Page 158 of Wife After Wife
“He’s being a dick,” said Frankie from across the room, where he was sitting sideways in an armchair, swigging beer from a bottle. “You be a bitch back. C’mon, Cates, it’s time to get dirty. What you got on him?”
“What do you mean? He’s as straight as they come. He hadn’t slept with anyone since his last wife died.”
“I met him, remember?” said Storm suddenly. “God, I’d forgotten all about it! That night at that Russian dude’s place.”
“Oh yes!” said Caitlyn. “Wow, that was so long ago. How old were we?”
“Can’t have been more than fifteen. Maybe even fourteen,” said Storm.
“Did you shag him?” asked Frankie.
“No,” said Caitlyn. “He wasn’t like that. Like I said, he’s a good bloke.”
“What was he doing partying with two fourteen-year-olds, then?” said Frankie.
“He and his mate were with that Russian guy, the one with the football team,” said Storm. “He seemed to be calling the shots.”
“Seriously? Andre Sokolov? Jesus, you two moved in powerful circles. Pity you didn’t bonk Harry, Caitlyn. Could’ve done an exposé. Harry Rose, pillar of British society and shagger of underage schoolgirls.”
“Who’s to know he didn’t?” said Storm.
“Can we just stop this?” said Caitlyn. “I like how Harry turned me down, even though he’d never have dreamed I was underage.”
“Wait,” said Storm. She disappeared off to the spare bedroom, whereher belongings were sprayed all over the floor, and returned with a plastic bag. She emptied it onto the table.
“What’s this?” asked Caitlyn.
“My photo collection. The sum total of my crappy life, in a crappy carrier bag. There are some of the manor—look.” She passed one to Caitlyn.
The manor kids. Dirty, feral children, grinning at the camera. Caitlyn saw herself and shuddered, quickly threw the photo back on the table. This was nothing she wanted to remember.
“Here we are.” Storm passed another photo over.
Her heart lurched. “Oh my god, I remember this.”
In the foreground was Andre Sokolov, the brunette he’d picked up sitting on his lap. Behind them, Harry had just kissed Caitlyn’s hand, which he was holding close to his lips.
She remembered the moment. She’d just offered herself to him—her self-esteem still needed work back then—and he’d turned her down, saying he was happily married. But he’d done it so charmingly that it hadn’t felt like a rebuff at all.
To someone who was none the wiser, however, the picture would show Harry Rose looking intimate with a teenage girl.
“Give it here,” said Frankie. As he studied the photo, his smile widened. “Fourteen? Fifteen? Defo not sixteen?”
“Fifteen max,” said Storm.
“Well, I’m reckoning the press will be very interested in this,” said Frankie. “Proof that Harry Rose likes underage girls.”
“But he didn’t!” said Caitlyn emphatically. “He never even so much as kissed me!”
“That kind of detail we don’t need,” he said. “Do you want a divorce settlement, or don’t you?”
•••
Caitlyn was on her way to meet her agent, Patti, who wanted to know the terms of her “special agreement” with Harry. The one that said shewould get a lump sum in return for remaining private about her marriage. The terms were in one of the incomprehensible documents Tom Cranwell had sent through, and rather than try to interpret them herself, Caitlyn had decided to show them to Patti, who was champing at the bit, wanting to negotiate a tell-all with a magazine.
The taxi was halfway there when a text came through. Caitlyn was startled to read Harry’s name on the screen. Her hands began to shake as she opened up the message.
Pls come to Rose offices. We need to talk. Today?
