Page 39 of The New House

Nothing untoward happened: just a few shopping trips tofreshen upmy wardrobe, and a bit of encouragement to go back to the gym. And yes, maybe a kiss or two that weren’t quite as platonic as I told myself at the time. I’m not naive: I know where things might have headed if it’d gone on much longer. It doesn’t matter how you slice it: the fact I changed the password on my phone andstarted deleting Harper’s texts tells its own story.

I can’t believe I was such a bloody idiot. In my defence, I felt sorry for the girl, carrying the weight of keeping the whole KyperLifeshow on the road while her husband was busy dipping his wick next door, but obviously that’s no excuse. I’m soaked in shame. If I hadn’t spotted Harper draped all over Felix Porter in the street last week, who knows how things would’ve ended.

‘It’s not what you think,’ Harper said, when she phoned me the next day. She’d seen me going into Pizza Express with Millie and the kids: she’d known she’d been rumbled.

‘You don’t owe me an explanation,’ I said.

‘But Iwantto explain—’

‘Honestly, Harper, it’s fine. My pride may be a little dented,’ I added honestly, ‘but there’s no harm done. What you get up to with Felix Porter is entirely your own affair, although I’m not sure I’d want to tangle with his wife if I were you. She’s a bit of a national treasure. I don’t think it’d do you or your brand any good if it all came out.’

‘But itisn’t,’ she insisted. ‘An affair, I mean—’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I genuinely hope you and Kyle manage to work things out. You’ve got those two lovely boys to think of. And now I’m afraid I really do have to go.’

So I was relieved on multiple fronts when the Porters pulled out of the sale. It meant our sale to the Conways was off, too, because the Glass House was the only reason we were moving in the first place. There should be no reason to come into contact with Harper again. We can safely turn the page. Disaster averted. All’s well that ends well.

Except Harper just won’t let it go.

My phone buzzes again beneath the menu. Obviously it’s unfortunate the Conways had already exchanged contracts with their own buyer before we told them the sale was off, but there’s not much I can do about it now. I’ve told Harper they’ll find somewhere else she likes just as much, but she stillkeeps calling.

Stupid of me. Stupid stupidstupid.

I’m jolted out of my self-flagellation when Felix Porter approaches my table.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he says tersely.

He pulls out a chair and sits down, his long legs tangling beneath the wrought iron table as he shifts restlessly, trying to get comfortable in the tight space between the table and the concrete planter separating the café from the street.

‘I appreciate you coming,’ I say. ‘I know how—’

‘What’s this about?’

Not wasting any words, then.

It’s hard to know what to make of Felix Porter. He’s a good-looking man: probably pushing sixty, but trim and physically fit. When he walked into the café there was an imperceptible flutter among the women, a smoothing of hair and recrossing of limbs. He’s a bit of a cold fish if you ask me – he eyes the glass of white wine I ordered while waiting for him with evident disapproval – but there’s no denying he has a certain alpha magnetism about him, despite the permanent scowl.

‘What happened?’ I ask, gesturing to his face. ‘Don’t tell me: I should see the other guy?’

He touches the fresh bruise purpling his eye socket. ‘Kitchen cabinet,’ he says shortly.

There are livid red scratches on his wrists, too.

It’s no wonder the situation with the Porters pushes all Millie’s buttons. But I have a hunch their relationship is a lot more complicated – and a lot darker – than my wife thinks.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ I ask Felix, glancing around to catch the eye of a waitress. ‘Coffee or—’

‘Can we just get on with this?’

‘You got it. How are things at work?’

His expression tightens. ‘I’m trying to save the pensions of tens of thousands of people so they don’t end up on the streets in their old age,’ he says. ‘But thank you for asking.’

I haven’t read anything in the financial pages about Copper Beech yet, but when I made discreet enquiries with a journalist friend who works at theFinancial Timesafter the Porters pulled out of the house sale, he confirmed the company’s definitely in trouble. Oddly enough, Felix Porter seems to come out of it surprisingly well. The firm’s board of directors has been sailing close to the wind for a while now, but Felix has apparently been holding their feet to the fire, trying to get them to clean up their act before the FSA is forced to intervene. I know Millie thinks he’s the devil incarnate, but he may be in the clear on this one.

‘You can probably guess why I wanted to see you,’ I tell Felix. ‘I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and I’m not trying to add to the pressure. But if there’s any way we can get the sale back on track—’

‘You’re wasting your time.’

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