Chapter 3
3
JUNE 2025 – DUBAI
Carina Lloyd
The air was thick with the scent of the jasmine wafting in from the garden that Carina and her gardeners had spent two years cultivating. Even in the suffocating Dubai heat, her favourite place was her garden, but having the party out there wasn’t even a possibility at this time of year. Instead, this was the compromise – an evening soirée on the air-conditioned terrace of their home, overlooking the beautiful landscaped grounds that led to their private beach on The Palm.
Carina’s gaze scanned the adjacent tables from her position at one end of the centre table, her smile never faltering, even when she spotted that the guests seated to her left hadn’t yet been served their lobster starter.
Without missing a beat, she subtly gestured to her house manager, who had long since learned that his job included keeping one eye on his employer at all times, then pointedly directed her gaze back to the other table. He saw the issue and immediately beetled off in the direction of the kitchen, where she had no doubt he’d have the situation remedied within seconds.
Tonight was an intimate dinner party to celebrate the thirty-fourth anniversary of the day that she’d walked up the aisle into the waiting arms of Spencer Lloyd. Or at least, it had started out as that, until her husband had, as always, invited a few key business contacts that he wanted to schmooze, impress or reward. The logistics of tonight’s event and every other special occasion were Carina’s department. The invitations, the food, the entertainment and helping Spencer to woo potentially profitable clients all fell into Carina’s field of responsibility, where they sat with her everyday responsibilities of their adult children, their home and their staff. In Spencer’s piece of the workload pie was his career and earning the income required to give them the life they’d enjoyed for every one of those thirty-four years together.
‘You’ve done an amazing job, as usual, Cary,’ said the person to her left, the only one who ever shortened her name from Carina.
‘Thank you. And you’re trying to make me feel better, as usual, Ben.’
Spencer wasn’t the only man who’d become a permanent fixture in Carina’s life after they met in the busy bar of a swanky Hong Kong hotel thirty-five years ago. She’d also gained a brother-in-law, who’d become the dearest of friends.
Moira and Lisa had been with her, and Spencer’s brother, Ben, had been by his side that night. It was a life-changing moment, one that she had thought back to when the letter had arrived from Moira a couple of months ago, proposing they all meet up for a week to revisit their youth. It was a lovely idea, but Spencer had booked a trip to London for their anniversary, leaving tomorrow, 1 July, causing a schedule clash that she couldn’t get around. She’d meant to write back to Moira and explain, but she’d been caught up with organising tonight and it had completely slipped her mind. She’d do it tomorrow, and send a note along with a gorgeous bouquet to the hotel. Moira would understand that she could hardly tell Spencer that she was unavailable for their anniversary celebration because she was going off galivanting to Hong Kong. First thing on the list after she got back, though, was a visit to the UK to see Moira and Lisa. It was ridiculous that they hadn’t managed to get together in all these years, but with Moira away on cruise ships, Lisa being reluctant to travel, and her being a full-time wife and mum, mostly in Asia, the time had just slipped by. Somehow, life with Spencer had always come first.
Her eyes were drawn to her husband at the other end of the table, their daughter, Imogen, and her friend, Arabella, on one side of him, and two senators from Texas on the other. These men, she knew, were his main targets tonight. Something to do with new trade routes, but she hadn’t delved into the details. She’d done her job. She’d greeted them when they arrived, charmed them, and now they were being wined, dined and entertained – anything else was down to Spencer.
‘Erin couldn’t make it?’ Ben asked, and Carina’s smile masked a wave of sadness that their younger daughter wasn’t here to celebrate with them tonight.
‘No, she’s still in Shanghai. It’s driving Spencer crazy, but she’s stubborn.’
Ben took a sip of his Champagne – it was Spencer’s favourite Veuve Clicquot – then topped up her glass. ‘I’ll stop in on her next time I’m over that way.’ Ben still lived in Hong Kong, so Shanghai was only a short flight away. He was also free of ties, time constraints or family commitments, because he’d never married. His choice. He’d had a couple of long term relationships over the years and Carina was rooting for him to meet someone just as kind, decent and lovely as he was.
Ben put his glass back down on the white linen table cover. ‘That kid is good for the soul. I bet she doesn’t give a damn that she’s pissing Spencer off.’
For the first time tonight, Carina’s smile was genuine. ‘Not even a little bit.’ Erin was a law unto herself. Unlike Imogen, she genuinely didn’t give a toss what her father thought about her, her life choices, or her decision to teach English in Shanghai instead of following her sister into the family business.
