The Proposal

‘No, not for my mother,’ he said with a touch of sarcasm. ‘For my secretary.’

‘And you hid it in your sock drawer.’

‘Look, are you going to tell me what’s going on here? What are you trying to imply, because I don’t appreciate—’

‘Who is she?’ said Amy, holding up the cardigan.

‘I’ve already told you, that belongs to my mother.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Daniel.’

He threw his hands in the air.

‘Amy, you are being absolutely ridiculous. If we are going to get things back on track, you are really going to have to start trusting me.’

She nodded slowly.

‘Okay,’ she said.

She untangled the cardigan and slipped one arm into a sleeve, then the other. It fitted perfectly. Amy was a size eight, a long, lean dancer’s physique. Daniel’s mother was in her sixties, a size fourteen at least.

‘It fits,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, maybe Mother bought something too small at the shops—’

‘WHO IS SHE?’ screamed Amy, making Daniel jerk back at the sudden ferocity.

‘Amy, stop it.’

‘You’re going to make a terrible diplomat, Daniel,’ she sneered. ‘Your mother? Was that an example of you thinking on your feet? Christ. At the very least you should have pretended it was my Christmas present. Seeing as the Tiffany key ring has gone missing.’

He blinked at her, then looked away. The smooth-talking rich boy finally lost for words.

Amy pulled off the cardigan and dropped it at his feet.

‘Who is she, Daniel? You owe me that at least.’

He let out a long breath.

‘You don’t know her,’ he said, still not meeting her gaze. ‘She works in finance. We met at a function.’

‘How long has it been going on?’ She knew she should just walk out, try to scrape up whatever tiny crumbs of dignity were left, but she had to know, needed to know every last detail.

‘It wasn’t like that . . .’

‘How long?’

He lifted his chin, a little of the old arrogance back.

‘We were on a break, Amy.’

‘A week,’ she hissed. ‘And in that time, she’s been here. Been to your house, left her belongings . . .’

Her voice faltered as she realised what all that meant. If Daniel had broken down and confessed, said it was just a one-night stand, that he’d been drunk, that it meant nothing, she knew she might actually have forgiven him. But it wasn’t like that, she could see that now. This girl was serious.

‘Two months,’ he said. ‘I’ve been seeing her a couple of months.’

Amy nodded. She had expected the tears to come, but instead she just felt a crushing inevitability, a hollowness.