The Perfect Girlfriend(83)
‘Juliette! That’s private!’
He strides over and removes the file from me, stuffing the contents back inside, and turns his attention back to the coffee machine.
‘Is Bella pregnant?’
‘No. Nor would it be any of your business if she was.’
‘Why have you brought the wedding forward, then?’ I look him in the eye.
He reddens.
I sit down on a breakfast bar stool. It is hard and uncomfortable. Miles sits opposite, sliding my coffee slowly over the granite work surface.
‘We, I, thought it best that we married sooner, rather than later. Seeing you the other night, realizing that you knew her, it gave me a shock. I’ve behaved badly and I don’t want to lose her.’
‘What about me?’
‘We agreed. We agreed right at the very beginning that we would never threaten our relationships.’
‘Yes, but I don’t understand why we should be over just because you say we are?’
‘You know Bella.’
‘Knew her.’
‘She’s told me that, at school, she wasn’t always very nice, but that you frightened her.’
I laugh. ‘Me? Frighten her? Do you know the best part of my schooldays?’ Miles shakes his head as I continue. ‘The bearable part was that, once a week, I got to leave the school for an hour or two. I signed up to do the Duke of Edinburgh Award. It was the one group she never joined. For two hours a week, I was free, whilst trudging around muddy fields in all weathers.’
‘Well, I’m sure she wasn’t as bad as you’re making out. All sorts went on at my school.’
‘If you say so.’ I put down my coffee cup. This is not working out how I expected. I stand up. ‘May I use the toilet, please?’
He points to the corridor. ‘On the right.’
I pick up my bag and head out. I open and close the toilet door, then unzip my ankle boots and clutch them in one hand as I dash upstairs. All the doors are open and the second room I peek into is clearly the master bedroom. I lie down on their bed and quickly take out my phone from my pocket. I take a selfie. Sitting up, I scan the room. Bella’s bedside table is cluttered: books, nail polishes, cotton wool and three different types of expensive face creams. I take one of her lipsticks, leave Miles’ aftershave among her perfumes and one of his ties draped over a chair. I snap several more photos of the room and another selfie sitting in front of her dressing table. I want to capture images of her world.
I dart back downstairs, pull my boots back on and walk into the kitchen, just as Miles is heading out, as though he was about to come looking for me. We almost collide. I stretch up to kiss him.
He steps back. ‘We can’t do this any more. It’s really over, I’m afraid, Juliette. You’re a wonderful woman and your fiancé is a very lucky man indeed, but I can’t take the risk any longer, sad as it is. In fact, it’s fortunate that we didn’t end up with a professional working relationship too, as it turned out. It will make keeping away from each other a lot simpler.’
‘My fiancé and I split up.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see. I’m sorry to hear that.’
I stand in front of him, arms at my sides, and say nothing. Realization that I’m not going to be disposed of that easily seems to register in his expression. He looks afraid of me, and it reaffirms my strong sense of the upper hand. I’m going to use my power to my full advantage. I’m just not quite sure how, yet. I walk past him and stand at a window, looking into the garden. It is the type that estate agents would describe as a mature, well-established garden with ashes and beeches lining the far boundary and neat, well-planned flower beds. In a few years, I bet Bella imagines filling it with swings, a slide and a climbing frame.
‘You have a lovely home,’ I say.
‘Thank you.’
Although there is silence, I can almost hear his thoughts: he is willing me to leave, to not mess things up for him.
‘I’ll leave you in peace,’ I say, not looking at him.
‘Thank you,’ he says, making no attempt to conceal the relief in his voice.
‘But,’ I turn round, ‘if I ever get in touch with you, for whatever reason, please don’t ignore me.’
‘I don’t see why we can’t simply be adult about all of this and agree to a civilized farewell with fond memories—’
I interrupt his speech because, thanks to Nate, I know the script. Next he’ll be wittering on about me being reasonable.
‘Goodbye, Miles. For now,’ I add, just to keep him on his toes.
I turn round, pick up my bag and stride towards the front door.
I’m too agitated to do anything useful, so I park near the sea front and stride along the promenade.
The feelings I have buried since last night – the anger, the rage, the humiliation – burn. Not only has Nate decided, yet again, to treat me as he pleases, but now Miles has turned against me.
The wind bites and the waves roar. The blackness of the sea beckons and I fight the urge to run in and submerge myself beneath the surface, to drown out the pain. But I hate the thought of my body being dumped on the beach with all the other crap. It would be too exposing.
Instead, I walk faster, silently willing some angry person to try to mug or attack me so that I can fight back and vent the volcanic spew swirling inside.