‘Have you seen my phone?’ Laura asked, rummaging through her bag as Jack squeezed past her on the way to the Bran Flakes the next morning.
‘Can’t say I remember seeing it, no. When did you have it last?’
‘Well, if I could remember that . . .’ she muttered, giving up with the bag and smacking her hands on her thighs. ‘Uuuugh!’
‘Don’t flap. It’s not far,’ Jack said with frustrating calm as he poured the milk and cereal into a bowl and began eating with speedy efficiency. ‘Have you tried ringing it?’
‘It’s out of juice.’
‘Of course it is.’ Jack cast his girlfriend a knowing look. Laura was notorious for never charging her phone. ‘Well, is it urgent? Do you want mine for today?’
Laura shook her head. ‘I just wanted to see whether there were any messages from the sister yet.’
‘Whose sister?’ His voice was muffled as he dabbed at a milk spot on his shirt.
‘For this charm necklace I’m doing. I was supposed to speak to her before all the others, but Fee’s left several messages and she hasn’t come back to us yet, and I need to get on. I was hoping I could get two lots of interviews done in one go today. Surrey’s a long way from here.’
‘Reversing up the drive is a long way in that car.’ He refused to use the name that Fee and Laura used so affectionately for her. ‘Maybe she’s away.’
‘Who is?’ Laura asked, checking under a pile of magazines on the worktop.
‘The sister.’
‘Oh. Yes. Maybe.’
Jack checked his watch. ‘Dash! I’m late. I’ve got to run. What time will you be back?’
‘This meeting’s arranged for eleven o’clock so I shouldn’t be late. That early start almost killed me on Tuesday, and besides, it isn’t a good idea to get there too early. I don’t want to get caught doing an all-day interview again.’
‘I don’t want you to either.’ He kissed her on the tip of her nose. ‘Your place is here, with us, isn’t that right, Arthur?’
Old Faithful looked up at his master adoringly, knowing that in a second he’d hear the jingle of the car keys and they’d head off to Jack’s workshop together. ‘I thought I’d do a casserole tonight. How does that sound?’
‘Mmmm,’ Laura replied absently, still wondering in her head where she’d put the damn phone and only vaguely aware of the front door clicking shut.
Ten minutes later, phone still not found, she was jerkily reversing down the drive in Dolly and heading towards the motorway with the rest of East Anglia.
In the event, she shaved thirty-five minutes off the journey this time round, partly because by the time she hit the M25 rush hour had eased and all the school runs had cleared from the local roads. She followed Fee’s terribly written directions (keeping a wary eye out for camels this time) before finally pulling up outside a double-height smoke-tinted glass cube with rows of black Discoverys parked in front.
‘Well, this is it, all right,’ Laura muttered, her chin resting on her hands as she leaned against the steering wheel and saw that ‘The Cube’ was discreetly etched into the glass panel above the door. She watched as the doors swished open and a sleek brunette came out, iPhone to her ear and wearing white Lycra cropped leggings with a tight white tank beneath a sleek fur-trimmed padded jacket. The patron saint of exercise, perhaps? She was followed moments later by two more women, this time in all-black ensembles highlighted with fluoro piping and offset by yoga mats, glistening legs and long, sleek ponytails that swung in unison.
Laura reluctantly got out of the car, realizing how low Dolly sat to the ground compared with these monster-sized 4x4s – their wheel arches were almost at her roof-height. The little yellow and cream car looked incongruous amidst the glossy black beasts, like a tortoise in the company of panthers.
Shuffling through the tinted glass doors, she walked up to the reception desk – a long, long expanse of white gloss. Two tanned women were sitting behind it wearing headsets and talking intensely at the screens in front of them as if they were reading the latest indexes from Reuters.
