“Becky, darling.” Luke leans forward. “If Venetia says you should wear them—”

“I’m sure I haven’t got varicose veins!” My voice is growing shriller. “Luke, it was my shoes, remember?”

“Ah,” Venetia chips in. “You may have a point. Let me see what you’re wearing.”

She surveys my new platform wedges and shakes her head sadly.

“Those really aren’t suitable for late pregnancy. Here, try these.” She roots in her bottom desk drawer and produces a pair of ugly brown rubber flip-flops. “They’re an orthopedic sample. I’d be glad to know what you think of them.”

I stare at them in dismay. “Instead of the support stockings?”

“Oh no!” She smiles. “I think you should wear the support stockings as well. Just to be on the safe side.”

Bitch. Bitch.

“Put them on, darling,” says Luke with an encouraging nod. “Venetia’s just thinking of your health.”

No, she’s not! I want to yell. Can’t you see what she’s doing?

But I can’t. There’s no way out. They’re both watching me. I’m going to have to do this.

Feeling sick, I slowly pull on first one surgical stocking, then the other.

“Tug them right up!” says Venetia. “That’s it, over your thighs.” I slip on the horrible flip-flops. Then I pick up my new oversize Marc Jacobs (pale yellow, totally gorgeous) bag to stuff my wedges in.

“Is that your bag?” Venetia’s beady eyes alight on it and I feel a clutch of dread. Not the bag. Please, not the bag.

“This is far too heavy for a pregnant woman!” she says, taking it from me and hefting it with a frown. “Do you know the damage you might do to your spine?” To Luke she adds, “You know, I did a year working very closely with a physical therapist. The injuries she saw, from people lugging around ridiculous-size bags!”

“Big bags are in fashion,” I say tightly.

“Fashion!” Venetia gives her silvery laugh. “Fashion is bad for your health. Try this, Becky. My physical therapist supplies them.” She opens a cupboard and produces a fanny pack made of khaki webbing. “Far more ergonomic for the back. You can even hide it under your T-shirt for security….”

“That’s great!” says Luke, taking my Marc Jacobs from Venetia and putting it on the floor where I can’t reach it. “Venetia, this is so kind of you.”

Kind? He has no idea what’s going on here. None.

“Go on, Becky!” Venetia is like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse, relishing its suffering. “See if it fits.”

With trembling hands I pull up my T-shirt, fit the khaki belt around my belly, fasten the clasp, and allow my T-shirt to fall back down. As I turn I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror fitted to the back of the door.

I want to cry. I look like a grotesque monster. My legs are two white, bulbous tree trunks. My feet resemble a granny’s. I have bumps in front and behind.

“You look great, Becky!” Venetia has hopped onto the desk and is doing an agile, yoga-type stretch which shows off her long, lithe arms. “So, Luke, that was a marvelous meeting we had. I was really interested in what you had to say about Web links….”

Miserably, I shuffle to my seat and wait for them to finish talking about Venetia’s business profile. But now they’ve moved on to her brochure and whether it could be improved.

“Oh, sorry, Becky!” Venetia suddenly appears to notice me. “This must be really boring. You know, the checkup’s done, so if you don’t want to hang around….”

“Aren’t you meeting Suze and Jess for lunch?” Luke looks at me. “Why don’t you shoot off? I just want to recap a few things with Venetia.”

I’m rooted to the ground. I don’t want to leave him here alone with her. Every instinct is telling me not to. But if I say that, he’ll think I’m just being all possessive and suspicious and we’ll have another huge row.

“Well, OK,” I say at last. “I’ll go.”

“Make sure you take what you need,” says Venetia, gesturing at my Marc Jacobs. “And I don’t want to hear that you’ve been using that bag!” She wags her finger at me.

I want to shoot her. But there’s no point arguing; Luke will only take her side. In silence I take out my purse, phone, keys, and a few essential items of makeup. I put them in the khaki bag and zip it shut.

“Bye, darling.” Luke kisses me. “I’ll call you later.”

“Bye. Bye, Venetia.” I can barely look her in the eye. I leave the room and head out to the foyer.

At the reception desk I can see an excited blond girl with the tiniest of bumps, saying, “I’m so thrilled to have a place with Venetia!”

Yes, you are now, I think savagely. Until she makes you look like a freak in front of your husband.

