Just Between Us (34 page)

But the real problem was Rose. When she hadn’t appeared by half two, Stella had run upstairs to see what was wrong.

‘Mum,’ she’d called, tapping softly on her parents’ bedroom door. ‘Can I come in? Are you OK?’

‘I’ve an awful migraine,’ Rose had replied. ‘I’m just going to lie here with the curtains closed for a few minutes more.’

‘Oh you poor love,’ commiserated Stella. ‘Can I get you anything?’ As she spoke, she turned the handle of the door and was amazed to find it was locked. This discovery made her momentarily speechless.

‘No, I’m fine, Stella.’

‘Are you sure, Mum?’ Her mother was not one for locked doors. In Kinvarra, everyone wandered in and out of rooms and none of the girls had ever locked the door of the bathroom the three of them had shared: they just yelled ‘I’m in here!’ when footsteps approached.

‘Yes,’ Rose said lightly. ‘I’ll be down presently.’

Stella went downstairs and smiled with utter brilliance at all the guests as if her beaming face would make people forget the fact that the hostess hadn’t appeared.

‘Where’s Mum?’ It was Tara, clutching a glass of juice and shading her eyes with her hand to see if Finn was on the horizon.

‘Locked in her room with a headache,’ said Stella shortly.

The sisters exchanged anxious glances.

‘We’d better tell Dad,’ said Tara.

‘No.’ Stella didn’t know why but she didn’t want their father to know. ‘Let’s not ruin things for him, we’ll tell Holly. Mum probably just needs a rest. The stress of organising this must have told on her.’

Upstairs in the bedroom she shared with Hugh, Rose lay on the bed surrounded by the detritus of Hugh’s home filing cupboards. His diaries for the past ten years—Hugh had a thing about keeping diaries—were also strewn on the bed. She had spent at least an hour going through them all and had realised that Hugh’s legal brain had come up with some sort of code for his activities. Being Hugh, however, it wasn’t much of a code and Rose had soon cracked it. On the day Rose had spotted him emerging nervously from a restaurant with his red-haired little friend, he’d supposedly been at a ‘Moriarty case review’. There were quite a few Moriarty case reviews listed over the years, which either meant that Miller & Lowe derived massive income from this unsettled case, one she’d actually never heard of. Or, that Moriarty didn’t exist, which seemed far more likely. His mobile phone bills—itemised—had also helped. Some of the numbers were unfamiliar to her, so she phoned them. One turned out to be his assistant’s voice mail. Another got the answering machine at Alastair Devon’s house. Rose hung up rapidly, feeling stupid. She should have recognised that number. Maybe she was being foolish. But when she examined a third number, it was the same one as identified on her phone’s caller ID earlier.

She hadn’t seen Hugh since he’d given her the bracelet.

When he’d come home from his drink in the golf club with Alastair, and tried to get into the bedroom, he’d swallowed the story about her migraine hook, line and sinker.

‘Fine, dear, I’m ready anyhow. I’ll do a last-minute check on everything,’ he’d said from outside the door, sounding far too pleased with himself.

If he knew
anything
about her, Rose thought with rising fury, he’d know that she’d never had a migraine in her life.

She took her new dress from the wardrobe and looked at it objectively.

Lacey, doyenne of Kinvarra’s designer boutique, had only produced two outfits on the day Rose had visited to look for her party dress.

‘That floaty muck would look terrible on you,’ said Lacey dismissively, gesturing at an entire rail of ethereal floaty, mother-of-the-bride rig-outs. ‘I’ve got two things that would suit you.’

That was what made Lacey such a good saleswoman, Rose thought. There was no faffing around trying on tonnes of unsuitable clothes so that by the twentieth outfit, the customer would be in utter despair and buy the thing that looked least horrible on her. Lacey cut out the faffing about and the despair. From her shop-full of stock, she had picked out two dresses for Rose and they both looked perfect on her. Rose went for the amber raw silk shift dress with a matching short jacket. It was timeless. French chic mixed with Hollywood glamour.

‘Fantastic,’ was all Lacey said when Rose stood in the shop, looking elegant and almost regal. The soft amber colour suited her skin tones; as she aged she could no longer take the bright colours she’d worn in her youth.

Now, Rose dressed and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. Apart from her pallor, she looked every inch the successful wife of the town’s top lawyer. The betrayed wife. Rose couldn’t face looking at herself any more and went back into the bedroom.

