The Best of Friends by Alex Day (english novels to read .TXT) 📗

fairly quiet, not too much of a social whirl. It always takes Charlotte a while to recuperate once she’s there, catch up on sleep and rest, et cetera, et cetera.’

I smile and nod understandingly. There’s a lot to do, running a house the size of hers, organising the daily housekeeper. And of course families are full on, even when half the children are away at boarding school and there’s an au pair to take care of the remainder. I’m so glad she’s getting the chance to recharge her batteries.

I leave a short pause before responding.

‘She still seems very anxious about something,’ I say calmly, smoothing down the pages of my order pad. ‘You mentioned it to me before, and I hadn’t really noticed it myself at that stage. But since then, well, I’ve started to get the same feeling as you. I don’t want to pry or interfere but something’s definitely getting to her and, um …’ I hesitate and glance around the cafe, checking Naomi is out of sight before meeting Dan’s gaze head on and continuing, ‘I’m wondering if she’s in some kind of trouble.’

Dan’s face loses its habitual charming openness as his expression turns quickly to one of surprise and then hastily masked annoyance.

‘I don’t know what that could be,’ he states firmly, shaking his head in denial. ‘I can’t for the life of me think of anything. What kind of trouble could she be in?’

I shake my head as I reply. ‘Maybe it’s just the suspicious mind that living with Justin gave me,’ I muse sagely, ‘the knowledge I gained from that of how people you think you know so well can be so good at covering things up, but how, afterwards, you always realise that there were signs.’

Now Dan looks alarmed.

‘Do you think she’s betraying me?’

The speed and frankness with which he says the words stuns me into a momentary silence. It seems the lack of trust between these two is mutual.

‘Oh no, no!’ I reply with a smile. ‘Of course not, nothing like that. What I mean is, she just seems to have something on her mind that’s really bothering her. But having said that, I don’t have any evidence …’ I pause for a moment then continue, emphatically, ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘She has ample opportunity though, doesn’t she,’ ponders Dan aloud, as if he hasn’t heard what I’ve just said. ‘All the hours I’m working late, all my trips abroad.’

It crosses my mind that this says more about the accuser than the accused. On the other hand, there’s such a lack of nurture in the way Charlotte so often talks about Dan that maybe he is just jumping to a logical conclusion.

I place my hands firmly on the table and take a deep breath. ‘She’s away now for another six weeks or so and presumably out of the way of temptation – although I suppose the French do have a reputation … but no. Let’s not even go there. And as for anything back here, I’m sure that there’s nothing going on, no one you should know about. Absolutely sure of it.’ I pause. ‘There’s definitely something, though. Something’s not right.’

My mind’s turning it all over again, probing anything and everything that could be at the bottom of Charlotte’s distress. She drinks a lot – I’ve noticed that on frequent occasions. She’s even alluded to the fact that I can put it away; the accuser and the accused, again. I wonder if she could have got into trouble because of alcohol, or clandestinely joined AA or something. But it doesn’t really make sense; being an alcoholic is hard to conceal from people you live with, especially over a prolonged period of time.

And I’m not convinced that that’s shameful enough to hide; these days, it’s practically mainstream, as well as being so much better understood. If her problem were drink, I can’t see why she wouldn’t be able to share it with her husband at least, even if no one else. And Dan is clearly as clueless as to what is going on as I am. Another possibility is drugs but again, surely there would be times when she was out of it, when it was obvious that she’d been taking something. And she looks so fit and healthy that I can’t believe it’s that either.

I consider what other addictions Charlotte could be suffering from. Maybe she’s a compulsive shopper, racking up thousands on credit cards. She does have a never-ending supply of new clothes, all designer brands. I’ve never seen her wear the same thing twice. Her jewellery collection could fill the front window of Asprey’s. And the house is full of the latest gadgets and gizmos – matching Smeg toasters and juicers and what have you, two different Kitchen Aids, three coffee makers. All her back-to-the-earth foraging could just be a cover for what she’s got herself into: consumerism on steroids.

Dan’s face is still creased in concentration. ‘I think it’s me,’ he blurts out. ‘It’s not that she’s seeing anyone else, just that she doesn’t love me anymore.’

His tone is so woeful, his face so crunched up with anxiety, that my heart goes out to him. Being unwanted is the worst feeling of all. What’s most hurtful is when it’s cumulative. When there have been numerous opportunities to see that one is surplus to requirements, but one hasn’t picked up on them – and the guilty party hasn’t had the guts or, probably even worse, cared enough to come clean.

When Charlie returned from Marseille, we got that dream flat together, just the two of us. Of course the reality was far more prosaic: a basement in West Hampstead with the usual problems of damp on the walls and mould on the bathroom tiles, but to me it was perfect. I found it, I decorated it with love and care, arranging the furniture, hanging the curtains, revelling in the joy of creating a little nest for him and me. And then, just