MILLIE'S FLING (33 page)

‘Nat? He's not here.’ It was another young male voice, one she didn’t recognize. ‘He's out with Annie.’

Annie?

Annie?

‘Who?’ said Hester.

‘Anastasia.’

Anastasia?

Ana-bloody-stasia?

There was the sound of muffled voices in the background before the boy, clearly worried, said, ‘Sorry, look, I don’t know who
Nat's out with. Maybe he's gone for a drink with some of the lads. Okay, bye.’

The line went dead. Hester stared at the receiver, as stunned as if the boy had told her that Nat wasn’t there right now, he was in hospital having his sex-change.

It had simply never occurred to her that Nat might do this. He wasn’t the type. He worked too hard. He loved
her
.

Except maybe now he’d changed his mind and decided he’d be better off loving someone else instead.

EastEnders
was on television. Hester watched without taking in a word of it. Annie Annie Annie, that was a name that was almost bearable, rival-wise. It conjured up a picture of someone plump and a bit scruffy, with bitten nails, a friendly smile, and no dress sense.

But Anastasia… that was the kind of name that sent shivers of terror down your spine, because you just knew she’d be tall and exotic and ruthlessly chic, with Russian cheekbones and a wolfhound on a diamond-encrusted lead.

Hester buried her face in her hands. Nat had gone and found himself a Disney heroine.

Oh God, and it's all my fault.

THE CASTLE HOTEL IN Truro was floodlit and impressive, the car park packed with sleek, top-of-the-range specimens that put Millie's lime green Mini to shame. Having learned her lesson from the supermarket fiasco, she hauled her gorilla suit—stuffed into a black trash bag—out of the boot of the car and carried it through to reception.

The girl behind the desk was expecting her.

‘This is brilliant,’ she giggled. ‘We don’t get many gorillas here. We’re just not that kind of hotel.’

‘Okay if I change in the ladies’ loo?’ Millie held up her trash bag. ‘Then I’ll head on through and do my bit.’

‘I’ll come with you. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. The Drews are on table fifteen, bang in the middle of the restaurant.’ The receptionist reached beneath the desk and pulled out a disposable camera. ‘And it's my job to record the happy event—Mrs. Drew gave me this and asked me to take loads of pictures. Oh, her husband's going to get the surprise of his life!’

In the plush loos, Millie changed into the gorilla suit, fastened on her roller skates, and practiced reciting the fantastically naff poem Mrs. Drew had written in praise of her husband. As she was lowering the gorilla's head into place, the receptionist pulled the door open and said, ‘Ready? This is going to be so great!’

‘Ready.’ Millie seized the bottle of cheap sparkling wine and the ‘You’ve Been Kemped’ T-shirt, and roller-skated over to the door. ‘Lead the way.’

The dining room was vast, high-ceilinged, and glittering with chandeliers. It was also packed with diners. Millie, glad she had the receptionist with her, heard the girl whisper, ‘There they are, at that table for two, dead ahead. She's the one in the green sparkly dress, he's wearing a dark blue suit.’

As they navigated their way between the tables, the tinkle of cutlery and hum of polite conversation petered out. Spotting them, the other diners stared and began to whisper furiously to each other. Laughter broke out. Millie, who loved this bit, prayed her skates wouldn’t slip on the highly polished oak floor, either sending her clattering to the ground or—more messily—pitching head first into a bowl of trifle.

Then the man who had his back to her at table fifteen turned around and Millie found herself with something completely different to worry about.

Because Mr. Drew wasn’t Mr. Drew at all.

He was Giles Hart.

And the girl sitting with him in her green sparkly outfit was the girl with sleek magenta hair who had been at the party on Saturday night. The one Giles had introduced as Anna, the dressmaker from Perranporth, newcomer to the area, and a member of the golf club.

In a flash Millie knew the truth. The poem she’d memorized said it all.

Three years ago today we met,
Three years of utter bliss,
I never knew one perfect man
Could make me as happy as this.

