Page 61 of The Girlfriend

L AURA FOLLOWED ISABELLA INTO HER KITCHEN AND STOOD THERE nervously, knowing she didn’t have long as Isabella had to leave for the Cotswolds later that afternoon.

When she’d phoned, it had been a bit awkward between them.

They hadn’t spoken since she’d gone over to apologize.

And then Isabella had said she was going away—for what seemed to Laura to be a very long week.

The thought of another seven days of being imprisoned in her house, fearful of every knock on the door and every lonely night, her mind turning somersaults as it tried to work out the unknown, was too much to bear. She’d begged to come over.

“Cup of tea? Or something stronger? I can’t as I’m driving.”

“How is your mother?”

“Complaining that the doctors are trying to kill her, but at least she’s taking her medication.

George has had enough and it’s my turn to babysit.

Then my darling brother can take over again, especially seeing as he only lives next door, albeit a Range Rover ride away, and I don’t believe for one second his trip to Strasbourg is ‘crucial to his election success.’ So, Builders? Mint? Chamomile?”

“Yes, please.”

Isabella was going to ask which, but Laura had turned away and was looking out the huge glass bifold doors that led out onto a sunken, white, minimalist garden.

“You ever feel exposed? As if someone could get in?”

“Darling, it might be large and worth six mil, but it’s still a terrace. I’m enclosed on all sides.”

Laura turned back to accept the cup of chamomile, and noticed her hands were jittery.

“Want to tell me about it?” said Isabella.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Sit down.”

She did, grateful that someone else was taking control of the situation. She twisted her cup in her fingers, trying to phrase what it was she knew she had to say.

“I don’t want to rush you, but if I don’t get up to Mother’s before evening, she’ll be calling the randy colonel at the end of the lane and asking him to send out his helicopter.”

“A few days ago I heard from ITV that my, our, project has been canceled.”

“What?”

“Izzy, this is going to sound bonkers . . . horrendous.... Oh, God, I’m not losing the plot, but you might think so when you hear what I’m about to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve been afraid to say . . .”

“You can tell me anything,” said Isabella softly.

“Promise not to judge.”

“Course.”

Laura looked at her; it had been a throwaway promise to continue the conversation.

Now that she had Isabella’s attention, she didn’t know where to start.

She fiddled with her cup and then suddenly, unexpectedly, started to cry.

Almost as soon as the first tear made a run for it, she pulled herself together, quickly retrieving a clean handkerchief from her bag. Izzy put out a comforting hand.

“What is it? Laura?”

“Cherry’s back.”

Izzy sat up. “ ‘Back,’ in what sense? ”

“She’s living with Daniel. I said something to her months ago that wasn’t true.

It made her go away, but then she found out I’d lied and she wanted him back.

He’s invited her to move in with him. Meanwhile, to punish me for what I said, she’s told me she’s going to take everything away from me.

Daniel’s not answering my calls, Howard wants a divorce.

A few days ago, I found that she’d sent a dead puppy to the lead actress on my new project. My salvation project.”

Isabella’s mouth was ever so slightly open as she took all this in with growing incredulous outrage on her friend’s behalf.

“‘A dead puppy’? What in heaven’s name did you say to her?”

“I told her Daniel had died. While she was away in Mexico. She came back and I didn’t want her to see him. I phoned her up when she’d come off the plane and told her he was dead. And she couldn’t see him as we’d cremated him and scattered the ashes.”

Isabella was still trying to smile some encouragement, but the corners of her mouth twitched and fell. Laura saw confusion in her friend’s eyes, along with disbelief.

“You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“No! I’m not,” said Isabella quickly.

“At the time . . . I thought he was dying. I thought he only had a few days left.”

“And then . . . ?”

“I’d found out a few things . . . stuff she said, and it was pretty clear to me she’d attached herself to him because of his money. So . . . I kept quiet.”

Laura waited for Isabella to speak. “Say something. . . .”

“I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe . . . I mean, I can understand you wanting some time with Daniel . . . but, Laura . . . ”

Laura’s head fell into her hands. “Oh, God, don’t, don’t . . . I’ve made such a mess of things.”

“Okay, okay. It’s fine. We can fix this.”

“Can we? How?”

“What you did . . . was appalling. But I remember how terrible it was for you, how desperate the situation was. What does Daniel think about this?” asked Isabella carefully .

It took a moment for Laura to answer. “I haven’t spoken to him in nearly two months.”

