“For…for all your glazing needs,” I hear myself saying. “London, Paris, Dubai.”

I have no idea what I’m saying. The words are just coming out of my mouth.

“Dubai!” The man looks impressed. “I’ll bet they have a few windows out there!”

“They do.” I nod. “It’s the window capital of the world.”

“Now, I never knew that!” the man says with interest.

I stiffen. I just heard a rumbling-footsteps kind of noise. Someone’s coming down the stairs.

Luke. It has to be.

Except…that was a bit quick, surely?

“Er…thanks very much! I’ll think about it….” I shove the clipboard back at the man and rush out of the shop and into the street. In front of me the brown-painted door is slowly opening and I quickly edge behind a small tree.

My entire body is clenched with dread. Blood is rushing through my ears. Stay calm. Whatever happens, whoever he’s with—

The door swings open — and Luke steps out, followed by a couple of men in suits.

“Let’s discuss it over lunch,” he’s saying. “There’s a couple of clients I think could really benefit from that approach.”

He’s not with Venetia. He’s not with Venetia!

I feel like doing a little dance on the pavement. Relief is flooding through me. How could I have thought he was up to anything? I’m so paranoid. I’m so stupid! I’m going to go home and totally trust him from now on….

“Ms. Bloomwood?”

The guy from the print shop has come out and is peering at me, shading his eyes from the sun. Damn. Maybe this tree wasn’t such a great hiding place. I forgot my bump would be poking out.

“Becky?” Luke swivels and stares at me in astonishment. “Is that you?”

I feel my cheeks turning beet red as the three men peer at me. “Er…hi!” I say brightly.

“I’ve got a mock-up of that business card, if you’d like it.” The print shop man is advancing on me.

“Thanks!” I swipe it from him. “I’ll let you know.”

“Becky, what are you doing here?” Luke is coming toward the tree.

“Just…shopping! What a coincidence!”

“As I said, Ms. Bloomwood, I recommend a laminate finish.” The man from the print shop is still bloody talking. “But it is more pricey, so I’ve put in a list of options for you….”

“Thanks! Actually, my husband’s here, so I’ll…I’ll get back to you.”

“Aha!” The print shop guy beams at Luke. “Pleased to meet you. Are you in the double-glazing trade too?”

“No, he’s not.” I cut him off desperately. “Thanks so much. Bye!” At last, to my relief, the print shop guy retreats toward his door and there’s a pause.

“The double-glazing trade?” says Luke at last, a little bemusedly.

“He got…me confused with…someone else.” I shove the mock-up card into my bag. “So, anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Meeting some possible new media consultants for the company.” Luke still looks puzzled. “Let me introduce Nigel and Richard. My wife, Rebecca.”

“Very glad to meet you, Rebecca,” says Nigel, grasping my hand. “You’re the one who identified the need for media training, we hear. Luke told us you weren’t impressed by his client’s performance.”

“Oh, right!” I feel a small glow. I didn’t realize Luke had taken my advice, let alone told other people about it.

“Excuse our less than salubrious office space,” puts in the other man. “We’ve only just moved in.”

“I hadn’t even noticed!” I say with a shrill laugh. “Anyway, I must be off — I was just passing….”

“Have a good afternoon.” Luke kisses me.

“I will.” I hold on to his arm for a moment. “And maybe we can have our picnic later?”

Luke winces. “No, I’m sorry. I should have said, I’ll be late back tonight. New-client dinner.”

“Oh.” I can’t help feeling disappointed. But new business is new business. “Well, never mind. Who’s the client?”

“Venetia.”

My smile freezes on my face. “Venetia?”

“Venetia Carter,” Luke explains to the others. “You know, the celebrity obstetrician? Her old PR agency weren’t cutting it, apparently.”

Venetia’s hiring Brandon Communications. I do not believe this.

“Who’s going to the dinner?”

“Just me and her.” Luke shrugs. “I’ll be handling her account, as we’re old friends.”

I can’t help it. Suspicions are rising up inside me, as thick and fast as ever.

“So…you’re going to have meetings with her and everything?” I wipe my damp upper lip.

“That’s the general idea, Becky.” Luke raises his eyebrows quizzically. “I’ll send her your love, shall I?”

“Yes!” I manage a smile. “Do that!”

Luke walks off with the two men, and I stare after them, my heart thudding.

OK, so maybe I got things a tad wrong today. But there’s no doubt. She’s after Luke. I know it deep down in my heart, just like I know my new orange top from eBay was a mistake.