Erin had always been drawn to Asia because that’s where she’d spent most of her childhood. They’d lived in Hong Kong, Singapore, Beijing, Shanghai – moving every few years as Spencer’s role and the expansion of the business required him to set up offices and supply chains in each new location. And every time, Carina would pack up their lives, and move them – new house, new school, new friends, new lives. She’d do it all with a smile on her face and a sympathetic shoulder for the kids, who invariably pushed back at leaving their lives, attributing half the blame and directing all of the resentment at Carina, because she was the more present parent. Her determination to show a united front with Spencer left the girls unaware that it was never Carina’s choice to move. She’d dreaded every relocation, hated the upheaval, but she’d put a smile on her face and got on with it. Wasn’t that one of the responsibilities that still fell in her piece of that pie too? Smile and get on with it. Hold it all together. The transient life had shaped both girls in very different ways. Erin was a free spirit who wanted no part of a traditional family life. Whereas Imogen had been intoxicated by her father’s success and the rewards that came with it. She’d joined Lloyd Asia Trading straight from university and would undoubtedly take over from Spencer and Ben one day.
At least the kids were adults now, so she hadn’t had to re-organise their lives when they’d relocated to Dubai from Singapore a couple of years ago. Once again, she hadn’t wanted to move, but Spencer had promised her it would be the last time. Dubai had become a crucial location for his business and Imogen had agreed, so Carina had called in the packers and made it happen.
The ding of metal against glass interrupted her thoughts and took her attention to the source of the noise. At the other end of the table, Spencer was standing now, rapping his spoon against his vintage Stuart crystal champagne flute. Carina bristled, wanting to say that those glasses cost over ￡100 each, so would he please stop doing that.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, and Carina felt the sheer power of the way he so effortlessly commanded his audience. He was still the most handsome man in any room. Well over six feet, his dark hair peppered with grey now, but it only made him look more distinguished. He worked out every morning at 5a.m., with his personal trainer and he’d recently started playing pickleball with Imogen and her friends after work. Add a Savile Row suit and skin that had been lightly bronzed by the Dubai sun, and he could overshadow and out-suave a man twenty years his junior. It was a standard that Carina worked hard to match. The duck lips of fillers and frozen foreheads of anti-wrinkle jabs weren’t for her, but not a grey hair survived her monthly visit to the salon, and her face and body were kept youthful by weekly facials, daily yoga, and twice-weekly Pilates. She had accounts at Chanel, Prada and Valentino, and Spencer expected her to use them, so that she was, at all times, the chic, elegant wife on his arm.
‘First of all, I’d like to thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate the anniversary of the day I married the beautiful lady at the other end of the table.’ That evoked a round of applause that made Carina blush. The centre of attention wasn’t a place that she’d craved or enjoyed for a long time now.
When the room settled again, Spencer went on. ‘And Carina, I’d like to thank you for being the core of our family for all these years…’
Carina felt her face redden again, this time with a sudden flush of attraction that had been missing for the last few years. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when the passion and the closeness had faded. Or when the resentment she felt inside had begun to bubble and become impossible to ignore. Maybe around the time that the girls had left home and she’d realised that they’d taken her identity and her purpose in life with them. All that was left was her service to Spencer: a life of arranging his dry cleaning, making sure his golf shoes were polished, managing their home, planning their trips, smiling as she hosted yet another dinner for his business associates, wondering if she could recall the last time she’d actually had fun. Of course, it had never been discussed. This was the life she had chosen, and it was too late to change it now. Smile and get on with it. Hold it all together.
‘And for your patience, and strength and love…’ Spencer was still speaking.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to get things back to the way they once were. Perhaps she just had to give herself a shake. Weren’t these things cyclical? Didn’t all marriages go through ups and downs?
‘…and for being so great at spending my money.’
A titter of laughter reverberated around the room and Carina fought with every ounce of discipline she possessed to keep smiling at the joke that had very obviously amused Spencer. Spencer. The man who only ever travelled first class. Who thought nothing of dropping ten grand on a watch. Or hospitality at a Grand Prix. Or a fricking dinner at Nobu. And he was saying she spent his money?
‘Prick…’ Ben hissed under his breath.
‘No, but seriously, Carina, thank you for my family and for the wonderful thirty-four years you’ve given me. To Carina…’ He raised his glass.
‘To Carina,’ everyone echoed, joining the toast. ‘To Carina,’ Ben said beside her. He was the only one she believed.
Smile and get on with it. Hold it all together.
Carina somehow managed to keep up the facade of the perfect hostess until dinner was over and it was time to bridge the half-hour gap between the string quartet that had just finished, and the evening DJ who was currently setting up in the corner of the room that the string quartet had just vacated. When she’d run through the details of tonight with her husband, Spencer had suggested that she play piano for her guests during the crossover between acts. Carina had been reluctant. Her love for music had never wavered, but her inclination to share it with the world had lessened with every passing year. Her music was her safe space, her refuge, the place that soothed her soul, where she could still feel emotions like passion and tenderness and belonging. But of course, Spencer had coaxed her to play tonight, as always. It was all part of the image he wanted to portray – his beautiful wife was talented too and weren’t they just perfect. That’s why he was now standing beside her, his hand outstretched towards hers. ‘Darling, are you ready to entertain our guests?’
