Page 90 of The Honeymoon Affair

I laugh. I can’t help it. He laughs too and puts his arms around me. ‘If I was giving you a review, my darling Iseult, it would be a five-star one. You’re my total inspiration.’

‘I am?’

‘Of course you are. I’ve based Carolyn on you. Didn’t you guess?’

Carolyn is the murderer.

I’m not sure how I should feel about that.

Chapter 25

Ariel

Authors and lovers always suffer some infatuation, from which only absence can set them free.

Samuel Johnson

I haven’t seen Charles face to face since his grand engagement announcement, but I’m too busy to care. I return to London to meet with some publishers, have a girls’ night out with Ekene and Maya (they’re stunned by the news of Charles’s engagement) and also drop in to Xerxes to see Sydney and Graham. Sydney says she hasn’t heard back yet from Charles on the edits other than that he’s currently working on them, while Graham talks about the publication date: if Charles gets the edits back quickly, Xerxes will publish in the early summer, because who doesn’t love a juicy murder mystery set in an exotic location when they’re about to set off on their own holidays?

I’ve stayed away from the mews office since the party, but the day after I return from London, I go over there. The weather has turned milder, and with the sun shining, it feels positively spring-like, and a lot more welcoming than it was before Christmas. I pick up a bundle of late-arriving Christmas cards and put them, unread, into the recycling bin. Then I make myself a cup of coffee and look towards the main house while I drink it. I haven’t heard back from my solicitor following the email I sent her on New Year’s Day, and I should probably chase her up, but I’m not in the mood.

I wash the cup and return to my desk. As well as the hard-copy manuscripts that arrived during the week, another fifty have been sent by email. There’s always an uptick around New Year, when unpublished writers who’ve had some time on their hands over the holidays work like crazy to get their manuscripts off to an agent as part of a New Year New Me push.

I read without stopping until four in the afternoon. There’s a slight stretch in the evenings now, more noticeable today because of the clear skies. I debate with myself for a few moments, then open the cupboard behind my desk and take out one of the bottles of Merlot that Penny Blackwater sent me as a Christmas gift. I go into the bathroom and refresh my make-up, then slip into my heels and walk up the garden path to the house.

The back door is unlocked, which means Charles is at home. I walk into the kitchen and call out to make my presence known. There’s no reply, but if he’s in his study, he won’t have heard me, so I go up the stairs. He’s not in the living room either, and it’s only now that I think perhaps he might be in bed with Iseult. The thought makes me feel light-headed. And then I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and I move into the hallway again.

‘I thought I heard you,’ he says.

‘I called out. I’m sorry, I should’ve texted you before coming up.’

‘Wouldn’t have mattered. My phone is on silent.’

It always is while he’s working. Annoyingly, he often forgets to change it back again.

‘How’s it going?’ I ask.

‘Grim.’ He frowns. ‘Between you and that Sydney woman, I’ll be a wreck before this book is finished. Three whole chapters to rewrite, for God’s sake.’

‘I offer my sympathies.’ I hold up the bottle. ‘And a decent bottle of red?’

‘Excellent idea.’

We walk into the living room together. He takes the bottle from me and opens it with the fancy silver corkscrew I got him for our fifth wedding anniversary.

The gentle glug of the wine into the glass is welcome and relaxing after what has been a long, busy week.

‘Where’s Iseult?’ I ask when we’re sitting on the sofa. This time I don’t kick off my shoes and curl my feet under me. I keep them on and cross my legs primly at the ankles.

‘Working. She does shift hours.’

‘I guess that suits when you’re working hard yourself.’

‘At the moment, yes. It’ll be different when the book’s finished, though.’

‘And will that be soon?’ I use my most sympathetic tone.

‘I bloody hope so. Iseult can’t believe it’s taking so long. When I told her that Sydney’s suggestions meant rewriting three effing chapters, she was shocked.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m in two minds about it. Iseult wasn’t half as worried as Sydney about those clues, and she’s the crime expert after all.’