The Model Wife (29 page)

43

Tonight’s party was in a private room in Claridge’s.

‘What’s it for?’ asked Abdul, the cab driver.

‘I can’t remember,’ Poppy said.

‘But there’ll be free drinks?’ Meena asked anxiously.

‘Of course there will.’

‘You sure it’s right you going out tonight?’ Meena asked with unusual sensitivity. ‘I mean, doesn’t Luke need you at home what with all this malarkey?’

‘No, he’s fine,’ Poppy said staring out of the window. She couldn’t admit the conversation she’d just had to Meena, who would almost certainly say she never liked him and Poppy didn’t need to be reminded so brutally that her marriage had been a mistake before it even started. Instead, she focused on Toby. There’d not been a word from him all day and her optimism was fast fading. But perhaps he knew she’d be there tonight.

Entering the room, she looked round for him. Never mind. It was still early. Automatically, she reached out for a glass of champagne. Meena had rushed over to talk to Claudia Winkleman whom she’d bonded with at the last party after admiring her boots in the ladies. For a second, Poppy felt isolated, then to her relief, she saw Charlie heading towards her. She waved enthusiastically.

‘Hey!’ He kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I’m surprised you’re out tonight what with all this kerfuffle around your husband.’

‘The show must go on,’ she said just as she spotted Toby in the middle of a lively group. Suddenly it felt as though too much blood was pumping round her body. ‘Um, sorry, Charlie, I… need the loo.’

Charlie sighed, following her eyes. ‘Still running after that boy?’

‘No!’ Poppy flushed.

Charlie put his arm gently round her shoulder. ‘Listen, sweetpea, I know you think I’m a boring old fart, but please just listen to some advice from your uncle Charlie. Don’t pursue Toby. He’s bad news.’

‘I’m not pursuing him,’ she protested, though her nose was growing red. ‘I’m married.’

‘Not very happily, perhaps?’

The way Charlie looked at her made her want to burst into tears, to tell him what a disaster her marriage was. But Poppy wasn’t going to do that. She was tough now.

She tilted her chin. ‘I’m perfectly happy.’

‘Then why aren’t you at home with Luke?’ He said it very gently, not at all critically.

‘He’d gone out,’ Poppy snapped. Then a thought occurred to her. ‘This isn’t going to go in your paper, is it?’

Charlie sighed. ‘If I were a better journalist, then yes, it would. But I’ve been doing this job for too long and I’m growing soft.’

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned round to see a fat, blond man in glasses, with a sweaty forehead.

407

‘Poppy. Hi. Giles Ford,
Observer
. Just wondering what your feelings were on this “stupid cunt” debacle.’

‘No comment.’ Poppy smiled.

‘You know your husband’s lost his job?’

For a second, she froze. He hadn’t even been in touch to tell her. But then she smiled again.

‘No comment. Excuse me.’

Draining her glass, she moved rapidly across the room towards Toby, who was talking to a woman who bore a striking resemblance to a giraffe.

‘Hello,’ she said boldly.

‘Hi,’ he said, smiling. ‘How great to see you.’

‘Thanks for last night,’ she said loudly, to be sure the giraffe would hear. ‘It was amazing.’

‘Er.’ A look of alarm passed over Toby’s face. He put his hand on Poppy’s arm. ‘Sweetheart, I’ll be right with you, yeah?’

Suddenly, Charlie was at her side again. ‘Poppy, my dear, just come with me a second.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to show you something.’ He smiled at Toby. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Not at all,’ Toby said. There was no mistaking the eagerness in his voice. Charlie put his hand into the small of Poppy’s back and gently steered her through the crowd into an empty side room. She looked round.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I wanted us to talk in private.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Listen, honey. I don’t know what’s going on in your home life. But I do know it’s not the greatest move being here tonight. You and your husband are all over the papers for the wrong reason and you being out alone is giving out a pretty strong message.’

‘I don’t care,’ Poppy said unsteadily.

‘I think you might care tomorrow. You’re drunk, Poppy. In fact you always are when I see you. It worries me. Remember I’ve been there.’

Poppy was outraged. Charlie had been a sleazy alcoholic. Her situation was quite different.

‘I know what I’m doing. I’m just having fun.’

‘I know that’s what you think. But believe me, it’s all going to end in tears.’

