‘Charlotte, darling, how are you?’ she said, air-kissing my cheeks when I arrived. She was dressed to the nines as she always was, in a pink mini-dress that, thanks to my Vogue subscription, I knew was Valentino. She also had the Valentino Rockstud shoulder bag, of which I was particularly envious because I had the matching sandals.
‘You’re looking as glamorous as ever,’ I said. Kate was the type of woman who’d have a Kir Royale for breakfast and a hotdog for lunch. She was gorgeous, wealthy, and did whatever the hell she pleased – James’s mother would call her ‘nouveau riche’ too and Kate would tell her to ‘eff off’.
She giggled and brushed off my comment with her hand. The waiter came over and took us to our table, predictably sitting Kate down first because she looked more important than I did in my drab mother-in-law-friendly attire. He probably thought she was some glossy celebrity and I was her dull behind-the-scenes assistant.
‘So, tell me what’s been happening since I last saw you. Are you . . .’ She circled her hand in the direction of my stomach, not concerning herself with etiquette.
I shook my head, placing a self-conscious hand across my middle while cursing that brownie I’d eaten at Costa. ‘Not yet. James is busy working a huge case and always comes home late and tired, so there just hasn’t been any time to try.’
‘No time to try?’ She threw her head back and laughed. ‘You mean you haven’t got the right underwear.’ She winked. I laughed and shook my head. ‘Dressing like that isn’t helping your cause.’ She looked pointedly at my blouse. ‘I thought it was maternity wear.’
‘Frightful Frances is coming over later.’
She gave me a knowing look. ‘As long as you have something more fun to wear in the bedroom you’ll be fine.’
‘You’re obsessed.’ I laughed. Kate had landed on her feet with husband number two: wealthy property tycoon and renowned local businessman Carl, who worshipped the ground she walked on. You couldn’t blame him, though – her black glossy hair tumbled down her back, complementing her long, lean limbs. She had flawless olive skin, thanks to Italian heritage on her mother’s side, and although she’d hit her forties, had yet to discover a fine line anywhere on her face.
‘What does his mother want anyway?’
‘I’ve no idea. To wither my soul, to suck the life from me or to badger me about grandkids probably. That’s her “new thing” to focus on. Since James’s dad died she’s been visiting a lot, and it’s tiresome. She’s discovered a new sense of family and my lucky womb is suddenly part of her vision.’ I paused as the waiter approached and we ordered Greek salads and a glass of champagne each.
‘I thought she hated you? So she isn’t still crossing her fingers in the hope James will run off and leave you for some blue-blood horsey type?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, she’s been banging on about grandchildren since James’s dad’s funeral. Maybe she thinks a half-breed grandchild is better than no grandchild at all. Anyway, enough of her. Are you going to Lauren’s ball?’
‘Er, no.’ Kate hated Lauren and Carl didn’t play golf so it was a desperate ask at best. ‘I can’t make it anyway; you know I’m down in London that weekend at some presentation thing with Carl.’
‘Lucky so-and-so.’
‘Not necessarily – I actually have to go with him to the ceremony and not just while the time browsing Liberty and if it’s anything like last time, I’ll spend the night drinking cheap wine that tastes like it’s trying to kill me.’ She winced at the memory. ‘I can’t believe that hideous mare had the gall to move the date to clash with your brunch.’
‘I know, but it’s typical Lauren. I don’t know what that woman has against me.’
‘Jealousy. Her husband barely has a pulse and still manages to shag half of Cheshire behind her back. You’re happy, you have a gorgeous husband who worships you, and she can’t bear it.’
‘I don’t think she’s jealous, I think she looks down on me,’ I said modestly but if Kate was right about the jealousy (I knew she was right about the husband) it would explain a lot and I’d feel sorry for her.
‘Why are you even friends with them?’
‘Other than you, they’re the only people I know.’
‘Just don’t go.’
‘We have to – she rang me up to make sure we’d be there, and I really don’t want the whole of Cheshire’s elite thinking James and I are tight-fisted and antisocial. We’ll have to show our faces. Anyway, I have something juicier to discuss.’ I filled her in on my situation with Megan’s fiancé. Kate had met Megan at my house on a few occasions when she’d been visiting while I had a training session.
‘Men can be utter pigs,’ Kate said in response.
‘It’s not just men, though. Women can be as bad,’ I said diplomatically.
‘I suppose, but cheating men are so cliché. Well, I think you’ve done the right thing.’
But hearing her say that made me question myself. I didn’t often suffer self-doubt, but Kate agreeing wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When we’d watched The Devil Wears Prada a few years back, she thought Miranda was the heroine and Andy the annoying antagonist. Fortunately, she’d mellowed some since then.
‘You don’t think I should’ve left it alone?’ I asked.
‘Of course not. Women should stick together. I’d want to know – wouldn’t you?’ Kate raised her glass, but I didn’t return the gesture.
‘We’ll see tomorrow.’
Chapter Three
When the intercom buzzed later that afternoon, a feeling of dread engulfed me. On my way to press the button, I checked my hair and make-up. The intercom feed was monochrome and grainy, but James’s mother would still notice if a hair
