Playing The Field

Prologue

‘Eliza Fox! Where the hell are you?’ It was Julian, demanding more wine be brought up to the tables – he didn’t think there was enough at the entrance and people seemed to be consuming more than they’d catered for. It was obviously going to be a big night.

‘Right here, Julian, as always, I’m never far from your side on event day!

’ responded Eliza with slightly more serenity than she felt.

Nearly there, she told herself – just a few more hours and the whole thing would be over and she’d be back at home curled up with Henry in their cosy townhouse.

Only a few more nights until they made the move to Farmington and started their new life together.

She was even more excited since she had accidentally spotted a velvet jewellery box in Henry’s pants drawer.

Closing her eyes she imagined what it would be like to plan her own not-so-small event soon.

‘Darling, run downstairs for me, and grab as much wine as you can – these people are drinking like bloody fish already, and only half of them are here. Run! And make sure it’s cold.

’ Julian feverishly batted his arm at her and she wondered for the umpteenth time how this man had ever functioned without her.

She’d been working for Julian for a couple of years now, and it was always a dramatic shitshow in the run-up to the big event, with Julian throwing himself around in an over-the-top ridiculous manner, behaving like the world was going to end.

But as stressed as she was, she loved nothing more than being in the thick of it, and she was bloody good at it too.

That was why Julian needed her so much. Even though, as her sister Agatha would often remind her, he treated her like shit.

But in Eliza’s mind, that was just the way the events industry worked.

Eliza held back an eye roll and nodded, making her way swiftly through the chaos of flamingos, monkeys, and burlesque girls, towards the cellar stairs packed with French wine.

The kitchen was a battlefield of white-jacketed staff, trays of canapés being assembled with military precision, and the delicate shavings of must-have Italian truffles being balanced precariously as harried servers dodged each other with practised grace.

She slipped past them all, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she descended into the cool darkness below.

Tonight’s clients were trying to give their friends a party to remember, impressing the entitled idiots with all their cash.

She had a feeling this wine cellar was going to be her sanctuary amidst the madness.

Row upon row of bottles gleamed at her, each one carefully selected by her boyfriend Henry for this particular crowd of peacocking elites.

She ran her fingers along the labels, mentally calculating how many bottles of the Chablis Premier Cru she could carry back upstairs without dropping any.

She decided six was her maximum on her first run, and she would bring one of the hot young waiters back with her on the second run. God, she loved what she did!

As she piled the third bottle precariously into her left arm, she heard a sound.

Shit! She stopped and listened, trying hard not to move a muscle, or more to the point, drop a bottle.

Then she heard a groan. And then an even louder groan, followed by a whispered: ‘Fuck yes, oh my God, you are so goddamn hot; I want you so badly.’

Eliza started to giggle. She couldn’t believe it.

Someone was down here having sex already and the party had only started thirty minutes ago.

Even by her standards that was quick. She had to admit she also felt a twinge of jealousy that it wasn’t her getting action in the cellar – it felt like an age since Henry had last dragged her into a basement to shag her brains out.

It seemed to be his favourite place for sex, probably because he found his wine collection such a turn-on.

It wasn’t long before the groans became more regular, and Eliza heard a definite pounding coming from round the corner.

‘Oh God, you are so big, and hard – I love it when you touch me like that.’

Eliza decided the best course of action was a strategic retreat.

She was desperate to know who it was, but she wasn’t about to interrupt whatever passionate encounter was unfolding behind the Bordeaux section, and Julian would lose it if she didn’t return with those bottles soon.

But as she carefully backed toward the stairs, her elbow knocked an empty wine box to the floor.

‘Shit!’ she mumbled, feeling her elbow pulsating and then froze.

Frantic whispers and the rustle of clothing replaced the previous pounding.

Eliza, bottles clutched against her chest, was caught between mortification and amusement.

Then her giggles began to seep out. She couldn’t believe she was stuck here, in the basement, with two people who had been having sex right behind her.

