‘Well you be a good girl, okay?’ She was desperate to see her, and feel her comforting softness in her arms.
‘Okay,’ said Tilly breathlessly. ‘Love you.’
‘I just wanted to check you were still back at nine p.m.,’ Amy said when Rosemary came back on the line.
‘It might be a little later. Stuart’s talking about moving into Cinderella’s castle, but I’ll tear him away for the early-evening Eurostar.’
‘I’m glad you’ve had a great time.’
‘We really have. David said you’d had a very big week at work. Is everything okay?’
She felt a dart of envy for David’s parents, happily retired and happily married, pottering around Disneyland with nothing more to worry about than what to have for lunch.
‘Fine, Rosemary, fine. Just glad it’s Friday,’ she said.
Rosemary said goodbye, and Amy slid the phone back into her bag and continued down the lane. As she turned the corner, she saw the little red sports car parked under the shade of a tree and smiled. Her guess had been correct; it would have been annoying if Juliet hadn’t been here after all when she had driven all this way.
The cottage was to the right, a high hedge shielding it from the road, a wrought-iron gate opening onto a little stone path. Amy swung it open and walked up, trying the latch to the front door. Locked. Curious: Juliet never locked the house when she was in.
She went back to the lane and followed the hedge down to where the sports car was parked. Its bonnet was making that ‘tick-tick’ noise suggesting it had been driven recently. She knew there was a side gate leading into the back garden. Juliet often sat out there in good weather, her work spread across a gnarled wooden table, Radio 3 turned up full blast. Amy cocked an ear: no music, but the sound of a door opening. She put her hand on the handle to the side gate, then stopped.
Something wasn’t quite right.
The gate was slatted, with gaps between the wood. Craning her neck, Amy peered through and saw a man walk across the back patio. He was tall and tanned, perhaps late twenties, with a floppy blonde fringe. And he was muscular too: she could see that because he was only wearing boxer shorts. Careful not to make a sound, she stepped back, her thoughts in a whirl. Was this why Juliet hadn’t told her PA where she was going, and why she hadn’t answered her phone? Was she having an affair?
She held her breath as another figure came out of the house. Not Juliet; Peter. Wearing an unbuttoned shirt and not much else. Amy watched with rising horror as he smiled, crossed to the tanned guy and kissed him full on the mouth.
She closed her eyes, stifling the scream she knew was building. She had to get out, had to get away. She stepped carefully on the path, using all her concentration to avoid snapping twigs or scuffing stones, anything that might alert Peter and his friend to her presence. Peter and his lover.
As she turned the corner of the house, she stumbled into a patch of brambles, snagging her tights. She stopped again, freezing as she heard laughter. Distant, still in the garden. No doubt preoccupied with other things. Oh Christ, she thought. Juliet. What was she going to say to Juliet?
She ran up the lane to her car, checking over her shoulder every now and again to make sure she hadn’t been seen, then jumped in and fired up the engine, only concerned with putting distance between her and that scene in the garden.
She stopped after just a few hundred yards, when she was far enough away, and sat frozen, listening to her own breath, gripping the steering wheel as if it were a life raft. As she stared at her hands, she could see the gold band of her wedding ring glinting on her finger. She had to close her eyes to stop looking at it.
Was there anybody you could trust any more?
She’d always thought of Peter as steady and reliable. Too steady if the truth be told, but his presence was comforting and reassuring. She thought back to Provence, where his kind calmness had got her through that last night at the villa.
This would destroy Juliet, rip her whole life apart. Peter had never been Amy’s idea of a perfect match for her friend, but Juliet loved him – and this was how he repaid her.
For a moment, Amy considered the alternative. Let sleeping dogs lie? Wasn’t that the phrase? How appropriate. She shook her head. She couldn’t, not now she knew the truth. Juliet deserved to know. Some women might be able to live with it, but not Jules. She was straight-down-the-line, uncompromising; she wouldn’t stand for it.
So that meant Amy had to tell her.
Swearing, she pressed the ignition and turned the car back onto the road. New York, she thought; she would tell her in New York.
Chapter 25
Crossing the bridge into Manhattan was one of Amy’s favourite things. It was breathtaking at any time of day, but at sunset it was nothing short of spectacular. The dark outline of the concrete ramparts, the random fairy-chain lights of the skyscrapers, the Vegas wattage of the lit-up Empire State: it always gave her shivers of anticipation. Almost always. Because this time, there was a dark cloud hanging over Manhattan. A trip to the New York shows was the last thing she needed. The gala was a little over a week away, she’d had no word about the job application from Douglas – not that seeing her around the Genesis office would prompt him into putting her on the shortlist, but she could still hope – and she had hardly seen Tilly.
It was a weekend spent with her daughter that had saved Amy from sinking further into depression. Listening to Tilly’s gleeful stories from Disneyland had cheered her up no end, even when David had returned from Hong Kong on the Saturday morning.
Her phone beeped and she read the incoming text.
At the Whitby. Call when you get in. Drinks? Jx
She looked at it again, then clicked off the phone, concentrating on the city skyline, urging the magical city to work a miracle.