Escape for Christmas (11 page)

“
I don’t think she’ll be a problem
,” Aoife had said. Who had she been referring to? Gemma wondered. Was it her? Would Gemma not be a problem because she would never notice that Cal was seeing someone else?

Wait! Seeing someone else… Seeing someone…

Hands shaking, Gemma unlocked the iPhone and seconds later she was scrolling through Cal’s camera roll, searching for pictures from his last trip to London to watch the Dangers, as Dukes Rangers were fondly known, play. Surely there would be some pictures of the game? Or later on, of Cal and his teammates in the bar or at the Chiltern Firehouse drinking magnums of Bolly and doing whatever it was that loaded footballers did for fun? The trouble was that there were no pictures like this at all. In fact Cal only had a handful of images on the camera, and most of these were of loaves of bread. One was of Gemma.

Second to a loaf of bread. It was nice to know where she stood in the general scheme of things.

“Glacé-cherry eyes! Tra-da!” called Daisy excitedly, pointing to a cheese-and-pineapple hedgehog with demonic red eyes. It looked like the evil love child of Sonic and Hellboy. Daphne was going to adore it.

“It’s brilliant,” said Gemma, although she was now on Google and frantically searching for dates of the last few Dangers
home games. Cal had been in London last week and two weeks before that; she remembered clearly because she’d been doing a book signing in Bath on one day and finishing a massive order for the wedding cake of the latest It girl on the other. The dates were easy to check, but since the Dukes Rangers website stated that the last three matches had been away games, it was pretty clear that wherever Cal had been in London it hadn’t been at the football game as he’d claimed.

He’d lied to her, Gemma realised. Suddenly she knew exactly how the cheese-and-pineapple hedgehog must feel, because little darts of misery were piercing her heart as the thought went through her mind. Cal had lied to her. Whatever it was he’d been in London for, it hadn’t had anything to do with football.

There was only one other explanation, wasn’t there? Cal had been in London visiting his beautiful ex. He and Aoife were both lying about it, and you didn’t need to be a genius to figure out why.

Chapter 10

It was just as well that Gemma had trained as an actress, otherwise there would have been no way that she could have carried on decorating the birthday cake and behaving as though everything was perfectly normal. Everything was clearly about as far from normal as it was possible to be – Cal was meeting up with his stunning ex, clearing his browser history and generally being secretive – but RADA would have been proud, because this was Gemma’s finest performance yet. As she carried the cake, which was now bristling with candles, across the courtyard and into the Great Hall, nobody could have told from Gemma’s sunny smile that she was crumbling inside. This was Oscar-worthy stuff.

It was all circumstantial evidence, Gemma tried to tell herself firmly. So Cal had chatted to Aoife and visited her in London? It didn’t mean that he was having an affair with her, did it? There was probably a perfectly innocent explanation, although what that might be she had no idea. Besides, if it were so innocent then surely Cal would have mentioned it, not skulked around deleting emails and conveniently forgetting to add Aoife to his contacts book? He’d been behaving very oddly lately too: he was distracted and always wanting to work rather than spend time with her. Then, of course, there was the no-sex elephant in the room, trumpeting loudly and eating buns. It hardly needed the intellect of Sherlock Holmes to solve this mystery.

Cal must be having a fling with Aoife. It was the only logical explanation.

Wrestling with her misery, Gemma crossed the Great Hall, where pink lemonade was being poured and the TV crew was busy measuring the light and setting up the cameras. Cables and leads snaked across the floor and threatened to lasso Gemma’s ankles. She clutched the cake tray tightly and prayed that she could get through the next couple of hours. It was only a birthday party, so just how hard could it be? There’d be plenty of time to speak to Cal afterwards, once they were alone and the cameras weren’t rolling. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation? She certainly hoped so.

The library was one of Gemma’s favourite rooms in Kenniston. The walls were lined from ceiling to floor with wonderful books, including priceless first editions – all of which were totally wasted on Angel, who despite her education and intelligence only ever read
Reveal
and
Closer
these days. The morning sun streamed through the huge windows; today the protective drapes were drawn back so that the portraits of past Elliotts, all with Laurence’s grey eyes and sharp cheekbones, were beautifully illuminated and the wood panelling glowed like honey in the soft light. Gemma wasn’t a huge fan of the portraits. As she set the cake out on the table at the far end of the room she thought that they all watched her rather haughtily, except for the last painting – of Angel, all blonde mane and creamy bosom – which beamed triumphantly out of its frame. Another person who’d let her down, Gemma reflected bleakly. They were starting to make a rather alarming list.

