“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.”

Luke stops. “I can’t touch that drawer?”

“No. It’s…a surprise. Or the Harrods bag on the chair,” I add hastily. I don’t want him seeing the receipt for my new hi-tech moisturizer. I nearly died myself when I saw the price.

“Anything else?” Luke inquires.

“Um…a couple of things in the wardrobe. Early birthday presents for you,” I add defiantly.

There’s silence in the bedroom. I can’t quite tell what Luke is thinking. At last he turns, his face working oddly.

“So, our marriage is a completely honest, open book except for that drawer, this Harrods bag, and the back of the wardrobe?”

I sense my position on the moral high ground is not quite as strong as I thought it was.

“The point is…” I cast around. “The point is, I wasn’t out all night with someone else, doing goodness knows what!”

Oh God. I sound exactly like a whingy EastEnders wife.

“Becky.” Luke sighs and sits down on the bed. “Venetia’s not ‘someone else.’ She’s a client. She’s a friend. She’d like to be your friend.”

I turn away, pleating the duvet cover into a little fan.

“I just can’t understand what your problem is. You were the one who wanted to go to Venetia in the first place!”

“Yes, but—”

I can’t exactly say, I didn’t know then that she was a husband stealer.

“She’s going to be delivering our baby in a few weeks’ time! You should be getting to know her. Feeling relaxed with her!”

I don’t want her to deliver the baby flashes through my mind.

“And on that subject…” Luke stands up. “Venetia asked if we could make an appointment tomorrow. She hasn’t seen you for a while and she feels bad about it. I said we’d both be there. OK?” He heads into the bathroom.

“Fine,” I say morosely, and sink back into the pillows with a great sigh. My head is swirling with confused thoughts. Maybe I am being unreasonable and paranoid. Maybe she’s not after Luke.

And she is the best obstetrician in the world, practically. OK. I’m going to make a real, real effort and see if we can be friends.



When we arrive at the Holistic Birth Center on Friday, the paparazzi are out in force and I can see why. The Bond girl and the new face of Lancôme are posing together on the steps, both in cool low-slung trousers and clingy tops which accentuate their teeny bumps.

“Becky, slow down!” Luke calls after me as I hurry to join them. But by the time I arrive, they’ve already pushed their way in through the doors. I pause hopefully on the steps, but not a single lens points toward me. In fact, the photographers are all moving away, which is pretty insulting. You’d think they’d take a picture just to be polite.

Inside, the Bond girl is ahead of me at the desk, and I can hear the receptionist saying, “And you got your invitation to tea at the Savoy? Do you need us to send a car?”

“No, thanks,” says the Bond girl, nodding at the Lancôme model. “Zara and I are going together.”

My heart skips a beat. Tea at the Savoy? I didn’t get an invitation to tea at the Savoy. Maybe they’re going to give it to me now! I approach the receptionist with an expectant smile, already reaching for my diary so I can check the date. But she doesn’t hand over any invitation.

“Take a seat, Mrs. Brandon.” She smiles back. “Venetia will be with you shortly.”

“Er…was there anything else?” I linger at the desk. “Anything I should…have?”

“Did you bring a urine sample?” The receptionist smiles. “That’s all you need.”

That is not what I was talking about. I wait another few seconds just in case, then stalk over to the seating area, trying to hide my disappointment. She hasn’t invited me. All the celebrities will be having tea together, exchanging pregnancy stories and asking each other where they buy their premiere dresses, and I’ll be sitting at home on my own.

“Becky?” Luke is regarding me, puzzled. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I can feel my bottom lip quivering. “Only she didn’t invite me to the tea party. They’re all going to the Savoy. All of them! Without me.”

“Becky, you don’t know there’s a tea party. I’m sure…I mean…” Luke breaks off, clearly at a loss. “Look, even if she didn’t, does it matter? You don’t go to a doctor because of the tea parties.”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“Becky?” A melodious voice rings out. “Luke?”

Oh my God. It’s her.

I haven’t seen Venetia in weeks. To be honest, she’d kind of altered in my mind. I’d pictured her taller, with longer, witchier hair and flashing green eyes and kind of…fangs. But here she is, slim and pretty, dressed in a chic black turtleneck and smiling as though I’m her best friend.

“Great to see you!” She kisses me. “I do apologize, I’ve been neglecting you shamefully.” As she says it, she glances at Luke as though they’re in on some private conversation.

Or is that me being paranoid?

“Come on through!” She ushers us into her room and we all sit down. “So, Becky.” Venetia opens her file. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I say. “Thanks.”

“Baby moving well?”

“Yes, all the time.” I put a hand on my tummy, and, of course, the baby’s gone to sleep.

“Well, let’s have a feel.” She gestures toward the examination table and I go and heave myself onto it while Venetia washes her hands.

“Did I hear something about a tea party out there, Ven?” says Luke lightly. “Great publicity idea.” I stare at him in astonishment and he winks.

Sometimes I really love Luke.

“Oh.” Venetia sounds taken aback. “That’s right. It’s for patients at a slightly more advanced stage than you, Becky. But of course you’re on the list for the next one!”

She’s so lying. I wasn’t on that list.

As her hands move over my abdomen, I can’t relax. I’m staring at her hands: slim and white, with a massive diamond eternity band on the third finger of her right hand. I wonder who gave her that.

“It’s a good-size baby. Breech at the moment, which means the head is up near your ribs….” Venetia’s frowning in concentration as she feels the baby. “If it remains in that position we’ll have to discuss your options for the birth, but it’s early days yet.” She glances at her notes. “You’re only thirty-two weeks. Plenty of time for the baby to turn. Now, let’s listen to the heartbeat….” She squirts gel on my stomach, and does the ultrasound. A moment later the heartbeat is going wow-wow-wow through the room.

“Nice, strong heartbeat.” Venetia nods at me, and I nod back as best I can while lying down. For a few moments the three of us just listen to the regular, fuzzy beat. It’s so weird. Here we are, all transfixed by the sound — and the baby has no idea we’re listening to it.

“That’s your child.” Venetia meets Luke’s eyes. “Pretty amazing, huh?” She leans over and straightens his tie — and I feel a spike of resentment. How dare she do that? This is our moment. And everyone knows that the wife straightens the tie.

“So, Venetia,” I say politely as at last she turns off the ultrasound machine. “I was sorry to hear about you splitting up with your boyfriend. What a shame.”

“Ah well.” Venetia spreads her hands. “Some things aren’t meant to be.” She smiles sweetly. “How’s your general health, Becky? Any aches and pains? Heartburn? Hemorrhoids?”