Driving home, Charlotte planned her strategy. Dom was due home around seven, and the boys had a sleepover at a friend’s house. She’d make his favourite meal, spaghetti carbonara, and crack open something halfway decent. Once he was fully sated, with a good half-bottle inside him, she’d strike. Whatever the truth was, she had to know.
Chapter 6
‘This? You’ve been getting your knickers in a knot about this?’ Dom looked at the card, then at Charlotte, and burst out laughing.
Charlotte resisted the urge to stomp into the kitchen, retrieve the pan of leftover carbonara, and tip it over his head. Whatever reaction she’d been expecting, heaving guffaws hadn’t been on the list. No nose rubbing or shifty looks, just an outburst of chortling usually reserved for the comedian Harry Hill. Charlotte couldn’t stand the man — she found his stupid shirt collars and inane humour about as funny as an ingrown toenail — but Dom thought he was a comedy genius.
‘Yes, I have, and I don’t see why it’s so amusing.’ Images of tiny panties filled her head again, this time tangled in a silky heap after a sweaty session of—
‘Darling, I can kind of see why you might be upset, but it’s nothing, really.’ Dom got to his feet and pulled Charlotte into his arms. ‘She writes that stuff to everyone. Ask Jack; he’ll tell you. She’s a bit nutty, but harmless.’
Jack was a colleague of Dom’s. Nice enough, with a wife who wittered on endlessly about diets and the latest gym apparatus she’d bought for honing and toning purposes. After half an hour in her company, Charlotte felt compelled to inhale chocolate and jiggle her mummy tummy with gay abandon.
‘I’m not going to ask Jack. I’m asking you. What future is she talking about, and what’s written in the stars?’
Dom nuzzled her neck. Charlotte’s slumbering libido gave a yawn, stretched a little, then gave a defiant two-finger salute. She stepped away, determined to see the conversation through to a credible ending.
‘Amelie and I worked on something together. It came out better than we expected, hence the future reference. She’s into stars and alignment and a lot of bollocks, to be honest. As I said, it’s just her style.’
Charlotte looked at her husband. He looked back, guileless, with ‘how could you think such terrible things?’ written all over his face. He was either a serious Oscar contender, or—
‘And the big kisses? Does she share those with everyone, too?’
Dom reached for her hands, and she accepted his grasp. She’d always loved his hands, big and strong in contrast to her dainty ones. He gave hers a squeeze, then cupped her face. ‘Charlotte, trust me. There’s nothing going on. I’m sorry you got the wrong end of the stick, but we’re good.’
Approximately 95 per cent of Charlotte wanted to believe him. She leaned in for a kiss, and Dom reciprocated. For a few seconds she shoved her residual doubts aside and breathed in his familiar scent. No dodgy hint of another woman’s perfume. Just the feeling of his lips brushing against hers, and the familiar cologne she bought him every Christmas. ‘OK, I believe you. But if I find any more cards—’
Dom silenced her with another kiss. ‘You won’t. I promise. Now, I’ve got some work to do for tomorrow morning’s meetings, so I’ll let you chill with a bit of TV.’
Charlotte watched his departing back as he headed to the study. She rarely got to choose what to watch in the evenings. Dom dominated the remote control, and she generally binge-watched her favourite shows on catch-up during the day or when he was away on business.
With the dishwasher loaded, and a glass of wine in hand, Charlotte sprawled on the sofa. She was midway through a gritty crime drama, one episode into a frothy comedy with an irritating female lead, and dithering over a supernatural thriller with high ratings. Back and forth she switched, her attention span that of a bored amoeba. Exasperated, Charlotte switched off the TV and decided a bubble bath was in order. But first, she should update Ruth.
All OK. Just a silly message from an airhead colleague. Phew! C xxx
The reply popped up a few minutes later, as Charlotte sat on the end of the bed, peeling off her socks. She grimaced at her feet: chipped nail polish, and hard skin tough enough to grate Parmesan.
Right. That’s good. As long as you’re sure, hon. Later R xxx
Hunting out a foot file in the bathroom cabinet, Charlotte realised she needed a fresh towel. She wandered into the hallway, pausing as she heard the low mumble of Dom’s voice behind the closed study door. Tiptoeing across the plush carpet, she pressed her ear against the door. She couldn’t make out anything he was saying, but his side of the conversation was punctuated with chuckles. Maybe Harry Hill was on the line? Or maybe Amelie…
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath and moved away. Dom had told her his version of events, and she believed him. That annoying five per cent whispering in her ear could bugger off.
The bath was deep, hot and soothing. Charlotte scraped away at her callouses, vowing to remove the nail polish in the morning. She hoped the boys were having fun. She missed picking them up from school, hearing their excited chatter about the day’s events, or carefully examining the latest handicraft. Her favourite two mugs in the world were hand-painted by Alastair and Robson. One featured a Jedi knight with a wobbly light sabre; the other an equally wonky heart with ‘Love you, Mummy’ written on the side. Their friend, Sam, was a sweet boy with an equally lovely mum, Jasmine. Charlotte imagined them all eating pizza or whatever together, before heading out into Jasmine’s garden for a kickabout. It was Friday night, no school tomorrow, and Charlotte would pick them up some time in the morning.
Dom was closeted in his study. Charlotte was scraping dead skin off her feet. Shouldn’t they be out on a date night, or something? It wasn’t often they had the house to themselves. The boys were usually mooching around, needing help with homework or wanting either Dom or Charlotte to play some silly game with them.
Pulling the plug, Charlotte climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in a fluffy cream towel. She ran a brush through her dark, mid-length hair and dabbed on some eye cream and moisturiser. Ruth often said Charlotte looked like a younger Elizabeth Hurley. As if! When she first met Dom, he likened her to Monica in Friends. Minus the neuroses. Charlotte would describe herself as reasonably attractive, or ‘scrubs up pretty well’ as an ex-boyfriend once commented.
Back in the bedroom, she located her tub of body butter and slathered it liberally all over. If Dom walked in, he might be overcome with lust at her glistening frame and bend her over backwards… Nah, if he grabbed her she’d more likely shoot out of his arms like a well-oiled rocket.
Donning her pyjamas, Charlotte slithered under the duvet. Just then, Dom popped his head around the door. ‘Ready for bed so soon? Sorry, still got a pile of crap to deal with. Sleep tight.’ And then he was gone.
Charlotte tried to read, but the words swam before her eyes. Physically she had done little, but the emotional strain of challenging Dom about the card had taken its toll. She switched off the bedside lamp and took some deep, calming breaths. In, out. In out. You do the hokey cokey and… Mindfulness wasn’t her thing, she figured. She’d tried yoga a few times, but could never switch off her brain sufficiently to get in the zone.