At least now she would find out who it was – events always did bring out the best stories. Her best friend Nancy would love this.

‘Hello?’ came a tentative female voice from behind a tall rack. ‘Is someone there?’

Eliza cleared her throat. ‘Just getting some wine. Carry on! I’ll be gone in a jiffy.’ She hurriedly turned to run back up the stairs, when a man’s face peered around the corner.

Eliza stopped dead in her tracks as she met his eyes. ‘Henry?’

The bottles nearly slipped from Eliza’s grasp as her fingers went numb with shock. Her boyfriend stared back at her, his face flushed, hair dishevelled, shirt half-unbuttoned with the belt she’d bought him last Christmas hanging loose.

‘Eliza.’ His voice cracked like a teenager caught sneaking back into his room after midnight. ‘I can explain—’

‘Can you?’ The words came more gently than she’d intended, almost curious rather than accusatory. A strange calm washed over her as she adjusted her grip on the wine bottles, desperate not to drop them, even though they were getting heavier and heavier.

Then a woman suddenly appeared from behind Henry – Claudia Winters, Henry’s personal assistant, or sales girl, or whatever she was. Jesus, how predictable. A young, pretty little thing, Eliza could see the attraction, but it was just so disappointing.

‘I—’ Eliza started, but the words seemed to die in her throat.

Three years together, she thought. Three years of building a life, of tolerating his unpredictable moods, of defending him to her friends and family when they all said he wasn’t the guy for her.

Three years evaporated into the musty air between vintage Merlot and overpriced Chablis.

‘Really, Henry?’ Eliza finally managed, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. ‘Your assistant? In a wine cellar? Could you possibly be more of a cliché?’

Henry stepped forward, reaching towards her. ‘It’s not what you think, LiLi, honestly . . .’

She took a step back, clutching the wine bottles tighter against her chest like a shield. ‘I imagine, Henry, it’s exactly what I think. How long?’

‘Six months,’ Claudia blurted out from behind him, and then clamped her hand over her mouth.

The information hit Eliza like a physical blow.

Six months. Half a year of lies – while she’d been planning their summer holiday to Tuscany and renting them a house in Farmington for their country move together, as a couple, he’d been shagging Claudia.

All those times he had claimed to be at wine tastings, or working late, it was obviously all a lie.

‘Six months,’ Eliza repeated, the words bitter on her tongue.

Henry’s face contorted slightly, but not enough. She wasn’t really sure how much he cared. ‘LiLi, please—’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Her voice was ice now. ‘Not now, and not ever again.’

The cellar suddenly felt claustrophobic, the rows of bottles like silent witnesses to her total humiliation. Claudia at least had the decency to look mortified, with her smudged lipstick and shirt buttoned up wrong.

Julian’s voice suddenly boomed down the stairwell. ‘Eliza! Where the hell is that wine? These people are about to start drinking the decorative fountain water!’

The timing was almost comical. Eliza took a deep breath, looking between Henry and the stairs.

‘Coming, Julian!’ she called back, her professional voice barely wavering.

She turned to Henry, who was attempting to tuck his shirt back in while maintaining some semblance of dignity. The sight would have been laughable if it weren’t so pathetic.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Henry whispered urgently.

‘No,’ Eliza said, the word simple but final. ‘We won’t. I’ll be collecting my things while you’re at work. Your work,’ she added with a pointed look at Claudia, ‘whatever that actually entails these days.’

‘There you are!’ Julian exclaimed, as she emerged up the stairs, his flinty eyes flickering as he took in the scene below him, tactically choosing blindness. It would be all around the company before they’d even popped the first bottle. She was toast.

‘Found your party’s entertainment in the cellar,’ she replied dryly, setting the bottles on a nearby tray and wafting up the stairs and out of the event as quickly as she could. She knew she couldn’t go back. She’d never be able to go back.