Page 20 of The Girlfriend

C HERRY SHOWED NO SIGN OF LEAVING. THE DAYS DRIFTED BY, LAZY , plentiful, and filled with sunshine.

Laura kept waiting for her to say when her time was used up, or talk about when she had to go back to work, but Cherry never mentioned it.

Suggestions for day trips that they could all do together completely dried up; Laura didn’t quite feel the enthusiasm she had before.

They fell into a pattern: At breakfast, she would wonder what they had planned for the day.

If they were going to the beach, Laura now felt a sense of relief if they did, as she wouldn’t have to continue to make polite conversation.

Instead she would lie by the pool, peaceful but lonely, and she found herself starting to resent Cherry’s presence.

This was her vacation too—and she hadn’t counted on having her son’s girlfriend present the entire time.

She wanted some time with Daniel too, just the two of them.

She broached the subject once more with him, a few days after Cherry was meant to have gone home.

To his due, he was apologetic and offered straight away to find a hotel they could stay in instead.

But then Laura realized she wouldn’t see him at all, so on the spur of the moment, she’d dissuaded him.

The tension was starting to get to her in other ways too.

She would mislay things. Her keys would disappear from the kitchen worktop.

Her toothbrush would be in the bin—fallen from the sink above.

And a deep scratch appeared on her rental car, which must have happened when she’d parked in the village.

It wasn’t just Cherry’s continued presence that was bothering her.

There was also the issue of the cost of the flight.

The ticket had definitely shown a fee of five hundred pounds, of that she was certain.

And yet Daniel had said he’d paid her a hundred pounds more.

She was well aware of the vast gulf between the two of them in wealth and she didn’t like the way her mind was thinking.

Two days before Laura was to go home, it suddenly occurred to her that Cherry would likely still be at the villa when she, herself, had gone back to London.

This notion irritated her so much that she was quite monosyllabic when they said they were going into Saint-Tropez for the day.

She waved them off and then went outside to the pool to retrieve her bikini, which she’d left on the drying rack the day before.

It wasn’t there and Laura looked around.

She could swear she’d hung it out the previous night.

Then she saw it, blown into the dirt. She went to retrieve it and saw it was filthy, as if it had blown off when it was still wet, which was odd as it hadn’t been windy at all the previous evening. Sighing, she took it inside to wash.

As she ran the tap, she considered how much, if anything, she could challenge Cherry about. She could hardly ask her how much her flight had cost, as it would sound like a direct accusation, but she decided that she would ask her again when she was planning to leave. That, she was entitled to do.

* * *

Cherry would stretch out this trip another three days.

After all, funerals in France take so long to organize, and there were all her grandmother’s things to go through.

Neil had been appropriately sympathetic and had agreed to the extended compassionate leave when she’d phoned to tell him her grandmother, sadly, had passed away.

It had been a simple decision not to tell Laura exactly how long she planned on staying; it served her right for nosing through her things.

Who the fuck did she think she was, snooping through her private stuff?

She was so in your face all the time, always asking questions, wanting to spend every waking minute with Daniel and her.

Laura probably thought it was her God-given right to look around their bedroom.

Cherry sighed. She so wished it hadn’t become like this.

It would have been so nice if they’d hit it off.

Cherry was of the opinion it was important to get on with your boyfriend’s mother and it bothered her that she didn’t.

She held Daniel’s hand as they wandered around Saint-Tropez, bags slung over their shoulders, hats shielding their eyes as they walked, flip-flops kicking up sand and dust. They headed through Place des Lices, where the old guys played boules in the dappled shade under the plane trees; then they made their way down to the port, where the yachts looked too big for the harbor.

“What was it again?” asked Daniel, wanting to hear her say it.

“A blue short flared skirt and matching blue-and-white-striped cotton top. An exact color match,” she said with a shudder.

He looked at her legs. “How short?”

She pulled his hat down over his face.

“Okay, sorry.” He grinned. “So then what?”