Venetia’s moving in on my husband. And I have to stop her.



Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers


INVESTMENT SUMMARY


CLIENT: “BABY BRANDON”

SUMMARY AS OF 24 OCTOBER 2003



FUND A: “LUKE’S PORTFOLIO”


Investment holdings to date:

Wetherby’s Gilt Fund 20%

Somerset European Growth Fund 20%

Start Right Accumulator Fund 30%


Remainder as yet uninvested


FUND B: “BECKY’S PORTFOLIO”


Investment holdings to date:

Gold (Tiffany necklace, ring) 10%

Copper (bracelet) 5%

Shares in First Mutual Bank, Bangladesh 10%

Shares in fabbesthandbagsonline.com 10%

Dior vintage coat 5%

Bottle of 1964 champagne 5%

Share in racehorse named Baby Go for It 5%

Sunglasses “once worn by Grace Kelly” 1%


Remainder as yet uninvested


ELEVEN



I’M GOING TO TALK TO LUKE, I’ve decided. I’m going to be mature and grown-up and just tackle this head-on. So with total resolve I sit up in bed until he arrives home that night. It’s way after midnight as the door opens, and he smells of smoke and drink and…oh my God. Allure.

OK. Don’t panic. Just because he smells of Allure, it doesn’t prove anything.

“Hi! How was the dinner?” I make sure I sound all friendly and encouraging, and not like some whingy wife out of EastEnders.

“It was great.” Luke takes off his jacket. “Venetia’s very bright. Very switched on.”

“I’ll…bet she is.” I twist my hands together under the duvet, where he can’t see them. “And what did you talk about? Apart from work.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Luke is loosening his tie. “The arts…books…”

“You never read books!” I say before I can stop myself. It’s true. He doesn’t, apart from how-to-run-your-magnificent-business-empire kind of books.

“Maybe not,” he says, shooting me a wry look. “But I used to.”

What does that mean? Before he met me? So now it’s my fault he doesn’t read books, is that it?

“And what else did you talk about?” I persist.

“Becky, honestly. I can’t remember.”

His phone beeps with a text and he checks it. He smiles, texts something back, then resumes getting undressed. I’m watching in growing disbelief and anger. How can he do that? In front of me?

“Was that in Latin?” I say before I can stop myself.

“What?” Luke wheels around, his hands still tugging at his shirtsleeves.

“I just happened to see…” I falter. Then I stop. Sod it. I’m not going to pretend anymore. I take a deep breath and look at Luke straight-on. “She sends you texts in Latin, doesn’t she? Is that your secret code?”

“What are you talking about?” Luke takes a step forward, his brow darkened. “Have you been reading my texts?”

“I’m your wife! What does she text you about, Luke?” My voice is rising in hurt. “Latin books? Or…other things?”

“I’m sorry?” He looks bemused.

“You know she’s moving in on you, don’t you?”

“What?” Luke gives a short laugh. “Becky, I know you have a vivid imagination, but really….” He pulls his shirt off and dumpsit in the laundry hamper.

How can he be so dense? I thought he was supposed to be clever.

“She’s after you!” I’m leaning forward in agitation. “Can’t you see it? She’s a home-wrecker! That’s what she does—”

“She is not after me!” Luke says, cutting me off. “To be honest, Becky, I’m shocked. I never thought of you as being possessive. Surely I’m allowed to have a few friends, for Christ’s sake. Just because she happens to be female—”

“It’s not that,” I cut him off scornfully.

It’s that she used to be his ex-girlfriend and has long swishy red hair. But I’m not going to say that.

“It’s that…” I flounder. “It’s that…we’re married, Luke. We should share everything. We shouldn’t have anything separate. I’m an open book! Look at my phone!” I gesture widely. “Look in my drawers! I don’t have a single secret! Go on, look!”

“Becky, it’s getting late.” Luke rubs his face. “Could we do this tomorrow?”

I stare at him indignantly. What does he mean, “do this tomorrow”? We’re not playing Monopoly — we’re having a crucial discussion about the state of our marriage.

“Go on! Look!”

“All right.” Luke lifts his hands in surrender, and heads toward my bureau.

“I don’t have a single secret I’m keeping from you! You can look anywhere, poke about all you like—” I draw up sharply.

Shit. The gender predictor test. It’s in the top left drawer.

“Er…except that drawer,” I exclaim hastily. “Don’t touch the top left drawer.”