Remember Me?

“I feel perfectly normal,” I say.

“Of course you do.” He pats my hand patronizingly and I stiffen. Okay, I may not be totally recovered. But I do know that eating one packet of chips doesn’t make you mentally ill. I’m about to tell that to Eric, when he signals and turns in at a pair of electric gates that has opened for us. We drive into a shallow forecourt and Eric turns off the engine.

“Here we are.” I can hear the pride crackling in his voice. He gestures out the window. “This is our latest baby.”

I stare up, totally overcome, forgetting all about chips. In front of us is a brand-new white building. It has curved balconies, an awning, and black granite steps up to a pair of grand silver-framed doors.

“You built this?” I say at last.

“Not personally.” Eric laughs. “Come on.” He opens his door, brushing the last few chips off his trousers, and I follow, still in awe. A uniformed porter opens the door for us. The foyer is all palest marble and white pillars. This place is a palace.

“It’s amazing. It’s so glamorous!” I keep noticing tiny details everywhere, like the inlaid borders and the sky-painted ceiling.

“The penthouse has its own lift.” With a nod to the porter, Eric ushers me to the rear of the lobby and into a beautiful marquetry-lined lift. “There’s a pool in the basement, a gym, and a residents’ cinema. Although of course most apartments have their own private gyms and cinemas as well,” he adds.

I look up sharply to see if he’s joking-but I don’t think he is. A private gym and cinema? In a flat?

“And here we are…” The lift opens with the tiniest of pings and we walk into a circular, mirrored foyer. Eric presses gently on one of the mirrors, which turns out to be a door. It swings open and I just gape.

I’m looking at the most massive room. No, space. It has floor-to-ceiling windows, a walk-in fireplace on one wall-and on another wall there’s a gigantic steel sheet down which are cascading endless streams of water.

“Is that real water?” I say stupidly. “Inside a house?” Eric laughs.

“Our customers like a statement. It’s fun, huh?” He picks up a remote and jabs it at the waterfall-and at once the water is bathed in blue light. “There are ten pre-programmed light shows. Ava?” He raises his voice, and a moment later a ski

“Hi there!” she says in a mid-Atlantic accent. “Lexi! You’re up and about!” She grasps my hand with both of hers. “I heard all about it. You poor thing.”

“I’m fine, really.” I smile. “Just piecing my life back together again.” I gesture around the room. “This place is amazing! All that water…”

“Water is the theme of the show apartment,” says Eric. “We’ve followed feng shui principles pretty closely, haven’t we, Ava? Very important for some of our ultra-high net worths.”

“Ultra-what?” I say, confused.

“The very rich,” Eric translates. “Our target market.”

“Feng shui is vital for ultra-highs.” Ava nods earnestly. “Eric, I’ve just taken delivery of the fish for the master suite. They’re stu

Ultra-high whatevers. Fish for hire. It’s a different world. Lost for words, I look around again at the massive apartment: at the curved cocktail bar and the sunken seating area and the glass sculpture hanging from the ceiling. I have no idea how much this place costs. I don’t want to know.

“Here you are.” Ava hands me an intricate scale model made of paper and tiny wooden sticks. “This is the whole building. You’ll notice I’ve mirrored the curved balconies in the scalloped edges of the scatter pillows,” she adds. “Very art deco meets Gaultier.”

“Er…excellent!” I rack my brains for something to say about art deco meets Gaultier, and fail. “So, how did you think of it all?” I gesture at the waterfall, which is now bathed in orange light. “Like, how did you come up with this?”

“Oh, that wasn’t me.” Ava shakes her head emphatically. “My area is soft furnishings, fabrics, sensual details. The big concept stuff was all down to Jon.”

I feel a tiny lurch inside.

“Jon?” I tilt my head, adopting the vaguest expression I can muster, as if Jon is some unfamiliar word from an obscure foreign language.

“Jon Blythe,” Eric prompts helpfully. “The architect. You met him at the di

“Was I?” I say after an infinitesimal pause. “I…don’t really remember.” I start turning over the model in my fingers, trying to ignore the slight flush rising up my neck.

This is ridiculous. I’m behaving like a guilty adulterous wife.

“Jon, there you are!” Ava calls out. “We were just talking about you!”

He’s here? My hands clench involuntarily around the model. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him to see me. I have to make an excuse and leave-

But too late. Here he is, loping across the floor, wearing jeans and a navy V-neck and consulting some bit of paper.

Okay, stay calm. Everything’s fine. You’re happily married and have no evidence of any secret fling, affair, or liaison with this man.

“Hi, Eric, Lexi.” He nods politely as he approaches-then stares at my hands. I look down and feel a jerk of dismay. The model’s totally crushed. The roof’s broken and one of the balconies has become detached.

“Lexi!” Eric has just noticed it. “How on earth did that happen?”

“Jon.” Ava’s brow crumples in distress. “Your model!”

“I’m really sorry!” I say, flustered. “I don’t know how it happened. I was just holding it, and somehow…”

“Don’t worry.” Jon shrugs. “It only took me a month to make.”

“A month?” I echo, aghast. “Look, if you give me some Scotch tape I’ll fix it…” I’m patting at the crushed roof, desperately trying to prod it back into shape.

“Maybe not quite a month,” Jon says, watching me. “Maybe a couple of hours.”

“Oh.” I stop patting. “Well, anyway, I’m sorry.”

Jon shoots me a brief glance. “You can make it up to me.”

Make it up to him? What does that mean? Without quite meaning to I slip my arm through Eric’s. I need some reassurance. I need ballast. I need a sturdy husband by my side.

“So, the apartment’s very impressive, Jon.” I adopt a bland, corporate-wife-type ma

“Thank you. I’m pleased with it,” he replies in equally bland tones. “How’s the memory doing?”

“Pretty much the same as before.”

“You haven’t remembered anything new?”

“No. Nothing.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah.”

I’m trying to stay natural-but there’s an electric atmosphere growing between us as we face each other. My breath is coming just slightly short. I glance up at Eric, convinced he must have noticed something-but he hasn’t even flickered. Can’t he feel it? Can’t he see it?

“Eric, we need to talk about the Bayswater project,” says Ava, who has been riffling through her soft leather handbag. “I went to see the site yesterday and made some notes-”

“Lexi, why don’t you look around the apartment while Ava and I talk?” Eric cuts her off, loosening his arm from mine. “Jon will show you.”

“Oh.” I stiffen. “No, don’t worry.”

“I’d be happy to show you.” Jon’s voice is dry and kind of bored. “If you’re interested.”

“Really, there’s no need…”

“Darling, Jon designed the whole building,” Eric says reprovingly. “It’s a great opportunity for you to find out the vision of the company.”

“Come this way and I’ll explain the initial concept.” Jon gestures toward the other side of the room.

I can’t get out of this.

“That would be great,” I say at last.

Fine. If he wants to talk, I’ll talk. I follow Jon across the room and we pause next to the tumbling streams of the waterfall. How could anyone live with water thundering down the wall like this?