had once asked her.
Alarmed by the amount of dust Renata missed, Vanessa had offered countless times to buy her a new pair but the offer had always been turned down. Renata was also selectively deaf, especially around Dominique. Vanessa’s mum constantly moaned about their useless housekeeper, but Vanessa felt bound by a sense of loyalty. Luckily they also had thirty-pound-an-hour cleaners that came in once a week.
The house was quiet that morning. Conrad was in his study reading a script his agent had sent, ‘a sci-fi version of Downton Abbey ’. Dominique had gone back to bed with one of her headaches. Vanessa found Renata in the den in the basement watching a Dr Phil repeat on Sky.
Vanessa hovered in the doorway. ‘Renata, I was just wondering why you’d chopped the heads off all these roses.’
‘They were bad kochanie .’
‘Bad?’ Vanessa repeated blankly.
‘Yes, funny colour. Not like roses should be.’
‘They’re meant to look like—’ Vanessa looked down at the massacred Spring Vintage bouquet. They’d only been delivered from Wild at Heart yesterday.
Renata smiled at her. ‘I do right, eh?’
‘You do right,’ Vanessa sighed. She’d better go straight to her study and order new flowers before her mother noticed.
It was a shame to be inside on such a beautiful day, so Vanessa took the iPad out to the pool. Firing an email off to the MAC people about the packaging for her new lipstick range (the gold was still slightly too flat), she sat back and took a break. Through the rose-tint of her Chanel sunglasses the garden looked spectacular. Paul was walking diligently through the beds at the far end, stopping occasionally to finesse a flower or plant.
There was an almost-human sigh from the other sunbed. Sukie lay on her Versace beach towel, her little body rising and falling in the heat.
‘Are you thirsty, my darling?’ Vanessa asked. ‘I’ll get you some water.’
Sukie rolled on her back and started cleaning her bits.
Charming , Vanessa thought, reaching for the suncream. Even though she was blessed with her mother’s dark colouring, she was meticulous about sun protection. She was meticulous about everything to do with her appearance: still water served at room temperature and sipped at fifteen-minute intervals, no carbs after 1 p.m., only the occasional glass of champagne. Vanessa had been the dumpy kid at school and it was the power behind her relentless self-control now.
There was a shout from the far end of the garden.
‘Vanessa!’
‘Up here, Conrad!’ she called back.
Her husband came up the lawn, looking very French in navy shorts and a pink Armani shirt. He plonked himself down on the end of her sunbed.
‘How was the script?’ she asked.
‘Fucking atrocious. Brideshead Revisited meets Button Moon . The writers must be on crack.’
‘Sounds quite fun to me,’ she joked, getting a death stare in return.
‘Don’t take the fucking piss.’
‘I was—’
Bristling with anger, Conrad sprang up. ‘You think it’s funny, sitting up here with that mangy mutt as you conjure up our next tacky deal? I’m a talented actor, Vanessa.’ He spat the words out at her. ‘Do you think I like being wheeled out as your bloody plus one?’
‘Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that.’ Vanessatried to soothe him. ‘Conrad, you’re amazingly talented, you just need another break …’
He looked at her in disdain. ‘What the fuck would you know?’
‘Where are you going?’ she cried.
‘Back inside, away from you!’
Dismayed, Vanessa watched him go. She’d committed the cardinal sin of making fun of his career. She hadn’t meant it, of course, but Conrad was so touchy these days. He seemed to spend most of his time Googling himself and checking how many new followers he had on Twitter. Everything was Colin Firth’s fault, apparently, because he’d ‘stolen’ Conrad’s life. Vanessa was seriously starting to worry her husband was becoming