Page 10 of The Retreat
Talia came out into the stairwell. She glanced at Imogen and offered an embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
Imogen noticed that her ears were pink. ‘It’s fine,’ Imogen said quickly.
Imogen stayed frozen, unsure how to handle this, but also still holding the piece, which wasn’t small.
Eventually, Talia walked past her, leaving out the back door.
Imogen collected herself and carried the piece into the gallery, trying to look nonchalant.
Flora gave her an awkward smile. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ she said softly.
Well, so much for nonchalance. Imogen swallowed. ‘No, no, no… I should have been louder. I should have coughed…’
‘You’re at work. You shouldn’t need to worry about walking into a domestic,’ Flora interrupted gently. Her shoulders slumped. ‘We’ve just been… struggling. For a while.’ She sighed, eyes flicking to the door like she half-expected Talia to return. ‘She’s just so… hard sometimes. Maybe I’m the problem.’
Imogen didn’t know what to say. ‘I doubt it,’ she said finally.
That earned her a faint smile. ‘You don’t have to say that. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re just a bit too easy to talk to, I guess.’
Imogen smiled shyly, looking down.
‘Hey, I know it’s almost time to close, but I wondered if I could ask you a favour?’ Flora began. ‘There’s this piece I’ve just acquired, and I’m thinking of selling it, but it’s still at my place. I could do with a hand moving it. It’s a bit awkward on my own…’
She said it casually, like a favour between colleagues, but her eyes didn’t quite match the tone.
And Imogen said yes. Of course she said yes.
***
Flora’s flat was as immaculate as you’d expect. Cream walls, pale oak floors, soft, abstract artwork hung at perfect heights. The sculpture—a spindly, three-legged thing made of wrought iron and glass—sat in the hallway, partially covered by muslin. But they didn’t go near it right away.
Flora poured two glasses of white wine. Imogen could tell from the bottle that it wasn’t the kind she usually drank, which was always from the on-sale section of Tesco and came with a screw top. This wine was fancy, like Flora.
She offered one to Imogen, who took it with a soft thanks. She watched Flora sit on a sofa, curled into the corner, toes tucked under her. She patted the spot next to her. Imogen joined her nervously.
‘Sorry again,’ Flora said, swirling the wine. ‘I should’ve kept my voice down. I hate that you saw me like that. I don’t lose it often.’
‘You didn’t lose it,’ Imogen said. ‘You just stood your ground.’
Flora gave a little laugh. ‘That’s generous of you.’
She was quiet for a beat, staring into her glass. Then, without looking up, she said, ‘I know she’s cheating on me.’
Imogen blinked. She hadn’t expected the bluntness.
‘She says she’s working late but... And I keep telling myself it’s nothing. I don’t know if she’s actuallydoneanything yet. But I’ve seen the apps on her phone, the women with emoji names saved in her contacts.’
‘That’s shit,’ Imogen said softly. She’d never sworn in front of her boss before, but if there was ever a moment.
Flora looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, Imogen felt like she was being studied. She felt herself sit up straighter.
‘She makes me feel small,’ Flora said quietly. ‘Like I’m just this… insecure woman who should be grateful to have someone so driven and smart.’
Imogen was too shocked to respond.
‘I guess Iamgrateful,’ Flora went on. ‘That’s why I haven’t left yet. What if it’s a mistake? What if she hasn’t…’
Imogen reached out without thinking and touched her hand. Just a light brush. She didn’t expect Flora to take it.
