Lady Bridget had been busy. After her run-in with Miss Lucy she had vowed to stir things up for her and had set about hiring a private investigator to find out everything there was to know about her background.
Turned out Lucy’s mum lived in a terraced house on the waterfront in Broughty Ferry with a man who wasn’t her dad. The investigator hadn’t yet been able to find out who her real father was. But the facts spoke for themselves: her mum hadn’t even married her father. Instead, she had hooked up with a local carpenter and had his child.
Perhaps she should forward Lucy’s number to Jerry Springer or whatever chat-show host dealt with the infested, low-life stories of the working classes. Bridget had yelped in delight when the investigator had told her. Lucy might have taught herself to speak well but she was as common as the shell-suited families on morning television. Scum.
Best of all, her half-sister worked for the Daily News – a downmarket tabloid. The kind that delved into the private lives of famous people – the very thing Hartley despised. She was sure Lucy would not have told him about her sister’s murky secret.
Lucy had got her claws into Hartley far too easily, but, now Bridget was armed with the facts, Lucy’s run of luck was about to end.
She would be doing Hartley a huge favour. He had been taken in by this tart’s string of lies. She was a gold-digger. Bridget just needed time to hatch a plan.
She didn’t expect it to come in the form of a phone call from her friend Claudia.
Bridget had noted the anxiety in her so-called best-friend’s voice during their conversation.
After making small talk about upcoming balls and which friends were trying to get pregnant/were pregnant/ engaged/had set a wedding date, etc., Claudia finally got round to the real reason for her call.
‘Bridget, there’s something I want to run by you.’
‘Yes?’
‘First of all I want to say how much I miss hanging out with you and Hartley. I loved the whole double-couple thing we had – you two, Charles and I.’
‘Thanks, sweetie. You never know, we might have those times again.’
‘Oh yes, perhaps. Absolutely. The thing is… I don’t want you to think I’m being disloyal in any way, but Charles has organized a weekend away.’
Bridget guessed what was coming. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Yes. Charles’s friend Robbie, well, his family have an estate in Fife, near St Andrews, I think. Remember we always meant to go but never got round to it? The boys are always talking about playing golf at the famous Old Course. The thing is, Robbie has invited Charles and Hartley – you know what they’re like: peas in a pod.’
‘Yes, sweetie.’ In the mirror, Bridget admired her black Chanel shift dress which came to just above her knees.
She was a good few inches taller than most of her friends and now, thanks to her Harley Street nutritionist’s diet plan, she was at least a stone lighter. The diet had worked superbly, and it was worth suffering the cravings for carbs to look so good.
Her jet-black bob and pale complexion completed her look: exquisite. How dare Lucy say she had let herself go! Anyone could see the opposite was true. Lucy was plainly jealous of her grace, her standing.
‘And, erm, Hartley has invited his new… his new, erm, girlfriend.’
‘That’s the “thing”, sweetie?’ chirped Bridget mockingly while stroking her large £10,000 diamond earring – one of a set Daddy had bought her from Tiffany’s last Christmas.
‘Um, yes. I do hope you don’t mind, Bridget.’
Bridget did mind. She minded very much.
She had brought Claudia into her very inner circle – introduced her to the Princes, for God’s sake.
She had given her the number of her hairdresser, Pierre, who had made her strawberry-blonde frizz sleek with a chemical straightening perm, which was beginning to grow out. She had told her what labels to wear and how to wear them so she didn’t look like the school geek.
And now Claudia was betraying her by running off for a weekend with that bitch. Claudia’s problem was that she was too bloody wet for her own good. No backbone.
If any of her other girlfriends had been in this position they’d have called Bridget to offer to get all the dirt on Lucy over the weekend away. Not Claudia. She was one of those tedious people who believed in giving everybody a chance.
Bridget wanted to tell Claudia to have a great time because when she came back she’d find herself on far fewer invitation lists. Bridget would see to that. But for now she needed Claudia. She wanted the news that she had been gracious about the whole thing to get back to Hartley and his blonde tart.
‘Of course I don’t mind, Claudia. How long have I known you? Ten years. That’s worth more than some weekend away, sweetie. And anyway, Hartley’s new girlfriend has done nothing wrong. You’re right to give her a chance.’
There was silence on the other end. Claudia had been terrified of calling Bridget. In fact, Claudia was terrified of her full stop. Bridget’s life consisted of bitching about people she didn’t like, making sure she was on the best tables at the best balls and getting Daddy to make her life – and wardrobe – as wonderful as possible.
But Claudia had been a loyal friend to Bridget, partly out of fear but also because she tried to see the good in everyone.
‘Perhaps she’s insecure,’ she had often said to her boyfriend, Charles. ‘Maybe her rudeness is a cover-up for being unhappy.’
‘Maybe she’s just a cow,’ was Charles’s invariable reply.
Claudia had listened in horror as Bridget laid into Hartley’s new girlfriend at Ascot a few days earlier.
Lucy was devastatingly attractive and, as far as she could tell, a natural beauty. Bridget had been awful and Claudia had looked at the ground throughout her tirade, beating herself up inwardly for being too cowardly to tell her to stop.
Lucy’s put-down had been unexpected and mortifying for Bridget. Claudia admired this pretty girl who had remained so calm.
‘Right. Well, that’s jolly good of you, Bridget.’
‘Of course, sweetie. Was there anything else? I have a Deborah Lippmann French manicure at twelve.’
‘No, Bridget. I’ll see you soon, hopefully.’
‘Yes, yes. Goodbye… Oh sweetie, one more thing.’
‘Yes, Bridget?’
‘When are you going to Scotland? Just so I know when you can’t do lunch.’
‘The last weekend of the month, Bridget.’
‘OK. Bye, darling.’
As she put the phone down Bridget knew exactly what she would do next. She would destroy Lucy and enjoy every minute of it.