Zoe peeked over her script at Celia O’Sullivan. The renowned actress sat knitting in a corner of the room where Zoe had had her audition, her fingers working steadily on an unidentifiable garment. Other than a curt nod when she’d arrived and Zoe had introduced herself, Celia hadn’t said a word. Snooty cow. Jonathan’s wife was drawn as a cold woman until it became clear that she hadn’t always been that way but had hardened as her husband drifted into his fantasy world. Zoe figured Celia wouldn’t have to act at all.
She always came across as so warm in interviews and Zoe had been a great admirer, not least for the longevity of her career, and had been looking forward to working with the woman. But it was clear that Celia saw herself as being far above Zoe and it was unlikely they would become bosom buddies. But then in the acting world women could be particularly envious and spiteful. Zoe knew that, despite being an established and respected actress, Celia would look on her as someone who might upstage her. Thankfully, they had no scenes together so there was no reason why there should be any issues. Zoe would be polite and respectful and stay well out of Celia’s way.
Robbie and Terence arrived together. Celia abandoned her knitting and, all smiles, stood to air-kiss both men.
‘Celia, looking lovely as always,’ Terence said, winking at Zoe over the other woman’s shoulder. She bent her head so Robbie wouldn’t see her smirk.
‘You’ve met Zoe Hall, our Isabella,’ Robbie said.
‘No, she just got here. Lovely to meet you, Zoe.’ Celia beamed at her.
Zoe was stunned at the woman’s duplicity but played along. ‘And you, I’m a great admirer of your work.’
‘How kind.’ Celia inclined her head.
‘Right.’ Robbie pulled four chairs into a circle. ‘Let’s get started. Gerald is running late but wants us to start without him.’
Terence and Zoe sat silently while Robbie gave an overview of the play for Celia’s benefit. She interrupted occasionally, made notes on her script and, when he mentioned the dream scenes, her brows knitted in a frown but she didn’t comment. As they were about to begin, a small and flustered man stuck his head in the door.
‘Ah, here you are. Sorry I’m late, damn traffic.’
Robbie stood up and shook hands with him. ‘You haven’t missed much – we were just about to do a read-through. Let me introduce you. Terence you know.’
‘I’m the one who put grey in his hair,’ Terence joked.
‘True, all true.’ The man’s voice was gruff but he actually blushed, Zoe noticed.
‘Celia O’Sullivan, Gerald Spring.’
Celia offered her fingers in a majestic manner. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘And you.’
‘And this is Zoe Hall, our Isabella.’
The writer appraised her through rimless glasses for a moment and then gave a brief nod. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Likewise.’ Zoe took the hand he offered. She was obviously going to have to prove herself to this man. ‘It’s a wonderful play. I’m very excited to be in it.’
He muttered his thanks then sat down in the chair Robbie had fetched for him and pulled out a notebook.
‘Do you want to say a few words before we begin?’ Robbie asked the writer.
Gerald stroked his untidy beard before answering. ‘Jonathan and Monica Keane have been married for the best part of forty years. They have raised three children and now there are just the two of them at home. They do their weekly grocery shopping on Friday evening. Divide Saturday between the garden and garden centre in the summer and go to an afternoon movie or lunch out in the winter. Sundays they spend time with their family. They holiday twice a year: Lake Como in June and the Bahamas in January. Were they ever really in love?’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but now they are settled they’re companions and get along most of the time. In other words, they are a very ordinary couple.’
Zoe was delighted with the picture that he painted – it brought the couple to life for her. She hoped he’d tell her something about Isabella. She glanced at Terence, who was leaning forward, his eyes trained on the writer. Celia looked somewhat bored, as, indeed, Monica might have been, and Robbie was doodling.
‘But Jonathan has a health scare and, though it turns out to be a false alarm, he’s suddenly conscious that the years are slipping by without him noticing. He is in every sense a success yet suddenly, he feels as if he hasn’t actually lived. Enter Isabella Shine. A beautiful woman accused of murdering her husband. She is young and mysterious and he cannot figure out if she is guilty or innocent, which strangely heightens her appeal. He is spellbound. They are polar opposites. His life is calm, ordered and pedestrian, while Isabella’s seems cloaked in secrets and drama. And he wants that excitement, he wants her and he can think of little else.’
