Chapter Fourteen
Come six o’clock, the biscuits had long been polished off and life was back to being challenging.
I’d barely finished giving Cindy a hasty evening walk when Samantha turned up. She parked her immaculate Mercedes on my driveway just as I was letting myself into the house. I wondered sourly what Robin was paying his PA to enable her to swan around in such a swanky car.
The driver’s door opened. A pair of long slim legs and stiletto heels were revealed. As Samantha exited the Merc, a gust of wind uplifted a waterfall of blonde hair. She turned to face me, and I tried not to feel envious about her flawless skin and immaculate makeup.
I felt distinctly at a disadvantage. My own legs were encased in scruffy joggers and muddy boots. My hair was windswept, and I had a red nose from the cold evening air.
How does she manage to drive in those three-inch heels, muttered Cindy.
‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ I murmured. ‘Hello, Samantha,’ I trilled.
Turning away, I unlocked the front door, wondering if Samantha felt awkward about this visit. I certainly did.
‘Hey,’ she said, catching me up. ‘Good to see you, Tilly.’
Blimey, she was a cool customer. The last time we’d met, she’d been sprawled across Robin’s desk, and those long legs had been wrapped around my husband’s hips.
‘One sec,’ I said, reaching for an old towel I’d left by the front door. ‘Let me just wipe my dog’s paws before we go inside. She’s a bit muddy.’
Stooping down, I set to work. Cindy was used to this and obliged by dutifully holding out each paw for me.
‘What a well-trained dog,’ said Samantha in delight. She reached out to pat Cindy’s head.
‘Careful,’ I warned. ‘She’s not very good with strangers.’
Samantha immediately snatched back her hand while Cindy – was it my imagination? – gave me a look of rebuke.
‘She’s a rescue,’ I said, as if that explained everything.
‘I suppose you can’t be too careful about dogs with an unknown history.’
Cindy gave me another reproachful look.
I am the kindest dog in the world. How DARE you make me out to be some sort of mutt-case.
I flashed her an apologetic look.
‘Come in,’ I said to Samantha. ‘Let me give my dog a chew, and then I’ll show you around.’
I walked into the kitchen, Cindy at my heel, and reached for her treat jar. Extracting a large beef strip, I passed it to her. For a moment our eyes locked.
I know this isn’t easy for you and I understand , she seemed to say, before gently taking the chew .
‘You’re one in a million,’ I whispered.
‘What?’
I straightened up to see that Samantha had silently followed me into the kitchen. She’d positioned herself at my right elbow.
‘I was talking to my dog,’ I said.
An expression passed over her face. One that let me know I was a little weird.
‘Do you always talk to your dog?’ she frowned.
‘Yes,’ I said, my tone defensive. ‘I think every pet owner talks to their cat or dog. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do.’
‘Is it?’ she pulled a face. ‘I once had a goldfish. I didn’t talk to it.’ She gave a derisive tinkle of laughter. ‘Please don’t tell me that you would have!’
I gave her a serious look.
‘I think I’d have instead opted for dropping a line. Anyway’ – I ignored Samantha’s look of confusion – ‘as you can see, this is the kitchen.’
I swept an arm wide, inviting her to look around. To admire the extension with its fashionable atrium ceiling. The showy bifolds that issued out to the patio. I walked across the room and gazed at the garden beyond.
A lot of work – and expense – had gone into this home improvement. I’d spent many a happy moment sitting in one of the strategically placed tub chairs. Kindle in one hand. Cuppa in the other. Or simply relaxing and enjoying views of the garden, while my husband took over the lounge.
Robin had usually been horizontal on the sofa watching footie. On other occasions I’d sat here alone. While my husband worked late . Likely horizontal again. But this time on his client sofa. Twat.
Bad word, said Cindy, trotting over to me.
Yes, I silently agreed. But sometimes it’s a very satisfying word.
Samantha was looking around, a proprietary look on her face.
‘This house is smaller than I remember,’ she said.
I let out an involuntary gasp. Robin had assured me that he’d never brought her here! The bastard. Samantha caught my expression and smirked.
‘Slip of the tongue,’ she said. ‘Robin once showed me some pictures.’
‘Of course he did,’ I said sweetly. ‘Still, at least this room is bigger than your current kitchen ette .’
I leant forward to straighten one of the tub chair’s cushions. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Samantha’s mouth purse. I’d annoyed her with the kitchenette comment. Good.
She moved across the room and joined me. Her eyes swept over the garden beyond. I could tell that my cherished plants and frothing tubs didn’t interest her. Instead, she reached out and touched one of the heavy window drapes.
‘Robin and I will be installing shutters throughout. If you want’ – she gave me a gracious look – ‘you can take these with you. After all, curtains are so old-fashioned.’
This time it was my turn to compress my mouth. In the point scoring stakes, we were now one all.
Samantha was keen to let me know that my taste wasn’t hers. As we moved from room to room, she declared that carpets were so last year. Sideboards had apparently been out of vogue since the beginning of time. As for freestanding wardrobes, what century was I living in?
‘Oh, a king size bed,’ she said, as we walked into the master bedroom. ‘That will be the first thing to go in the skip. I’ll be ordering a custom made seven-footer.’
‘Yes, I can see that you’ll need some extra room,’ I said, looking pointedly at her hugely inflated chest. Surely, they weren’t real?
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ she sighed, nodding at the bedside cabinets. ‘Those can definitely go.’ She sashayed over to the ensuite, pausing for a moment in the doorway. ‘I’ve seen the most fabulous bedroom furniture in John Lewis,’ she confided. ‘Robin is going to love it.’
Samantha stuck her head around the bathroom door, then pulled a face.
‘As I thought. A new bathroom will be top of the list.’
What a bitch!
‘That ensuite was completely refurbed last year,’ I said, an edge to my voice.
‘Yeah, but shower cubicles went out with the ark.’ She gave a pitying smile. ‘ Everyone knows that wet rooms are all the rage.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘Never mind. I love a project. It will be my pleasure to do up this house. Naturally I’ll be posting everything to Instagram.’
‘Naturally,’ I agreed, thinking that right now I’d love to bundle her into the shower, turn the dial to hot, take a snap, then upload with appropriate caption:
Oh dear. I seem to be having selfie-steam issues .