Laura waited for one of them to hit a button and give her their attention, fiddling absently with her top and feeling ridiculously overdressed. If Fee had only left her alone, she’d have just pulled on her usual baggy jeans and a jumper of some description, but her friend was clearly living in terror that the commission might be cancelled at any moment and the spectre of Visas unpaid would come knocking in the night, so she’d insisted she put on one of her best tops – a grey and jade silk tunic from Monsoon that Jack had bought her last Christmas.
‘This woman moves in gilded circles,’ Fee had told her sternly. ‘And you have to be an ambassador for your brand. She’s not going to want to wear something with your name attached if you insist on walking around looking like a bag lady, now, is she? Her friends will report back later, you can be sure of that.’
‘Can I help you?’ The receptionist was looking at her – well, past her, really, as a courier staggered past with an enormous container of bottled water on his shoulder. ‘No. No. Excuse me! That’s for the Lotus Room. Over there,’ she added, as though he was an idiot. ‘The vanilla room.’
She rolled her eyes at Laura as the poor man made his way back in the opposite direction.
‘I’m here to see Orlando Morelli,’ Laura said, watching the man try to lock his knees.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’ll be a few minutes,’ the receptionist said, looking back at her screen. ‘He’s just finishing with his Zumba ladies. What’s your name?’
‘Laura Cunningham.’
‘Okay.’ She pressed ‘send’ on her keyboard and nodded to a white leather chesterfield. ‘Take a seat. He won’t be long.’
Laura walked over and sat down. She could hear the muffled thwump of conflicting base beats coming from the rainbow-tinted glass studios that flanked the lobby area. The pink-and-yellow tinted rooms appeared to be mellower, with lots of women lying on the floor in contorted stretches listening to whale music, whereas the green-and-blue tinted rooms sounded like they were conducting illegal raves. Neither option appealed. An iPad had been left on the seat next to her with a Vogue app open – a woman draped over an elephant appeared to be advertising turquoise eyeshadow.
After a few minutes or so of bewildered browsing, she felt someone’s eyes upon her and looked up. A robustly muscled man in navy shorts and a very expensive-looking grey slim-fit T-shirt was standing by the reception desk staring over at her. Laura stared back, not because she’d never seen a T-shirt look that expensive before – although she hadn’t – but because even from fifty feet away there was no way she could be his plus one. Was Rob Blake blind?
‘Laura?’
Laura rose to meet him as he crossed the room in athletic bounds.
‘Orlando Morelli. A pleasure.’ His accent was as rippled as his muscles, his words tumbling like quavers on a score.
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘You are here to discuss Cat.’
‘I am,’ she replied, disconcerted by his gorgeousness. He had a nose Rome could have been built upon and a jaw so square she’d seen rounder right angles. He was the most chiselled, handsome man she’d ever seen. And that meant he was gay.
‘Come, let us talk in my office.’
He led her towards the staircase, past the vibrating glass rooms. In one, Laura spotted a class full of women crouched over bikes, all going nowhere really fast.
‘You spin?’ Orlando asked, catching her eye as they started climbing a cantilevered glass staircase.
‘Usually only when the credit-card bill comes in.’
‘Funny,’ he laughed, wagging a finger. Ahead of them, spanning the width of the building, she could see a vast gym with running machines, elliptical walkers, weights and vibration plates, all in use. This wall was yellow-tinted.
‘What’s with the coloured glass?’ Laura asked as they climbed.
‘It influences mood, and therefore energy levels. We have cooler tones in the rooms where higher-intensity classes are held – like spinning and Zumba. Warm, pink hues are used for the floor- and mat-work classes like yoga and Pilates and ballet, where we work on muscle tone and core strength. And the yellow in the gym is happy; it feels sunny. Releases lots of endorphins and makes the clients feel energized.’
It sounded like hogwash to Laura. Walking Arthur on the beach always made her feel happy – or the closest she got to happy, anyway. ‘Wow,’ was all she could manage.
He led her down the corridor towards the front of the building and stopped outside a frosted-glass door. He opened it and let her pass through into his office. ‘Please. Take a seat.’