The girl was Martine Drew.

Next moment there was another kind of flash as the receptionist took a photo with the disposable camera.

How could he?

How could he do this? How could he have the utter gall to invite his mistress along to Orla's party and introduce her to his own wife?

Martine, meanwhile, was beaming with happiness, thrilled with the success of her surprise, and waiting expectantly for Millie to launch into her poem. Unlike Giles, she clearly had no idea that the person inside the gorilla suit might be someone acquainted with Orla.

Giles, who knew what Millie did for a living, was less sure. It might be her under all that fur. Then again it might not.

Millie watched him hesitate, redden, then decide to bluff it out.

‘Well well, what have we here?’ boomed Giles, sitting back in his chair. Spotting the bottle of sparkling wine in Millie's paw, he added jovially, ‘Are you the wine waiter?’

‘Sshh.’ Reaching across the table, Martine gave his hand a loving squeeze. ‘Wait until you hear this.’ She nodded at Millie, indicating that it was time for the poem.

Click, flash, went the disposable camera.

Quivering with outrage, Millie took a step back and announced in a clear, carrying voice:

‘Why don’t you get yourself a life And stop this cheating on your wife?’

Improvisation wasn’t really her forte. It wasn’t great, but on the spur of the moment it was the best she could manage. Anyway, it did the trick. Giles, purple in the face, knocked over a glass as he leapt up from his chair. Everyone else in the room gasped audibly and held their breath.

Martine, staring at Millie in alarm, hissed, ‘What the hell's going on? What are you
talking about
?’

Millie ducked as Giles's arm shot out. For a scary moment she thought he was about to punch her. But Giles grabbed the gorilla head and, with brutal disregard for Millie's ears, wrenched it off.

Pale eyes bulging, he roared, ‘Who put you up to this?’

‘I did,’ said Martine, groaning as she recognized Millie. ‘Oh God, it was meant to be a fantastic
surprise
.’

Click, flash, went the camera behind them, the receptionist really getting into her stride now.

‘I think it's definitely been that,’ Millie announced, aware that the rest of the restaurant was in uproar around her. The other diners were either shrieking with laughter or rigid with disgust. This was probably a good moment to leave. Plonking the bottle of sparkling wine and the cellophane-wrapped T-shirt down on the table, Millie said cheerfully, ‘Enjoy the rest of your meal,’ and skated out of the room with the gorilla head tucked under her arm.

Rather gratifyingly, she got a round of applause.

‘Something tells me they’re not going to want these photos,’ sighed the receptionist, who had followed her out.

‘I’ll take it.’ Millie reached for the disposable camera.

‘Will you get into trouble over this?’

Millie unzipped the side of the gorilla suit and discreetly retrieved her car keys, which were tucked into her bra. That was the nice thing about Lucas: she knew he wouldn’t bawl her out or sack her when he heard why she’d done it. With a smile, she said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got an understanding boss.’

The receptionist, whose own boss was a complete pig, looked envious.

‘God, you’re so lucky.’

Millie nodded. Lucas might be a womanizer but he undoubtedly had his good points.

‘I know.’

Giles caught up with her in the car park as she was unfastening her roller skates. Martine hung back in the shadows beneath the trees, allowing him to deal with Millie in his own way.

‘Does Orla know about this?’ He spoke without preamble.

‘No.’ Millie was glad she’d already stuffed the camera into the glove compartment.

‘Are you going to tell her?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.’

Oh, and did I mention my middle name was Pinocchio?

‘Now you just listen to me.’ Giles was breathing heavily. ‘You wouldn’t be doing Orla any favors if you told her. You’d break her heart.’

I’d
break her heart? Millie boggled.

‘Right.’ Sweat glistened on his brow as he drew out his wallet. ‘I’ll make out a check. Five grand, how about that?’

Millie stared at him. Slowly, she unfastened the second roller skate and dropped it on to the passenger seat.

‘Okay, ten grand,’ said Giles. ‘Ten thousand pounds not to say anything to Orla.’

