5
Sophie turned off the engine of her moped and glanced down at the address written in her diary. This can’t be the place, can it? she thought, looking up at the virgin white stucco building across the road. She had been to some very impressive homes in her time, town houses in Chelsea, estates in the country, villas abroad, but none had been quite as grand and as exquisitely elegant as the one before her now. Egerton Row was one of the most exclusive streets in south-west London, tucked away in a quiet enclave off Brompton Road. Lana’s detached house looked freshly painted, with slate steps, manicured window boxes on the Juliet balcony and miniature privet hedges standing like sentry guards either side of the shiny black door. Recession, what recession? thought Sophie, as she locked her helmet into her scooter’s storage box.
Then again, she had to admit she was benefiting from all this surplus cash too. In the three weeks since she had met Lana, Sophie had made over fifteen hundred pounds from the woman and her wealthy friends for yoga and fitness sessions. She had quickly got over her embarrassment at being their ‘hired help’, as one client had ungraciously called her, and instead had felt empowered at bringing so much money in so swiftly. It had been enough to get her moped taxed and back on the road, to pay off the interest on her credit card bill, and to pay for a plane ticket for her mum to go and visit a friend in Denmark, which had been the first time she had seen Julia smile since the funeral.
To be honest, Sophie didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of becoming a personal trainer before. She’d spent years keeping her body in tip-top condition and had the figure and athleticism to show for it. It made total sense to turn her prime asset into a career.
Lana opened the door dressed in black cycling shorts, her long chocolate hair tumbling over the straps of a hot-pink cropped Lycra vest top.
‘Come in, come in,’ she purred. ‘Sorry I had to ask you to come to the house, but I’m mad, mad busy.’
‘Wow!’ said Sophie as she followed Lana inside. ‘This place is amazing.’
If the exterior of Lana’s house was stunning, the interior was something else. The entrance hall was double height, with a white marble staircase curling off to the right, a grand piano standing centre stage and a stunning collection of art on the walls. Sophie still hadn’t worked out what Lana did for a living, but assumed that the money came from her husband Simon, who apparently did something in the money markets.
‘I suppose,’ shrugged Lana. ‘We only bought it recently, and there’s so much I want to do. I wanted to get the renovation work done while we were away, but I think this is maybe a six-, twelve-month job. Don’t you think it’s looking tired?’
Sophie didn’t think anything of the sort. It seemed perfect to her eyes, all sparkling white paintwork, varnished wood floors and artfully arranged furniture; her idea of a dream house. It was a shame how Lana’s wealth and the ease with which she could spend her husband’s money had anesthetised her to its beauty.
‘So where do you want to do this?’ she asked.
‘There is a studio downstairs,’ said Lana, ‘but it’s a lovely day. Would it work to go for a run?’
Sophie nodded. Much as she would have liked to see the studio, she knew she was here to work. Improving Lana’s cardiovascular fitness was a good idea, and her client was right: the sun was out and the morning air not too warm yet.
They took the back streets towards Hyde Park, crossing Brompton Road, then snaked down Ennismore Gardens towards South Carriage Drive. They didn’t talk much, but when Sophie did say something, it was to praise Lana’s work rate. She knew from personal experience how women with rich partners, no matter how beautiful, tended to be insecure, and needed constant compliments and reassurance. But in Lana’s case, no false flattery was required. She was long-legged, fit and light-footed, and had no problem keeping up with Sophie’s pace. They were inside the park now, running down the shaded path between two lines of sycamores.
‘So how long are you away for?’ Sophie said it lightly, but she had been dreading the answer. She was just getting used to the income from Lana’s daily sessions, and despite getting some response from a notice for ‘Ellis Training’ she had pinned on various café notice boards around South Kensington, she knew she wouldn’t be able to charge them a quarter the rate she was getting from Lana and her friends.
‘We’ll be away all of August. The French way,’ replied Lana. ‘We can start again in September, though? I don’t want you getting so booked up you can’t fit me into your schedule.’
‘Actually, it will give me the chance to do some training myself. Take a few courses.’
‘Qualify, you mean?’ said Lana with the hint of a smile.
Sophie felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.
‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Qualifications?’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘All I care about is if someone is good at what they do, and you’re the best trainer I’ve worked with, Sophie.’
