pre-empt it by doing something else, but she’d lose concentration for a second and there it was
again.
Finally, the woman seemed to realize that she was expected to respond, and she shook Jen’s offered hand.
‘Cass Richards,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Cass is looking for a place in town.’ Charles jumped in before Cass could say anything to the contrary. Anything incriminating. (‘I’m a sex surrogate. I get paid by the hour to try to coax it back to life.’)
‘I’ve just been showing her what we’ve got available at the moment but, you know, the market’s slow …’ He tailed off without completing the sentence.
Jen had to resist the urge to ask questions, to put this Cass on the spot by asking her what area she was considering and how many rooms. She knew she wouldn’t have the answers ready.
‘Well …’ She decided to let Charles off the hook for the moment. She needed to regroup, to assimilate what she thought she’d learned, to make sure she wasn’t rushing headlong
towards a ridiculous conclusion.
‘Like I said, I have a friend to meet, so I should go. Bye, Charles.’
She accepted his proffered kiss on the cheek.
‘Nice to meet you,’ she said to Cass as she moved off. ‘Good luck with the house hunting.’
Cass smiled politely. ‘Thanks. Good to meet you too.’
Jen resisted the urge to look back as she rounded the bend into Rathbone Place. She knew there would be nothing she would want to see.
She had lost her appetite, and any ideas she might have had about luxuriating with a snack in the sun had withered and died. Charles, having an affair? She couldn’t believe it could be true. She simply couldn’t compute that he would
do that to Amelia. Sweet, loving, devoted Amelia. Or to Jason and his daughters. To her, for that matter. To the entity known as the Masterson Family. He had principles, morals, standards. She knew he didn’t take his role as husband and father lightly. She knew he was the opposite of
the man she had called Dad.
She tried to assess the evidence rationally. A young woman with shiny hair had put her hand on Charles’s arm and he had failed to shake it off immediately. Then he had held it in his own for a few seconds, no more. It was hardly a smoking
gun. What had really given them away was much more indefinable. The argument, the atmosphere, something in the way they looked at each other, the way
Charles started when Jen had called his name. It all added up to something. She just couldn’t
be sure what exactly.
Usually, when anything interesting happened in Jen’s life she would reach for her phone and hit Poppy’s number. Poppy was always her first port of call in a crisis. Somehow, that didn’t feel like the thing to do in this
case.
‘I think your dad might be having an affair …’ might not be the best opening line of a conversation she’d ever thought of.
‘So guess what? Charles has got a bit on the side …’
‘Did you know your father can still get it up?’
No.
Plus she knew that she had a habit of making something out of nothing. There was the time when she’d told everyone at work that Judy was pregnant, when she had just put on a couple of pounds, or when she’d insisted to Poppy that the
bloke painting her living room had a crush on her, and then he’d told them about his upcoming wedding. To a man. It was just that sometimes she wanted things to be true so much she convinced herself that they were. This time, obviously, was not one of those occasions.
She walked on towards Oxford Street, thinking about how much Jason adored his dad. How he had always held him up as an example – and it had never been challenged by her – of the husband and father he aspired to be himself.
She pictured Amelia in her cosy, welcoming house that she had worked lovingly for years to turn into a home that her whole family would want to return to every chance they got. Poppy who was Charles’s uncrowned favourite
– he would
again.
Finally, the woman seemed to realize that she was expected to respond, and she shook Jen’s offered hand.
‘Cass Richards,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Cass is looking for a place in town.’ Charles jumped in before Cass could say anything to the contrary. Anything incriminating. (‘I’m a sex surrogate. I get paid by the hour to try to coax it back to life.’)
‘I’ve just been showing her what we’ve got available at the moment but, you know, the market’s slow …’ He tailed off without completing the sentence.
Jen had to resist the urge to ask questions, to put this Cass on the spot by asking her what area she was considering and how many rooms. She knew she wouldn’t have the answers ready.
‘Well …’ She decided to let Charles off the hook for the moment. She needed to regroup, to assimilate what she thought she’d learned, to make sure she wasn’t rushing headlong
towards a ridiculous conclusion.
‘Like I said, I have a friend to meet, so I should go. Bye, Charles.’
She accepted his proffered kiss on the cheek.
‘Nice to meet you,’ she said to Cass as she moved off. ‘Good luck with the house hunting.’
Cass smiled politely. ‘Thanks. Good to meet you too.’
Jen resisted the urge to look back as she rounded the bend into Rathbone Place. She knew there would be nothing she would want to see.
She had lost her appetite, and any ideas she might have had about luxuriating with a snack in the sun had withered and died. Charles, having an affair? She couldn’t believe it could be true. She simply couldn’t compute that he would
do that to Amelia. Sweet, loving, devoted Amelia. Or to Jason and his daughters. To her, for that matter. To the entity known as the Masterson Family. He had principles, morals, standards. She knew he didn’t take his role as husband and father lightly. She knew he was the opposite of
the man she had called Dad.
She tried to assess the evidence rationally. A young woman with shiny hair had put her hand on Charles’s arm and he had failed to shake it off immediately. Then he had held it in his own for a few seconds, no more. It was hardly a smoking
gun. What had really given them away was much more indefinable. The argument, the atmosphere, something in the way they looked at each other, the way
Charles started when Jen had called his name. It all added up to something. She just couldn’t
be sure what exactly.
Usually, when anything interesting happened in Jen’s life she would reach for her phone and hit Poppy’s number. Poppy was always her first port of call in a crisis. Somehow, that didn’t feel like the thing to do in this
case.
‘I think your dad might be having an affair …’ might not be the best opening line of a conversation she’d ever thought of.
‘So guess what? Charles has got a bit on the side …’
‘Did you know your father can still get it up?’
No.
Plus she knew that she had a habit of making something out of nothing. There was the time when she’d told everyone at work that Judy was pregnant, when she had just put on a couple of pounds, or when she’d insisted to Poppy that the
bloke painting her living room had a crush on her, and then he’d told them about his upcoming wedding. To a man. It was just that sometimes she wanted things to be true so much she convinced herself that they were. This time, obviously, was not one of those occasions.
She walked on towards Oxford Street, thinking about how much Jason adored his dad. How he had always held him up as an example – and it had never been challenged by her – of the husband and father he aspired to be himself.
She pictured Amelia in her cosy, welcoming house that she had worked lovingly for years to turn into a home that her whole family would want to return to every chance they got. Poppy who was Charles’s uncrowned favourite
– he would
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