She knew she shouldn’t have gone ahead with this day,

knew it was asking for trouble. Some 200 guests were arriving to celebrate the fortieth wedding anniversary of Hugh and Rose Miller when both Rose and Hugh knew that their marriage wasn’t of the fairy-tale variety.

Then the realisation reached her with such a jolt that it was almost physical, like being hit in the solar plexus. Rose had to sit down on the bed, winded. It wasn’t just her and Hugh who knew. God knew how many other people knew. The women he’d slept with over the years certainly knew. She’d thought there were three but there might have been more. And surely some of his friends knew too? He’d always been so close to Alastair Devon. There was no way Alastair didn’t know. They’d been best friends for thirty years, he and Angela had been close to Rose and Hugh all that time, and even though the two women had built up an enduring friendship, the real bond was between the men. What would Alastair have done for Hugh: given him an alibi; told him he was stupid to risk it all? Encouraged him to leave Rose?

The anger was slow to burn. For years, Rose had carried this secret with her. She’d told no-one. Not her mother, dear Anna who’d died thinking that her beloved Rose was the happiest woman in Christendom. Nor her daughters, whom she didn’t want to hurt with the information. She never wanted to diminish their father in their eyes. That would be true bitterness and would only be for her own pleasure. So she’d misled well-meaning friends who’d thought they’d seen something and had kept her silence, hoping that in so doing, she would hold the Miller family together. But at what price?

Even Hugh was experiencing a moment’s worry. The marquee was getting fuller with every moment and people were keen to see Rose. There was only so many times Hugh could blithely say, ‘Oh Rose, she’s just checking something with the caterers, she’ll be here any minute.’

Stella, Tara and Holly had jaw strain from smiling as if
nothing was wrong. Only Aunt Adele seemed oblivious to any tension and had set up camp near a few like-minded old friends and was reminiscing about the old days; how young people had terrible haircuts now and wasn’t it an awful pity that gloves had gone out of style. There was nobody the same age as Amelia, but she’d made friends with a chubby-faced toddler and was playing at being a grown-up and leading him round gravely, helping him over steps and stopping him eating the roses.

‘Naughty boy, they’ll make you sick,’ she could be heard saying sternly every time one of his fat little hands headed for a clump of petals. ‘I’ll get you some orange juice instead.’

‘Mum says she’s ready and will be down in five minutes,’ Tara reported after her most recent trip upstairs. ‘But she still won’t let me in.’

‘I’m worried about her,’ said Stella. ‘This is so unlike her.’

The jazz band Hugh had specially wanted struck up a tune. They were booked to play until half six. People’s feet tapped on the wooden marquee floor.

Holly emerged from the kitchen. ‘The caterers say can we make a decision on the hot food now. They’re ready to go and if they cool it and reheat, the stroganoff will toughen up and taste like old boots.’

The sisters stared at each other. Stella went back upstairs but stopped when she heard her parents’ door open.

‘She’s coming,’ hissed Stella, rapidly retracing her steps.

At that moment, Finn walked up to where they were standing, perfectly sober and beautifully dressed in a grey linen suit and open-necked shirt the same sky blue as his eyes. He kissed Tara on the mouth deliberately so that she’d know he hadn’t been drinking.

‘See,’ he whispered, ‘I haven’t touched a drop. Happy now?’

‘Hello, Finn,’ said Rose, wafting down the stairs gracefully, looking far too bright-eyed and elegant to have been confined to her room for the past two hours with a migraine. Her cheeks were healthily flushed, she’d glossed her lips with
a rosy pink and not one dark hair was out of place. She kissed each of her daughters on the cheek, then headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll just check the food and I’ll be right out.’ She whirled round to smile wickedly at the four of them. ‘I promise, this time.’

The sisters began to relax. Stella took a glass of wine and found Nick.

‘Crisis over,’ she murmured. ‘Mum’s headache is better.’

‘She certainly looks great,’ said Nick, watching Rose emerge from the house and make for the marquee. He adored Rose and thought she was funny, wise and strong. She’d welcomed him into the family with great kindness.

‘Yes, she does look great,’ Stella replied. ‘I’m just afraid she’s tired herself out with this party. Mum’s so vital that it’s easy to forget that she’s not as young as she used to be.’

‘She’s certainly enjoying herself now,’ Nick pointed out, as Rose was surrounded by well-wishers.