Isabella reached across the kitchen table and gave her hand a squeeze, something for which Laura would be forever grateful.

“My God. A dead puppy. I mean, this girl, is she mad?”

“Mad . . . clever . . . extremely focused. I don’t know. Probably all three. But she’s got it in for me and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared to go home.”

“I take it Howard’s not there? Have you told him about all this?”

“Some of it. It wouldn’t make any difference.” Laura spoke over her friend’s look of exasperation. “Anyway, I don’t want him there.”

“Have you told the police?”

“Yes. They can’t do anything. The actress doesn’t want any publicity and is denying it. She’s left for a sojourn in Ibiza. And the letter Marianne got that was supposedly written by me—well, she still claims it was written by me.”

Isabella’s eyes widened. “Cherry forged a letter? What did it say?”

“Oh, just nasty, venting stuff. The kind of thing someone who’d been cheated on for years might want to say. It made Howard realize that time was a-wasting. He’s decided to seize the moment. He wants a divorce.”

“The bastard,” muttered Isabella.

“And . . . I confronted her.”

“Who? Cherry? What did she say?”

“She told me to back off. Or more bad luck would be coming my way.”

“Jesus! She’s insane. Who does she think she is? She’s just some kid, for Christ’s sake. Same age as ours. My God, if Brigitte ever tried anything like this . . .” Isabella took a deep breath. Gave Laura a look of condolence, of pity, a look that made her feel quite alone. “Oh, Laura . . .”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I know I did something awful . . . ,” she trailed off, wanting to ask Isabella if she’d have done the same, but was afraid of the answer. “I don’t know what to do,” she said helplessly .

“Can you try to speak to Daniel again?”

“He won’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. And written. I think she intercepted the letter.”

Isabella’s phone rang on the table. She glanced at the screen. “Mother.”

“You have to go.”

She nodded awkwardly and sent the call to voice mail. “I’ll call her back in a minute.”

Laura stood and blew her nose as she took her cup to the sink.

“Don’t rush.”

“It’s okay. You need to get on.”

“We haven’t sorted anything out.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Come to Mother’s?”

Laura gave a small smile. “You just want an ally.”

“You’re right.” Isabella pulled her into an embrace. “I’ll be as quick as I can, and you have to promise to call me if anything happens. In fact, I’m going to call you. Every day.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry we fell out.”

“We didn’t . . . not really,” said Laura. “I’m glad you’re getting out of here, actually.”

Izzy laughed. “What, you think that little jumped-up so-and-so is going to go for me?”

“She might.” Laura remained sober. “You’re all I have left. And she’s capable. She’ll stop at nothing.”

* * *

Laura checked the house when she got home, put on every security lock, but she couldn’t help feeling creeped out every time she went into the kitchen to fill her glass of wine.

The fridge made a loud thur-wup as she opened the door; the wineglass seemed to echo on the granite worktop.

She stopped and listened to the empty house: silence.

Maybe it would help if she played some music.

She turned on the radio, but the classical program was melancholy and all the other music stations jarred on her mood too; they seemed meaninglessly noisy and oblivious to her need to soothe her nerves.

So she switched it back off again, but now the house seemed quieter than ever. God, she wished Isabella were there.

Laura took a deep breath. She had to pull herself together.

Cherry was not lying in wait somewhere in the house.

Aware that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, and it was now nearly six, she opened the fridge again and pulled out a tub of tzatziki and a red pepper, which she roughly chopped.

She sat at the worktop, eating her rudimentary supper, her mind wandering.

What was Cherry going to do next? Laura was certain that there would be something else.

How far would she go? She ran through her mind all the things she cared about: the house, her friends .

. . Christ, there was Moses. She jumped up and ran to the bifold doors, opening them and calling him urgently, banging his food dish to make him come running.

When he did, and after thorough checking, she found him unharmed, she slumped with relief.

But she shut the doors after that, much to his disgruntlement.

“Sorry, Moses, but I need you in tonight. There’s a crazy girl out there wanting to get me. And that means maybe you too.”

She sat back down at the breakfast bar. Couldn’t settle. Then despite knowing he didn’t want to speak to her, she grabbed her phone and called Howard. He didn’t answer. Deflated, she left no message. She went to ring Daniel, but unable to stomach another silent rejection, she put down the phone.

Trapped in her house, she stared out the window at the darkened garden, wondering where Cherry was, what she was thinking, what she was planning.