No, she wasn’t. In her head she was screaming a rebuttal to his jibe about spending his money, and all the resentments were in full flow, reminding him that she’d raised his kids, run his house and facilitated his whole life… But of course, she kept that inside. The only thing worse than having a husband make cheap jokes at her expense would be to make a scene. Her toes curled inside her Louboutin sandals at the very thought of that. They’d been a gift from Spencer for their twenty-third anniversary. Or was it twenty-fourth? She couldn’t remember, but it was back in the days when they truly enjoyed spoiling each other and celebrating their love. This year he’d bought her the large, diamond studded gold bangle that was on her wrist and, not to be ungrateful, but it wasn’t her style. Too showy. Too flash. Too gaudy. He’d had his secretary deliver it this afternoon, so of course she’d worn it tonight to make him happy.
Reaching out, she accepted his hand, and he walked her over to the grand piano in the centre of the terrace. Her performing days were long behind her, but she still knew how to entertain an audience. This wasn’t a classical music crowd, so she kicked off with a Beatles medley. Carina had never had Moira’s raucous power vocals or Lisa’s sexy, intoxicating tone, but her voice was clear and pitch perfect as she encouraged everyone to join in. Imogen was the first to oblige. Both her daughters had gorgeous singing voices, and they’d spent endless days of their childhood at the piano, but neither had any interest in making music their career. Those memories faded into the background right now because, as always, Carina got lost in the music, feeling each word of the lyrics, each emotion of the melody, as the Beatles merged into Oasis, which then went into a bit of Coldplay and Snow Patrol, before a Motown compilation rounded off her set. After the last bars of ‘Superstition’, she stood and took a bow to rapturous applause.
Imogen, so tall and confident like her father, came towards her for a hug. ‘That was amazing, Mum,’ she whispered, and Carina felt a very uncharacteristic swell of pride. Maybe taking centre stage again every once in a while wasn’t so bad after all. Over her daughter’s shoulder, she glanced around for Spencer to see his reaction. No sign of him. Probably buttering up the senators somewhere.
Catching the eye of the DJ who was now set up and ready to go, she gave him the nod, and the sound of an old favourite dance floor filler, George Michael’s ‘Too Funky’, blared from the speakers. Imogen was, of course, the first one to head for the dance floor they’d had installed for tonight, and she tried to pull her mum along, but Carina slipped out of her hand and made a gesture saying she’d be back in five minutes. She just wanted to check on the clear up in the kitchen, ensure the bar staff still had ample booze on standby, and have a peek at the toilets to make sure they were still pristine with plenty of toilet rolls and disposable towels for hand drying.
The downstairs loo was the first one she came to, and it was fully stocked and just needed a quick tidy and a squirt with her favourite Jo Malone Myrrh and Tonka room spray.
Her heels clicked on the marble stairs as she made her way up to the second guest bathroom on the first-floor landing. Her hand was an inch away from the door handle when she heard a noise coming from inside. A low, urgent groan. Her first thought was a medical emergency, but the ‘Oh baby, yes,’ that came right after it changed her mind, and her eyes widened. In the name of all that was unhygienic, someone was having sex in her bathroom! And she’d just had the countertops replaced. If their antics took her cream travertine sink unit off the wall, she’d damn well send them a bill.
They were obviously getting to the crunch of it, because the groans became more and more urgent and before she could even retreat to a safe space, she heard the unmistakable sound of an enthusiastic orgasm. Her first thought was that she’d never look at her travertine sink unit the same way again. Her second was that she had to get out of there to spare her guests’ embarrassment.
She’d barely managed to duck into the doorway of the spare room, just a few metres away, when she heard the bathroom door open. Don’t look, she told herself. Rise above. It’s none of your business. But then… she had to know who to strike off the guest list for future parties. She wasn’t risking a scandal or her furniture.
Straining her neck, she very carefully peeked forward, and had to clamp a hand over her mouth. That was a shocker. Her money had been on her loud, brash and obscenely wealthy neighbours – he was a former premier league footballer for one of the London clubs, and she’d been a glamour model – but no, there was no mistaking the back view of Imogen’s friend, Arabella, as she walked in the other direction, towards the stairway. Arabella and Imogen had been friends for ten years, since Imogen had gone back to the UK to study economics at Cambridge, so they had a long history. Carina immediately realised she might have to keep this to herself so as not to be viewed as a prude. Unlike her, Imogen would probably think this was hilarious.
However, Carina was now deeply curious to see who she’d been in there with. One of the waiters? No, like Imogen, Arabella was ruthlessly ambitious. If Carina was a betting woman, she’d put money on one of the senators from Texas. Or maybe the footballer from next door was playing away from home. Peeking forward, she saw no one there. Had she missed him? There was a noise. A toilet flushing. A tap running. The door opening. Steps on the marble floor…
And then Spencer Lloyd, her husband of thirty-four years, walked out of the bathroom.