I hear the door slam and wait for the car to start. Today may prove to be a good day. I’ve had to put my little hobby on hold for the last few weeks due to the problems close to home. The place has been awash with reporters and film crews, all anxious to get the big scoop on Anton.
As I think of the poor man, the tears well up in my eyes. He was so lovely, so beautiful and now he’s so dead. Poor Fleur. She loved him so much and now he’s gone.
Why do the good always die young and leave the miserable old bastards behind to irritate the rest of us?
I see James staring pompously out of the painting he had done of himself in his robes and I stick my tongue out. Then I run to my dressing room and reach for the top shelf and the source of all my delight. My treasure.
I open the lid reverently and stare inside, my mouth watering in anticipation. Then I lift out the beautiful brooch with a diamond centre, surrounded by rubies. It flashes as the sunlight catches it and makes my heart sing. Perfect.
I can actually remember James’s mother wearing this. She wore it all the time, and it was one of her most prized possessions. When she died last year, James inherited all her jewellery and because of the nature of the man, he has had it all locked away in his safe ever since. However, there isn’t as much there as before because I have been, shall we say, borrowing pieces for months now. I get them duplicated by a contact I made at a fair I attended and they are made into exact copies. I always tell the same story. I don’t want to risk getting my jewellery stolen or damaged, but want to wear the pieces. The copies are made for my own pleasure and that’s achieved when I take them to the pawnshop and exchange them for hard cash. The copy goes back in the safe and the stupid old fool is none the wiser. Then I get to spend the money on frivolous piffery and enjoy telling James it cost next to nothing in the charity shop.
Giggling to myself, I wrap the brooch in my handkerchief and place it carefully in my bag. A trip to town is necessary today, and that makes me happy when there is very little else to be happy about.
Two hours later and I’m standing in my usual pawn shop looking at Jake greedily. “Hmm, nice piece, Arabella. Where did you say this was from?”
I smile and adjust the black wig I’m wearing, covered with a Louis Vuitton headscarf. “My mother, darling. She left it to me when she passed, poor love. It pains me to part with it, but you know how hard times are.”
Jake nods and I realise he couldn’t care less where this is from. All he wants is a profit and I expect that most of the jewellery I sell him goes to auction, not sit alongside the various cameras and gold chains that sit proudly on the surrounding shelves.
I watch him count out five hundred pounds and my heart flutters. Five hundred pounds for a piece of James’s family history. If he knew, it would send him to an early grave which almost tempts me into telling him—almost.
I spend the afternoon shopping on Bond Street. The brooch wasn’t the only thing I sold, and I knew today would be a good day. Two thousand pounds worth of shopping later, I head home. Yes, retail therapy is the answer to all life’s problems and I’m so glad I found a way out of mine.
* * *
James shouts for me as soon as he steps foot inside the door. “Miranda, bring my coffee to my study. I have work to do.”
Sighing, I set about making the coffee like the dutiful little wife I am and wonder how it came to this. James and I used to be in love, but our flame burned out years ago. Now I resort to reading racy novels and pleasuring myself, rather than subject myself to him heaving himself on and off me at the end of a trying day. We have even resorted to separate rooms because it was easier than listening to him snoring. He was happy about the arrangement, which makes me realise he hates me just as much as I do him.
“Miranda, where’s that bloody coffee?”
Gritting my teeth, I go in search of him and say brightly, “Sorry, here it is.”
He grunts and I notice the briefcase overflowing with papers and say briskly, “Dinner will be ready in one hour. Will you be eating with me, or would you like a tray?”
He waves me away. “Of course I’ll eat with you. Until then, I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Sighing, I close the door behind me and walk back to the kitchen. To be honest, I’m always happier when he locks himself away in his study for hours on end because it means I’m off the hook.
The phone rings and I pounce on it, just hoping for some good conversation. My life is a little lonely and I’ve even been known to talk to cold callers for ages just for something to do. However, today it’s Venetia. “Hey, Miranda, how are things?”