If anyone had been watching carefully, they’d have noticed that Rose deliberately stayed away from her husband as she circulated. It was done subtly. Rose could see Hugh’s silver head towering over most of the guests, so she moved away from him, greeting, hugging, kissing and thanking people, but always aware of where her husband was and somehow, managing to be somewhere else.

Everyone was thrilled to be there. It was a happy day, they all told Rose, ‘proof that true love really does last forever and makes a strong marriage’ said one neighbour with a fondness for romantic novels and two unaccustomed glasses of champagne down her. When Alastair Devon and his wife Angela appeared in front of her, Alastair beaming at Rose happily, Rose felt her fixed smile harden.

She kissed Angela and stared up at Alastair with a stony gaze.

Alastair blinked nervously. Rose looked angry with him for some reason. He racked his brains for what he’d done wrong, but it was too late, Rose was talking to Angela, ignoring him.

If anybody thought it was odd that the happy couple weren’t standing together, nobody mentioned it. When the food was finally being served and the buffet queue wound untidily around the tables, Rose nipped back to the house. The dining room table was laden down with gift-wrapped packages. Rose had specifically asked people not to bring gifts, but they hadn’t listened. They wanted to do something nice for the Millers to celebrate this special day.

‘Whatever was wrong with you?’

Rose turned to face her sister-in-law.

‘Hugh was worried,’ continued Adele, running a finger over the dining room table to check for dust. ‘Really, Rose, it’s not the done thing to let your guests arrive without being there to greet them—’

‘Adele,’ interrupted Rose, ‘
please
don’t fight with me today.’

‘I’m not fighting,’ harrumphed Adele. ‘I’m only saying…’

‘Don’t say anything, for my sake.’

‘It’s for your sake I’m doing it,’ Adele protested.

‘No, it’s not.’ Rose did her best to keep her voice even but it was hard to disguise the tremor. ‘You’re doing it for Hugh because you want everything to be perfect for Hugh, don’t you? I wanted everything to be perfect for him too but it wasn’t perfect enough, evidently. He needed someone else.’

She saw Adele’s eyes widen.

‘Lots of someone elses,’ Rose added.

Adele’s hand was at her breast now, as she clutched the lapel of her suit in horror. For the first time in years, words didn’t flow automatically. She held onto the back of a dining room chair for support. ‘How can you say such terrible things?’ she cried.

‘Because it’s true.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ Adele said fervently. ‘Not Hugh; he idolises you, always has.’ For once, the jealousy wasn’t there. Adele was simply stating a truth. Hugh loved Rose. He would never cheat on her. Yet Rose looked so…so sure.

‘I’m going to see Hugh now,’ announced Adele. ‘This is all some silly misunderstanding, some woman who’s got a crush on him. They were the same with my poor father, women could never resist him. My mother ignored them, stupid women. I’m sure Hugh’s done his best to deal with this but you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Don’t say anything, Adele,’ Rose said softly. ‘Let’s wait till later, we’ve guests here.’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Reminded of her social duties, Adele stopped in her tracks but she still looked shaken.

‘Why don’t you sit down here, Adele, and I’ll get you a glass of port.’ Adele rarely drank but was fond of port.

‘Thanks, Rose.’

With Adele breathing deeply on a dining room chair, Rose hurried to the drinks cupboard in the other room, feeling guilty for what she was doing. She couldn’t go through with this. It would hurt too many people: the girls, Adele. It wasn’t fair on them. Hugh had never been any different. She was just hurt because she thought all those other women were in the past, that he had finally got over it and was content with her. She poured a glass of port for Adele and considered pouring one for herself, but no, she needed to be stone cold sober. Alcohol would only make her more emotional.

Holly had taken a walk round the garden to have a final cigarette before lunch. She was just on her way back to the marquee when she was stopped by the guy who’d driven Mrs Murdoch to the party. He was smiling broadly at her, in a remember-me sort of way. Holly smiled back and racked her brains for his identity.

‘Hi, Holly, you’re looking a million dollars, and I don’t mean all green and crinkly,’ he said with a lascivious wink.

The voice did it. Holly’s mouth fell into an oval.
This
was Richie Murdoch? Where was the devil-may-care charm, the sparkling eyes and the buckets of sex appeal? Had she imagined
all that? Because her mental image of Richie bore no resemblance to this guy with his smug, avaricious face and a tight haircut which revealed a bull neck.