wait.” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not just the sound that’s got me crazy…it’s you.” He scowled down at his Converse trainers. “I miss you.”
“Dominic,” Nat said impatiently, “we’ve been through this! We don’t work together, we never have—”
“I dumped Victoria,” he interrupted. “That ought to count for something. It shouldn’t have happened, but after half a fifth of Chivas, the next thing I knew we were in the broom closet, shagging for England—”
“If this is meant to make me feel better, it’s not working,” Natalie snapped. She took a deep breath. “Listen, your ad for Dissolute is all anyone’s talking about. And your new single’s at number three.” She paused. “You need to focus on your career and forget about me.”
She almost told him about Rhys. Natalie couldn’t stop thinking about him, or the amazing kiss they’d so recently shared. Her thoughts drifted to Rhys Gordon at the oddest times…in a meeting, doing a Downward Dog in her Yoga class…
…or filling out a petty cash tracking spreadsheet.
“I’ll never forget you, Nat.” Dominic gave her a sulky glance. “But I’ll do the bloody commercial – if you promise to stay on and watch.”
“We had to beg Maison Laroche to be allowed to use you in our advert, so yes, I’m staying. And so are you. Now quit being a pain in the arse and make this commercial.”
With barricades erected at the entrance to the alley, the gear and equipment was moved outside. Sound technicians worked to minimise background noise as lights and camera tripods were adjusted. Dominic and the band picked up their instruments and rehearsed the new song. Everyone agreed the sound was much improved, and even Dominic was satisfied.
“He’s good,” Gemma shouted to Natalie as she watched Dominic slashing out guitar chords and singing into the microphone. “Too bad he’s such an arsehole.”
The music had attracted a crowd, small at first, but growing in size by the moment. Dominic and his band fed off the energy from the crowd, and their performance was electric. In the end the police arrived to disperse the crowds, and a handful of tabloid photographers showed up to snap photos.
“I’d say,” Natalie said as she and Gemma drove back to Knightsbridge late that afternoon, “it was a successful shoot.”
“The rough cut looked great,” Gemma agreed. “Dominic was amazing.” She shifted gears. “Shame he’s such a fuck-all.”
Natalie glanced at her. “He’s dumped Victoria, you know.”
Gemma gave her a withering glance. “And why, exactly, would I care?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just thought I’d mention it.”
“Well, I don’t give a toss. I’ve no interest in Dominic bloody Heath.”
Natalie said nothing more, but she saw a tiny glimmer of a smile on Gemma’s lips.
Dinner was finished and the dishes put away when Alastair came home that evening. Cherie folded the dishtowel atop the Aga and went into the foyer.
“Hello, darling, your dinner’s in the warmer. I’ll get it—”
“Don’t bother. I’ve eaten.” His words were clipped. “Where’s Hannah?”
“She went with Jo to a movie.”
“Good,” he said, as he laid his briefcase and keys on the hallway table. “Tell me – what did you do today?”
Something in his tone alerted Cherie that this was more than just an idle question. “Nothing much… Neil returned a shirt to Harrod’s. He asked me along. It was a bit spur of the moment, you know how these things are.”
“Does the man never work?”
“He’s a consultant for an engineering firm. He works from home two days a week.”
“I had lunch today at Thomas Cubitt.” He saw the quick, wary glance she cast his way. “I was with Rhys. I saw you come in with Neil.”
“Alastair—”
“Don’t bother to tell me it was nothing,” he warned her. “I’m not an idiot. Have the two of you slept together yet?”
“No!” she cried. Guilt at how close she’d come to doing just that – and, more tellingly, how much she’d wanted to do it – made her defensive. “Do you think we’d be brazen enough to go round the corner from Dashwood and James for lunch, where anyone might see us, if we were really having an affair?”
“I don’t know. Would you? Perhaps it’s like that Edgar Allen Poe story, where the letter’s hidden in plain view, yet no one sees it.” He looked at her. “I never saw it, until today.”
“Alastair,” she said, her voice trembling, “this is ridiculous! If I’m to be accused of sleeping with Neil, no matter that I haven’t, then perhaps I should sleep with him.”
“Perhaps you should.” He turned away and walked to the staircase.
Panic crossed her face. “Where are you going?”
He paused on the bottom step. “I’m going upstairs to change. Then I’m pouring myself a double scotch. After that, I’m moving my things into the guest bedroom.”
“Alastair, for God’s sake—”
“I’m not leaving, Cherie, if that’s what’s worrying you, or if that’s what you’re hoping. I’ve done nothing wrong. If anyone’s to leave, it’ll be you.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong?” she echoed, suddenly furious. “All you do is work, cancel dinners, miss important family events, and turn me down for sex time and again, because you’re always too bloody tired—”
“Because I’m too fucking busy trying to save the stores from bankruptcy!” he shouted. “Too busy trying to pay for this house, and the house in the country, and the school fees for Hannah’s education!”
There was a shocked silence.
“My God, Cherie, have you any idea of the stress I’ve been under? Every day I deal with endless demands from Rhys, losses and overheads and falling profits; my daughter barely speaks to me, and my wife jumps into bed with the first man who comes along, because I’m too busy killing myself working to keep her properly entertained!”
Neither of them heard Hannah come in the front door.
“Mum? Dad?” she said, her eyes wide with uncertainty, one hand on the doorknob. “What’s going on? Why are you shouting?”
Cherie cast Alastair a look of pure fury. “It’s nothing, darling, just an argument.” She forced a smile. “Go upstairs. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
