Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lady Phoebe
“Sweltering, isn’t it?” I ask Digby.
He raises his eyebrows, waves around. “It is the middle of June.”
Roll my eyes. “Thanks, I wasn’t aware of the date.”
He nudges my arm. “Don’t be like that—how’s your hand?”
He says it so casually that it irks me.
Does he not remember?
It was literally only last week I was in Paris with Arthur.
Anyway, I hold my skin coloured bandaged hand up to him. “It’s okay,” I shrug. “I can still spend all your money betting,” I wiggle my fingers.
I love Royal Ascot. I love the bright colours and the hats and the horses and the free champagne and strawberries they hand out—but mostly I love betting on the horses that I know are going to lose with Digby’s money.
Yeah, fine, whatever, it’s childish but he deserves it.
Arthur’s around here somewhere with the rest of the Grosvenor’s. All of them. Sebastian. They’re all here.
All over in the Royal Box while I sit outside in our lodge, with a glass of champagne, looking out over at the racecourse.
It’s so great that this is Arthur’s thing—his family’s thing.
Makes me feel special in a way that no one else attending will understand.
It’s a staple event. No one misses it. I’ve been coming every year since I can remember with my family and Arthur’s.
We’d all sit in the Royal Box, photographed together.
This year it’s different, though. My parents couldn’t make it. Dad is in Indonesia and my mum is balls deep in silk and satins in New York with Cynthia to prepare for a show.
It’s not all bad, though. I’m here with everyone else; twins, Athena, Connie, Lottie, Charlie.
“I’m sweating my bollocks off,” George comes out with a whiskey. “Should be fucking illegal.” Shakes his head, turns to look at me. “Bet on Lucky Star?”
I nod proudly. It’s George’s Thoroughbred that he sent to my trainer who I’m good friends with.
Digby shifts in his seat, clears his throat.
George smiles, pulls a face, looks at him then back to me. “Sorry, mate, didn’t realise I was interrupting.”
I want to beg him to stay out here with us but I don’t and he walks off.
No one knows what went down in Paris, only Arthur, Digby and I—not even Connie who set the whole thing up.
I’ve been telling every I burnt my hand while doing my hair which is a thankfully very conceivable story since that wouldn’t be my first time.
We haven’t really talked about it, Digby and I. I haven’t told him that I did sleep with Arthur, I don’t plan to, either. But I think he knows I’m lying—maybe that’s why he hasn’t looked twice at me all week?
I know he’s pissed about me being alone with Arthur in a hotel room but weirdly enough, I don’t feel guilty for cheating on him.
It felt so right and he didn’t even filter through to my mind once.
Not even during those brief few seconds when you pull away to catch your breath or change positions.
The whole time my mind was focused on one spot—Arthur.
Do you know how peaceful that was for me? To finally be able to concentrate on just one thing? It was heavenly. My mind is usually so loud—screaming and shouting at me.
“You know,” I turn to face Digby. “You don’t have to be so rude to my friends.”
He pulls back, offended. “When was I rude?”
“Just then! To George.”
Shakes his head. “That wasn’t rude.”
“Whatever,” I mutter under my breath, down the rest of my champagne.
I get up and go inside with everyone else.
“What’s up with him?” George nods his head behind me.
“Nothing.”
I brush it off because he doesn’t know about Paris and if I did tell him, I think today would be the last day anyone would see Digby.
“Sure?” George bends down, searches my face.
I smile, pat his chest. “I’m sure.”
Connie comes over then. “We talking about Dickface out there?”
I roll my eyes.
Connie nods his head at me, signals for me to go with him so I do. We go to the other side of the room where I refill my glass with more Moet.
“’Ere, what happened in Paris?” He asks, in my ear.
Look up at him. “It was fine,” I shrug.
A big grin takes over his face. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
“It’s the same one Arthur gave me—‘oh, it was fine’,” he shrugs, brushing imagining hair over his shoulder. “Come on, tell me.”
I can’t help but laugh a bit. “There’s nothing to tell!”
He leans in closer. “Did you fuck?”
“Oh my god!” I pull back, hit his chest. “Don’t be so crass!”
“Okay,” he sighs, rolls his eyes. “Did you make love?”
I look away, sniff, raise my eyebrows.
“Fuck off,” Connie grins. “No way—you did, didn’t you?”
I spin back around. “Shut up!”
“But you did?
“No…”
He throws his head back, laughs. “You so fucking did.”
I grab his collar, pull his face towards mine. “Say one fucking word and I swear to God, Jesus, Mary and Joseph that I will chop your dick off.”
He pulls a zip across his lips, lifts his hands up. “I’m the keeper of secrets, me, mate—like Pandora’s box.”
I frown. “The box that she opened and unleashed world wide misery?”
He thinks about it for a second, wobbles his head. “Alright—no, maybe not her then—why would she do that?—” I roll my eyes. “But I’m a good secret keeper, trust me.”
I feel someone behind me, then. He puts his arms around my waist and on instinct, I tense up.
“You missed the race,” Digby tells me.
I watch as Connie flicks his eyes to mine, silently asking me if I’m okay and it makes me feel weird. He shouldn’t have to do that. But I nod back at him.
“Who won?” I ask mindlessly.
“Understudy—I’m down six hundred quid.”
“Shame,” I tut and Connie smiles behind his hand.
