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“I think that went well, darling, don’t you?”
It was pitch dark as Henry reversed his car out of the drive and on to the lane, and Tom slid the bolt across the front door.
Juliet wasn’t sure how to answer. The evening had been efficient and functional: meal eaten, drinks consumed, cigars smoked (by the men). But for her, it had been a shocking revelation. Despite Tom’s professional status as a successful dentist, he was living in thrall to his much richer parents, dominated by his objectionable mother. Veronica had only spoken to Juliet to express disappointment, disagreement or disdain. Yet Tom seemed oblivious to her rudeness.
Lingering in the hall, Tom moved in on Juliet clumsily. As he put his arms about her, he misjudged the distance between them. His hand slipped off her shoulder and fell awkwardly at her side.
Juliet took a step back.
“Let’s leave the washing up until the morning, shall we, darling? You can do it after I’ve gone to work.” As he tried to draw her closer to him, she flinched at the blend of cigar smoke and stale red wine fumes drowning out his cologne. “Let’s just get to bed.”
When Tom stumbled and trod on her toe, Juliet realised he was drunker than she’d thought. She tried to remain calm.
“You go on upstairs while I put the casserole dish in to soak and load the dishwasher. I don’t want to come down to a pile of dirty dishes in the morning. It’ll only take me a minute.”
Tom, needing no further persuasion, headed unsteadily for the stairs.
Earlier, Juliet had wondered why Tom had opened two bottles of red wine, ostensibly for his father, when it was clear that Henry would have to drive home at the end of the evening. Henry had only taken a small glass, and Veronica, after her fancy gin and tonic, had stuck to sparkling water – as had Juliet, wanting to keep her wits about her. Yet as she cleared the table, she discovered both wine bottles were empty.
She was unsure what to do. Tom must be very drunk indeed. Perhaps she shouldn’t stay until the morning after all, but was she safe to drive? Although she’d drunk relatively little with the meal, what with the pre-dinner cocktails, she might still be over the legal limit. Even if she wasn’t, Tom’s Lexus was blocking her exit from the turning circle, and he was in no fit state to move it.
If she had already metabolised all the alcohol in her system, she would still be nervous negotiating those narrow, winding lanes alone in the dark. She didn’t even know where she was exactly. She presumed the satnav would lead her back to Dave’s Magic Motor Repairs, but there was no guarantee. Wasn’t it better to stay put than end up somewhere even stranger?
No, she’d just have to make her escape after Tom had gone to work next day. In any case, Rob wasn’t expecting her home till morning. She just hoped that when she left this madhouse, she would be able to return to her old life. It wasn’t so bad, really, was it? She pictured Rob, most likely still down the pub, and wondered who was drunker, Rob or Tom.
Juliet turned on the dishwasher, crept to the foot of the stairs and listened for sounds from above. Tom’s reverberating snores were the deep, steady kind fuelled by excess alcohol. She knew from her experience with Rob that Tom would be spark out till morning. She’d be safe enough sleeping beside him. She could just curl up at the edge of that big, comfortable bed.
As she climbed the stairs on tiptoe, she decided to allow herself one final taste of luxury. She lifted the crystal vase of lilacs carefully from her dressing table and moved it into the en suite bathroom, where she ran a deep bath with a generous glug of expensive designer bubble bath. As she sank beneath the foam, the steam brought out the intoxicating scent of rare spices.
She closed her eyes to think. Did she really want to return to Rob? Did he even exist for her to return to?
“That’s me gone,” he had said over the phone only hours before. Perhaps the safest bet would to drive to the nearest police station in the morning, report herself missing, then a few days later turn herself in and see who came forward to claim her.
She’d once read in a magazine that anyone could make an anonymous report of a missing person. You didn’t even have to wait for the person to be missing for very long if you had cause to worry about them. The police would just ask for a list of their friends and relations, favourite places they might visit, photos and description. They’d also ask for DNA from a toothbrush or hairbrush. She could easily do all that, though she might have to disguise herself a little first, so that they didn’t recognise her from her own description.
Within forty-eight hours, they’d pass the information to all other UK forces. If anyone else in the country – including Rob and Tom – was looking for Juliet, they would surely contact the police. That still didn’t mean she had to go back to either of them. For a missing person over the age of eighteen, the police would not reveal their whereabouts to an enquirer without their permission.
Who do I want to claim me? she wondered. Rob or Tom, or – she gulped – neither of them?
Then she realised. It wasn’t the police who would solve her problem. It was Dave. Dave’s Magic Motor Repairs. His little purple Mini had got her into this mess. Dave would have the answer when she returned the car to him in the morning. All she needed to do was set the satnav to “home”.
As goosebumps dotted her naked flesh, she sank further beneath the hot foam.