I’m nearly at the door, when a sudden recollection stops me. Luke’s mobile rang this morning while he was in the shower, and I answered it. Which was not because I am possessive and suspicious, but because…

Well, OK. I thought it might be Venetia. But it wasn’t; it was John from Brandon Communications and I never told Luke to ring him. I’d better let him know.

I retrace my steps through the waiting room, trying to ignore the curious stares of the blond girl and her husband. These bloody stockings are coming off as soon as I get outside.

A woman in a blue nurse-type uniform is ahead of me in the corridor, and as I’m shuffling along she pauses at Venetia’s door. She knocks twice, then opens the door.

“Oh, sorry!” I hear her say. “I didn’t mean to disturb…”

Disturb what? Disturb what?

My heart suddenly hammering, I hurry forward along the corridor, and just catch a glimpse through the doorway as the nurse retreats.

And I see them. Sitting together on the desk, talking in low, laughing voices. Venetia’s arm is resting casually across Luke’s shoulders. The other hand is entwined in his. They look happy and relaxed and intimate.

They look like a couple.



I don’t know how I get to the restaurant where I’m meeting Suze and Jess. I’m walking on autopilot, like a zombie. I want to throw up every time I think about it.

They were together. They were together.

“Bex?”

Somehow I’ve pushed my way in through the glass doors and am standing in a total daze as waiters bustle around and people chatter. “Bex, are you OK?” Suze is hurrying over to greet me. Her eyes drop in dismay to my white legs. “What are you wearing? What’s happened? Bex…can you speak?”

“I…no. I need to sit down.” I totter after her to a corner table where Jess is sitting.

“What’s happened?” Jess looks aghast at my appearance. She quickly pushes out a chair for me and helps me sit down. “Are you OK? Is it the baby?”

“I saw them,” I manage.

“Who?”

“Luke and Venetia. Together.”

“Together?” Suze claps a hand to her mouth. “Together, doing…what?”

“They were sitting on a desk, talking.” I can barely get the words out. “She had her arm on his shoulders. And he was holding her hand.” I look up for a reaction. Both Suze and Jess look like they’re waiting for more.

“Were they…kissing?” Suze ventures.

“No, they were laughing. They looked all happy. I just…I had to get out of there.” I take a deep gulp of water. Suze and Jess exchange glances.

“And…that’s why you put on white tights?” hazards Suze cautiously.

“No! Of course not!” I thrust down my glass, feeling the humiliation rise up again. “It was Venetia! She took away my shoes and my bag and she made me put these things on, just so I’d look all gross in front of Luke.”

Suze gasps. “What a cow!”

“And I can’t get them off.” I’m near tears by now. “I’m stuck with them!”

“Come on! I’ll help you!” Suze puts down her glass and reaches for one of the stockings. Jess is watching, her brow wrinkled.

“Becky…are you sure there isn’t some good health reason for wearing them?”

“No! She was just doing it to be mean! She said fashion’s bad for the health!”

Jess looks unmoved. “Fashion is bad for the health.”

“Fashion is not bad for the health!” I erupt. “It’s good for the health! It makes you…it makes you stay slim and stand up straight so your jacket hangs better. And take an interest in yourself so you don’t get all depressed.” I’m ticking the points off on my fingers. “And high heels are brilliant exercise for calf muscles….”

“Bex, have some wine,” says Suze soothingly, pushing her glass over. “Just a sip won’t hurt the baby. And it might…calm you down a bit.”

“OK. Thanks.” I take a grateful gulp.

“My obstetrician told me I could have a glass every other night,” adds Suze. “He’s French.”

I take another sip, feeling my heart rate subside. I should have gone to France to have the baby. Or anywhere but Venetia Carter. Maybe I should just forget this whole hospital thing and have the baby in a shop, like I always planned. At least I’d feel relaxed and happy. At least I’d get free clothes.

“I don’t know what to do.” I put the wineglass down and look miserably from Suze to Jess. “I’ve already tried talking to Luke. He said nothing was going on and they were just friends. But they didn’t look like just friends to me.”

“How exactly was he holding her hand?” Suze frowns intently. “Could it just have been friendly? Is Venetia a touchy-feely person?”

“She’s…” I think back. I remember her squeezing my arm, brushing a hand down my arm. “Quite,” I allow at last.

“Well, maybe that’s all it is! Maybe she’s just one of those people that gets too close.”

“Do you have any other evidence?” asks Jess.

“Not yet.” I fiddle with a bread stick wrapper, wondering whether to tell them. “I followed him the other day.”