you doing here?” I spit out.
“Luke called me. He was worried!” Venetia puts a hand on my head and I flinch. “Let me see if you’ve got a temperature.” She sits on the bed with a rustle of taffeta and opens a little medical case.
“Luke, I don’t want her here!” With no warning, tears are spilling from my eyes. “I’m not ill!”
“Open.” Venetia is advancing a thermometer toward my mouth.
“No!” I turn my head away like a baby refusing its porridge.
“Come on, Becky,” Venetia says in cajoling tones. “I just want to take your temperature….”
“Becky.” Luke takes my hand. “Come on. We can’t take any risks.”
“I’m not ill—” My words are stifled as Venetia jams the thermometer in my mouth and stands up.
“I really don’t think she should come tonight,” she says in a low voice, drawing Luke aside. “Can you persuade her to stay here and rest?”
“Of course.” Luke nods. “Please send our apologies.”
“You’re staying behind too?” Venetia frowns. “Luke, I really think…” She beckons Luke out of the room and I can hear low murmurings coming from the corridor. A few moments later Luke appears around the door again, holding a jug of water.
Someone’s tied his bow tie up, I suddenly notice. I want to burst into tears.
“Becky. Sweetheart, Venetia thinks you should take it easy.”
I stare at him silently, the thermometer still in my mouth.
“I’ll stay with you, of course. If you want me to.” He hesitates awkwardly. “But…if you didn’t mind me popping out just for half an hour, there are a lot of people coming to this reunion I’d like to see.”
My throat is thickening. Fresh tears are springing to my eyes. I can see it all plainly now. He wants to go to the party with Venetia. They’ve probably engineered this whole thing.
What am I going to do, beg him not to? I’ve got more pride than that.
“Fine,” I mumble, turning my head away so he can’t see my tears. “Go.”
“What?”
“Fine.” I take the thermometer out of my mouth. “Go.”
There’s a rustle as Venetia comes into the room again. “Let’s have a look.” She studies the thermometer with a small frown. “Yes, you’re slightly feverish. Let’s give you some paracetamol….”
She hands me two tablets and I gulp them down with the water which Luke brought in.
“You’re sure you’ll be OK?” he says, watching me anxiously.
“Yes. Enjoy yourself.” I pull the duvet over my head and feel my tears drenching the pillow.
“Bye, sweetheart.” I can feel Luke patting the duvet. “Get some rest.”
There’s some muffled talking, and then in the distance I hear the door slam. That’s it. They’ve gone.
It’s about half an hour before I even move. I push back the duvet and wipe my wet eyes. I get out of bed, stagger into the bathroom, and look at myself. I’m a fright. My eyes are red and puffy. My cheeks are tear-stained. My hair is all over the place.
I splash my face with water and sit down on the edge of the bathtub. What am I going to do? I can’t just stay here all night, wondering and worrying and imagining the worst. I’d rather just catch them. I’d rather just see it for my own eyes.
I’ll go there. The thought hits me like a bullet.
I’ll go to the reunion right now, this minute. What’s to stop me? I’m not ill. I’m fine.
I head back into the bedroom with a fresh determination. I fling open my wardrobe doors and pull out a black chiffon maternity kaftan that I bought in the summer and never wore because it felt too tentlike. OK. Accessories. A few long, glittery necklaces…a pair of sparkly heels…diamond earrings…I wrench open my makeup case and apply as much as I can, as quickly as I can.
I take a step back and look at myself head to foot in the mirror. I look…fine. Not exactly my most polished outfit ever, but fine.
Adrenaline is beating through me as I grab an evening bag and stuff my keys, mobile, and purse into it. I wrap a shawl around myself and head out the front door, my chin jutting with resolve. I’ll show them. Or I’ll catch them. Or…something. I’m not some helpless victim who’s tamely going to lie in bed while her husband’s with another woman.
I manage to catch a cab straight outside our building, and as it zooms off I sit back and practice my confrontation lines. I need to hold my head high and be sarcastic yet noble. And not burst into tears or hit Venetia.
Well, maybe I could hit Venetia. A ringing slap on her cheek, after I’ve laid into Luke.
“You’re still married, by the way,” I rehearse under my breath. “Forget something, Luke? Like your wife?”
We’re getting near now, and I feel light-headed with nerves…but I don’t care. I’m still going to do it. I’m going to be strong. As the taxi draws up, I hand a wodge of crumpled money to the driver and get out. It’s started to rain, and a cold breeze is cutting right through my chiffon kaftan. I need to get inside.
I totter over the open square toward the grand stone entrance of the Guildhall and through the heavy oak doors. Inside, the reception area is full of pale blue helium balloons in bunches, and banners reading CAMBRIDGE REUNION, and a huge pin board covered in old photographs of students. In front of me a group of four men are slapping each other on the back and exclaiming things like “I can’t believe you’re still alive, you bastard!” As I hesitate, wondering where to go, a girl in a red ball gown sitting behind a cloth-draped table smiles up at me.
“Hello! Do you have your invitation?”
“My husband has it.” I try to sound calm, like any normal guest. “He arrived earlier than me. Luke Brandon?” The girl runs a finger down her list, then stops.
“Of course!” She smiles at me. “Do go in, Mrs. Brandon.”
I follow the group of bantering guys into the great hall and accept a glass of champagne on autopilot. I’ve never been here before and I didn’t realize how huge it was. There are massive stained-glass windows and ancient stone statues, and an orchestra is playing in the gallery, amplified over the roar of chatter. People in evening dress are milling and chatting and collecting food from a buffet, and some are even dancing old-fashioned waltzes, like something out of a film. I look around, trying to spot Luke or Venetia, but the room is so busy with women in beautiful dresses, and men in black tie, and even a few particularly dashing men in tails….
And then I see them. Dancing together.
Luke was right, he does waltz as well as Fred Astaire. He’s skimming Venetia around the floor like an expert. Her skirt is twirling, and her head is thrown back as she smiles up at Luke. They’re perfectly in time with each other. The most glamorous couple in the room.
I’m rooted to the spot as I watch them, my kaftan clinging damply to my shins. All the sarcastic, feisty phrases I prepared have shriveled on my lips. I’m not sure I can breathe, let alone speak.
“Are you all right?” A waiter is addressing me, but his voice seems to be coming from miles away and his face is out of focus.
I never once waltzed with Luke. And now it’s too late.
“She’s falling!” I can feel hands grabbing at me as my legs give way beneath me. My arm bashes against something and there’s a ringing in my ears and the sound of a woman shouting “Get some water! There’s a pregnant woman here!”
And then everything goes dark.
SIXTEEN
