Page 28 of A Riviera Retreat
The fact that he was having to attend a press conference told her that whatever he’d done would soon be public knowledge.
Various scenarios began to run through Vicky’s mind. Drink-driving? No. Anthony never drank away from home unless he knew he had an official driver waiting for him. Could he have lied about something? Possible, she supposed, but Anthony was more likely to have bluntly – and possibly rudely – told someone the truth. He’d got better at political correctness over the last few years, but sometimes he forgot that he should bite his tongue and stay silent.
The word ‘affair’ floated unbidden into her brain. Vicky’s steady breaststroke rhythm faltered and she almost sank beneath the water as the thought registered. Spluttering as she struggled to regain a steady pace, she thought about it. Could that possibly be the reason? An affair with one of the many women who worked in the Houses of Parliament? A few years ago, she would have laughed and dismissed the idea as absurd, her trust in Anthony complete. But things had been difficult and distant between them the last few months and Anthony had always been popular with her own female friends. She’d lost count of the number of affairs – secret and not so secret – she and Anthony had heard about down the years. It wasn’t out of the question that he could have been tempted and had now been caught.
Turning on her back and floating for a minute or two, Vicky tried to convince herself that Anthony cheating on her was the least likely explanation. He just wouldn’t. It had to be something else. Something she wouldn’t find out until he rang this evening. In the meantime she’d carry on as normal, which meant getting out of the pool in a few moments and facing the others.
A burst of laughter broke into her thoughts. Turning her head to look at the others, she saw them playing about, posing for photos. A perfect diversion, and turning back onto her front, Vicky swam to the steps. As she climbed out, Chelsea took a picture of her.
‘If that shows my cellulite you can delete it,’ Vicky said, smiling. ‘Shall I take one of you?’ and she held out her hand for the phone.
Chelsea struck a pose, standing on one leg, kicking the other out behind her, with one hand on the back of a lounger and the other placed on the back of her head as she pouted at the camera.
‘Very starlet-like,’ Vicky laughed as she took the picture. ‘Straight out of the 1950s.’
‘Thanks,’ Chelsea said, looking at it. ‘Ooh, it’s got a nice background shot of the villa in it too. I’m going to send it to my dad – show him where I’m staying.’
‘Feel better for your swim?’ Matilda asked, turning to Vicky.
‘Yes, thank you. Much cooler,’ Vicky replied, remembering the reason she’d given for finally going for a swim. ‘But time for a shower now, I think. I’ll see you all later in the kitchen for dinner-prep duties.’
Walking back to her room, she wondered about telling everyone who she was back in the real world. Whatever this cock-up of Anthony’s turned out to be, was it serious enough for her to tell them he was her husband before they saw it in the papers or heard his name on the news and put two and two together?
Would they even hear about it? They were all living in a little French cocoon here with the only TV in the villa tuned into the French language. She deliberately hadn’t heard any English news since she’d arrived. Wanting a complete break, she’d resisted the urge to look at the news channels when she had her laptop on. But that was about to change. She couldn’t wait until seven o’clock for Anthony to tell her. Forewarned was forearmed, as they say. If it was an affair, then she’d at least be prepared for his confession.
She found what she was looking for on the BBC website. She sighed with relief when she saw it wasn’t an affair before gasping with shock as she read through the details. It was something far worse for his career. He’d actually dared to pick up the mace from the table in front of the Speaker and walked several paces with it.
Vicky knew that the mace, a five foot long silver gilt ornamental club that actually dated from Charles II’s reign, was carried in to the House of Commons chamber every day by the sergeant at arms and placed on the table of the house. Representing the authority of the monarch, without it in place the house could not meet or pass laws. To say that it was a sacrosanct item of government was putting it mildly.
The media were having a ball with the news and speculation about the outcome was rife. All she could think of as she read was that it was so out of character for Anthony to act in that way. There was no possibility he could deny doing it because the whole incident had been seen by so many MPs and, of course, recorded by the in-house cameras. He’d been handed an immediate suspension for ten days, but it was going to take far longer than that for him to live this incident down.
Vicky prayed that his true friends would rally around him with support. By the time she returned home next week, surely something else would have become headline news. Maybe she should cut this holiday short and return early? She’d suggest it when Anthony rang this evening. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but if Anthony needed her there, she’d do go home willingly.
15
Amy, leaving Matilda and Chelsea down by the pool and taking advantage of a quiet hour where everyone was doing their own thing, made for her desk in the bedroom, determined to get to grips with her paperwork, including the dreaded tax. This year she resolved to be on top of the mountain of paperwork that running the retreat seemed to generate before the summer season was in full swing.
But first she needed to send an email. An email confirming an appointment with the notaire. They had everything to hand and were just waiting for her to sign a paper or two and instruct them to go ahead. Today she was finally ready. As the email pinged off into the air, Amy sighed. Now she could push all thoughts of Kevin stirring up trouble in the future into the furthest recess of her mind and concentrate on the accounts.
The small fifteen inch tv on the side of the desk, tuned into an English lifestyle programme via satellite, was switched on merely as background noise. This afternoon though, Amy had studiously avoided watching anything – until a breaking news bulletin from the Houses of Parliament came on and caught her attention.
She watched in amazement as the presenter outlined the outrageous action that had taken place in the house earlier, involving a certain Anthony Pinehill who had now been suspended. Amy switched the TV off and sat back. Could this possibly be Vicky’s husband? Thoughtfully, she opened her laptop and googled his name. Within seconds, she’d found a picture of him and Vicky that confirmed it. No wonder Vicky was so hot and bothered earlier.
Amy sat there for a few minutes, wondering what to do. Would Vicky be upset if she told her she knew who her husband was and the trouble he was in? Or would she appreciate a friendly offer of commiseration and the chance to talk about it? She knew she herself would appreciate a friendly word and she quickly came to the decision that she had to go in search of Vicky. She’d start with the summer house.
Walking up through the garden, Amy wondered how to broach the subject with Vicky. Come straight out with, ‘I know who your husband is and also the trouble he’s in,’ or wait and see if Vicky broached the subject herself? The latter would probably be best, but she’d wait and see how receptive Vicky was to her company once she realised Amy knew the true situation.
As she turned onto the last meandering path in front of the summer house, Amy saw Vicky sat outside, her laptop unopened on the small table next to her. Amy could feel her watching and waiting for her. When Vicky jumped up and fetched another chair from inside before settling down again, Amy breathed a relieved sigh. Ah, that was a good sign of her presence being welcome, and Vicky would like to talk.
‘Hi,’ Vicky said, speaking quickly. ‘I love Belle Vue Villa. The view is wonderful from up here. You are so lucky. Pierre is a great gardener and… and—’
‘Vicky, I’ve heard about your husband, Anthony Pinehill, on the news,’ Amy interrupted gently.
Vicky sighed and her shoulders dropped. ‘I guessed that’s why you’ve sought me out.’
‘I just wanted to offer an understanding ear if you’d like one,’ Amy said. ‘Are you all right?’
Vicky made a noise between a splutter and a groan. ‘I guess.’
