Page 115 of Who’s That Girl?

‘I can’t. Then he’ll know.’

‘Know what?’

Now the line on my mobile is beeping to indicate that another call is waiting. It’s Beatrice again. I grit my teeth and continue to ignore it. It won’t be anything important. It can wait.

‘I wasn’t snooping,’ she protests unprompted. ‘I was just doing the laundry and I found the receipt in his trouser pocket and … OK, I was snooping,’ she confesses. I can hear her puffing furiously on a cigarette on the other end of the line. ‘So no, I can’t tell him.’

‘Look, it’s not what you’re thinking.’ Or what I’m thinking. ‘Just you watch, there’ll be a simple explanation.’

The line stops beeping. I feel relieved. Now I can focus properly.

‘Like what?’ demands Vanessa. ‘I find a receipt for lingerie that’s not my size, but no lingerie. Believe me, I’ve looked high and low and it’s not in the house. So he must have bought it for someone else.’

‘Um … maybe he was with a colleague who suddenly remembered it was his wedding anniversary … and so they popped into an expensive lingerie boutique to buy his wife a gift, but then the colleague realised he’d left his wallet in the office and so Julian stepped in and paid, like the true gent he is.’

Brilliant, Charlotte, though I say it myself. I just managed to turn that round and now Julian looks like a hero instead of a cheating, lying bastard.

Which of course he isn’t, I tell myself sharply. Because the more I think about it, the more I refuse to believe that Julian would do such a thing. OK, so I know what it looks like when faced with the evidence, but this is Julian, and although I know things between them haven’t been that great for a while, he loves Vanessa and he’d never do that.

‘Hmm.’ Vanessa sounds vaguely convinced. ‘I suppose it could happen …’

‘Of course it could happen. I mean, there’s tons of rational explanations.’ I stop myself. OK, quit while you’re ahead, Charlotte.

‘You think so?’

‘Absolutely.’

The other line starts beeping again. It’s Beatrice. Again. She’s nothing if not persistent. Only this time I can’t ignore it.

‘Look, Vanessa, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to go,’ I say reluctantly. ‘My assistant’s calling and I have to get it – I’ll call you back.’

‘I’ll probably be divorced by then.’

‘Vanessa!’

‘It was a joke,’ she protests. ‘It’s fine.’

I know it’s not fine. It’s far from fine, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve got the office trying to get through with something that could be urgent, my friend’s marriage could be in serious trouble, I’m responsible for robbing an old man of his beloved shop, ignoring his grandson when I was a twentysomething, and according to an email received from Miles this morning, a seven-hundred-quid homebuyers’ survey from the mortgage lender. And I still haven’t called Mum back since we got cut off, I suddenly remember.

It’s one thing after another. I feel as if I’m frantically rushing around, like those people you see who try and keep all those plates spinning, dashing from one to another to make sure none of them stops spinning and falls crashing to the ground, smashing into a million little pieces.

And I can’t let that happen. Because if I do, who’s going to pick up the pieces?

Quickly saying goodbye to Vanessa, I switch lines. ‘Hi, Beatrice, what’s up?’

Chapter Thirty-four

By the time I pull up outside my flat I’m emotionally spent. After twenty minutes calming down Beatrice, who was hysterical because of a mix-up over the caterers for tomorrow’s launch, and sorting out the problem, I rang Julian’s secretary and left a message telling him to call me. I haven’t yet worked out what exactly I’m going to say when he does, but I can’t just sit back and do nothing.

Though, boy, right now that’s all I feel like doing.

Switching off both my phones, I turn off the engine and, closing my eyes, rest my forehead on the steering wheel. For a moment I just relish the quiet, the sound of my own breath, the rise and fall of my shoulders. I just need to take a moment to calm down. To relax, like the doctor said. What was it they used to tell us to do in yoga? Focus on the breath.

I focus.

Deep breath in … and now exhale … Deep breath in … and now exhale … Deep breath in …

I concentrate on inhaling through my nostrils, then exhaling through my mouth – I even put my thumb and finger on my nostrils, just like you’re supposed to. I feel my chest cavity expand and then slowly collapse. ‘As long as the breath can take you,’ is what my teacher always says, although usually at this point it’s at the end of the class and I’ve nodded off in Shavasana.