Chapter 24 #2
‘We do,’ Bernadette added, and Marge noticed that she was slurring, just a little. Marge couldn’t tell if that was the alcohol or the shock of what she’d just told her.
Finlay wasn’t making any effort to leave them.
‘I’m so pleased. Which brings me to a slight conundrum.
Unfortunately, we have to get this room set up for another function this evening, but we still have a few guests here.
’ Marge saw that the medical students had now left, and Finlay was nodding to the one other occupied table in the room.
‘But I don’t want to offend anyone, so I was just wondering what you would like to do about the ladies at the table over there? ’
Marge and Bernadette both turned like synchronised swimmers, but without the bathing caps and the noseguards.
Marge took in the attendees at the table.
Diana Atkins, Murray Atkins’ ex-wife. Annabel Stevenson MSP.
Danielle Strang, model and the face of the new Scottish Tourism campaign.
And, weirdly, Lady Clara Kelaney, wife of Sir Lester Kelaney, was still sitting with them too, despite Sir Lester having apparently vacated the building.
Marge felt her pulse begin to race at the prospect of dealing with this situation, but evidently, Bernadette had no such qualms. Marge wasn’t sure if she was relieved or horrified when Bernadette stood up, glass in hand, and said, ‘Don’t worry, Finlay, I’ll deal with this.’
Relieved. Yes, she was definitely relieved.
Right up until Bernadette added, ‘Come on, Marge. Let’s get rid of all these bullshit secrets that have made fools of us for far too long.’
Marge wasn’t prone to indecisiveness or fear, but her legs felt slightly weak as she followed Bernadette across the room. And it wasn’t from the sherry.
As Bernadette approached the table, Marge saw her adopt a convivial smile. ‘Ladies, I’m afraid the hotel manager is about to close the function suite and he’s asked us to clear the area.’
‘Oh.’ That came from Annabel Stevenson, MSP, who was now glancing around her, as if realising for the first time that they were the last people in the room. ‘I’m so sorry. We’ll leave straight away. Thank you very much for your hospitality and my condolences. Kenneth was a—’
‘Please don’t say “wonderful man”,’ Bernadette countered, and Marge wondered if she might faint. In fact, yes. If ever she were going to faint, it should be now.
There was a perfectly understandable frozen silence, before a smile began to play on Annabel Stevenson’s lips. ‘Then I won’t,’ she said, in a way that felt like there was a whole chapter and verse going unspoken.
‘He was a terrible man,’ Bernadette said, perfectly calmly. ‘And I think you ladies around this table knew that. In fact, I think that was probably what you’ve been discussing for the last four hours.’
Oh jings. Marge sent a silent prayer to Kenneth to stop raging about his former wife and secretary’s antics and arrange for an immediate fire alarm in this room.
It didn’t come. And Bernadette was still speaking.
‘Annabel, if I remember correctly, you learned what a scoundrel he was sometime around 2006 – in Venice, if I remember correctly. And, Danielle, you became familiar with his complete lack of scruples around 2011.’
Marge had never seen such a rapt audience of so many chins drop at the same time. And the only reason her own hadn’t fallen was because her lips were pursed in absolute terror as to what Bernadette might blurt out next.
‘Diana, I’m not sure when you succumbed to his charms, but I do know that it caused a temporary rift between Kenneth and your former husband.
’ Bernadette glanced around. ‘Who, if I’m not mistaken, left here today with Kenneth’s former mistress.
Well, isn’t it a small, incestuous world when it comes to all those arrogant, duplicitous arses. ’
No response. Just frozen faces and not because there was a generous amount of Botox on display.
‘Lady Kelaney… Clara, since we’re all friends here… I wasn’t aware that you had a connection to my ex-husband, other than the fact that he was utterly sycophantic to Sir Lester and viewed him as the perfect ladder for social climbing.’
Marge gasped, now positive that the shock of this might kill her.