His tone was so kind, so understanding, that before she could stop herself, Poppy had thrown her arms round him and was trying to kiss him. Charlie jumped backwards as if she was about to garrott him with a length of barbed wire.

‘No!’ he yelled.

‘What?’

Charlie held out his arms as if pacifying a raging bull. ‘Sorry, darling,’ he said in appeasing tones. ‘Not that you’re not beautiful and everything. But this
really
isn’t a good idea.’

‘Don’t you… don’t you like me?’

‘I think you’re great,’ Charlie said. ‘But, look. I’m old enough to be your father.’

‘So’s my husband,’ Poppy said dolefully.

‘I think that might be part of the problem.’

Poppy was mortified. She didn’t even find Charlie attractive; she didn’t know what had come over her. ‘I’m sorry.’

Charlie smiled and patted her on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, you’re drunk. But I really do think it’s time to go now. I can help you get a cab if you want.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Have you got some family you could go to? Perhaps a week at your parents?’

Poppy laughed. ‘I don’t have parents. Just a mum. And I don’t think I’ll get much help there. She’ll be pleased my life’s such a disaster.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

‘No, she will. She’s had a horrible time of it herself and she can’t help but be sort of pleased when bad things happen to other people.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘Oh, she got pregnant by some bloke she met in St Tropez when she was very young and then he just disappeared and she had to bring me up all by herself and… she didn’t make the best job of it. So she sort of hates all men.’

‘St Tropez?’

‘Yes.’ There was a strange look on Charlie’s face, but Poppy didn’t really care. ‘Look, thanks for being so nice. You’re right, I’ll go home.’

She stumbled out of the room, Charlie following.

‘Hey, Poppy,’ a man said. ‘What do you think of all this “stupid cunt” stuff then?’

‘It’s my husband who’s the stupid cunt,’ she snapped as the room tilted on its axis and everything went black.

Thea woke first. It took a moment to register what was going on, but then it hit her like a knock-out punch. Luke. Luke was lying in bed beside her. Again. Luke, the man she’d loved for so long who, for the first time ever, had come to her without being invited. Who’d undressed her and tried to have sex with her, sex which Thea – still sore from her night with Jake – had managed to avoid by giving him a fine blow job. After which, he fell asleep.

Thea looked at him, surprised at how emotionless she felt. But then she’d been here so often, she knew what to expect. Whatever passionate words he might have uttered in the heat of the moment, as sure as night followed day and guilt followed the purchase of a bumper pack of Skittles, Luke would wake up, squawk, pull on his clothes and run out of the door, home to the Bimbo.

As usual, Thea would have to act with total nonchalance, breezily waving him off as if there was nothing humiliating about these recurring one-night stands. The only difference between this time and the others was that it would probably be the last, given he’d lost his job and they wouldn’t be coming across each other at work any more. Though they still might bump into each other down at the Job Centre or working behind the tills at Maccy-Ds.

He was stirring. Hastily, she jumped out of bed and pulled her dressing gown round her. She didn’t want to be rejected naked. She wished there was time to dash into the bathroom and put some more make-up on but he was opening his eyes.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi,’ she said, as if he were cold-calling about double glazing.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine.’

There was an awkward pause. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine. Just about to make some tea. Would you like some?’

‘Love some. Milk, two sugars. And maybe I could use the bathroom?’

‘Of course.’ There was another pause.

‘Um, you don’t have a towel, do you?’

‘Absolutely!’ Thea opened a drawer and pulled one out. She handed it to him and he wrapped it round himself while still under the duvet, like a participant in some silly party game.

‘I’ll go and make the tea,’ she said hastily.

While he was in the bathroom, she dressed rapidly and – unable to get at her collection in the bathroom cabinet – put make-up on from the bag in her handbag. She was still applying mascara when he emerged.

‘Would you like something to eat?’

‘Maybe in a minute. I thought I’d have a bath. Wash away some of the cobwebs.’ He walked over to Thea who was standing by the window. ‘That was very nice just now. Very nice,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘It was,’ she whispered back. All right, so it wasn’t strictly the truth but Luke was saying it to her, which was more than he’d ever bothered before.

