Falling for you

life was changing so fast she couldn’t begin to get to grips with it. For now, like an alcoholic, all she could do was take things one day at a time. Like today. It was lunchtime, the weather was beautiful and she was going to go out for a couple of hours. No more cushions had been Will’s parting shot as he’d left for work. OK, but she could buy food for dinner tonight. Roast lamb, Estelle decided as she headed for the shower. Will had always loved her roast dinners. A gorgeous leg of lamb, lots of fresh vegetables, crunchy roast potatoes with garlic .. .

Then glorious sex, probably.

Followed by Belgian chocolate truffle ice cream, Estelle thought happily.

Then more sex.

‘Hi! Can I give you a hand with those?’

It was two o’clock. Juggling her house-key, handbag and four bulging carrier bags, Estelle started at the sound of the friendly voice behind her. She knew London was where you went if you wanted to get mugged in broad daylight, but this voice really didn’t sound as if it belonged to a mugger. For a start, it was female and quite posh. Secondly, Estelle discovered as she turned around, its owner was less than five feet tall.

She was wearing smart clothes, Estelle couldn’t help noticing. Surely someone in a neat white shirt and well- cut black pencil skirt wouldn’t kick you to the ground and make off with your groceries.

‘It’s OK, I don’t bite!’ The girl, who was probably in her early thirties, said gaily, ‘Here, you do the door and I’ll make sure your bags don’t topple over. That happened to me last week and I smashed a bottle of Pinot Grigio – I was so cross!’

Eventually Estelle managed to get the key fitted into the unfamiliar lock. As a red bus came trundling up the road, she nodded at it and said, ‘Is that the one you’re waiting for?’

The girl beamed. ‘I wasn’t waiting for a bus. Actually, I was waiting for you. You’re Estelle, aren’t you? Let me say hello properly.’ Grabbing Estelle’s temporarily free hand, she shook it with enthusiasm. ‘I’m Lucy Banks.’

Blankly, Estelle said, ‘And?’

‘Well, the thing is, I’d love to have a chat with you. You see, I work for the Daily Mail.’

‘ Oh. Right.’ So the story about Oliver and Tiff had come out. Feeling suddenly sorry for Juliet –

this was the last thing she needed right now – Estelle said politely, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to talk about what my husband did. I’d rather just keep out of it, if you don’t mind.’ As she said this, it belatedly occurred to her to wonder how this girl had known she’d be here.

‘That’s completely understandable,’ said Lucy, nodding sympathetically. ‘But this isn’t actually anything to do with your husband. Not directly, at least. You see, this is about what Will Gifford’s been up to.’

‘Up to? Will?’ Estelle was by this time thoroughly confused.

Gently, Lucy said, ‘Why don’t we sit down and have a chat?’

Unwilling to invite the journalist into Will’s flat, Estelle took her to a garden square a couple of streets away. There on a wooden bench beneath a sycamore tree, with a tiny tape recorder whirring away on the seat between them, she learned from Lucy that a woman had contacted the Daily Mail’s offices this morning after seeing the photograph of Will and Estelle in the local paper and reading the accompanying piece.

‘Ever heard of Magnus Jonsson?’ said Lucy.

‘The record producer.’ Estelle nodded rapidly, her fevered imagination conjuring up any number of bizarre images – Will was Magnus Jonsson’s son, or his lover .. .

‘Did you ever see the documentary Will made about Magnus?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that’s not surprising,’ said Lucy, ‘considering it never aired.’

‘Why not?’ said Estelle, because this was clearly what she was supposed to ask.

‘Because it never got finished. Because Magnus and Will had a bit of a falling out.’ Lucy paused.

‘Because Magnus found out that Will was sleeping with his wife.’

There was a high- pitched humming noise in Estelle’s ears; she really hoped she wasn’t the one making it. A short distance away, on the grass, two small children were battling over a bag of bread crusts, sending pigeons up into the trees.

‘So you see, you’re not the first,’ Lucy said sympathetically. ‘Magnus was a workaholic, away a lot of the time. Moira was lonely, she felt neglected. Then Will came along and she found his attentions so flattering it didn’t take long for her to succumb. Will told her he loved her. From the sound of things, he has quite a way with him. I can imagine it would be hard to resist.’

Miserably, Estelle said, ‘What happened?’

‘Magnus came home unexpectedly one day and caught them. Have you noticed a bump on Will’s nose?’

Estelle nodded. How many times in the last couple of days had she kissed that bump?

‘That’s where Magnus broke it,’ said Lucy. ‘He went berserk – well, who can blame him? He loved his wife.’

‘Go on.’ Estelle gazed down at her fingers, twisted together in her lap.

‘Moira left Magnus and went to live with Will. They spent a couple of weeks together at his flat, then a month in the Caribbean. Moira paid for that. She thought they’d be together for ever, she was absolutely besotted with him, but soon after they arrived back in London, Will ended it. Moira was devastated. Magnus took her back, but the marriage didn’t survive. They divorced a year later.

When Moira read in the local paper that Will was up to his old tricks again, she felt she had to do something. She’s a nice lady,’ Lucy concluded earnestly. ‘She isn’t motivated by spite. She doesn’t want you to make the same