‘Your mum lives in Venice, didn’t you know?’
‘No, she doesn’t.’ Cathy’s chin was raised but there was a tremble in her voice.
‘No one knows where Cathy’s mum lives, not even Cathy’s dad,’ Julie chipped in but she didn’t sound too sure.
‘I do; I’ve known for months,’ Natalie pressed on. ‘I overheard my dad talking to your dad. Your mum was born in Venice and that’s where she went to live after she left you.’
‘Dad doesn’t know what happened to her after they split up. Mum went off travelling; they never kept in touch. No one knows where she is, no one.’ Cathy sniffed, tears gathering in her eyes.
‘Your dad’s been lying to you. He didn’t want you to know where she was. He didn’t want you to find out. He doesn’t want you to meet your mum cos he wants you all to himself.’
Cathy’s face crumpled. She let out a big sob. Tall Polly put her arm round her and Shy Kelly stroked her hair.
Natalie thought she’d feel triumphant but she just felt slightly sick.
‘Cathy, I didn’t mean…’
But there was no taking the words back. She’d lost Cathy’s friendship for good.
17
‘Well, where to now?’ Cate repeated the question. She tightened the ribbon on the bag containing Phil’s new tie.
‘We could get something to eat, I suppose,’ Natalie said.
‘I’m not hungry, are you?’
‘Not really.’
‘Then why suggest lunch?’ Cate realised she was sounding a little impatient, but Natalie was supposed to be in charge, wasn’t she? Cate was a guest onLuxe Life Swap– albeit an unexpected one.
‘I thought you might want something.’ Natalie shrugged.
‘I do. A drink. According to my app, we’re right near Harry’s Bar.’
‘We’ll be filming there another day but I guess there’s nothing to stop us going there now.’
‘Come on then. This way.’ Cate strode on. Nat was dithering; someone had to take charge. And Cate needed one of Harry’s famous bellinis. Right now.
They didn’t have to walk far; her app hadn’t lied. She pushed open the frosted-glass door, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair.
‘Looks like a couple of free seats over there,’ Natalie said.
Cate headed for the end of a row of round tables. Plain walls, simple, curved, wooden chairs with tan leather seats: there was nothing intimidating about the famous bar where Charlie Chaplin, Ernest Hemingway and Truman Capote had all hung out. But she would never have had the nerve to poke her nose round the door the last time she was here. These days, she comfortably mingled in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot and ate at the smartest of restaurants. But sometimes, she still glanced down, half-expecting to see a hole in her tights, a pair of scuffed, down-at-heel shoes.
‘And for you,signora?’
The waiter and Natalie were looking at her expectantly.
‘The same for me, please,’ Cate said quickly. She assumed Natalie had ordered one of the bar’s iconic white peach bellinis. But who knew? Perhaps Nat had developed a taste for neat whisky. She had no idea what her old friend liked or didn’t like any more.
The man removed the list of drinks. No glass to fiddle with, no menu to flick through, no sunglasses to hide behind. Cate felt uncomfortably warm, the atmosphere heavy with words unsaid. Natalie regarded her with a half-smile. Cate had to break this weird standoff.
‘Nat, can you believe we’re really having cocktails together in Harry’s Bar?’
Natalie stiffened. Maybe no one called her Nat any more.
Cate waited for the waiter to set down their drinks. Bellinis, thank goodness.