Athena waves us over to sit with them so we go and Digby of course, rushes in front of Connie so he can sit beside me.
So childish, I think.
“So,” Digby clears his throat, nods at Connie. “What were you two laughing about just a minute ago?”
“Nothing,” I jump in.
Connie waves his hand through the air. “Just an old inside joke, mate.”
“Well, what was it?” Digby smiles in that way people do when they’re uncomfortable and insecure.
I shrug airily. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Oh, yeah, jokes are so not funny when you have to explain them,” Athena chimes in with an enthusiastic nod of her head. “And those two,” she wags her fork between me and Connie. “Have tons of little secret jokes.”
Digby nods, turns to me with a plastic smile. “Care to share any of them?”
I shake my head, feeling rather small and insignificant. Everyone else is paying attention to their drinks and food.
“Does everyone sitting at this table know?” Digby whispers into my ear.
With my shoulders slumped, I frown. “Know what?”
“That you fucked Arthur?”
My stomach dips, I close my eyes for a second, swallow.
“You know I didn’t.”
He pulls back, sits up straighter, looks around the table. “You sure about that, Phoebs?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? Is that what Arthur calls you in bed?” He says just loud enough for George and Charlie to look our way.
“You’re making a scene,” I tell him.
“Oh,” he nods like the penny has just dropped. “Was that what you two were laughing about?” He points at Connie then back to me. “Sleep with him as well, Phoebe?”
For some reason that snaps me out of the tiny hole I crawled into. I stare at him, mouth opened.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Connie laughs with a frown.
“Well,” Digby leans back into his chair, shrugs. “She does have a tendency to drop her knic—”
George stands up. “Go on,” he nods at him. “Finish that.”
“Yeah,” I nod, feeling sick. “What were you going to say?”
I look at his face, beg, plead—whatever—for him to just stop.
“Come on.” George shrugs. “We’re all on the edge of our seats, big man.”
I look around at everyone at the table, we’ve all kind of just sunken into our seats.
“Well,” Digby lifts a shoulder. “With her past with Arthur, wouldn’t surprise me is all.”
I blink a couple times. “And what does that mean?”
He turns to me. “You know what that means.”
Connie pipes up, “Are we just going to skim over the fact he thought Phoebe was sleeping with me?!”
Digby looks at him, then to me. “Did you?”
“Is he on drugs?” I hear George mutter.
“What’s your fucking problem, mate?” Charlie butts in. Digby swings his head around to him. “I mean, this is the first time I’ve met you and all I’m gonna say is that you’ve made a lasting impression.”
Digby gives him a dirty look. “What’s this fucking chav doing here?”
That’s all it takes. I grab my champagne flute, throw it in his face and walk out.
Whatever George, Albie and Charlie say to him is lost on me because when I enter the hall, all I can hear is ringing in my ears.
Athena rushes out, comes over to my side with Lottie.
“Are you okay?” She rubs my back and it’s then I realise how hard I’m crying.
“I’m fine,” I tell the both of them even though I can hardly catch my breath.
“My goodness,” Lottie looks at me with sincere concern. “Phoebe, you need to get him gone.”
I look up at her. “He’s good, I promise. He really is.”
The girls share a look but I can read it. It’s a look of pure and utter sympathy. They feel sorry for me. They feel sorry that I have to prove that my boyfriend is a good person even though we all know he really isn’t.
But he was, once upon a time. He wasn’t always like this—just how Arthur wasn’t always the Arthur he was in school. People change, things shift—not a single thing in this world goes untouched without a trigger. Everyone has that thing—that one button. And when it’s pushed, it goes off.
Ladies Day at Ascot is my favourite event and thus far, I’ve always enjoyed it—always looked forward to it but today he ruined that for me. He took my favourite day and pissed all over it and I’ll hate him for that forever.
“Can you get Arthur?”
Athena pulls a face. “He’s with his family, we really can’t get to him.”
Coming out of our private lodge, I see two men dragging Digby out followed by George and Charlie.
I try to catch his eye, tell him I’m sorry—sorry for what, I don’t know but I know it’ll make it better somehow—tell him to come back and apologise so we can all go back to how it was and forget about everything.
But as he’s dragged further down the hall, all he does is give me one brief look over his shoulder and then he’s gone.
“Good riddance,” Lottie mutters, goes over to Charlie’s side.
I stare at the four of them through a mosaic of tears. “He’s good! I promise!”
George comes over to me, wraps his arm around me. “He isn’t, Phoebs—fuck me, he isn’t.”
“Yeah,” Athena nods, covers my other side. “He makes you sad, he makes you cry.”
I look up at George. “It’s my fault.”
Shakes his head, of course he does.
“It is,” I tell him. “This time it really is.”
Charlie sighs. “Whatever you did, didn’t warrant a reaction like that.”
“I’m sorry he started on you,” I tell Charlie. I don’t know him too well. We don’t exactly spend a lot of time together but what I do know about him is that he wasn’t brought up like us but despite that, he’s still a hundred times better than some of the guys I grew up with.
He shrugs it off, kisses the top of Lottie’s head. “I’ve been called worse, believe me.”
George squeezes me lightly. “What do you wanna do?”
I sniff, press my lips together. “I want to go home.”
He frowns. “But it’s your favourite day.”
“He ruined it. It’s not my favourite anymore.”