a living out of something that used to be a hobby.’
‘If only I could do that,’ moaned Jos, who, despite still being in her maid’s uniform, had flopped down in a comfy armchair and joined the rest of us. ‘I’ve dreamed all my life that someone would pay me to lie in bed until noon and then shop all afternoon!’
I think the topic might have been dropped then if not for Julian. He lifted his gaze off his shoes and asked Adam, quite earnestly, ‘And what kind of outdoor structures do you build now, Adam?’
All of them swivelled their heads to look at him, as if he’d broken some unspoken rule.
Julian flushed, but held his ground. ‘Mother’s been talking about replacing the old summerhouse.’ He took a big swig of his sherry, then cemented his gaze back on his brogues.
Adam, however, wasn’t gazing anywhere but straight back into the eyes of those judging him, not perturbed in the least about the lack of enthusiasm for his chosen profession.
‘Actually,’ he said, shooting a meaningful glance at me, ‘it would be more accurate to say that my company specialises in custom-built wooden structures—lodges, garden buildings. Our most popular range is luxury treehouses.’
‘Treehouses?’ Louisa’s immaculately plucked eyebrows almost disappeared under her hairline. ‘How quaint! For children, I presume…?’
All eyes now turned to Adam.
‘Some,’ he replied, with the trademark twinkle in his eye. ‘But you wouldn’t believe how many grown-ups harbour fantasies about having a treehouse all of their own, somewhere to escape when life gets too hectic.’
There was a general murmur of agreement and nodding of heads.
‘But surely you don’t mean luxury luxury?’ Louisa said.
Honestly, I didn’t know what her problem was. Couldn’t she just let it drop and admit she’d been a wee bit patronising about Adam’s ‘hobby’?
Like you’ve been, a needly little voice in the back of my head whispered. You don’t really take much interest any more, do you? Too full of your own business, your own enterprises.
I silenced the voice with a swig of vintage port.
Adam’s twinkling eyes turned steely. ‘That’s what luxury usually means, doesn’t it?’
Louisa gave a fake little laugh. ‘But a treehouse is always going to be a bit…basic, isn’t it?’
‘Hang on a second…’ Izzi said, forgetting to stay in character for the first time that evening. ‘Do you mean the kind of thing Michael Dove has just had built? There was a feature on his new mansion in one of the Sunday magazines the other week.’
Jos leaned forward. ‘Michael Dove? The rock star?’ she asked in a breathy, hallowed kind of voice.
Adam nodded. ‘That was one of mine. And it was great fun to build—two rooms, complete with bathroom, kitchenette, home cinema system and audio gear that will wake the neighbours three miles away. He said he wanted a guest house with a difference.’
‘Up a tree?’ Louisa said, still not quite getting it.
Adam helped her out. ‘Up several trees, actually. We set it between three large pine trees at the bottom of his lawn.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Marcus rumbled. ‘How much would a pad like that set you back?’
Izzi, with the extensive knowledge gleaned from the magazine article, mentioned a price that rivalled the cost of my one-bedroomed broom cupboard in Lewisham.
I took a sip of my port to steady myself, and ended up inhaling rather than swallowing. The choking fit that followed was in no way ladylike. Adam gently led me outside into the hall, so I could hack my guts up without an audience, and motioned for Robert to fetch me a glass of water quick-smart.
When I could finally breathe again, I straightened and looked at the man I’d thought I knew everything about. ‘Why didn’t you tell me business was going so well?’ I croaked.
Adam gave me a look that was half-sad, half-affectionate. ‘Coreen, I’m always telling you about my work.’
‘But you’ve never boiled it down to a hard figure like that before. If you’d done that I would have paid a bit more attention!’
He pursed his lips slightly. ‘You’ve never asked… Anyway, if you actually listened, instead of nodding and pretending you were, you’d have worked it out for yourself.’
My insides slumped like a fallen soufflé. With great effort I looked my Best Bud in the eye. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should have listened. I should have known you’d take something ordinary like a garden shed and do something wonderful with it. And I should have paid attention—I’m supposed to be your friend.’
Robert chose that moment to return with my glass of water, and I took it from him, all the while looking at Adam, who was regarding me with a very un-Adam like expression.
Finally he bent down a little and kissed me softly on the forehead. ‘It’s time you ripped those polka-dot blinkers off. You’d be surprised what you’d see.’
And then he walked back into the drawing room, leaving me clutching the cold glass against my stomach.
I was right about there being a lake at the Chatterton-Joneses’ estate. It lay beyond the formal gardens in artfully landscaped parkland. To the unobservant eye the small body of water might have seemed like a natural feature, but the diminutive island in the centre was almost painfully picturesque, and the weeping willows on the undulating banks were grouped together a little too harmoniously.
The blissful summer’s afternoon only intensified the sense of perfection. The breeze was just right: cool enough to take the edge off the bright sun, but only just strong enough to whisper through the reeds and willows. Dragonflies flitted happily around us, tiny iridescent flashes above the water’s surface.
I didn’t care if all that beauty was man-made and planned. Primped and preened a little. Mother Nature is a woman too, and us girls know we need to emphasise our best assets. I didn’t care if it was too perfect, either. Perfect was what I was here for, after all, and after the disastrous morning I’d had perfect was what I was determined to have.
After breakfast Izzi had frogmarched us through the woods on what was supposed to have been a restful country walk. There had been no mist—the clean sunshine had cut through the summer morning too well. There had been no bluebells—too late in the year, I discovered. No convenient rabbit hole. No being scooped into Nicholas’s arms as if I weighed nothing more than a feather.
Instead Limpet Louisa had monopolised him the whole time.
I had to give her credit, though. She was good.
If I could have been objective, I might have applauded her strategy—one scheming woman saluting another. But I wasn’t in the mood for being objective about that. Not in the slightest.
Izzi, meanwhile, had complained about all the ‘out of character’
