7 p.m. The Ginger Sponge.
And, remember, it’s a SURPRISE – anyone who spills the beans will be barred for life.
‘That looks great. She deserves it,’ Mitchell mused, almost to himself.
Skye nodded. ‘She does. She’s been through way too much and it’s time for some happy stuff.’
There was a tiny hint of a reprimand in Skye’s words, but he let it go, mainly because she was correct, but also because there was no point in opening up old wounds that time had already healed.
‘You’re right.’ Something tugged at his gut as he said it and he tried to pinpoint it. Unease? Doubt? Dread? All of the above, he decided. ‘Is Celeste up yet?’
‘Did I hear my name?’
Damn. She always went barefoot in the house so he could never hear her coming.
His wife sashayed into the room, her white silk dressing gown short enough to show off her toned, tanned legs, her ebony hair pulled up into a high ponytail. If any cosmetic aesthetician wanted a great advert for its business, Celeste would be a top pick.
Like him, she was in her mid-forties, but only according to her birth certificate. Her cheekbones were like carved alabaster, her feline eyes devoid of all but barely discernible crow’s feet and she visited the top clinic in the city once a month to tweak whatever element of her Botox, fillers, lasers, oxygen facials, lip plumping and neck tightening regime that needed work. It took a whole lot of money, time and effort to stay exactly the same, but Celeste maintained that it was worth it. Shallow as it was, when he was out with a wife who still turned heads, he tended to agree.
She applied the same dedication to her body maintenance. Not for her, the thumping round the streets in the morning, but thanks to daily yoga and Pilates sessions, and a pathological avoidance of carbohydrates, her body had barely changed since they’d got together. The only marked difference was the breast enhancement, her fortieth birthday present to herself. ‘It’s an investment in myself and in my business,’ she’d told him. He didn’t argue. But neither did he chide Isla when she heard the news and responded with mutterings of, ‘Didn’t realise huge knockers were essential to run an events company.’
While nothing much had changed on the outside in ten years, on the inside, however, it was a very different story. Back then, she’d adored him so much he’d risked everything for her. Now? Sometimes he felt like their marriage was more of a business transaction. And he was getting short changed. He just wanted to know why.
She pressed the buttons on the coffee machine to produce a steaming Americano, then filled a glass from the filtered water dispenser on the front of their brushed chrome, American fridge freezer.
‘I’m just going to take these back upstairs,’ she announced, clearly too busy to pass the time with them.
Mitchell cleared his throat before Celeste left the room. ‘Do you have anything on today? I thought maybe we could grab lunch? Skye is going over to her mum’s.’
There it was. The hesitation. Not exactly a rabbit in the headlights – Celeste was far too smart and could think on her feet faster than anyone he knew – but there was definitely a flicker that told him a lie was about to come out of her mouth.
Stretching up on her tiptoes, she kissed him on the cheek. Another diversionary tactic. He didn’t remember the last time they’d had an actual meaningful exchange.
‘I already have plans, darling.’ She managed to sound regretful. ‘Yoga at 10.30 and then I’m meeting a potential new client for lunch.’
‘On a Saturday?’
‘Only day he could make it. Packed schedule. It’s like the yuppie years all over again. Big demands and they want everything on their terms.’
Mitchell couldn’t help the thought. Pot. Lycra-clad kettle.
‘We could grab a coffee on the terrace when I get home though, if the sun’s still shining.’
There was no way that was happening, he knew. Celeste hadn’t allowed sun on her face since the nineties.
‘Yeah, sure. I’ve got some work to catch up with. Give me a shout when you get back.’
He could almost feel the relief oozing from her pores at the prospect of escape, when Skye chimed in. ‘Celeste, you haven’t forgotten that it’s my Mum’s surprise party tonight, have you?’
Another flinch. Another fake smile. If Skye noticed, she let it pass. She’d always been the more circumspect of the twins and Mitchell was grateful that she maintained a polite relationship with Celeste because it made life easier. Isla’s restraint would already have left the building and she’d be calling Celeste out on her bullshit by now.
If his wife’s eyebrows had been capable of movement, she’d have raised them. ‘Of course not, darling. Although I still think it’s a crazy idea. Your mother hates surprises. Anyway, I’m looking forward to it.’ Another lie.
If Celeste had a choice between a night celebrating Agnetha and a cold sore, she’d chose the herpes virus every time.
‘Actually, that’s given me a thought – I might go shopping and pick up something new to wear after lunch, so I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’ Celeste’s eyes didn’t reach his.
Wow. Had she just grasped on to another excuse to stay out of the house and tell him another lie?
Some people might say he deserved it. After all, the woman he was married to now had been his ex-wife’s best friend. His current suspicions that Celeste had new interests elsewhere would suggest that karma had come back to bite him on the arse.
‘I’ll be in my dressing room if anyone needs me,’ she said, in a tone of reluctance that made it obvious she didn’t want to be disturbed. Celeste’s dressing room-come-sitting room was the one area that was off limits to everyone else. She’d converted a full double bedroom and bathroom into an area that had more square footage than the master bedroom. In it, there were copious wardrobes, an en suite bathroom, make-up and hairdressing stations, and a large TV that could be viewed from both the freestanding clawfoot bath and the overstuffed sofa in the middle of the room. She’d designed every inch of it and in the beginning, it had been just another glamourous achievement to brag about on social media, rather than somewhere she sought refuge. Over the last few months, though, she’d spent more time in there than in any other room in the house, including their own bedroom. Actually, especially their own bedroom.
After she’d gone, a few silent moments passed before Mitchell dropped his cup into the sink and headed to the shower, decision made. He definitely wouldn’t be getting any work done today. Nor would there be any relaxation. If she wasn’t going to be straight with him, then he was going to have to find out the truth for himself, and if that required a bit of subterfuge, then so be it.
Today was the day that Mitchell McMaster was going to follow his wife and find out if she was having an affair.
3
Agnetha and Celeste – 1997
Agnetha stretched her naked body across the cool white sheets and let the breeze from the window glide over her. She’d barely taken a second breath when she felt Aaron’s hand brush along her thigh, a soft sleepy moan accompanying his touch.
‘Happy birthday, baby,’ he murmured, leaning over and giving her a slow, sultry kiss. His Californian accent was unfailingly sexy and she’d been intoxicated by it since she met him, three months ago, on the day they’d arrived in LA.
Agnetha groaned, with both pleasure and pain. The prospect of spending her twenty-third birthday with Aaron made her deliciously happy, but the hangover caused by last night’s celebrations had a steel band using the inside of her skull for practice. And she really needed to brush her teeth. ‘Am I dreaming the bit where I danced on the