Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [9]
He was her employer, and if Greg did leave her, she was going to need, rather badly, to stay employed.
Chloe couldn't help wondering how a man who disapproved of women spending more than thirty seconds in the loo was likely to react to the idea of time off for antenatal appointments, visits to the doctor, maybe a whole day off to actually give birth…
No, no, safer all round to keep this kind of news from him, Chloe thought with a shudder.
For the time being, at least.
She felt doubly guilty on Friday morning when Bruce came into the shop carrying a box from the patisserie around the corner.
`You're not eating properly,' he told her, dumping the box on the counter. `This dieting business doesn't suit you. Here, I picked us up a couple of coffee йclairs.'
Even a fortnight ago, the prospect of a coffee йclair at nine o'clock in the morning would have made her feel sick. Now, gazing lovingly at them, Chloe realised that she was so ravenous she could eat not only both йclairs but the box as well.
`That's really kind.'
Does he seriously think I'm looking terrible because I'm on a diet?
`Got something else for you too.' Digging in his inside pocket, Bruce pulled out a gilt-edged invitation. `My mother sent it to us. Some charity bash in Belgravia. Sounds pretty good, but we've made other arrangements for that night -it's our wedding anniversary - so I thought you and Greg could give it a try. Might perk you up a bit.'
`Lovely.' Dutifully, Chloe studied the invitation. Right now the only thing capable of perking her up would be a husband with a brain transplant.
`Lots of famous people going.' In case she'd forgotten how to read, Bruce leaned over and pointed to the list of names. `Wayne Peterson, the footballer. Caroline Newman, she's the one who does that holiday programme. And Daisy Schofield…' He hesitated. The name was familiar but he couldn't place it.
`Australian model, sings a bit. And she's acted in a couple of films,' said Chloe. Greg had something of a crush on Daisy Schofield, so she was in a position to know.
`Well, should be fun.' Bruce gave her an encouraging wink. `No getting yourself chatted up by Wayne Peterson, mind. He's a good-looking chap.'
Oh yes, highly likely, thought Chloe. The moment Wayne Peterson claps eyes on me, that'll be it, no question. Bowled over.
Literally, she decided with a rueful smile, if I carry on eating at this rate.
Greg waited until Chloe had left for work the next morning before hauling the suitcases out from under the stairs.
Doing it this way might seem unkind, but he didn't mean to be. It would just be far more upsetting for Chloe, he knew, to be there watching him pack.
Easier all round to clear his things out while she was out.
Was that so cruel?
It didn't take him long to fill four suitcases; he wasn't making off with the household appliances, only clothes and a few CDs.
Forty minutes later, Greg took a last tour around the living room. Not the happiest day of his life, but he'd survive.
None of this is my fault, he told himself, imagining Chloe's reaction when she came home at five thirty and found his note. It really isn't my fault, though. Chloe knew the rules and she broke them. How can I be to blame when she forced me into this?
He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It had been
a wedding present from his grandmother, but he wouldn't take it with him. He wasn't a bastard, for one thing. This might be the end of the road for himself and Chloe but that didn't mean they had to turn into the kind of couple who fought over the last curtain hook.
Anyway, what use would he have for a clock like that? He was moving in with his old mate Adrian, whose own wife had run off last year with a stockbroker. The last thing he needed was the chiming brass monstrosity his grandmother had ordered through her catalogue.
Much as he loved her, there was no getting away from the fact, Greg decided; it was one seriously naff clock.
The gilt-edged invitation was propped up next to it on the mantelpiece. With time on his hands, Greg picked