Page 4 of Joker in the Pack

Tomorrow, Olivia mark two would be born.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maddie asked the following afternoon.

I’d put my phone on speaker while I got ready, and I paused, mascara wand in mid-air.

“I can’t let Edward overshadow the rest of my life.”

“But if you wait until the weekend, I can come with you.”

Four days? No, I had to get this over with.

“Maybe we can do something on Saturday evening too, but I need to go out tonight.”

I poked myself in the eye, dammit, and it started watering. Not tears. No, not at all.

“Well, okay.” Maddie sounded doubtful. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Fine. Fine in the same way as I told Edward I was fine when he cancelled our holiday to Switzerland because of a client meeting. Fine in the same way as I told my mother I was fine when she insisted I forgo Maddie’s thirteenth birthday party to attend a ballet lesson because all little girls should learn grace and poise. If I recalled correctly, I’d tripped over my own feet that day and spent the evening getting six stitches in my eyebrow. You could still see the scar in the right light.

I pushed thoughts of them out of my mind as I curled my hair. If I had the money, I’d get it highlighted again. The colour had darkened over the years, more of an ash blonde now than the platinum I’d been born with. At least my aquamarine shift dress matched my eyes perfectly.

By the time I slipped my feet into a pair of heels and headed for the door, my toes were feeling decidedly chilly. But I pushed on becauseEdward would not win.

I didn’t feel brave enough to venture far, but I’d been to the Wild Orchid in Clerkenwell a few times with Edward and our friends, and I wouldn’t look completely out of place on my own. Even better, I could walk there and save a cab fare.

Music played softly in the background as I shuffled in, and a group of men glanced up. One smiled. I smiled back, but inwardly I was cheering. Maybe I still had it after all? Then a skinny brunette pushed past me and kissed him on both cheeks. Darn it.

I slunk off to the bar and perched on a stool next to a man in a suit. Not a particularly well-fitting one, either.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“A glass of white wine, please.”

At least he was polite. Or so I thought until he tried to put his hand up my skirt. Who did he think he was? A presidential candidate? I shoved him away and inched closer to the middle-aged lady on the other side of me as he staggered off, muttering about “frigid sluts.” Didn’t he realise that was an oxymoron?

“Bad luck, honey,” the lady said. “That one was a politician. Lord something or other. Loaded.”

Really? For a second I wondered if I’d—No, Olivia!Having money didn’t give him the right to do that.

“I wasn’t interested.”

“Waiting for your young man, are you?”

On second glance, the lady might have been slightly past middle age. Her face was wrinkle free, but there was a tautness that spoke of the surgeon’s knife. Even her hands were smooth as she clutched her dirty martini like a lifeline. Judging by her lack of focus, it wasn’t her first drink of the evening.

“No, I’m not meeting anyone in particular.”

Her gaze dropped to my lap, where my skirt had been hiked upwards by Lord Pervert, and when she met my eyes again, her disgusted look said it all.

“Oh, one of those, are you? You won’t find much business here.”

What? Eww!

“No, I’m not a prostitute! If you must know, I just split up with my boyfriend.” I tugged my skirt down and wished I’d worn something longer. Like a nun’s habit or a burka.

“What was it? An affair? Or are you just hoping to trade him in for a better model?”

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