Laura reached down into her bag and pulled out a small voice-activated recorder. ‘Do you mind? It’s useful for later on when I’m back at the studio. I might miss something here that I pick up on later.’
Orlando shrugged. ‘Sure. We must get it right, no? Before we begin, would you like some water?’
What she really wanted was a coffee. ‘Sure,’ she replied, waiting whilst he poured her a glass from an opaque bottle that spelled out in red diamanté letters Bling. Even the water here was rich.
‘So, Cat’s your business partner here?’
‘Yes, that is technically correct. But Cat is also one of my best friends. She saved me not once, but twice. I can never thank her enough.’
‘Saved you?’ A comic image of him being pulled from the water by a petite blonde flashed up and she repressed a smile. ‘But how?’
He grinned, his teeth spectacularly white against his tanned skin. ‘We first met when I was a trainer at another gym. I had only just come over from Italy and knew no one, was not paid very much. Then Cat came along. She wanted to run the London Marathon – it was her dream, one of her “bucket list” ideas – and she needed a running mate.’ He shrugged. ‘Most of the trainers there had never done more than run around the supermarket, but I have run the marathons in London, Berlin, New York . . . So I drew up a training schedule for her and we started meeting three, four times a week for sessions.’
‘So then you grew pretty close.’
‘Absolutely. And I fell madly in love with her, as everyone does.’
‘I’ve heard she’s very beautiful,’ Laura said dutifully.
‘And gentle, and so funny. Who can resist her?’
‘I suppose she was running the marathon for charity?’ Laura heard the bite in her voice and finished with a half-smile.
‘Of course. She ran for a local hospice.’
‘Did she raise much money?’
‘Quite a lot,’ he shrugged. ‘Twenty-three thousand pounds.’
Laura’s jaw dropped. ‘How many times did she run it, for heaven’s sake?’
Orlando laughed loudly. ‘She and Rob know a lot of very wealthy people.’
‘They must do.’ Laura thought of the £179 cheque she had handed over to the RNLI for a sponsored swim the year before. And she was a good swimmer. Lots of lengths.
‘Do you run?’ Orlando asked her.
‘Only when I’m late,’ she quipped. ‘I don’t believe in running, actually. I think it’s bad for your knees.’
‘Correct running shoes make all the difference.’
Laura shrugged dismissively. To date she’d never found a red pair she liked. ‘So you met when Cat started training for the marathon,’ she prompted. ‘And fell madly in love.’
‘Yes. But sadly for me, she is madly in love with her husband,’ he said slowly. ‘And sadly for her, so am I.’ He burst out laughing. ‘That is how she saved me, you see. I came to England because I thought my family would not understand. But it was hard to bear. I have always been very close to my mother and sisters, and I was sliding into a bad depression, drinking too much . . .’
‘And Cat talked you round?’
‘She wouldn’t leave it alone. For miles and miles while we ran, until eventually one day she just came in and handed me some tickets to go back to Rome the next day.’ He closed his eyes for a moment as he stepped back in time, and when he looked at her again, big, proud Italian tears started falling, unembarrassed. ‘My mother said she had always known, from the day I was born. She said I was too handsome to be a straight man.’
The woman was right – Laura had known it the second she’d clapped eyes on him – but she couldn’t help but feel it had been a risk. What if his mother hadn’t known? What if she hadn’t been able to accept it?
‘You said Cat saved you twice,’ Laura said, narrowing her eyes in concentration. ‘What was the second thing?’
Orlando gestured all around them. ‘This. It was her dream to set up her own business, so she backed me in this entire venture – put up the deposit, got Rob to go through my proposal, ironing out all the figures and projected growth, came to the bank with me, searched for the plot for me, helped with the concept and design. You name it, she did it. The Cube is as much Cat’s vision as it is mine.’
‘Really? So all the tinted glass . . . ?’