The compliment was gratefully received. Sophie had quickly found out that the relationship between client and trainer was quite an intimate one, and had hated feeling a fraud in front of Lana over the past three weeks. Still, she was doubly determined to get certified. After all, what if Lana injured herself and complained that Sophie wasn’t qualified? No – it was best to do a personal trainer course as quickly as possible.
They stopped by the bandstand and began stretching exercises.
‘So what did you do before? Before the training, I mean?’ asked Lana.
‘A little bit of work for my father,’ replied Sophie vaguely.
Lana laughed. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. It’s not as if most of the girls in Chelsea have professional careers. I think they are just killing time waiting to find the right husband.’
Sophie gave an ironic smile.
‘That used to be me.’
Lana glanced at her.
‘So what happened?’
Sophie sighed.
‘Which bit do you want to hear about? The bit where my dad lost all his money, or the bit where he died of a heart attack?’
Lana looked sympathetic.
‘I’m so sorry. When did this happen?’
‘Just a few weeks ago. It’s all still a bit raw, to be honest, which is why it’s been good to throw myself into something like this. And you’re right, I am good at this and it’s been a nice feeling recognising it. I have to say, I’ve been enjoying myself for the first time in a while.’
‘I bet you’re hearing some hair-raising stories, too?’
Sophie burst out laughing. Lana was right. Most of her clients had been shockingly open about their marital problems: how they felt neglected by their husbands, how they were convinced they were all having affairs.
‘I guess I’m cheaper than a shrink.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ve only heard the tip of the iceberg,’ replied Lana. ‘You wouldn’t believe what really goes on behind closed doors. All those women in their lovely houses, with every luxury and nothing to do all day; yet they’re still miserable, aren’t they?’
They exchanged a look, and for a minute Sophie wondered if Lana was talking about herself. On the surface, Lana had exactly the sort of life most of Sophie’s friends aspired to – the big house, the 4×4, a wardrobe of Dior – but who ever really knew how happy someone was?
‘All right,’ said Sophie with purpose. ‘Enough chat. Two-hundred-metre sprint, then a circuit of the park. Let’s see what you’ve got, Lana.’
They ran for an hour, Lana impressing Sophie with her general fitness and willingness to push herself – not something she saw with other rich housewives at the gym. For them, Sophie got the feeling, personal training was just something you did, an expected activity for a certain type of rich woman along with tennis and charity lunches. Finally they jogged back to Egerton Row, where Lana handed Sophie one of the white towels she had left in the hall.
‘So I’ll see you in September,’ said Sophie, wiping her face. ‘It must be one hell of a place in France if you’re prepared to say goodbye to this.’
Lana puffed out her cheeks and looked at Sophie.
‘Listen, I have an idea. Why don’t you house-sit for us?’
Sophie gazed at her in amazement.
‘Here? For you?’
Lana threw the towel over her shoulder.
‘Why not? For insurance purposes, it would be good to have someone at the house.’
‘But you hardly know me. I could run off with all that expensive art in your hallway.’
‘I see you more than some of my closest friends.’ Lana smiled slowly. ‘Besides, I have a very sensitive alarm system and a housekeeper who lives out but who can check you don’t throw any wild parties.’
‘But what if you needed to come back to London?’
Lana laughed. ‘Darling, I can’t see that happening. But if I did, I wouldn’t throw you out. It’s plenty big enough for two.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘You’re unlikely to see him. He works mostly out of Geneva these days.’
‘Lana, I couldn’t . . .’
‘Sophie, you would be helping me,’ she insisted. ‘And you can use the studio for your training.’
Sophie understood Lana’s gesture. It wasn’t pity or charity, it was generosity. From Sharif’s no-strings-attached job offer at the gym to the man in the newsagent who gave her two months’ credit for the glossy magazine habit she couldn’t relinquish, kindness had come from the most unusual places since her world had turned upside down. And now Lana was making an offer she felt certain came from the same sense of simply wanting to help.
‘Well I warn you, I’m no domestic goddess, but I can water the plants, take messages if you like . . .’
‘That’s sweet, but I have a housekeeper for all that,’ smiled Lana. ‘I fly to Nice early Thursday morning. You’re welcome to move in any time after that. Any questions?’
Sophie looked around at her dream house and couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
‘No, actually, I think I’ll be fine.’