“Great cake! Ma Elliott will be thrilled!” Angel said admiringly, dancing into the library and looking amazing in a turquoise cocktail dress and sky-high Louboutins. The Elliotts seemed to be making money even if Cal wasn’t, Gemma thought resentfully. Something was going wrong somewhere. Maybe he was spending all his money on Aoife? Perhaps she was set up in a stunning love nest in Chelsea or something? At the thought of this, Gemma’s mouth went metallic with the urge to be sick.
She
wanted to be cosied up in a love nest with Cal.

“Are you OK?” Angel was asking, concern written all over her beautifully made-up face. “You’ve gone ever such a funny colour.”

There was a whooshing sound in Gemma’s ears and the room started to sway. She clutched at the table to steady herself as a wave of giddiness broke over her. See, this was what you got for missing breakfast. She’d always known it was a bad idea; no wonder all those thin actresses were always flaking out.

Angel put an arm around Gemma’s shoulders and led her gently towards a window seat.

“You’re working too hard,” she said, settling Gemma onto a faded red velvet cushion. Then she grinned. “And I bet you didn’t get much sleep last night either! See! I told you going into Pulse
would liven things up in the bedroom!”

“Craig, Laurence and the
Bread and Butlers
crew weren’t quite what I had in mind,” Gemma replied. She took a couple of deep breaths. The room was steadying now, the waves of nausea receding. “Angel, how could you send them over like that? I was so embarrassed. You’re meant to be my friend.”

Angel looked down at the floor. She couldn’t meet Gemma’s eye – a sure indication that she knew she was in the wrong.

“I’m sorry, babes. I’m not proud of it but when you called we were in the middle of filming and Dwayne said that if Craig was going to lend his tools then it was going to be filmed.”

Dwayne was the new producer of the show. He wore tight black clothes, gelled his dyed blond hair into lethal spikes and wore Gok Wan style glasses that Gemma strongly suspected contained plain glass. He really was that much of a poser and, being more ambitious than Macbeth, was determined to up and up the ratings until all the opposition was obliterated. Anton Yuri had poached him from another reality show, and shock tactics like today’s eclectic mix of guests were his hallmark. Gemma hadn’t been impressed so far. In her opinion Dwayne was lowering the tone of
Bread and Butlers
, and this was another reason why she was desperate for Cal to quit. Last night’s antics had only confirmed her worst suspicions. This was supposed to be a reality version of
Downton Abbey
, not
The
Girls of the Playboy Mansion
!

“You could have told Dwayne that this was a private matter,” Gemma said coldly. “We’re friends, Angel, and you exploited that for ratings. It’s not on.”

“I’m sorry, Gem, I really am.” Angel’s blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but Gemma was unmoved. Her best friend was so good at turning on the tap that she should work for the water board. “I know it wasn’t fair but Dwayne insisted: no filming, no hacksaw. Our contracts have also got us by the short and curlies. All access to our lives, remember?”

“Not to
my
life,” Gemma reminded her. She glanced over her shoulder and out across the park. The Lion Lodge, her break for freedom, was a small grey smudge on the far side of the lake – but it wasn’t far enough.

“No, and I’m really sorry. I promise that if he ever tries to pull a stunt like that again I’ll pick up the phone myself and tell Anton exactly what I think. Dwayne’s an absolute bugger. He’s been egging Daphne on for days, not that she needs encouraging. Did you know that Loz found her in the wine cellar yesterday with a load of her cronies from the local pub? They were drinking their way through the priceless wine that his great grandfather had laid down. Laurence was wild.”

This was actually very amusing. Lady Daphne and her drinking buddies, a motley crew of retired folk from the neighbouring village, were hardly up there with Oliver Reed and Richard Burton when it came to hellraising. Gemma tried to smile but her mouth refused. How could she ever smile again if Cal was in love with somebody else?

Angel took Gemma’s hand in hers. It had been tended to since yesterday’s nail disaster at Penmerryn, Gemma noticed. Angel had an elegant French manicure this time, perfect for a viscountess about to host her mother-in-law’s birthday party. “But it’s not just about last night, is it Gem? You haven’t been yourself for weeks. What’s up?”