‘Her idea. And the heated floors in the changing rooms. And the lavender piped through the air-con. And the Parma violets frozen in the ice cubes. And the sweet almond oil dispensed for massage during the yoga classes. It does wonders for your skin, you see.’ He trailed a hand up his own smooth arm.
‘It sounds like she knows her luxury, then,’ she said.
‘Cat knows her market, and she was after a holistic feeling. We wanted the Cube to be a place you come to for a sense of well-being, not just another gym with banks of treadmills looking over the car park.’
Laura nodded. It was certainly a far cry from Charrington Leisure Centre, where the floors boasted verrucas, not ambient temperatures, and the municipal tiles had scarcely been cleaned, much less replaced, since the war.
‘And our pool is ozone treated.’
‘What’s that?’ Laura asked suspiciously, half expecting him to say it had been personally blessed by angels.
‘Chlorine-free. Cat said none of the women would get in it if the chlorine was going to damage their highlights, and I think she was right,’ he grinned. ‘It has proved very popular. Plus we have a hair salon in the changing rooms.’
‘You have a hair salon in the changing rooms?’ Laura echoed, remembering those swingy ponytails.
‘Yes – nourishing masks, blow-dries, cut and colour. Cat understands how busy our clients are. They have school runs and shopping and lunch appointments to fit in. Gym and hair need to be one stop.’
Laura sat back, deep in thought for a moment as she took in the level of detail at which this woman operated. It was little wonder Rob had looked so genuinely perturbed by the sight of her in her studio that day when his wife went to the trouble of making sure that the very air she breathed was lavender-scented. It was also a long way from sitting in trees and rescuing lambs. Somehow, she didn’t see Kitty fitting into this version of Cat’s life.
‘She sounds . . .’ Laura floundered for the right word. OCD. Neurotic. Irritating.
‘Perfect?’
‘Is that how you’d describe her?’ Laura countered.
Orlando put his elbows on the table and leant forward. ‘You hate her,’ he said, scrutinizing her face.
Laura was taken aback. ‘Absolutely not. I’ve never even met her,’ she lied, thoroughly sick to the back teeth of listening to the idol worship of Cat Blake, having to force a smile while the person sitting opposite her rhapsodized, fantasized, memorized and damn near immortalized a woman who was really nothing more than a pretty Surrey housewife. It was increasingly a wonder to Laura that she had got this far in her life without hearing about the woman. It was a wonder that her movements of the day weren’t discussed on the national news. ‘And finally, today Cat Blake ordered a loin of venison from Ocado for the white-tie dinner party she’s hosting on Saturday in aid of Save the Children. Her hair has already been highlighted in readiness for the event, and hairdressers all over the country are reporting a run on her favoured shade, salty popcorn . . .’
‘But you don’t want to meet her either. I can see the disdain on your face,’ he said, drawing a circle in the air.
‘It’s not that.’
‘What is it, then?’ he grinned.
‘Nothing at all, really. That’s just how my face is in repose. A little bit . . . scowly.’
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow and waited.
‘Fine. She maybe sounds a little too perfect, that’s all. I can’t help wondering whether she’s a little too good to be true. You know – reuniting your family, setting up your business, taking care of her clients’ scheduling problems, running marathons for charity . . . Can anybody really be that nice?’
Orlando’s chocolate-brown eyes twinkled naughtily. ‘You want dirt,’ he grinned, rolling the word over his tongue like a cork on water.
Laura fidgeted beneath his scrutiny. He had her number, she knew it. ‘Well, maybe just a flaw would be good. You know, for balance.’
‘It would make you feel better.’
‘It would,’ she nodded.
Orlando sat back in his orthopaedic chair and considered her words, one finger pressed thoughtfully against his bow-shaped lips.
‘That’s not helping,’ Laura said after they had sat in silence for a while, and Orlando laughed at her deadpan expression.