When he’d finished, Celia spoke: ‘And what does Monica want?’
Gerald shrugged. ‘That’s not really important – no offence.’ He gave a nervous smile when she visibly bristled. ‘We can assume that she is content with their life as it is.’
‘And Isabella?’ Zoe asked.
‘We know nothing about her,’ Gerald told her. ‘She is an enigma. Aware of Jonathan’s adulation, she uses all her womanly wiles to encourage him to fall in love with her and pretends that she is attracted to him too – but her only goal is to walk free.’
Terence didn’t interject with his ideas on that, having already primed Zoe for today, saying that, though it was just a read-through, they should act it, vocally and visually. ‘It will bring Gerald’s words to life and it’s important that he believes you’re the right person to play Isabella. Once he is completely on side, things will run much smoother and he’ll be more open to any changes we suggest.’
The opening scene was between Jonathan and Monica, giving a picture of their marriage. Monica did most of the talking, with Jonathan only half concentrating on what she was saying. Celia read it as if it were the newspaper but Terence got into the part, sighing, staring off into space, answering in a distracted, bored and sometimes irritable voice. Celia glared at him over her script. Then it was Zoe’s turn. As Terence had suggested, she shut everyone in the room out of her mind and concentrated purely on Jonathan.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked when it was over and there was silence. She looked nervously at Robbie but it was Gerald who answered.
‘Perfect, just perfect,’ he said, his eyes gleaming behind his spectacles.
Robbie gave her a nod of approval, while Celia just stared, reappraising her. Good!
By the time they were finished, Zoe felt exhausted but exhilarated.
‘Thoughts?’ Robbie asked, looking at each of them in turn.
‘I think there should be a lot more interplay between Jonathan and Monica,’ Celia said.
Terence nudged Zoe and she had to hide her grin behind her script.
‘No disrespect intended, Gerald,’ Celia continued, ‘but the audience need a clearer picture of their marriage.’
He nodded, but neither agreed nor disagreed.
‘That wouldn’t work,’ Terence said. ‘If we go down that route, the audience will start to feel sorry for Monica when they should only be thinking about what Jonathan is going through.’ He looked to Robbie for support.
‘I have to agree,’ Robbie said, and Celia pursed her lips. ‘The strength of this play is that the audience is embroiled in Jonathan’s thoughts. It’s what makes the final scene so powerful. Isabella has disappeared, just like the dream she actually was, and the real woman he loves and who loved him is revealed but it’s too late, he’s lost her.’
‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t work if the audience pitied Monica,’ Gerald chimed in. ‘They need to feel ambivalent towards her.’
Zoe remained silent. She knew her place, and anyway, a contribution from her was unnecessary. Celia wouldn’t win this battle.
‘I love the ending, don’t you, Celia? It’s powerful,’ Terence said, turning on the charm. ‘I can imagine Monica watching everything play out, seeing her husband for the pathetic creature he’s become and walking out on him.’
‘It’s brilliant,’ Robbie agreed.
‘Wonderful,’ Zoe said, nodding.
Somewhat mollified, Celia inclined her head in agreement. ‘It should be quite emotional.’
‘About Isabella,’ Terence started, and Zoe studied her fingers, knowing what was coming next. No doubt, Robbie did too. ‘I love how you’ve written her, Gerald, and you know I fell in love with this script the moment I read it, but I wonder . . . do you think it might add some intrigue if the audience also think that she’s falling for Jonathan?’
Celia gave a bark of laughter. ‘Oh, please, that’s ridiculous.’
‘I don’t think that would work, Terence,’ Robbie said, but looked at the writer. ‘I wonder, would it be better though if Isabella wasn’t quite as calculating but was actually oblivious of Jonathan’s feelings for her. After all, in her eyes he’s an old man.’
Celia snorted but Terence smiled, unperturbed.
‘Would it help if we read it again and I play Isabella as a nicer person and see if it works?’ Zoe offered.
‘Good idea.’ Robbie gave a nod of approval, Terence beamed at her, Celia sighed and Gerald gave her a grateful smile.