“I think Cal’s having an affair.”

The words fell like stones from Gemma’s lips. She hadn’t know she was going to say them, hadn’t expected to say them, but now that they’d been uttered her fear was out in the world and real. It was no longer just a creeping sensation of dread but a solid and terrible possibility.

Angel stared at her for a second and then started to laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Cal adores you! He’d never have an affair.”

“Of course he would: he’s a man,” said Gemma bleakly. “Don’t look at me like that, Angel. I’m not going mad. Call it female intuition if you like; I just know that something’s wrong.”

Angel pushed her hair behind her ears. “OK, I’m sorry if I didn’t seem sympathetic, but Cal? I can’t imagine it. What on earth makes you think so?”

Gemma took a deep, quavering breath. “I never see him; the not-very-much-sex thing; he’d cleared his browser history on the laptop; there’s never any money so maybe he’s giving it to a mistress; he’s lied about going to football matches in London when the Dangers are playing away; he’s talking to Aoife on the phone–”

“Oh babes, not Aoife again!” Angel raised her eyes to the ornate plaster ceiling. “She’s about as exciting as watching the grass grow. Please, get over that one. There is zero chemistry between her and Cal, I promise.”

“So why is she calling him then?”

“Like, duh? Because they’re friends?” Angel shook her blonde head. “Gems, I really think you’re jumping to all the wrong conclusions here. There are loads of other explanations for all this. Maybe he was looking at porn on the Internet? Guys do, you know.”

Gemma did know, but Cal was more likely to be found playing Candy Crush than surfing dodgy sites. Besides, sex seemed the furthest thing from his mind lately – more evidence, perhaps, that he was getting it elsewhere?

“What about the money then? The show is doing well and everyone else seems to be making shedloads.” She pointed at Angel’s shoes and raised an eyebrow.

“These old things?” Angel asked. “Vanya gave them to me in Rock. Anyway, you should know by now that all the money Laurence and I earn goes straight on fixing up Kenniston.”

“So if there is money coming in, why are we so skint?”

“Huge tax bill? Cal’s debts? His demanding Irish rellies? Setting up a business?” Angel ticked all of these off on her immaculate fingers. “There’s nothing sinister going on there, babes. Besides, Andi’s his accountant. Don’t you think she’d say something if there was money being siphoned off for a love nest with Saint Aoife?”

Andi, Angel’s sister, was as straight as a Roman road and made Carol Vorderman look rubbish at maths. If there were a discrepancy with Cal’s finances then she’d have noticed straight away.

“Maybe she’s bound under some kind of professional code not to say anything?”

“She’s an accountant, not a priest!” Angel grinned. Then she gave Gemma a hug. “Come on, this is all in your head, I promise. These are just weird coincidences that you’re reading far too much into. It’s been a long year and we’re all knackered. Just give it until the New Year, then everything will seem better.”

“So Cal keeps telling me,” Gemma said wearily. “Are you both in on some big secret I don’t know about?”

“Ha! Ha! Of course not!” Angel protested rather too swiftly for Gemma’s liking. “You’ll be saying he’s shagging
me
next! Seriously, Gemma, you’ve not got anything to worry about. Oh look! The guests are arriving. It’s party time. We’d better get you a drink and then pop you out of shot somewhere.”

And Angel was off across the library, a blur of blonde hair and red-soled shoes, leaving Gemma behind in her haste to join the party. Feeling as though she’d just been in a wind tunnel, Gemma pulled her ponytail tighter and smoothed the creases out of her skirt. Davey Davis, the aging seventies’ rock star, had just arrived – and judging by the shrieking from Angel as he pinched her bum, he was in a lively mood. Lady Daphne was also in the room now, doing circuits on her Segway and cutting the corners dangerously close to the table and Gemma’s cake. The film crew was trailing behind, and unless Gemma made a move she’d be in shot, which was not what she needed.

The party was about to get started, but before Gemma could relax there were seventy candles to light, sausage rolls to fetch and the Hellboy-meets-Sonic cheese-and-pineapple hedgehogs to place on the table as the pièce de résistance. Her worries about Cal would just have to wait. Besides, Angel was right. It was all just a load of strange coincidences.