Cherry caressed the backs of chairs as she wandered through the living room. She straightened the tea towels in the kitchen and saw the painting lying ripped on the side. Such a shame. All that money on her credit card that she still had to pay off; it made her feel sick and slightly panicky. But it had been necessary. She needed to untangle those motherly binds Laura still kept wrapped tight. She needed Daniel on her side, now that Laura had been snooping.
Cherry picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and went out onto the terrace. She ate it delicately as she gazed out at the St Tropez peninsula and thought of Laura here and wondered whether she fully appreciated it and how often she bothered to come. From what she knew of her job from Daniel, she worked hard and did long days. Cherry inwardly snorted, full of contempt for the waste of such a beautiful house. Months probably passed with no one enjoying it other than the spiders, who still managed to concoct webs every week before the cleaner got them, and the birds who dipped their beaks at the edge of the pool. Cherry knew that if she owned this villa, she’d be here for weeks or months at a time. She watched the famous distant harbour and felt a great sense of well-being, of belonging, as if all those yachts, the beaches, the sun-warmed streets and the lifestyle were within touching distance, there for the taking.
Lying in bed that night, Cherry picked up her book while she was waiting for Daniel to come out of the bathroom. She heard him come in, and then he got on the bed and tilted the book away from her face. She looked up to see he had a small box in his hand.
‘I wanted to wait until we were alone for this one,’ he said.
She looked at it in delight. It was turquoise velvet. A box like that could only mean jewellery. Tentatively, she opened it up and gasped. Lying on the silk lining was a slim gold bangle set with a single stone of soft, shimmering blue.
‘It’s a moonstone. For your birth month apparently, although I have to confess that bit was a coincidence. I just liked it. Thought it would suit you.’
She threw her arms around him. ‘Thank you. I love it.’
‘Happy birthday. Again.’ He kissed her, then took it out of the box and she held out her slim, tanned wrist. He fastened the clasp and she watched as the stone gleamed mysteriously as she moved her arm. It was the most beautiful piece of jewellery she had ever seen. It was then that Cherry made her decision. Nicolas wasn’t the only one who could get married. She was going to have Daniel Cavendish.
FIFTEEN
Friday 4 July
Laura came home to excruciating noise. Work on her neighbours’ basement extension was in full swing, and as irritating as it was, she had to tolerate it, as only twelve months before she’d been doing the same thing. She was supposed to be working from home that afternoon on some proposals she’d pitch to ITV at her lunch in a couple of weeks.
Soon after she got back from the airport, a writer arrived whom Laura liked and enjoyed working with, and who was favoured by ITV having had respectable success with a three-parter for them the previous year. She opened the door to him and had to shout her hellos above the noise of the excavator. Inside, they worked hard on a joint idea they had about a drama set in an exclusive private school and, despite the racket, made good progress, the only interruption being a brief power cut caused by the builders, which meant that the Internet was down for an hour or so, hampering research. By mid-afternoon, the writer had enough material to go ahead and write a treatment, a summary of the series. It was an investment Laura would have to bear the cost of, and, at his rate, not a cheap one, but drama development was notoriously expensive. She felt it was worth it, as she sensed there was a good chance Alison and Sean would go for it.
After he left, the builders packed up and went home too. It was late afternoon, but Laura knew the weekend would not yet have started for everyone. She toyed with the idea a bit and then, before she lost her courage, picked up her bag and left the house.
She walked the short distance to Highsmith & Brown and browsed the window outside. Lots of beautifully photographed houses, some costing millions, some casually stating their price was on application. After she’d spent what she thought was a reasonable time looking, she stepped inside. A dapper-looking man who was with a gentleman of retirement age looked up. He seemed harassed, perhaps more so when a younger girl approached her hesitantly.
‘Hi. Can I help you?’
Laura wanted to speak to the well-dressed man, not this girl, who was clearly much more junior. She knew from the website he was the manager – she reminded herself of his name: Neil.
‘I’m just going to take a look at these,’ indicated Laura, and she moved over to a stand of house details. The girl left with a grateful nod, glad to have escaped.
Laura wondered how long she would have to pretend interest in the houses. Perhaps she could write something down, take some notes, and she was about to dig in her handbag for some paper and a pen when she heard the retired man finish up. Her heart was hammering as he left, but she made herself catch Neil’s eye.
He smiled at her. ‘Was there something I can do for you?’ He was forthright, professional. She would have to be careful.
‘Yes. I’m looking for something with four bedrooms. I’ve always fancied a mews . . .’
He indicated a chair on the opposite side of his desk. ‘Would you like to take a seat?’
She did.
‘Perhaps I can start by taking some details?’ said Neil, and Laura realized it would be better if she made up a false name and address. She panicked and could think of nothing except Isabella’s, which she gave, mentally asking her forgiveness, just recovering enough to alter her mobile number and email address slightly.
He started to scroll through some houses on his iPad.
‘You’re very busy,’ began Laura. Lamely, she thought.
‘Yes. Time of the year.’ He looked up and nodded at a couple who were waiting impatiently and she knew she had to do this sooner rather than later.
‘We have this rather lovely place,’ he started, showing her some photos on the screen, ‘in Lexham Gardens. It’s not a mews, but it’s four bedrooms and three bathrooms.’
‘Great. Can I take a hard copy?’
He delved into a file at the side of his desk and pulled out a luxurious printout. Then he began to scroll through again.
Think, think. God, she was so useless at this. ‘You could do with some more help.’
He smiled a professional smile. ‘Yes, well, normally there’s four of us, but the holiday season seems to have started early.’
‘Oh, so some of the staff are on holiday, are they?’ He’s just said that, you fool, thought Laura. She saw his eyes wanting to hurry things along.
‘Yes. Three, in fact.’
‘Oh, bad planning.’
As might be expected, he said nothing to this, but Laura decided to plough on. ‘Isn’t there usually a girl in here? Dark hair, short. Young?’
‘You mean Cherry? Yes, she’s off too.’
The sweet, ineffectual girl was hovering. ‘Excuse me, Neil, but is the house on Victoria Road under offer now?’