‘I admit it, Robbie. Isabella is best as a desperate woman, unaware of the extent of her charms and indifferent to the effect they are having on Jonathan.’ Terence tossed his script on the floor and made a small bow to Gerald. ‘Let me buy you all a drink now we’re done,’ he offered.
‘Thank you, darling, but I have another appointment.’ Celia turned to offer her cheek to Robbie.
‘Thanks for coming, Celia. I’ll be in touch when Gerald has made his revisions, but it will probably be same place, same time next week.’
‘See you all then,’ and with a general wave of her hand she left the room, her multicoloured scarf fluttering behind her.
‘Thank God she’s gone,’ Terence muttered. ‘That woman could sour cream with a look.’
‘She’s an excellent actress and that’s all that matters,’ Robbie said.
‘True.’ Terence slung an arm around Zoe and kissed her cheek. ‘So, my Isabella, shall we?’
She caught Robbie looking and slipped out of the embrace under the guise of collecting her bag and checking her phone. ‘Hang on a sec,’ she said when she saw there was a voicemail, and crossed the room so she could hear it.
‘Come on, Zoe, we’re dying of thirst here,’ Terence urged, heading out the door.
Zoe stared at her phone. ‘Sorry, I can’t join you. Something’s come up.’
Robbie looked at her, frowning. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘No, I don’t think it is.’
Zoe sat in the passenger seat of Robbie’s car trying to figure out what could have happened to make Tara call her. Her message had sounded so desperate. Obviously, it was nothing relating to her parents. Terence was now sitting in some cosy pub with Gerald and, if there was anything wrong with Vivienne, Tara would have called her dad. It had to be something to do with Greg. She looked across at Robbie, driving, who, back at rehearsals, had immediately offered her a lift when he’d seen the worried expression on her face.
‘Do you mind?’ She held up her phone.
‘Of course not.’
Zoe dialled, but it was several rings before Tara picked up, and, even then, she could hardly hear her. ‘Tara? It’s Zoe. Are you okay?’
‘Think so.’ Her voice was thin and wobbly.
‘Are you ill?’
‘No, well . . . no. Look, I don’t want to talk on the phone.’
‘That’s okay. I’m on my way over right now.’
‘Thanks, Zo,’ Tara said, sounding tearful.
She put the phone down and Robbie glanced over. ‘Terence’s daughter? Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing.’
‘Yes. She sounds awful and it must be something serious for her to call me. We had a big row recently, a bad one.’
‘Strange that she didn’t call Terence or Vivienne,’ he mused.
‘Yes. Oh, it’s the next left and immediately right, first house on the left.’
Soon, he was pulling up outside Tara’s house. ‘Would you like me to wait?’
‘No, I think I may be here for quite a while. Don’t mention this to Terence, will you, Robbie?’
‘Of course not.’ He looked offended that she had even asked.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled and hopped out, waiting until he’d pulled away before walking up the narrow path. She was relieved that Greg’s car wasn’t in the drive. It would be easier to talk if he wasn’t hovering in the background. Zoe rang the bell and a few moments later heard Tara shuffling down the hall. She opened the door a fraction.
‘You can let me in, Tara. I promise not to hit you,’ she joked.
‘Glad to hear it.’ Tara opened the door wide and stepped back.
‘Oh, my God.’ Zoe did a double take at the angry red welt across her face and the small open wound at the corner of her mouth. ‘What happened?’
Tara’s eyes filled with tears but she said nothing.
‘Greg?’ Zoe said in disbelief. Tara gave a brief nod before falling into her arms.
When Tara was calmer, Zoe settled her in the armchair by the window and made a mug of sweet tea. She was about to add a dash of brandy but noticed that her friend already had a drink. Tara sat, curled in the foetal position, staring blindly out into the garden.
‘Tell me what happened.’ Zoe handed her the tea and pulled up a chair.
‘He found a text on my phone from Shane and went ballistic.’
Zoe groaned. It would have to be down to her brother. ‘Shane sent you a text? Why?’
Tara shrugged. ‘He does from time to time.’