Lady Kelaney was the first one to come back with a response. ‘I can assure you, I had no intimate knowledge of Kenneth’s… habits. But I don’t disagree with your assessment. In fact, I find it quite wonderfully refreshing.’
The fact that it was said with a cut-glass accent made it all the more shocking. This was Charles, Diana and Camilla level antics.
‘Glad to hear it. I’d hate to think I missed one. So, ladies, where does that leave us all then?’
Annabel Stevenson, probably aware that this situation had the potential for a public scandal that could seriously damage her political career, was the next one to find her voice.
‘Without confirming or denying, given that you have approached us with these allegations, perhaps we should ask you that question – where do you think that leaves us?’
Bernadette turned to Marge. She was definitely going to faint. Was Bernadette about to expose what Marge had just told her?
‘Where do you think, Marge? Where does that leave us?’
Even if Marge had a megaphone, she wouldn’t have been able to make a sound.
Thankfully, it was apparently a hypothetical question, because Bernadette turned her attention back to the ladies.
‘As Marge and I were just discussing, I think where that leaves us is…’ There was a long pause before Bernadette found her words.
‘…Sick of all the bullshit secrets. And in need of somewhere to continue this conversation, because I’m enjoying it and I’m famished.
What do you say, ladies – fancy joining Marge and I for dinner downstairs and we can lay a few ghosts to rest?
That wasn’t a pun. Sorry. It just came out like that. It’s the wine.’
Annabel Stevenson was the first to stand up. ‘I think I’m a tad peckish too,’ she said, in a tone of wry amusement that Marge doubted had ever been used in Parliament.
Clara was next. ‘I’m feeling rather hungry too.’
‘Starving,’ Diana said, getting to her feet.
Danielle was last, unfurling her long model legs. ‘I’m in. I hope they’ve got chips. Today’s my cheat day.’
‘In more ways than one,’ Bernadette quipped, causing a stunned pause, before every woman at the table creased into laughter.
When they regained their composure, they all went downstairs, where they spent the rest of a very unexpected night sharing stories that didn’t flatter Kenneth Manson.
It was almost ten o’clock when Marge excused herself and went to the ladies’.
She was washing her hands in one of the beautiful marble sinks, when Clara Kelaney came in and stood beside her, reaching over for soap and turning on the tap as she spoke to Marge in the mirror.
‘It’s good to finally meet you, Marge. I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime, even though we’ve never been properly introduced.’
Marge felt her hands begin to shake under the water.
‘Likewise. I’ve had a lovely evening. Surreal, but lovely.
’ Marge wasn’t lying. It had been a night of shared stories and so much laughter that they’d attracted glances from other tables.
What must they have looked like? All dressed in black, yet not a mournful demeanour between them.
‘It’s been interesting talking about Kenneth. It did make me wonder if I’ll one day have the same conversations about my husband. I’m afraid Lester has many of the same predilections and weaknesses.’
Marge could feel sweat patches forming under her arms. This woman was so beautiful, so cool, so composed.
Over the years, as Sir Lester’s assistant and then Kenneth’s secretary, she’d dealt with politicians, and famous athletes, and millionaires and even a not-so-minor royal, and she had never felt more intimidated than she did now.
‘But then, I’m sure you know that. You used to work with my husband, many years ago. In fact, it must have been about thirty years ago? Am I right?’
‘Yes, you are.’ This was like a car crash unfolding in slow motion right in front of her and Marge couldn’t find the brake pedal.
Still, Clara Kelaney was cool and composed. ‘I saw you come in earlier with a young woman? Is that your daughter?’
Marge shook her head. ‘No. That’s my daughter’s friend. Estelle isn’t here today.’
Estelle. Her thirty-year-old daughter.
‘Estelle,’ Clara repeated softly.
‘Yes.’
There was a pause, before Clara said, ‘If it’s all right with you, I think I’d very much like to speak to you about Estelle. Do you have time to talk now?’