Bridget was brimming with anticipation as she paced up and down her corridor for most of the evening, waiting for the photographer to call. God, she hoped their plan would work. It had to.
She had tried to relax and stop feeling jumpy by smothering her new Tanda range of anti-ageing products all over her face and body. It was more important than ever to look her best. If anything, she looked younger now than when she had dated Hartley – that chemical face peel had worked a treat – and there was no doubt he would be attracted to her again.
As she paced the hall, she put a hairspray can between her legs – a trick her personal instructor had suggested. Her inner thighs must have benefited from hundreds of metres of toning over the course of the evening.
When her phone rang around ten o’clock, Bridget surged to grab it, cursing as she put it to her ear and felt its coldness against the face mask she had forgotten was still in place.
‘Did you get them?’
‘Yes.’
Bridget’s heart leaped. He’d done it. She’d done it. Got Lucy. She zoned out as the photographer babbled on about the details. All that mattered was that her plan had worked.
She focused suddenly. The details. She had to know everything.
Cutting the man off, she barked: ‘Tell me again, where did you get them?’
The photographer’s voice was shaky, partly down to the adrenaline rush from what he’d just done and partly because the woman on the other end of the line was the most terrifying thing he’d encountered – and that was saying something after he’d been a member of the ruthless paparazzi for fifteen years.
Normally, he would have told anyone as rude as this woman exactly where to go. But he’d be an idiot to turn down the money – he needed it. Yet it was more than rudeness; there was something chilling about the ice-cold voice with which he was doing business.
‘I stuck out like a sore thumb hanging around the guy Robbie’s house so I waited on a country road and followed them to a restaurant.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘Just like you told me – I told Lucy to smile for the camera, she was the one who’d tipped me off she’d be there, I’d come a long way and all that.’
Lady Bridget let a wide scarlet smile spread across her face. ‘Yes, yes, and what did Hartley do?’
‘He just walked off.’
‘Excellent. Good boy. You’ll have the cash by Monday.’ Lady Bridget had had two grand delivered to the photographer by a member of staff – and instead of the total of five grand they had previously agreed, she had upped it to ten – promising the remaining eight when the job was done. Of course, she hadn’t given the cretin her name. She told him there was no need to know. He had readily agreed, eager simply to make his money.
‘I’ll have someone deliver it in cash – no cheques, no records. As you know, I decided to pay double to buy your word you will never mention this to a soul. If you do, I’ll see to it you never work again.’
Bridget let out a squeal of delight as she hung up. Lucy’s little fantasy was over. People like her always got found out. She had done Hartley the favour of his life by making it happen so swiftly.
Bridget was euphoric as she opened a bottle of Taittinger. Well, a triumphant victory glass was the least she deserved.
She smiled as she felt the cold bubbles spread over her tongue. A warm sensation coursed through her body as her mind raced with thoughts of winning Hartley back. And of a masterstroke that would ensure Lucy went crawling back to where she belonged.