Part 6 (1/2)

'You too.' She smiled bravely.

'You're very sweet,' he said and hurried out of the door.

Standing on the Tube, surrounded by the raucous Sat.u.r.day-evening crowd so different from the weary commuters in the week, her cheeks still burnt at the memory of what happened next. Thea had Monday off work. Luke was off on Tuesday and Wednesday. She waited for a call, a text, an email, but nothing. When she finally saw him on Thursday morning in conference, he studiously avoided eye contact. When she later contrived to b.u.mp into him by the water cooler, he smiled in the nervous way you do when a wild-eyed stranger starts making conversation with you in the street.

'Hi,' she said.

'Oh, h.e.l.lo.'

'Was everything OK with Hannah?'

'Yeah, yeah, it was fine. Look. I've got a meeting with Chris now.' And he hurried off.

Thea felt as if she'd been slapped. It wasn't as if she and Luke had never been to bed before, so why was he treating her like a stalker? Back at her desk, her head buzzed and she found it impossible to concentrate on pulling together an interview with the Minister of Agriculture. On the other side of the room, she could see Luke sitting at his desk. He looked pale, drawn, stressed. Had Hannah found out? Thea sort of hoped she had and sort of hoped she hadn't. She watched him frown at his screen, sit back in his chair, then get up and head toward the gents.

She knew she shouldn't do it, but something seized her.

92.

Glancing round to make sure no one was looking, she tapped out of her email account and then tapped in [email protected] Years of working with him meant she knew his pa.s.sword Matilda and Thea was always reading his emails to check who he was fooling around with, although annoyingly Luke tended to double-delete everything as soon as he read it, so she rarely got much joy there.

She was in his email account. She searched for some angry missive from Hannah, but there was nothing. A load of guff from PRs wanting to meet him. Something from Gerry ent.i.tled, Let's have a beer Let's have a beer. And then one from PoppyPrice PoppyPrice. Nothing in the subject field.

Heart staccato, Thea opened it.

Darling Luke I'm emailing u becoz ur not returning my calls or texts and I'm desprat. I'm sorry u had such a shock about the baby but we need 2 talk. I'm going to keep it whatever and I understand if u don't want 2 b involved but we just need to talk some more. I love u, I love u so much and I thought u loved me 2. Please, please, please get in touch.

Again, I love u with all my heart Your, Poppy x.x.xxx00000 The Tube pulled in to West Hampstead. Stepping out through the doors, Thea recalled the murderous, white-hot rage that had enveloped her as she read it. And she remembered how she, Thea Mackharven, who prided herself on her cool and collected approach to life had clicked on the forward b.u.t.ton, then rapidly tapped Ha Ha into the address field. into the address field. flashed up. An icy calm descended on Thea as she clicked on send. 'Ding! Your email has been sent.' flashed up. An icy calm descended on Thea as she clicked on send. 'Ding! Your email has been sent.'

Rapidly, she logged out of Luke's account. Seconds later he returned to his desk.

Thea wasn't sure now what she'd intended by sending the email. She wondered about this, as she turned right out of the station. There were other, simpler ways of taking revenge, like organizing a secret online account to deliver monthly packets of v.i.a.g.r.a to his home address. That was what Thea did when she heard Luke had left Hannah and was living with the illiterate Poppy Price. But it was poor compensation for the havoc she'd wreaked.

When she discovered Luke was going to marry Poppy, Thea had gone to Chris Stevens and asked if she could spend a couple of months in the New York office, filling in for the producer David Bright, who had just announced his wife was pregnant with twins and wanted them all to come back to Britain for the birth.

'Really?' Chris had said incredulously. 'But you're doing great work here, Thea.'

'I need to be challenged,' she'd said.

Chris's eyebrows wiggled in an uncomfortably knowing way. 'Well, for you I'm sure we can arrange anything. Because one thing's sure, we don't want to lose you.'

Within a fortnight Thea had packed up her life and was on a plane to New York. The Brights decided not to return to the US and Thea acquitted herself so well that she was a shoe-in to take the job permanently. Beyond the odd word with Luke in a work context, she had not spoken to him again. To her pain, he had not spoken to her.

Now she was tapping up the tiled pathway that led to Dean Cutler's redbrick terraced house and within minutes she was going to see him again.

She took a purple Skittle out of the bag, crunched on it fast, took a deep breath and rang Dean's doorbell.

9.

A skinny man in jeans and a lumberjack s.h.i.+rt opened the door.

'Oh-ho,' he said, 'you must be Thea! We meet at last. Great to put a face to a voice.'

'Dean.' She smiled her most winning smile and held out her hand but he was already kissing her on both cheeks, in a way that would have given Chris Stevens a heart attack.

'It's great to meet you.' He examined the bottle she offered him. 'Hey, Cloudy Bay. My kind of woman. Come in, come in.'

Thea followed him into a living room which had a beech floor, grey Farrow & Ball walls decorated with huge black-and-white pictures of unattractive babies. Bebel Gilberto crooned from hidden speakers. A group that included that irritating twerp Marco Jensen and Roxanne Fox in one of her trademark dull little skirt suits, was standing by the window, another by the fireplace. No sign of Luke. A blonde woman in black leather jeans and a diaphanous grey top approached.

'Thea, meet my wife, Farrah. Farrah, remember I told you about Thea? She's one of our best producers and I've just lured her back from New York to be part of my crack team.'

'Oh yes, I remember.' Farrah smiled. 'Dean's so chuffed to have got you back.'

96.

'That's nice,' purred Thea, as the doorbell chimed.

'I'll get that,' Dean exclaimed and hurried out into the hall, leaving the two women together. Thea's heart sank. She hated wives. But one of the many things that made her brilliant at her job was knowing they were the people you absolutely had to get on side. So she smiled in her friendliest fas.h.i.+on.

'And what do you do, Farrah?'

'What an interesting question. I'm mainly a mother, of course, but now the kids are both at school I'm retraining as a colour therapist. It's just amazing. When you get a person's colour right you can totally change their lives.'

'Oh.' Thea nodded.

'You would not believe how many people's energy is being sapped by disastrous disastrous colour choices. Some people are cool and some are warm and they should never mix it up. But you'd be colour choices. Some people are cool and some are warm and they should never mix it up. But you'd be amazed amazed how often they do. It's shocking.' how often they do. It's shocking.'

'Oh yes, it must be.' Thea tutted, listening to male voices laughing in the hall. Luke's. She didn't care, she told herself. It was ancient history. She was long over him.

'I saw one client recently, who was head to toe in browns and oranges and I said, ”Sweetheart, I'm telling you this for your sake, you should be in spring-colours with that pale skin” and she said, ”But surely I should wear the opposite of my colouring.” I mean, I was speechless. Speech. Less.'

'I can imagine.'

'Now you, Freya, you would look stunning in orange. That green does not do a thing for your colouring.'

'Oh. Right.' Thea smiled, wondering if she should set Farrah straight about her name.

'I'd be very happy to give you a consultation, Freya. Mates' rates, of course. I'll make sure to give you one of my cards.' She looked Thea up and down. 'You're a Gemini, am I right?' Before Thea could reply, 'No, but you you are an idiot', she continued, 'Now are an idiot', she continued, 'Now there there is a lady who knows what colours are right for her.' is a lady who knows what colours are right for her.'