‘Don’t worry, I am actually just filtering out all the atrocities I could tell you about her,’ he said, one hand fluttering. ‘So many. Just terrible.’
This time Laura cracked a smile.
‘Well, there is one,’ he said finally. ‘But you will be horrified.’
‘I certainly hope so.’
He took a deep, nervous breath. ‘She likes her coffee instant.’
Laura sighed, deflated. ‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.’
‘Really. It’s true.’
‘No, I mean, that’s nowhere near damning enough.’
‘But you don’t understand. Rob bought her a one-thousand-pound coffee machine. Harrods is the only place in England to sell them, but she has never used it. She doesn’t even know how. She has to hide her Kenco in the biscuit tin.’
Laura wrinkled her nose. ‘Small fry.’
‘And she’s addicted to chocolate,’ he tried.
‘Show me a woman who isn’t,’ Laura challenged.
‘The cheaper, the better.’
‘I’m liking her more by the second,’ Laura sighed disappointedly.
‘She has ice baths before she goes out to big events.’
‘Why?’
‘It makes the skin tighter,’ he shrugged.
‘Tch, that’s just plain daft,’ Laura said dismissively, looking away.
‘Hmmmm. You are a hard customer.’
A red button buzzed on his phone and his face fell as he checked his watch. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I have body pump now. My ladies are waiting.’
‘What? But we’ve only just started,’ she protested.
‘I’m so sorry. One of my teachers is sick and I’m standing in for him.’
‘Can’t anyone else take the class? I’ve travelled nearly three hours to get here.’
He gave a big, hopeless shrug. ‘I’m so sorry. The schools break up next week and all the ladies are in, trying to drop weight for their Christmas parties. We are stretched to the limit.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Laura responded. ‘I need to get the necklace finished in time for Cat’s birthday. I have to get all the interviews done asap so that I can get on with actually making it.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘But you are coming to Verbier, no?’
‘I don’t know. I have to talk to my boyfriend about it,’ she sighed.
Orlando stared at her for a moment, obviously wondering who, in this day and age, required permission from their boyfriend to take a work trip. Resting a light hand on the small of her back, he led her along the corridor and back down the stairs. They reached the reception area. ‘Okay, so then if not Verbier, why do you not come here next time you are in the area? Then we could have lunch and I promise you can have me as long as you like. In the meantime I will think of something hateful about Cat that will make you like her,’ he said conspiratorially.
Laura grinned. ‘Well, in that case . . .’
He kissed her happily on each cheek. ‘Good. Now I must pump, and you must see Kitty.’
‘Kitty?’
‘Yes. She has your mobile phone. Did I not tell you?’
Laura shook her head.
He smacked his forehead as he walked away. ‘It’s lucky my mother put a pretty face on this empty head.’
Keeping to the far side of the lane as she drove past Sugar’s field – windows up – Laura spotted Kitty coming home in the opposite direction. Samuel’s buggy was bouncing so alarmingly over the potholes that the poor child looked like he was trampolining.
‘Laura!’ Kitty cried, giving a happy wave as Laura parked Dolly on the grass verge opposite the cottage. ‘How super to see you.’
Laura opened her door and stood up, arms resting on the roof. ‘Hi, Kitty. Apparently I left my phone here?’
‘You did!’ Kitty called back across the lane. ‘Did Orly pass on my message? He’s such a poppet. I spoke to your girl and she said you were seeing him today. Golly, aren’t you just racking up the miles? Here Tuesday and again today.’ She leant down and unbuckled Samuel, who jumped out and promptly tripped over one of the ducklings. ‘Come in, come in. It’s just on the kitchen table. We can have a cup of coffee. I’ve made a splendid coffee and walnut cake.’ She lowered her voice into a stage whisper. ‘It was supposed to be for the Christmas fete last Saturday, but I decided it was far too good to give away.’ She flicked a hand as though batting away protests.
‘Thanks, but I really should head straight off.’