‘And what on earth was in the text that caused Greg to do that? Not that I’m excusing him,’ Zoe assured her.
‘I haven’t been sleeping so sometimes I work instead – there’s always so much to do. Shane sent a text and when I replied immediately – he asked could he call and I said yes.’ Tara held up her glass. ‘I was feeling a bit low myself and I’d had a couple of these so I don’t remember much but Shane was saying he missed me, silly stuff like that, and asked what I was wearing.’ She shot Zoe a guilty grin. ‘He always asks me that. I told him a nightshirt and said goodbye. He sent another text along the lines that I wouldn’t be wearing it if I was with him.’
‘And Greg saw it,’ Zoe guessed, shaking her head.
‘Yeah and we started to argue and things I’d been holding in for months came gushing out and’ – she shrugged – ‘he lost it and slapped me.’
Zoe was still distracted by the fact that Tara and Shane kept in touch, and in such an intimate way. She’d often wondered would her brother and best friend have got together if Greg hadn’t happened along. Had Greg wondered the same and jumped to conclusions when he read the texts? Not that it gave him an excuse to hit Tara. How could he? Tara was like a tiny elf beside him and he must have used some force to cause such a mark. Zoe knew that she’d be tempted to whack him back herself if he was here; she was certainly angry enough. She was trying to keep a lid on her temper for Tara’s sake. Her sounding off wouldn’t help matters. ‘Where is he now?’
‘No idea. I told him to get out or I’d call the police. I could see that he was sorry the moment he did it, but Shane always told me that if a man does it once he’ll do it again.’
‘Shane said that? When?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Tara shook her head. ‘Years ago.’
Zoe let it go, though she wondered what had made her brother say such a thing. Had one of his married women had a similar experience? ‘Are you saying that you won’t take him back?’
Tara put her face in her hands and then yelped in pain.
‘Hang on.’ Zoe went to the freezer for an icepack.
‘Thanks.’ Tara took it and held it against her cheekbone. ‘I don’t know what to do. I know he feels terrible about what he did, but how can I feel safe with him now? I never thought he was capable of hurting me.’ She gave a thin smile. ‘I suppose that puts Ed a notch ahead after all.’
Zoe ignored that. ‘You could report him, even get a barring order if it would make you feel safer.’
‘No.’
‘Someone should tackle him about what he’s done,’ Zoe said, exasperated. ‘He can’t just get away with it.’
‘I’m not calling the police, Zo; now please, leave it.’
‘Sorry.’ Zoe patted her hand. ‘I just feel a bit helpless.’
Tara summoned up a smile. ‘I called and you came. That helped.’
‘Of course I came.’ Zoe could understand Tara feeling torn: it was a difficult situation. ‘For the record, I do think it was a one-off. Greg loves you, Tara, I know he does. Why don’t you tell him that if he wants to stay he’ll need to get help, go on some sort of anger-management course or something?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And he has to help run the business too. You look exhausted.’
‘I know. And how can I go into people’s houses looking like this? I had a lunch today and had to call to cancel. They won’t be using me again, that’s for sure.’
‘When’s your next gig?’
‘Tuesday.’
‘I’ll be free. I can help with that.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Zoe, I haven’t even asked how your play went, or apologised . . .’
‘Forget it. We’ll have plenty of time to talk. Would you like me to call Greg and suggest he stay with his mother for a couple of days and give you a chance to think?’
‘But he’ll need clothes and his shaving gear—’
‘We can go out for a while and he can come get whatever he needs.’
‘Duh?’ Tara gestured to her face.
Zoe chewed her lip. ‘We could go for a walk on the beach later this evening when the sun’s going down. No one will notice you. I’ll tell Greg to come and pack a bag while we’re out. How does that sound?’
Tara nodded and gave a grateful smile. ‘Sounds good.’
Though it was still the early days of May, there was some light left in the sky and a mild gentle breeze lifted Zoe’s hair from her shoulders as they walked. The water lapped the shore and the air was clear and fresh. Nothing relaxed her like a walk on the beach. She sneaked a look at Tara. With a scarf muffing the lower part of her face, head bowed and hands dug in her pockets, she looked anything but relaxed. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Sure.’
