Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

She couldn’t help wondering, either, just how suspicious Eddie was going to be when she suddenly presented him with a hefty additional bill for stolen frocks.

I mean, how likely did it sound, Pru thought gloomily, thousands of pounds’ worth of designer labels being nicked from the back of a clapped-out Mini? She used to buy shoes that cost more than that car.

‘Well, at least you weren’t hurt,’ said Marion, draining her tea and standing up as the clock in the hall struck nine. ‘Time I was out of here. The cows’ll be wondering when they’re going to get fed. I’ll leave you in peace.’

* * *

When Pru had finished washing up the breakfast things she scrubbed the kitchen floor. While that was drying she vacuumed through downstairs. Next she cleaned the drawing room windows.

When the floor was dry in the kitchen she threw a great pile of muddy jeans into the washing machine. Then she sat down at the table to polish silver and listen to a radio phone-in on the subject of dishonesty.

‘When my husband’s been horrible to me,’ Teresa from Tunbridge Wells was confessing with a guilty giggle, ‘I wait until he’s asleep and pinch a fiver out of his wallet. The next day I spend it on chocolate.’

Pru idly considered phoning up the programme to say if anyone listening had her bin bags, could they please give them back?

She imagined herself on the radio, appealing to the thief’s better nature: ‘The thing is, I know they’re nice clothes, but please don’t think I’m rich. Because I’m not, any more. I’m horribly broke.’

At this point, the presenter would enquire gently: ‘Pru, if it’s not too personal a question, what brought this about?’

‘Well, Gary, let me put it this way. Two months ago I had a wonderful husband, a perfect home.

I employed a cleaning woman. Now I have no husband, no home, and I work as a cleaning woman.’

‘Pru, that’s terrible. But how did it happen?’

‘How did it happen? Gary, I’ll tell you how it happened. Some husbands do the routine thing, they have flings with their secretaries. But my husband had to be different, Gary. He didn’t even have the decency to have an affair with his secretary, oh no, he had to be different, didn’t he? He had to go and do it with our cleaner.’

‘Pru, are you all right?’

Pru leapt a foot out of her chair. Marion was standing in the doorway giving her an extremely odd look.

Horrified, Pru realised she was pressing a half-polished silver candlestick to her ear, holding it like a telephone.

Hastily she pretended to be testing its temperature against her sizzling cheek. ‘Oh hi! Amazing, don’t you think, how the harder you rub, the warmer it gets?’

‘Pru, you could have bumped your head in the crash.’ Marion sounded nervous. ‘Maybe you should see a doctor after all.’

Liza had never really felt guilty before. It was awful; she didn’t like it one bit. She wondered how long she would have to wait until it went away.

She was doing the stupidest things too, indulging in the kind of antics usually reserved for obsessed ex-lovers. Although the Songbird was miles out of her way, Liza found herself driving past it two or three times a week. Her stomach churning, she would count the number of cars in the restaurant’s tiny car park and try to figure out how many customers were inside.

Not many, by the look of things.

Once or twice she had phoned the restaurant, pretending to have dialled a wrong number, just to see if it sounded busy.

She even persuaded Dulcie to go along there one Friday evening, to report back on atmosphere and food. Dulcie dragged a protesting girlfriend with her — ‘God, Dulcie, can’t we go somewhere else? That place has had some terrible reviews’ — and enjoyed her meal but was hugely disappointed not to bump into Kit Berenger.

‘I thought he said he’d eaten there loads of times,’ she complained to Liza the next day. ‘I was really looking forward to meeting him again. Lying toad, I bet he never sets foot in the place.

What a swizz.’

‘But the food was fine?’ prompted Liza, bursting for details. ‘What did you have? Take me through each course.’

‘I can’t remember,’ Dulcie protested. She gave Liza a ‘you’re weird’ look. ‘We had three bottles of Côtes de something, told each other millions of dirty jokes and had to be poured into a taxi.

Isn’t that good enough?’

’You are hopeless.’

‘If you’re so desperate to check out the food, go there yourself.’ Dulcie was miffed. Honestly, do someone a favour and all you got was abuse.

‘Oh right, I’ll do that,’ said Liza with some sarcasm. ‘I’m sure they’ll welcome me with wide-open arms.’

Heavens, Liza could be thick. Dulcie rolled her eyes in despair. ‘Do what you did last time, stupid. Go in disguise.’

The mechanics at Joe’s Autos had a great laugh when they heard what Eddie Hammond wanted them to do to Pru’s car.

Joe explained to Eddie over the phone the meaning of the technical term write-off.

‘Basically, when a car like this has a headlight smashed, it’s a write-off. Repairing the headlight is going to cost more than the car’s worth, d’you see? And I’ve had a good look at the damage to the passenger door, the wing, the wheel arch, the bonnet ... it’s just not worth it, Mr Hammond.

You’re talking five hundred quid’s worth of repairs on a total rust heap.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Eddie with a sigh, ‘but do it anyway.’

The car was ready three days later. Eddie dialled the number Pru had left with him. A spaced-out-sounding hippy answered, mumbling, ‘Yeah man, like, I’ll get her, okay?’

About half an hour later, Pru picked up the phone. Eddie wondered who the hippy was; a son, maybe? God help her if that was her husband.

But it was hardly the kind of question you could ask over the phone. He switched into brisk mode instead.

‘Pru? Eddie Hammond. Your car’s here waiting for you, all fixed and ...’ No, no, he could hardly say as good as new. ‘.. . um, raring to go. So if you’d like to bring back the Jag we can do a swap.’

‘Right.’ Pru wondered why garages always did that. When you were desperate to get your car back, it took them a fortnight just to change a wheel nut. When, on the other hand, you were enjoying yourself thoroughly, zipping around Bath in a bright-red Jaguar, they managed to carry out six months’ worth of repairs in no time flat.

Full of spite, garage mechanics.

Pru bit her lip and took a deep breath. She was doing it again, daydreaming deliberately, in order to avoid doing what had to be done next. She had been putting it off for three days and now she mustn’t put it off any more.

‘Fine, great, I’ll come up now. Thanks very much. Only the thing is, there’s ... um ... something else I have to—’

‘See you in a minute,’ said Eddie, whose other phone had begun to ring. ‘You know where my office is. Just come straight up.’

Eddie wondered why Pru Kasteliz was looking so twitchy. She should be pleased, he thought, to be getting her car back.

Bloody hell, thought Eddie, who had just written out a cheque to Joe’s Garage for £536, if anyone around here should be twitching it’s me. He handed Pru the keys to the Mini. She promptly dropped them. He watched her kneel down, her long dark hair swinging forwards as she retrieved the keys from under his desk.

‘That’s settled then,’ he said generously, ‘all sorted out and no harm done.’

Pru felt sick. She knew she should have done it over the phone. Face to face was impossible.

‘What?’ said Eddie when she had opened and closed her mouth a couple of times and no sound had come out.

Three days ago, she had been awash with self-confidence. Pru wondered where it had got to now she really needed it.