Remember Me?

Fi and Carolyn exchange looks.

“Lexi…” Fi says almost gently. “You’re our boss. We do what you say. But we don’t have lunch. And we don’t go out.” She hefts her bag on her shoulder, then sighs. “Look, come along today if you want to…”

“No,” I say, stung. “It’s okay, thanks.” And with shaky legs I turn and walk away.

Chapter 10

I’m numb with shock.

All the way home from the office, I sat in my taxi in a kind of trance. Somehow I managed to talk to Gia

I’m a bitch-boss-from-hell. My friends all hate me. What the fuck has happened?

Every time I remember Carolyn’s scathing voice, I flinch. God knows what I’ve done to her-but she obviously has no time for me.

Have I really turned into a bitch over the last three years? But how? Why?

The water is growing tepid and at last I heave myself out. I rub myself briskly, trying to energize myself. I can’t keep obsessing about it. It’s already six, and in an hour I have to host a di

At least I don’t have to cook. When I arrived home, Gia

I wrap a fresh towel around myself and pad into the bedroom-then double back into the dressing room for my clothes. Jeez Louise. I know why rich people are so thin: it’s from trekking around their humongous houses the whole time. In my Balham flat I could reach the wardrobe from the bed. And the TV. And the toaster.

I pick out a little black dress, some little black underwear, and some minuscule black satin shoes. There’s nothing in my 2007 wardrobe that’s big. No cuddly sweaters, no chunky shoes. Everything’s slimline and tailored, to match me.

As I trail back into the bedroom I let my towel drop onto the floor.

“Hi, Lexi!”

“Aargh!” I jump in fright. The big screen at the base of the bed has lit up with a huge image of Eric’s face. I clap my hands over my chest and duck behind a chair.

I’m naked. And he can see me.

He’s my husband, I remind myself feverishly. He’s seen it all before-it’s fine.

It doesn’t feel fine.

“Eric, can you see me?” I say in a high-pitched, strangled voice.

“Not right now.” He laughs. “Put the setting to Camera.”

“Oh! Okay!” I say in relief. “Just give me a sec…”

I sling on a dressing gown, then quickly start gathering the clothes I’ve dropped about the room. Something I’ve learned pretty quickly is that Eric doesn’t like things lying around on the floor. Or on chairs. Or basically any kind of mess at all. I shove them all under the duvet as quickly as possible, plonk a cushion on top, and smooth it down as best I can.

“Ready!” I head to the screen and swivel the dial to Camera.

“Move back,” Eric instructs me, and I back away from the screen. “Now I can see you! So, I’ve got one more meeting, then I’ll be on my way home. Is everything set up for di

“I think so!”

“Excellent.” His huge pixellated mouth spreads in a jerky beam. “And how was work?”

“It was great!” Somehow I manage a cheerful tone. “I saw Simon Johnson and all my department, and my friends…”

I trail off, suddenly feeling a burn of humiliation. Can I even describe them as friends anymore?

“Marvelous.” I’m not sure Eric’s even listening. “Now you really should be getting ready. I’ll see you later, darling.”

“Wait,” I say on impulse. “Eric.”

This is my husband. I may barely know him-but he knows me. He loves me. If there’s anyone I should confide in about my problems, if anyone can reassure me, it’s him.

“Fire away.” Eric nods, his screen movements slow and jerky.

“Today, Fi said…” I can hardly bring myself to say the words. “She said I was a bitch. Is that true?”

“Of course you’re not a bitch.”

“Really?” I feel a pang of hope. “So I’m not a horrible bitch-boss-from-hell?”

“Darling, there’s no way you’re horrible. Or a bitch-boss-from-hell.”

Eric sounds so sure, I relax in relief. There’ll be an explanation. Maybe some wires have got crossed-there’s been a misunderstanding, it’ll all be fine-

“I’d say you were…tough,” he adds.

My relieved smile freezes on my face. Tough? I don’t like the sound of tough.

“Do you mean tough in a good way?” I try to sound casual. “Like, tough, but still really friendly and nice?”

“Sweetheart, you’re focused. You’re driven. You drive your department hard. You’re a great boss.” He smiles. “Now, I must go. I’ll see you later.”

The screen goes dark and I stare at it, totally unreassured. In fact, I’m more alarmed than ever.

Tough. Isn’t that just another way of saying “bitch-boss-from-hell”?

Whatever the truth is, I can’t let all this get to me. I have to keep everything in perspective. It’s an hour later, and my spirits have risen a little. I’ve put on my new diamond necklace. I’ve sprayed myself with lots of expensive scent. And I’ve had a sneaky little glass of wine, which has made everything look a lot better.

So maybe things aren’t as perfect as I thought. Maybe I’ve fallen out with my friends; maybe Byron is after my job; maybe I don’t have a clue who Tony Dukes is. But I can put it all right. I can learn my job. I can build bridges with Fi and the others. I can google Tony Dukes.

And the point is, I’m still the luckiest girl in the world. I have a gorgeous husband, a wonderful marriage, and a stu

Eric said it was a “casual little supper.” God knows what we do when it’s formal. Maybe have ten butlers in white gloves or something.

I carefully apply my Lancôme lipstick and blot it. When I’ve finished I can’t help staring at myself in the mirror. My hair is up and my dress fits to perfection and there are diamonds at my ears and throat. I look like some elegant girl in an ad. Like any minute a caption will appear on the screen below me.

Ferrero Rocher. For the finer things in life.

British Gas. Keeping you warm in your million-billion-pound trendy loft apartment.

I step back and automatically the lights change from the mirror spotlight to more of an ambient glow. The “intelligent lighting” in this room is like magic: it figures out where you are from heat sensors and then adjusts accordingly.

I quite like trying to catch it out by ru

When Eric’s out, obviously.

“Darling!” I jump, and turn to see him standing at the door, in his business suit. “You look wonderful.”

“Thanks!” I glow with pleasure and pat my hair.

“One tiny thing. Briefcase in the hall. Good idea?” His smile doesn’t waver, but I can hear the a

Shit. I must have left it there. I was so preoccupied when I arrived home, I didn’t think.

“I’ll move it,” I say hastily. “Sorry.”

“Good.” He nods. “But first, taste this.” He hands me a glass of ruby-red wine. “It’s the Château Branaire Ducru. We bought it on our last trip to France. I’d like your opinion.”