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘How much we’ll get for the house and where I could find a cheap and convenient place to rent. I’ll call an estate agent tomorrow and get the house valued.’
Zoe stopped and looked at her. ‘Really? That’s it? You’re going to leave Greg?’
Tara kept walking. ‘That’s it.’
‘You probably shouldn’t make such big decisions right now.’ Zoe hurried after her. ‘You’re in shock.’
Tara peeked at her in the gloom. ‘Earlier you said I should report my husband to the police and get a barring order!’
‘Just to make you feel safe until he sorts himself out and you feel that you can trust him again. Reporting him would teach him a lesson and make him realise that he can’t get away with that kind of behaviour. But giving up on your marriage, just like that—’ Zoe clicked her fingers and then shook her head.
Tara gave her an incredulous look and her voice was hard. ‘Are you seriously giving me advice on marriage?’
The reference to Ed stung but Zoe bit her tongue. Tara was upset and she shouldn’t overreact to anything she said. Her silence prompted Tara to put a conciliatory hand on her arm.
‘That was below the belt, sorry. But I’m not like you, Zoe. I won’t let him hurt me again.’
‘What do you mean? I left Ed as soon as I knew what he was up to,’ she protested, feeling under attack again.
‘Did you? Are you telling me that up until that night when you saw him with that woman, you thought he had always been faithful?’
Zoe sighed. Tara was right. She had suspected that Ed had messed around a little but she had been unable or unwilling to deal with it. She was glad the light was failing and it was too dark for Tara to see the truth in her eyes. ‘Let’s not get into all that again. If you’re serious about selling up, you’re going to have to talk to Greg sooner or later. I don’t know how the whole separation and divorce business works over here, and things were much more straightforward for us – there was no house to argue about. I wish I knew someone in family law that could advise you. Perhaps your dad does. He knows so many people—’
Stopping, Tara rounded on her. ‘Greg hit me, just a few hours ago. Do you really think I can focus on any of that right now?’
‘Sorry, no. of course not. Sorry—’
‘No, I’m sorry. You’re just trying to help and I’m being a bitch.’ Tara sighed and carried on walking.
Zoe fell back into step beside her. ‘Will you at least tell your dad?’
‘Absolutely not. I don’t want anyone to know about this, especially my parents.’
Zoe looked at the obstinate set to her jaw and decided to pull back. ‘Fine, whatever you want. I won’t tell a soul. It’s just that I seem to be irritating you more than helping.’
‘You’re not, Zoe. I just need time to think before I face people, Greg included.’
‘Of course.’ They carried on walking in silence. Zoe knew there was no point in trying to talk to her when she was like this. It was the same when Tara catered an event. She planned it down to the last detail and focused on her mission until it was completed – always successfully. She never stopped going. Even on a quiet day, Tara found work to do. Perhaps that’s why Greg hanging around doing nothing irritated her so much.
But Zoe realised it was silly of her to try talking sense to Tara today. Greg had hit her. The safe, dependable, boring but gentle giant wasn’t so gentle after all. Zoe shivered. Who’d have believed him capable? It seemed so out of character. She could murder Shane for sending that text. What the hell was he thinking? He probably wasn’t, she realised. He was so caught up in worrying about his bloody play that it wouldn’t have occurred to him that calling Tara and sending her naughty texts in the middle of the night probably wasn’t such a good idea.
She glanced over at Tara, who was lost in her own thoughts. ‘Why don’t you get away for a few days? You could visit your mother in London. The break would do you good and give you some breathing space.’
‘Ha, spending time with Vivienne is never a break, trust me. Anyway, I have events scheduled. I can’t let my clients down and I need the money. To be honest, I’m better off if I’m kept busy. When I have nothing to do but worry, that’s when I crack up.’
Zoe slipped an arm through hers. ‘We should turn back, it’s late.’
‘Yeah, and cold.’ Tara shivered.
‘Come on, then, let’s go home and have a hot whiskey.’
‘That sounds good. Thanks, Zoe. And about Ed—’
‘Forget Ed. I’m just glad we’re talking again.’
Tara squeezed her arm. ‘Me too.’