Skeletons (7 page)

There was, Jen thought, only one thing she could do short of hurling unproven accusations or inviting her father-in-law and Cass Richards on to
Jeremy Kyle
to explain themselves. If Charles was doing something so out of character as
seeing another woman, then she was sure she would be able to read it on his face if she got him alone. He would no doubt have spent the night worrying about whether or not she’d guessed, whether he’d given himself away. She needed to see him before he had had time to compose
himself.

She dialled his mobile before she could talk herself out of it.

‘Morning, sweetheart.’ His voice sang out to her with his customary greeting.

She had always loved how both Charles and Amelia had, over the years, started to address her in the same way they did their two daughters. He sounded so like his normal self that she wondered, for a moment, whether she had imagined the whole
thing. Maybe Charles treated all his clients like that, holding their hands, massaging their fingers, squabbling with them? It was an unusual way of conducting business, but it wasn’t impossible.

She had to talk over the sounds coming from the back of the hotel kitchen. The crash of plates and the inane chatter of the two teenage pot washers. Personal calls
were strictly forbidden on reception and
so the staff usually chose to hover in the blind alley behind the ground floor, jostling for position with the air-con units and the bins.

‘Hi. I was just wondering if you were in town today. I was going to lure you out with the promise of a coffee and a bit of carrot cake.’

‘Lovely. As it happens, I am. What time’s your break?’

She tried not to think too hard about why he would be in the area for a second day in a row. Perhaps it was a prestigious new property. He still liked to swoop in and pick off the best ones for himself, when he could. It was the sport of it that
he enjoyed. Much more so than the money it brought in.

‘I’m on an early, so lunch is eleven till twelve. Any good?’

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Valentino’s?’

It must be a good sign that he’s so willing to meet up, Jen thought as she ended the call. Surely if he was feeling guilty, rattled by yesterday’s near miss, he would have made an excuse. Claimed a prior engagement, or pretended that
he was at home in Twickenham with a good book. She allowed herself to relax just a little. Told herself everything was going to be fine. Wished she found herself more believable.

Charles was already sitting in their favourite corner when she arrived. Coffee pot and two cups in front of him. Tan gleaming. Whitened teeth sparkling. He stood up when he saw her, as he always did. She had always found his old-fashioned
manners charming. The last of the real
gentlemen. Even Jason, who had largely modelled himself on his father, had given up on that one years ago. Probably because Jen had laughed at him whenever he did it.

‘We’re not in the Deep South now,’ she had said the first time. ‘It’s not 1860.’

Charles smiled a wide, confident smile. Jen mirrored it. He looked, she noticed, like he didn’t have a care in the world, like the last time he had seen her he’d been handing paper money to a beggar, rather than holding hands with a
woman who wasn’t his wife.

She scanned his face for hidden meanings. Obviously, he wasn’t about to say, ‘So you know that woman you saw me with …’ but Jen had thought there would be something there. A nervousness, a warning, an apology. In fact, he
just looked the same.

They leaned into a hug. Charles pulled out a chair for Jen to sit. So far, so routine.

‘Coffee?’ he asked rhetorically, the jug already hovering.

‘Lovely.’

He looked exactly the same as he always did. She didn’t know what she had been expecting. A black cape and a moustache to twirl, maybe?

Charles was peering into her cup. ‘Dirty,’ he said, picking it up and rubbing at a minuscule spot of something or other.

‘It’s fine –’

‘No, it’s the principle.’ He waved his arm to attract a waiter. ‘My beautiful companion’s cup is a little dirty …’ he said.

‘I’m his daughter-in-law,’ Jen interrupted, she didn’t
know why, it just came out. She realized that she didn’t want the waiter to think she was anything other than a member
of Charles’s family. Not his latest conquest, she thought, and felt immediately queasy.

The waiter hurried off apologetically, probably to spit on to the stain and return the same cup back to her.

Jen briefly tried to imagine how she would feel, a woman of forty-three, if this seventy-three-year-old man was her lover. It was impossible to see him as anything other than a father figure. What was this Cass Richards thinking? Maybe she had a
thing for the marriage of fake tan, tooth whitener and white hair. Or maybe, more likely, she had a thing for wealthy men who had enough of a modicum of fame that they could get a table at the top restaurants at short notice.

‘Sorry again, Mr Masterson,’ the waiter said as he placed a fresh cup in front of Jen. She noticed that he didn’t even acknowledge her. She was used to it. Once someone had remembered where they recognized Charles from, they
often found it impossible to focus on anyone other than him. It didn’t matter that their treatment of whoever he was with became borderline rude – they couldn’t seem to help themselves. It was incredible the effect a famous face – however far down the alphabetical list (and
Charles was probably a D at best) – could have. Jen couldn’t imagine what this Marco (as his name badge proclaimed) would have done if someone from
TOWIE
had walked in. Imploded, probably. Literally died of excitement.

‘Not your fault at all,’ Charles said, doing a fine impression of a priest granting absolution. Probably imagining
to himself how the waiter would go home and tell his girlfriend that Charles
Masterson was absolutely charming in real life, just like you’d imagine he would be.

Stop it, Jen told herself. She never criticized Charles, even to herself in the privacy of her own head. She mustn’t allow her possibly unfounded assumptions to make her start now. Not until she knew what was going on.

‘So,’ she said, once the waiter had left, now practically bowing and scraping, ‘how’s your week been so far?’ It was an anodyne enough question. There was no hint of an accusation in it.

‘Exhausting,’ he said with a big smile on his face. ‘I can’t remember how long it’s been since I did two days’ work in the same week.’

Jen laughed, as she knew she was supposed to. ‘What, is there a rush on high-end property at the moment or something?’