“I was out with a couple of friends one day and saw the girl whose hand-me-down it was. And I happened to be wearing it at the time.”

“So?”

“You don’t understand. It was humiliating. I was so embarrassed, I ran across the road in the hope she wouldn’t spot me. That was when the car hit me.”

“What!” He looked at her, horrified.

She tucked her arm into his. “In the end, it was only a sprained ankle, along with a lot of bruising.”

“You could have been killed.”

“At the time, I was more concerned about whether or not the full story would get out at school. I was only fourteen, remember. Fortunately, the girl didn’t figure out why I’d run away like that. In fact,” said Cherry, suddenly realizing, “I’ve never told anyone before now.”

Daniel took her hand and squeezed it and she smiled. Occasionally these stories that had haunted her childhood were useful; and unlike some of the things she’d said, they were actually true. Daniel was pulling her across the street .

“What?” she said, bemused, and then looked up and saw they had wandered into the narrow streets of the Old Village, where all the boutiques were, and they seemed to be heading straight for Dior.

Her heart fluttered; he was intent on something, but she couldn’t quite work out what.

Then they were inside. She looked around at the pristine decor with its select wares, items that seemed to mock her with their superiority, and she grew nervous.

It was all well and good, that hard-times story prompting him to suggest a shopping trip, but she couldn’t afford anywhere near these prices.

“It’s too nice to be inside shop—”

“On me,” he said quietly.

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Anything you want. In fact, let’s try on loads. I like that yellow shirt—what do you think?”

She looked at where he was pointing, then back at him again; it still hadn’t sunk in.

“You’d better hurry up, because we’ve got the others to do yet.”

“Others?” she managed to croak.

“Don’t ask me what they’re all called. I never remember all the names, but they do have some nice clothes.” He smiled apologetically, indicating his modest attire. “So I’m told.”

Cherry couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “I can’t . . . ,” she started halfheartedly.

“It’s my birthday present to you,” he said firmly.

And that made it okay. He seemed to be as keen as she was, taking garments off racks and holding them up against her, waiting patiently outside changing rooms and giving constructive comments that proved he was actually looking at the clothing.

He also paid for everything. Cherry didn’t go mad; she didn’t want to look greedy or take advantage of his wealth.

A couple of items she turned down, saying she had too many, but she still acquired five or six pieces of designer clothing.

After the last shop, with just one to go, Daniel seemed to flag, but gamely kept up his offer.

“Do you want to do the last one?” he said, nodding across the street .

Cherry sensed he’d had enough. She kissed him on the lips. “No, thank you. This has already been the perfect morning.”

He looked relieved and she realized he’d made quite a sacrifice.

“You don’t like shopping, do you?”

Guilt flashed across his face; then he saw her laughing.

“Can’t stand it. Now you sit here”—he indicated a bench in the shade—“and I’m going across to the boulangerie to get us some lunch.”

Cherry was happy to rest and watch him stroll up one of the streets.

She looked lovingly down at her bags, still glowing with the blissfulness of it all.

A stupid smile adorned her face as she ran through her head all the new clothes she had.

Maybe she could wear one of the dresses tonight.

The smile suddenly faltered. Laura would likely have an opinion about this lavish spending spree.

Things had been decidedly distant between them the last few days—nothing that Daniel would particularly notice, but she was very aware that the liberal welcome when she’d first arrived had disappeared.

Never mind that all these clothes were a gift—and one that Daniel had instigated through no conscious prompting of hers—the fact was he’d just spent nearly two thousand euros on her.

Cherry sat up uncomfortably. She didn’t want to arouse any suspicion as to why she was with Daniel.

It would just complicate things. As she was gazing around distractedly, she saw in a shop window across the street a painting that looked familiar; then she recognized it as being by the artist that Laura had at the villa.

Gathering her bags, she walked over to the gallery and peered in.

It was displayed on a small wooden easel, an oil of Saint-Tropez harbor.

It cost thirty-five hundred euros and it had a sold sticker on it.