‘I have to go to Ashcombe,’ said Will. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’
It was nine o’clock in the morning. Since waking twenty minutes earlier, Estelle had been torn between revelling in the fact that she had spent last night making love with a man who wasn’t her husband, and coming to terms with the realisation that she was a cheated-on wife. The other unfamiliar situation was her nakedness beneath the bedclothes – it actually felt quite weird, when you weren’t used to it, not to be wearing a nightie.
‘Today?’ Hauling the duvet up around her breasts, she struggled into a half-sitting position.
‘It’s my job. I’m a documentary maker.’ Will, already showered and dressed, came to sit on the bed.
‘Not including all this stuff in the programme would be like making a film about Hitler and not mentioning the war.’
Estelle nodded; of course he had to go.
‘You’re amazing.’ Will reached out to stroke her cheek.
‘You won’t tell him I’m here, will you?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He pulled a face. ‘Do I look stupid?’
‘Nor Kate,’ Estelle insisted. ‘I don’t want anyone to know.’
‘Hey, don’t panic. We’re on the same side, remember. I’ll be back tonight.’ Will held up a front door key. ‘Now, this is my spare. Will you be OK here without me?’
Blissful memories of last night came flooding back, of Will whispering how beautiful she was, and how she didn’t have to hold her stomach in for him. In a rush of love and gratitude, Estelle decided she’d spend the day cleaning his flat, restoring order from chaos and discreetly bleaching his coffee mugs.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Taking the key, she leaned up for a kiss.
‘Typical,’ said Will good-naturedly. ‘All these weeks I couldn’t wait to race down to Ashcombe, and now all I want to do is get back here to be with you.’ Then he paused. ‘How will you feel if Oliver’s distraught about your leaving? Will it make you want to go back to him?’
‘I’ve made my decision.’ Counting off on her fingers, Estelle said, ‘For a start, nothing’s going to make me want to go back to him. Secondly, he wouldn’t be distraught, that’s just not Oliver’s style. And number three,’ she concluded, ‘I doubt he’ll even notice I’ve gone.’
By midday the flat was looking fifty times better and Estelle was feeling like Wonderwoman. Ironic, really, that back in Ashcombe she paid Marcella to do most of the housework for her, yet here she was having the time of her life doing it herself.
Smugly, Estelle surveyed the vacuumed carpets, the dusted surfaces and the neat piles of magazines in the living room. In the kitchen, the mugs were now gratifyingly stain-free and the worktops sparkled.
Ruthless de-cluttering, that was the key. Now that she’d cleared away all the extraneous rubbish, she could set about improving the flat in other ways, jazz it upa bit with some nice cushions, vases of flowers, bright rugs and a few decent prints on the walls – come to think of it, the walls could do with a fresh coat of paint, maybe she’d go out on a shopping trip this afternoon-
Startled, Estelle froze. Will hadn’t said anything about the doorbell ringing. What was she supposed to do now?
While she was wondering, it rang again. Cautiously she made her way over to the window and peered out.
Although there really was no need to be cautious, Estelle reminded herself. She was allowed to be here. And it was hardly likely to be Oliver, begging her to forgive him and come home.
The lanky lad on the pavement was wearing a cycle helmet and carrying a package. Oh well, even she could manage to take a package in. Raking her hands through her hair, Estelle ran downstairs to open the front door.
The delivery boy looked distinctly taken aback when he saw Estelle. In her hurry to get on with cleaning up the flat, she hadn’t actually got around to dressing this morning. Double-checking that her peacock blue cotton robe wasn’t gaping open, Estelle said nicely, ‘Is that for Will Gifford? I can take it.’
The boy didn’t hand it over; he was too busy boggling at her. For heaven’s sake, was opening the front door in your dressing gown not the done thing in London? Was it against the law?
‘Really,’ Estelle persisted, ‘I can. It’ll be safe with me.’ Cautiously the boy said, ‘Do you ...
um, live at this address?’
He’d clearly delivered packages to Will before and was making sure she wasn’t some madwoman who liked to break into strange houses and steal other people’s parcels.
‘Yes, yes, I live with Will.’ God, it felt lovely saying that. ‘He’s at work just now, but he’ll be back this evening. I’ll make sure he gets it then. Where do you want me to sign?’ Belatedly, Estelle realised he wasn’t carrying a clipboard.
‘No need.’ Handing over the package, the boy said, ‘It’s just the latest tape from the edit suite; Will wanted to check it out himself. You’re Estelle, right?’
Startled, Estelle wondered how he could possibly know her name.
The boy broke into a geeky grin. ‘Yeah, that’s it, got it now. Recognised you from the tape.’
Chapter 42
When he’d wandered into the Fallen Angel in order to innocently enquire why there was no one at Dauncey House, it had occurred to Will that if Kate refused to tell him what had been happening, he was going to be stuck.
Thankfully, this didn’t happen; Kate sang like a canary. On tape. Only too keen to bring Will up to date, she didn’t even object to being filmed while the whole sorry story came tumbling out.
‘And now Mum’s gone. God knows where,’ Kate concluded heatedly. ‘She just took off, yesterday afternoon. I mean, what must she be going through? She could be suicidal for all he cares ...
that’s so typical of my father, the only person he’s bothered about is himself.’