‘Couple of prime places I want to handle myself. You know I love the big ones. We’ve got this one house in Mayfair. Used to be an embassy. Hasn’t been on the market for fifty-odd years, but they’ve just got permission to
turn it back into a home. It’ll go for thirty-five million easily. More, probably, if we market it in China and Russia …’

Charles had a habit of raising his voice whenever they were out in public. He became more animated, punctuating whatever he was saying with big hand gestures and laughing a little too loudly and too long. Particularly at something he had said
himself. Jen had noticed it many times, had always told herself she was imagining it, that he
probably found it harder to hear in crowded places and so overcompensated or something. But he was doing it now. There was no doubt he was playing to the
audience of the other customers. Hoping they would turn round and notice him. Anticipating the little frisson of excitement when someone realized whose presence they were in.

She adjusted her own voice down a notch in the hope that he would follow. She wasn’t in the mood to indulge his little ego trip.

‘The world’s gone mad.’ She had always been fascinated by the people who bought the properties Charles dealt in. It was like a parallel universe. One in which someone’s family home could cost several hundred times more
than Jen could ever hope to earn in her lifetime.

‘It’ll probably end up being a second home that they’ll use twice a year,’ Charles guffawed.

Jen swallowed, now was her chance.

‘So … that woman you were talking to yesterday. What was her name? Cath?’

Did she imagine it? Did Charles’s mask slip just a tiny bit?

‘Oh, her. Cass, I think her name is. What about her?’

Cass Richards, Jen thought. You know her name as well as I do. A knot started to form in her stomach. She couldn’t imagine Charles forgetting the name of a potential buyer who had come to him with millions of pounds she wanted to spend on a
flat.

‘She’s not in line for the thirty-five-million-pound house?’

Charles raised his eyes wide. ‘What? Goodness, no. She’s just looking for an apartment. Much more modest.’

‘Well, you say that, but I imagine Masterson Property doesn’t really do modest. Not in the real sense.’

‘No … true.’ He stirred his spoon round in his coffee, even though he was way too conscious of his calorie intake to ever add sugar. Charles still went to the gym regularly. Something that Jen had always admired, grateful
that he was so mindful of his health. More likely his concern was how he looked in his boxers, it occurred to her now.

‘What does she do for a living?’

‘Who … Cass Whatever-Her-Name-Is? I have no idea.’

‘Don’t you have to check out potential buyers, make sure they’re not time-wasters, that they can really afford the asking price?’

Jen knew this was the case. Charles had explained to her before that Masterson Property prided itself on only presenting credible buyers to sellers.

‘Of course. But yesterday was the first time she came in. She will have filled out all the credit-check forms, and someone will be processing them as we speak.’

‘Maybe she has a rich husband.’ Jen hated herself for sounding as if she assumed a woman would need to have attached herself to a wealthy man in order to afford a high-end property. But she couldn’t worry about her feminist
credentials now. She just wanted to press Charles’s buttons and see how he reacted.

He seemed to have completely regained his composure. ‘Probably. I have no idea. I leave all that side of things to someone else, these days.’

She knew she couldn’t push it any more. It wasn’t as if
he was suddenly going to confess whatever it was he was up to. There was no doubt in her mind that his pretence of ignorance when she
had mentioned Cass had not been genuine. He had recovered quickly, though. Covered up the traces.

She had just one more reaction she wanted to gauge. ‘Anyway, enough about work. How’s Amelia?’ She looked him directly in the eye as she said it, challenged him to look away.

‘Making the Christmas pudding,’ he said, chuckling indulgently. His smile seemed to reach his eyes. It still made him happy to think about his wife. That, or he could add Oscar-worthy actor to his CV. Now she was seriously confused.
‘I swear she starts earlier every year.’

‘No,’ Jen said fondly, ‘pudding in the second week of October, cake the third. It’s always the same.’

‘Well, she seemed to be enjoying herself, anyway.’

There was only one explanation she could think of. Charles was a practised liar. This wasn’t a new skill he’d had to learn over the past few weeks, or months – this was a way of life.

He looked at his nails nonchalantly. All fine here. Nothing suspicious.

What kind of a seventy-three-year-old man had his nails manicured regularly? Jen thought, noticing how perfect they were – how perfect they always were – buffed and shiny, all the same length. A ridiculous one, that was who. One who cared way too
much about the way he looked.

She kept the conversation on neutral ground for the rest of her break, fabricated a need to go to the chemist
so she could leave ten minutes early, and tried not to recoil when he moved to hug her
goodbye.

‘Feeling better?’

Jen struggled to think what Sean was referring to, remembered her fake migraine just in time.

‘Much. Thanks,’ she said, way too brightly.

‘Really? Because you look like you’re ready to deck someone.’

‘Are you checking out?’ She couldn’t be bothered to engage in their usual banter. Everything felt trivial and pointless compared with what had happened.

Sean looked a little shocked at her tone. He handed over his Visa debit card. ‘Yes. Please.’

Jen knew she was being curt, didn’t want to take it out on the guests. ‘Sorry … I’m just … something’s happened, that’s all.’

‘Oh … OK … Are you all right? I mean … is it serious?’

Jen felt bad that he looked concerned for her. A worried friend, rather than a polite acquaintance. She thought for a moment. She was alone on reception until Judy came back from her break. Sean was one of the only people she knew who had no idea
who her father-in-law was. She looked around, to check Graham the doorman wasn’t within earshot. Why not? Say it out loud, and see what happened.

‘Well, since you ask, I think I’ve just found out that my father-in-law is having an affair. With a woman less than half his age, not that that makes any difference. The point is that he’s cheating on my mother-in-law, and
it’ll break
her heart. Not to mention what it’ll do to their children – my husband and his sisters, that is. And he’s the least likely man you’d ever think … I just can’t believe it, that’s all.’
She looked at him, waited for a reaction.