“Ok, what about you?”
She sighs heavily. “Matthew’s away and I’m bored. Arabella and Fleur are obviously tied up with more problems than a person should stand, and I’m at a loose end. Do you fancy heading out for a drink somewhere nice?”
I’m excited at the thought of getting away from James for the night and say eagerly, “Great, what time?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight if that’s ok.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Venetia, I owe you one.”
I replace the receiver and quickly hurry the dinner along. This is a great opportunity to wear that new Chloe dress I bought today. Hopefully, we’ll end up somewhere good, because I love nothing more than flirting with a total stranger while James sits festering at home.
As soon as dinner is ready, I call him and he sits down heavily on the chair opposite before flicking on the news. There is no conversation which suits me fine because I have nothing to say to him.
As I watch him eat, it strikes me that I don’t even know him anymore. I don’t ask how his job is going, what he does of an evening locked in his study and who his friends even are? As we finish up, I say brightly, “I’m heading out with Venetia tonight. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home.”
He looks up with interest. “Since when?”
“Since an hour ago when she called and asked me. You don’t mind, do you?”
He shakes his head. “No, why would I? Remember it’s the end of the month. Do you have enough housekeeping left for this?”
I snap irritably, “Yes.”
He looks thoughtful. “Hmm, I figured I was overly generous last month. Maybe we could cut back a little next month.”
Rolling my eyes, I say angrily, “Are you saying we can’t afford it?”
He looks annoyed. “Of course not. We have more than enough money.”
“Then why do you ration it out so much? For goodness’ sake, James, I sometimes feel as if we live on the breadline. I’m pretty sure you’d send me off to the local food bank if you thought you could get away with it.”
“Don’t be facetious, Miranda, it doesn’t suit you. You know why I’m careful and there is a very good example of it over the road. What would happen if I lost my job like Anthony? You don’t work, so it all falls to me. I’m being careful for our future and you can complain all you like, but you know it makes sense.”
The exasperation grabs hold of my better judgement and shout, “You’re so hell-bent on saving for our future, James. You have appeared to overlook the fact we may not have one if you continue shutting me out like this.”
There’s an awkward silence as I voice something that has been festering for months now. Then he says in a shocked voice, “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know, James. Can’t you see what’s happening? Where has it all gone wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“Yes, wrong,” I say wearily. “We used to be a couple and were two people in love who actually wanted to be together. When did that change into this? Separate rooms, vicious words and secrets.”
He looks at me sharply and I immediately regret my choice of words. “Secrets? Do you care to explain what you mean by that?”
Sighing with exasperation, I start clearing away the dishes and practically yell. “No, I do not care to explain! Look at us, we’re hardly middle-aged and yet we live as if we are. This house is crammed full of things that old people cherish, not people our age. You act as if you’re drawing your pension, but you’re still young. Do you hear that James, you are still young and we should be enjoying our lives, not waiting to die?”
He looks so shocked; I start laughing hysterically, and his eyes narrow. “Have you been drinking again?”
This makes me laugh even harder, and he flings down his serviette and storms out, shouting, “I don’t know who you are anymore?”
Laughing, I shout after him. “Because you bloody well never spend any time with me, so it’s no wonder I’m a stranger to you, James.”
The door slamming is all the answer I get and I look around me with anger.
Staring at the dirty dishes in the sink, I turn my back on them and head for the stairs and my own little corner of paradise - my dressing room, where I can pretend I am someone else entirely. I have many alter egos and it’s no wonder. Tonight, I must be plain old boring Miranda Donnelly, but I’ve been known to be many different women. Sometimes I head out to lunch as someone else completely and relish the attentions of smart men who are desperate for a date. Yes, Miranda Donnelly has a secret and not just one either. She enjoys dates with men she meets off the Internet because it’s thrilling and adventurous and she can be anyone she wants to be except the person she hates the most—herself.