‘ Well, that’s OK,’ said Estelle, peering over his shoulder to read the accompanying article.

‘Nobody I know is going to see this.’

‘So long as it doesn’t get picked up. Bloody Garth,’ Will shook his head, ‘blabbing to everyone at work. He thought it was funny, I suppose. I’m sure they had a good laugh about it down at the pub. Then word spreads and some keen young journalist gets to hear about it ... it just doesn’t occur to them that something like this could have consequences.’

‘Hey.’ Wrenching the newspaper from his grasp, Estelle pushed him back onto the bed.

‘Consequences don’t scare me.’

‘God, I love you,’ Will sighed as she straddled him, her peacock-blue robe falling open almost to the waist. Estelle’s heart began to race. He loves me!

‘Bet you say that to all the girls.’

Will ran his fingers lightly down from her throat to her cleavage.

‘I’ve never said it before in my life. And you’re trying to make me late for work.’

‘Sorry, I’ll stop.’

‘Don’t stop.’

‘No, no.’ Moving her hips, Estelle said seriously, ‘You can’t possibly be late for work, I’ll just let you gel dressed—’

‘Don’t stop.’

Estelle shook her head. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for getting you into trouble, I’d never forgive myself if—’

‘Sshh,’ murmured Will, a broad smile on his face as he settled back against the pillows. ‘Don’t stop ...’

Afterwards, when Will had headed -off to the edit suite he rented from Carousel Productions, Estelle picked up the phone and called Kate.

Was she only a hundred miles away from Ashcombe? It felt more like a million. Cleverly she remembered to block her own number first.

‘Mum?’ Kate sounded relieved to hear her voice. ‘Mum, where are you? Are you OK?’

I’m fine, darling.’ Estelle was careful not to sound too fine; she was aiming for coping bravely in the face of adversity rather than having the time of her life with an adoring younger man.

‘Are you coming home?’

‘No.’ Sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed, Estelle gazed out of the window at the rows of higgledy-piggledy Mary Poppins-style rooftops.

‘Where are you?’

‘In a hotel. How’s Tiff?’

She had to ask.

She couldn’t not ask.

‘Still really bad.’

‘And Marcella?’

Kate brightened up. ‘Oh, Marcella’s OK. She’s got a thing for Twiglets now.’

‘Well, that’s not so terrible.’

‘She dips them in custard.’

Estelle still thought this was an improvement on the pickled walnuts. ‘How’s Norris?’

‘Fat, greedy, slobbers a lot. Pretty much the same as Dexter.’ Kate paused. ‘Are you going to ask about Dad?’

‘Go on then.’ Estelle was wary.

‘I haven’t seen him. He’s still at the hospital. But if he was here, I wouldn’t speak to him. He’s been a complete idiot. Speaking of idiots,’ Kate said abruptly, ‘Will Gifford was down here yesterday. Honestly, what a pillock, I swear he thinks he’s Hugh Grant. He was wearing that awful green jumper with the moth holes down the front.’

Estelle’s gaze slid guiltily to the offending jumper, now flung across the chair in the corner of the bedroom. She’d personally removed it, moth holes and all, from Will’s more than willing body last night.

OK, concentrate.

‘What did he have to say?’

‘Oh, he pretended to be shocked,’ Kate sounded scornful, ‘but he was over the moon, you could tell.

Interviewed me in the pub then raced off to the hospital to see Dad. You can’t blame him, I suppose, he’s a journalist. All this business has brightened up his boring documentary no end.’

Estelle bit her lip. This was probably true. You couldn’t blame Will if he were secretly delighted with the way things had turned out, for the sake of the documentary if nothing else.

‘Mum? Norris really misses you.’

‘Does he?’ Estelle managed a wobbly smile. How completely ridiculous, Norris wasn’t even their dog.

‘I miss you too,’ said Kate.

‘Oh, darling ...’ Overwhelmed, Estelle’s hand flew to her throat.

Sounding embarrassed, Kate said, ‘Bet you never thought you’d hear me say that.’

Chapter 43

Estelle put the phone down and had a little cry. Her life was changing so fast she couldn’t begin to get to grips with it. For now, like an alcoholic, all she could do was take things one day at a time. Like today. It was lunchtime, the weather was beautiful and she was going to go out for a couple of hours. No more cushions had been Will’s parting shot as he’d left for work. OK, but she could buy food for dinner tonight. Roast lamb, Estelle decided as she headed for the shower. Will had always loved her roast dinners. A gorgeous leg of lamb, lots of fresh vegetables, crunchy roast potatoes with garlic .. .

