Page 13 of Perfect Strangers

‘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?’