‘I insist. Besides, I’ve been thinking about you since you came and I’ve thought of some more cracking stories to tell you about Cat.’
Damn. She checked her watch. It was just gone twelve.
‘Well, okay then,’ Laura replied, reluctantly shutting the door and crossing the lane. ‘But I really mustn’t stay for long. The traffic will be shocking if I leave too late.’
‘Understood,’ Kitty nodded, a delighted smile plastered all over her pretty pink face.
Two hours later, half the cake was gone, along with all of Laura’s resolve. Samuel had made out like a bandit and was charging round the yard on his caffeine high, in direct contrast to Pocket, who’d been foraging underneath the table and was now, like any good libertine, sleeping it off.
‘I’d offer you a proper drink if you weren’t driving back,’ Kitty sighed, pouring the last of the coffee from the cafetière. Laura didn’t have the energy to put her hand across the top of her mug. She had rapidly learned that resistance was futile with Kitty. ‘I’ve drunk so much coffee, Joe will think I’ve been at the gin anyway,’ she giggled.
Laura stiffened at the mention of his name. She had forgotten all about him. ‘Where is he?’ she asked, casually tapping the side of her mug.
‘Still cutting back the hedges. He’s got nearly eighty linear miles to do, but the days are so short now he can’t even stop for lunch.’
Laura thought it was frankly a shame that he stopped at the eighty-mile mark and didn’t just carry on going until he hit the Scottish border. Quite what somebody as lovely as Kitty was doing with a man like Joe, she didn’t know.
‘So tell me what Orlando told you,’ Kitty said, half slumped on the table and stacking the sugar cubes into a tower.
‘Not a huge amount yet, to be honest. I’m going to need a lot more time with him at the next interview.’
‘He’s fun, though, isn’t he? Such a scamp.’
Laura nodded. ‘He was very amusing.’
‘And so handsome! It’s a shame he’s gay.’
‘Yes. He and Cat must make a beautiful couple. Platonically speaking, I mean.’
‘Gorgeous. In fact it’s as well he is gay, or I don’t think Rob would let him near her.’
‘Is Rob the jealous type? He’s hardly a slouch to look at either,’ Laura said mildly.
Kitty leaned in, a wicked look in her eyes. ‘Do you think he’s attractive, then?’
‘Who? Rob?’
Kitty nodded.
‘He’s my client. I tend not to eye up my customers – especially the married ones making grand, sweeping declarations of love to their beautiful wives.’
Kitty sat back, disappointed to have been knocked back in her girly gossip. ‘Does your boyfriend get jealous?’
‘Jack? No. He’s so laid-back he’s practically horizontal.’
‘And you’re happy together?’
Laura folded her hands, one on top of the other. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘Like Joe, then,’ Kitty said, taking a slurp of lukewarm coffee.
Laura smiled, disagreeing vehemently in her head. She let her eyes wander around the rambling, dark cottage. It was so chaotic and cluttered, she half expected to see a little old lady living in a shoe in the corner. She thought of the light, minimal perfection that she’d just come from at the Cube, the very embodiment, Orlando had said, of Cat’s own vision, and it seemed increasingly hard to believe that a woman who cared about mood colours and clean lines would want to spend any significant amount of time here, dodging low beams and dog hairs.
‘Do you see much of Cat these days?’
Kitty looked at her, alarmed, her cheeks a rising pink. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was just wondering,’ Laura replied, surprised by her defensiveness. ‘I mean, people change all the time and you’ve got your hands full with five children . . .’
Kitty sat rooted to the spot. ‘It doesn’t matter how little or often I get to see her. I’ll be her best friend for ever, no matter what, no matter how busy or different our lives become.’
Laura nodded. It was like some kind of mission statement. ‘Great.’
There was an awkward pause and Laura shifted uneasily, having hit such a raw nerve. Her suspicions were confirmed: Kitty had been dumped.