Then glorious sex, probably.

Followed by Belgian chocolate truffle ice cream, Estelle thought happily.

Then more sex.

‘Hi! Can I give you a hand with those?’

It was two o’clock. Juggling her house-key, handbag and four bulging carrier bags, Estelle started at the sound of the friendly voice behind her. She knew London was where you went if you wanted to get mugged in broad daylight, but this voice really didn’t sound as if it belonged to a mugger. For a start, it was female and quite posh. Secondly, Estelle discovered as she turned around, its owner was less than five feet tall.

She was wearing smart clothes, Estelle couldn’t help noticing. Surely someone in a neat white shirt and well-cut black pencil skirt wouldn’t kick you to the ground and make off with your groceries.

‘It’s OK, I don’t bite!’ The girl, who was probably in her early thirties, said gaily, ‘Here, you do the door and I’ll make sure your bags don’t topple over. That happened to me last week and I smashed a bottle of Pinot Grigio – I was so cross!’

Eventually Estelle managed to get the key fitted into the unfamiliar lock. As a red bus came trundling up the road, she nodded at it and said, ‘Is that the one you’re waiting for?’

The girl beamed. ‘I wasn’t waiting for a bus. Actually, I was waiting for you. You’re Estelle, aren’t you? Let me say hello properly.’ Grabbing Estelle’s temporarily free hand, she shook it with enthusiasm. ‘I’m Lucy Banks.’

Blankly, Estelle said, ‘And?’

‘Well, the thing is, I’d love to have a chat with you. You see, I work for the Daily Mail.’

‘ Oh. Right.’ So the story about Oliver and Tiff had come out. Feeling suddenly sorry for Juliet –

this was the last thing she needed right now – Estelle said politely, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to talk about what my husband did. I’d rather just keep out of it, if you don’t mind.’ As she said this, it belatedly occurred to her to wonder how this girl had known she’d be here.

‘That’s completely understandable,’ said Lucy, nodding sympathetically. ‘But this isn’t actually anything to do with your husband. Not directly, at least. You see, this is about what Will Gifford’s been up to.’

‘Up to? Will?’ Estelle was by this time thoroughly confused.

Gently, Lucy said, ‘Why don’t we sit down and have a chat?’

Unwilling to invite the journalist into Will’s flat, Estelle took her to a garden square a couple of streets away. There on a wooden bench beneath a sycamore tree, with a tiny tape recorder whirring away on the seat between them, she learned from Lucy that a woman had contacted the Daily Mail’s offices this morning after seeing the photograph of Will and Estelle in the local paper and reading the accompanying piece.

‘Ever heard of Magnus Jonsson?’ said Lucy.

‘The record producer.’ Estelle nodded rapidly, her fevered imagination conjuring up any number of bizarre images – Will was Magnus Jonsson’s son, or his lover .. .

‘Did you ever see the documentary Will made about Magnus?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that’s not surprising,’ said Lucy, ‘considering it never aired.’

‘Why not?’ said Estelle, because this was clearly what she was supposed to ask.

‘Because it never got finished. Because Magnus and Will had a bit of a falling out.’ Lucy paused.

‘Because Magnus found out that Will was sleeping with his wife.’

There was a high-pitched humming noise in Estelle’s ears; she really hoped she wasn’t the one making it. A short distance away, on the grass, two small children were battling over a bag of bread crusts, sending pigeons up into the trees.

‘So you see, you’re not the first,’ Lucy said sympathetically. ‘Magnus was a workaholic, away a lot of the time. Moira was lonely, she felt neglected. Then Will came along and she found his attentions so flattering it didn’t take long for her to succumb. Will told her he loved her. From the sound of things, he has quite a way with him. I can imagine it would be hard to resist.’

Miserably, Estelle said, ‘What happened?’

‘Magnus came home unexpectedly one day and caught them. Have you noticed a bump on Will’s nose?’

Estelle nodded. How many times in the last couple of days had she kissed that bump?

‘That’s where Magnus broke it,’ said Lucy. ‘He went berserk – well, who can blame him? He loved his wife.’

‘Go on.’ Estelle gazed down at her fingers, twisted together in her lap.

‘Moira left Magnus and went to live with Will. They spent a couple of weeks together at his flat, then a month in the Caribbean. Moira paid for that. She thought they’d be together for ever, she was absolutely besotted with him, but soon after they arrived back in London, Will ended it. Moira was devastated. Magnus took her back, but the marriage didn’t survive. They divorced a year later.