‘He’s just in the shower freshening up. He’s gutted to have missed the Blenheim party.’
‘I assume you’ve read the papers today.’
Claire nodded and looked down. ‘It was unlucky.’
‘You could say that. They’ve fired me.’
Claire wrapped her friend in a hug. ‘Oh honey,’ she said, pulling away. ‘I’ll make tea.’
Amy followed her through the spotless house into the kitchen. It was like a spread from Vogue Living magazine: endless white marble with sparkling copper pans hanging from the central island. There was a neatly squared-off pile of letters on the counter, and a single coffee mug stood on the gleaming stainless-steel sink.
‘Max!’ shouted Claire. ‘Amy’s here!’
She rolled her eyes at Amy as she directed her to a sun-trap conservatory off the kitchen. ‘He announced he’s working from home today, but it’s no coincidence that Pog is in town. Apparently they’ve made plans for dinner and drinks. I assume they’re starting early.’
‘Not too early, I hope,’ said Amy, flipping through her phone to look at her schedule. ‘I’m supposed to be seeing him for lunch.’
She perched on the edge of a cream sofa as Claire fussed around arranging coasters for their tea, smiling inwardly and wondering as she always did whether this was what Claire had imagined when she had set her sights on Max Quinn, millionaire. Was it satisfying staying at home all day making sure the cleaners kept the taps polished, or popping out to get a blow-dry? Amy had never even considered this way of life; to her, forging her own career, earning her own money was the only possible route, but as she’d got older, marriage and children had made her wonder. What was so wrong with a life of leisure and luxury, especially if you got to spend time with your child and husband instead of stuck in meetings or fighting through traffic every day?
Though of course, if your husband was Max, she thought as he entered the room, maybe you’d be making excuses to stay longer at the office.
‘Darling!’ he cried, throwing his arms wide and scooping Amy into a bear hug. ‘My day – no, my week is complete! Fuck Call of Duty,’ he added, vaulting over the back of a sofa and landing fully prone, arms behind head. ‘This is more important. Tell me everything: how can we help?’
Amy blinked at him, then glanced across at Claire, who gave a shrug.
‘Well, I assume something’s gone pretty badly wrong if you’re coming out here in the middle of the day. In fact it must be totally fucked up if you’re turning to Maxie for help.’
Amy couldn’t help but smile at that.
‘What’s happened? David finally run off with that wotsit – Josie?’
She closed her eyes, in no mood for his flippancy.
‘Oh come on,’ said Max. ‘I may be stupid, but I’m not deaf. It was hard to miss you and David having a screaming match at the villa. Then you bugger off to London and Juliet’s herding the poppet in the bikini into the back of a cab. I’ve seen enough episodes of Falcon Crest to work out the rest.’
Amy snapped her eyes back open.
‘No, Max, David hasn’t run off with anyone. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. And yes, we’ve been having . . . a few problems, but this is something different.’
Max waited patiently. He clearly wasn’t going to take the hint.
‘If you must know, I’ve been fired. Well, as good as. Suspended pending investigation.’ Sighing, she related the events of the morning. To her irritation, Max started laughing.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said. ‘Just the idea of you as a drug addict is hilarious. A Notting Hill Lou Reed you are not.’
‘I’m glad it’s so amusing to you that my career is over.’
‘Bollocks it is,’ he said dismissively, fishing a phone from his pocket. ‘These tinpot media outfits only bully you because they know you’ll roll over and take it.’
He held up a hand to stifle Amy’s protests and put the phone to his ear.
‘Seriously, Amy, there’s no way anyone would try to pull this shit in banking.’
He began barking instructions into the phone. ‘Yeah, it?
?s me, put him on. I’m not paying you to dick me about. Here’s what we’ve got . . .’ The conversation then descended into legalese: phrases like ‘constructive dismissal’, ‘outrageous hearsay’ and ‘a load of libellous cockwash’. He finished with ‘Just get it sorted, I want these fuckers to pay.’
He clicked off, then looked at Amy.