Page 23 of The Girlfriend

L AURA CAME HOME TO EXCRUCIATING NOISE. HER NEIGHBORS ’ basement extension was in full swing, and as irritating as it was, she had to tolerate it, for only twelve months before she’d been doing the same thing.

She was supposed to be working from home that afternoon on some proposals she’d pitch to ITV at her lunch in a couple of weeks.

Soon after she got back from the airport, a writer arrived, one Laura liked and enjoyed working with, and who was favored by ITV after a respectable success with a miniseries for them the previous year.

She opened the door to him and they had to shout their hellos above the noise of the excavator.

They worked hard on a joint idea they had about a drama set in an exclusive private school, and despite the racket, they made good progress.

The only interruption was a brief power cut from the builders, which meant that the Internet was down for an hour or so, hampering research.

By midafternoon, the writer had enough material to go ahead and write a treatment, a summary of the series.

It was an investment Laura would have to bear the cost of, and at his rate, not a cheap one, but drama development was notoriously expensive.

She felt it was worth it, as she sensed there was a good chance Alison and Sean would go for this project .

After he left, the builders packed up and went home too. It was late afternoon, but Laura knew the weekend would not yet have started for everyone. She toyed with the idea a bit, and then, before she lost her courage, she picked up her bag and left the house.

* * *

Laura walked the short distance to Highsmith and Brown real estate agents and browsed the window outside.

Lots of beautifully photographed houses, some costing millions, some casually stating their price was on application.

After she’d spent what she thought was a reasonable time looking, she stepped inside.

A dapper-looking man, who was with a gentleman of retirement age, looked up.

He seemed harassed, perhaps more so when a young girl approached her hesitantly.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Laura wanted to speak to the well-dressed man, not this girl, who was clearly much more junior. She knew from the website he was the manager—she reminded herself of his name: Neil.

“I’m just going to take a look at these,” indicated Laura, and she moved over to a stand of house details. The girl left with a grateful nod, glad to have escaped.

Laura wondered how long she would have to pretend interest in the houses.

Perhaps she could write something down, take some notes.

She was about to dig in her handbag for some paper and a pen when she heard the retired man finish up.

Her heart was hammering as he left, but she made herself catch Neil’s eye.

He smiled at her. “Was there something I can do for you?” He was forthright, professional. She would have to be careful.

“Yes. I’m looking for something with four bedrooms. I’ve always fancied a mews . . .”

He indicated a chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Would you like to take a seat?”

She did.

“Perhaps I can start by taking some details?” said Neil, and Laura realized it would be better if she made up a false name and address.

She panicked and could think of nothing except Isabella’s, which she gave, mentally asking her forgiveness, just recovering enough to alter her mobile number and e-mail address slightly.

He started to scroll through some houses on his iPad.

“You’re very busy,” began Laura. Lamely, she thought.

“Yes. Time of the year.” He looked up and nodded at a couple who were waiting impatiently; she knew she had to do this sooner rather than later.

“We have this rather lovely place,” he started, showing her some photos on the screen, “in Lexham Gardens. It’s not a mews, but it’s four bedrooms and three bathrooms.”

“Great. Can I take a hard copy?”

He delved into a file at the side of his desk and pulled out a luxurious printout. Then he began to scroll through again.

Think, think. God, I am so useless at this. “You could do with some more help.”

He smiled a professional smile. “Yes, well, normally, there’s four of us, but the summer season seems to have started earlier.”

“Oh, so some of the staff are on holiday, are they?” He’s just said that, you fool , thought Laura. She saw his eyes wanted to hurry things along.

“Yes. Three, in fact.”

“Oh, bad planning.”

As might be expected, he said nothing to this, but Laura decided to plow on. “Isn’t there usually a girl in here? Dark hair, short. Young?”

“You mean Cherry? Yes, she’s off too.”

The sweet, ineffectual girl was hovering. “Excuse me, Neil, but is the house on Victoria Road under offer now?”

He held up his hand, a wait signal. Then he smiled at Laura. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything else available at the moment, but I can certainly let you know as soon as new properties come on.”

“That would be great.” Laura suddenly felt silly, like she was playing a childish game, making something out of nothing. She stood and Neil shook her hand. Almost as soon as she’d vacated the seat, the couple swooped in .

Embarrassed, she walked toward the door, still trying to look like a bona fide buyer, whatever that was.

Goodness knows what she’d thought she’d find out, there was nothing to find out.

The only thing that absolutely did not add up was Cherry saying that Neil had called her and encouraged her to take more time off. He was clearly woefully understaffed.

“She’s back next week,” said the girl as Laura headed for the door. She looked up. “Cherry? You were asking about her. Back on Monday.” There was a poorly hidden note of relief to the girl’s voice.

Laura nodded. She knew. She looked for a moment at the girl and saw how out of her depth she was. Poor thing. She smiled. “Last day?”

The girl grimaced. “Tomorrow.” Then regretting her unprofessionalism: “Sorry, shouldn’t say that, should I?”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

The girl grinned. “Thanks. I was beginning to think she’d never come back.”

“Delayed return?” Laura spoke with understanding and empathy; she knew perfectly well Cherry had extended her trip.

“Do you know her?”

A sigh escaped. “A little.” She quickly smiled and kept the pressure valve shut up tight again. She hadn’t meant to sigh; she didn’t really want anyone to know about her anxiety, but the worry had been hers alone for a few days now.

“Understandable though.”

Laura stopped. “Yes,” she said again, not knowing what they were talking about, but something stirred, something that made her alert.

“I remember when my grandmother died. Norfolk, though, not the South of France. Bit easier to get to the funeral.”

Laura was still standing there, rocked, trying to stay calm, trying to look sympathetic as if she knew that Cherry’s grandmother had died, but every bit of energy seemed to be occupied by the unfurling realization: Cherry must have made it up.

Made up her grandmother’s death—did she even have a grandmother?

—so she could be in the South of France at her boyfriend’s villa.

It couldn’t be true; otherwise, she would have told Daniel and he would have told her.

No wonder Neil had had no choice but to let her go away when his other staff members were also off.

She glanced up at him and saw him look at her strangely; perhaps he was wondering why she was still there, and it focused her enough to get out.

With a brief thank-you and good-bye to the girl, who never knew just how much she’d done for Laura, she left the agency and didn’t look around or slow down until she was back in her own road.

Then it hit her again. She stopped in the middle of the pavement and goose bumps rose up on her arms.

Cherry had made it all up.