He was trying to bribe her! Best of all, he was trying to bribe her with his wife's money! Then again, Orla's money and the lifestyle it afforded him were, of course, the reasons he was so keen to keep the marriage going.

‘Go on then,’ said Millie.

Giles's hands shook with relief as he scribbled out the check. Taking it from him, Millie fitted the key into the Mini's ignition.

‘Thanks. If I cash it, you’ll be safe.’ She smiled briefly. ‘If I decide to tell Orla, I’ll give it back.’

He stared at her, the expression on his face one of fury mixed with fear.

‘Are you going to tell her?’

‘Who knows? I haven’t decided yet.’ Millie shrugged and gazed
innocently up at him. ‘Although if you ask me, life's too short to spend it being married to a tosspot.’

Giles gritted his teeth. He was clearly dying to call her a bitch.

‘But will you?’

‘Let's make it a surprise.’ Smiling to herself, Millie started the engine. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’

‘One o’clock?’ said Orla cheerfully, phoning the next day to check when Millie would be turning up for her regular debriefing session. ‘Then we can chat over a gorgeous lunch.’

‘Actually, my car's broken down,’ Millie lied. ‘Would it be a pain for you to drive over to me?’

She watched from the bedroom window as Orla pulled up outside, jumped out of the gleaming, burnt orange Mercedes, and exchanged a joke with one of the neighbors. She was clearly in high spirits and looking radiant in a long turquoise strapless summer dress, flat silver sandals, and armfuls of bracelets.

Millie's heart sank at the prospect of erasing all that radiance. She felt like a doctor having to tell someone their leg needed to come off.

Even if, in the end, you knew they’d be better off without it.

‘Okay, off we go.’ Orla was sitting on the floor with her elbows on the coffee table. She had a notebook open, her pen at the ready, and the ever-present packet of Marlboros within grabbing distance. She was wearing her favorite Ghost perfume, a pretty, shimmery bronze lipstick, and her hair fastened up in a giant tortoiseshell barrette. She was also looking
happy
, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

‘I’ll start with Hester,’ said Millie. ‘She had the most awful thing happen to her yesterday.’

‘This is perfect,’ Orla declared, scribbling down the mud-wrap story.

‘Although I don’t know if she’ll want you using it.’ Millie felt it only fair to warn her. ‘It's pretty embarrassing.’

‘People love being written about.’ Orla's smile was reassuring. ‘I’ll show it to her when it's finished. I bet you she won’t mind.’

‘It gets worse. When she got home last night, she rang Nat. But he wasn’t there.’ Millie ran through the details of Hester's phone call. ‘So it looks as if he's got himself involved with this Anastasia, whoever she is.’

Orla flipped over the page of her notebook and carried on furiously scribbling.

‘So Hester suspects he's playing around, but she doesn’t know for sure?’

Millie nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

‘Right, now here's where I need your advice,’ she told Orla. ‘If you had a friend and you found out their other half was seeing someone else, would you tell her? Or would you keep it to yourself?’

Orla looked up, entranced.

‘You mean if you had absolute proof? Are you saying you
do
have proof?’

‘Um, yes.’

‘Oh well, no question about it. You have to tell her.’

‘She’ll be upset. She might not want to know.’

‘Come on! If she's a good friend, it's your duty to tell her.’ Orla's eyes lit up as she reached for her cigarettes. ‘You can’t possibly keep something like that to yourself.’

Millie's heart began to pound. ‘Yes, but are you saying that because you think it would be a good story line for the book or because you really mean it?’

‘Oh please,’ Orla declared indignantly. ‘I’m not that mean! Hester deserves to know. You
have
to tell her. It's for her own good!’

‘Okay.’ Millie looked away, feeling sicker than ever.

‘But what intrigues me is how you found out.’ Avidly, Orla leaned closer. ‘Did Nat actually tell you himself?’

Deep breath.

‘This isn’t about Hester and Nat.’