Her father won’t be happy. He dedicated his life to the game of political influence and Clive is his protégé. Sir Alan always plays the long game and his plans are usually in place five years in advance. He’s going to hate me for messing this up.
“Don’t tell Clive.” I say again.
But Viv’s expression is distant, thoughtful. Then she focuses back on me and smiles. “Thank you for telling me. This makes my decision easier. As soon as the election mayhem is finished, I’ll release a statement saying that I find the political life exhausting, and that I don’t want to be married to an MP anymore. Don’t worry, I’ll make him look good.” She arranges her face in a camera-friendly expression and puts on a fake sad voice. “Clive is dedicated and hard-working; he deserves a wife who can support him, and that wife is not me. I have endless respect for him, yada, yada.” Her camera-expression drops and is replaced by a happy smile. “Then, I’ll leave him. The media will be too busy with the new cabinet, so they will not focus on us too much.”
I never expected Viv to be so helpful. “This is very generous of you.”
Her smile widens. “I can’t wait to be free. For my own life to begin. Don’t worry, we’ll do it right. As you say, no point in wasting years of hard work to ruin it all with a careless ending. So…” She glances down at my body. “When are you due?”
“Last week of May.”
“Good. We have time. My father will figure something out, a safe way to bring you back into the picture. With me cast as the wrong wife, people will see you as the real love of his life.”
Relief floods me. I’ve been too scared to allow myself to even hope. My sister, my parents, all thought the worst. They didn’t believe Vivienne Smith would step aside and let me have her husband. Even Brandon, though he doesn’t actually say it, clamps his lips firmly shut whenever the subjects comes up.
Now sitting in my room, hugging my knees to my chest after the Zoom call ended, I finally allow myself to relax. The stresses of the last few months, even my frustration with the island, fades away because I won’t be here much longer. I’ll miss some things about La Canette, especially the nice people we met. And of course, I’ll have to make it look good for Brandon too, invent a plausible reason for my departure, something that won’t leave him with a lot of questions to answer.
Chapter Twenty-three
Brandon
Something has changed for Lessa. I don’t know what, but there’s a new tension in her, as if she’s waiting for test results. January has been a tense month with the UK general elections coming up in a couple of weeks. She tries not to obsess, but I see her checking her phone all the time, reading the news coverage, the endless poll-taking, the endless debates.
I want to help in little ways. This morning, I’m making pancakes for breakfast. Not just yet; it’s barely 7am, and she’s still asleep. I push both pillows behind me and sit up in bed to read through Liam’s list. Ever since Lessa introduced me to the fine art of list making, I have become hooked on the practice. It helps me organise my thoughts.
One – Take over my cottage, make it beautiful...
Getting there quickly, and thanks to Lessa’s help, it’s been fun. She has a real eye for décor and had she not been a politician she’d make a fabulous designer. I’m going to let her go up to the casemates to choose curtains and upholstery. She’ll love that because, since meeting Laura, she hasn’t stopped talking about the island-inspired silks. I don’t really understand much about this; a life spent in hotels doesn’t train anyone in home improvement.
Ands that brings us to:
Two – Try a different job. I know you love your career but try something else for at least a year.
Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail.
And that goes for most of the other wishes.
Three – Do something to help someone in trouble. Give your time, a little part of your life.
Fail. Pretending to be married to Lessa doesn’t count because she’s helped me rather than me, her.
What else?
Changing my diet and eating habits.
Trying. And failing. Typical Lessa, she’s taken this as a challenge and has thrown herself into kitchen experiments. I made it clear thatno, no, no,I would not be turning vegetarian. When she mentioned vegan, I gave her such a look that she dropped the idea without a word. Every few days there is something new on the menu to test. The gluten free wasn’t a success, neither was the low carb diet or the macro biotic. But she’s still trying, let’s just say, it’s been an interesting month.
Five – Take a vow of celibacy for at least one whole year.
Ugh.
Six – Help someone do the impossible.
Does the celibacy count? Probably not, so that’s a fail.
Seven - Allow yourself to feel pain.
Surely, the celibacy counts.
