Page 115 of Friend of the Family

‘I’m your wife,’ she whispered with a quaver of fury.

‘I know,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘I guess I don’t want to believe that Juliet could do this to you.’

‘And you think I do?’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

‘You should speak to her.’

The prospect made her feel sick, but she knew that her husband was right. She had to hear it from Juliet’s own lips that she had stabbed her in the back. She was aware how painful that would be, but she had to know the truth.

‘She’ll be at the Design Week party. She mentioned it in Provence.’

‘You don’t have to speak to her tonight.’

‘Don’t I?’ she whispered. ‘David, I can’t even think straight. I have to hear her try and justify this, otherwise I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.’

‘Just call her then.’

Her hands were still trembling as she dialled Juliet’s number and held the phone to her ear. When it rang out, she wasn’t entirely surprised, although she still left a message that they needed to talk.

David had put the key in the ignition, and as the engine purred to life, Amy placed her hand on the wheel.

‘Will you drop me off at the party?’

‘Amy, leave it. Just for tonight.’

‘Please. If you’re worried about your mum having to get back to Esher, just drop me off and I’ll find my own way back. I have to talk to her.’

‘In which case, I’m coming with you.’

The London Design Awards was one of the most prestigious events of its kind, showcasing the latest architectural projects and honouring the greatest names in the field; a splash of glamour and excitement once the fashion circus had rolled out of London and on to Milan.

Amy knew that Juliet would be there, not because Living Style was a particularly important magazine in the design world, but because Juliet was thick with that creative crowd. In Provence, she had told them all about the pre-Awards reception she had been invited to. At the time, Amy had smiled at her friend’s less-than-subtle insinuation that she was important enough to have been invited; but looking back, she had always been genuinely excited about attending the event. There was no way she wouldn’t be there that night.

‘How are we going to get in?’ asked David, slowing the car to a stop near Leighton House, the grand venue in Holland Park where the bash was being held.

‘At Oxford you were the best blagger I knew.’

‘I think you’ll find that was Max. His motto for ball season was “no ticket no problem”. I just went along for the ride.’

‘Channel your inner Max Quinn then,’ she muttered. ‘If you don’t, I will.’

She gripped her husband’s hand as they walked through the park towards the venue. It was dark out here, with just the faint sound of music coming from the party.

Ahead of them she could make out a couple standing by a black chauffeur-driven car. She watched the woman touch the man’s cheek before he got into the vehicle, leaving the woman behind. For a moment, Amy lost her breath – it had been a simple but touching gesture that made her grip her husband’s hand a little tighter.

‘Are you okay?’ asked David.

Amy nodded, standing back for a moment to let the car drive past them. Her eyes drifted to the side window, and she frowned as she peered inside.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘That was Marv Schultz.’

David buttoned up his jacket. ‘No real surprise that he’s here. I think World of Architecture magazine is one of the sponsors.’

‘Then who was that woman?’ she said, quickening her pace. She hadn’t been able to make out the woman’s identity in the low light, but she had been wearing a distinctive feathered cape that Amy knew would be easy to spot.