While he was in the bath, she looked in the fridge. As usual, nothing but a carton of eggs a month past their sell-by date and some bacon. Thank God, she hadn’t offered them to Jake, Thea thought, cracking four into a bowl and sniffing. They didn’t make her gag, so they should be OK. It was early evening now, not an ideal time to be whipping up breakfast, but that was the kind of thing that would bother her mother. By the time Luke emerged, looking like an advert for a deluxe hotel chain with his hair all wet and a white towel wrapped round him, his snack was on the table.

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yeah, it’s just…’ His lip curled so he looked like a sulky toddler. ‘I don’t really like scrambled eggs. I like them boiled.’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘That’s OK. You can have mine,’ he said generously. ‘Do you have any ketchup?’

‘Afraid not.’

‘Oh, shit. A bacon sandwich is no good without ketchup.’

Thea felt a faint prickle of annoyance. ‘I could go downstairs to the shop and get some,’ she tried.

‘No, no, don’t bother!’ He smiled up at her. ‘This is just what the doctor ordered. Poppy couldn’t cook something like this to save her life.’

Poppy. Whose name hadn’t been mentioned since he’d announced he’d left her. ‘Um, have you seen her?’

‘I have.’ A big sigh. ‘It’s over, Thea. Like I told you. It was all a stupid, terrible mistake.’

‘Right,’ she said, waiting for joy to engulf her. This was exactly what she’d always wanted. But nothing happened except a prickle of worry about how she’d treated Jake. Could they remain friends after this? She didn’t see how.

‘I’d better call the office,’ she said. ‘See what’s going on.’

4
¹
3

Luke looked at her. ‘You mean you’re going to carry on working for those bastards?’

She looked back at him aghast. ‘Well, yes. I mean, who else am I going to work for?’

‘I thought you were going to resign. Out of solidarity with me.’

‘I can’t resign. What would I do?’

‘I don’t know. What am
I
going to do? I suppose I’d better set up some meetings. Talk to my agent. I should be able to find some work presenting. I can get the book finished. I could work in your spare room if you shifted some of the boxes in there. What are they anyway? Haven’t you unpacked from New York yet?’

‘Um. Not completely, no.’ Thea’s mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘What about Maida Vale?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I’ll let Poppy live there for now, I suppose. We’ll have to sit down and talk about what we want to do.’

‘You can’t end it with Poppy just like that. You have to give it a try, surely?’

He shook his head. ‘Our marriage was a joke from day one. If it wasn’t for Clara…’ His voice petered away. ‘Well, I’ll have to arrange to see her.’ He held out his mug. ‘Could I have another cup of tea? Less milk in it this time, please.’

What a Stupid C∗∗∗

hannah creighton, ex-wife of the
Seven Thirty News
chief anchorman, Luke Norton, thought her heart would break when he left her three years ago for ex-model Poppy Price. But now in the light of his disastrous interview with Minnie Maltravers, in an article that will be a tonic to all jilted wives, she reflects how you must be careful what you wish for.

I wish I could say I’d been watching when my ex-husband made a prize fool of himself on national television last week. But instead I was tucked up under the 1000-thread-count linen sheets of a new boutique hotel in Udaipur, India, with my wonderful new boyfriend. We were woken by my phone bleeping. A text had arrived, followed by another, another and another.

Like any mother, my first thought was: could anything have happened to my three children, who, I assumed, were all safe in their marvellous boarding schools. To my eternal relief, the news was not about them but about how Luke, the man I shared my life with for
15
years, had committed career suicide.

What was going on in Luke’s head when he insulted Minnie Maltravers? That’s what everyone has been wanting to know and of course I can’t tell them. But having lived with the man for so long, I
can
tell you that a ferocious temper and a fondness for expletives have always been a feature of life with Luke Norton.

I also know, from experience, that Luke is a control freak, one who likes to have everything his way. Having already been messed about once by Minnie Maltravers (a fact we know thanks to the deliciously indiscreet second Mrs Norton) he would not have been able to cope with a second botched encounter, not least because after a long and illustrious career, everyone knew that Luke’s days in the anchorman’s chair were already numbered with his gorgeous young rival, Marco Jensen, taking up more and more air time. Luke must have been nervous, knowing this was his last chance to prove himself, not to mention furious that his biggest story in years concerned a model – someone the great foreign correspondent would definitely have considered beneath his contempt.