Beautiful Losers: A Novel of Suspense by Eve Seymour

heard above the clamour of men. I thought about my parallel existences, the buttoned-up schoolgirl and the wayward daughter, rules and routines versus domestic mayhem. I recalled having to behave like a man at home to survive; behave like a good little girl at school. Frequently, I got it mixed up, got it all wrong. As a grown-up , I’d adapted, done everything to shake off the traces of my past. Professionally, I pulled it off. Personally, I sometimes failed.
    When I spoke my voice felt dull and leaden. “I’m fine. I was being silly. Let’s go.”

ten
    â€œMore pudding?” Claire smiled, spoon poised.
    Claire Lidstone was the kindest, sweetest human being I knew. We’d been firm friends since primary school and had continued our friendship despite me being sent away to school.
    I passed my plate. “Just a small helping.”
    â€œI can see your work doesn’t interfere with your appetite.” Gavin Chadwick’s laugh was light. His expression seemed to say Yes, the story behind your face is intriguing but I’m too polite and sophisticated to ask or stare . He had receding hair, which he swept back from time to time, and a face that exuded arrogant intellect. He wore a crumpled linen suit, the collarless shirt beneath oozing shabby chic. Throughout the evening I’d caught myself watching the criminal defence lawyer with a professional eye. Deferential to his hosts, he gave every appearance of clear interest in his fellow guests, but the sense that he was commanding the situation was definite and apparent. Maybe my observation was unfair. Maybe I was tired and a bit strung out. And what did it matter a damn? Whatever I thought, the Chadwicks were clearly enthralled by their new lives in Devon.
    â€œIt’s such a slow pace of life.” Lottie Chadwick smiled. “Everyone has time to chat. There’s no pressure. It’s like going back to the Britain of my parents’ generation.”
    Careful not to puncture her illusions, my flat smile disguised the fact that my own observations were tempered by time, detachment, and experience. I could have informed Lottie about the crippling unemployment, the high cost of living, the stresses of residing in a holiday area where supermarkets are routinely plundered and roads blocked. I could have enlightened her about the merciless level of gossip, the them and us mentality that springs from moneyed people moving into an area where wages were well below the national average. “It’s certainly a delightful place for children to grow up,” I admitted.
    â€œI couldn’t agree with you more,” Lottie enthused. “Ours have only recently broken up from school so it’s all rather new to them. Milton’s at Winchester. Serena’s at prep school.”
    I caught Claire’s protective expression. She was one of the few people to witness my profound misery at being parked in a boarding school.
    Claire’s husband Charlie topped up everyone’s glass and plumped back down next to me, his large frame, clad in a check shirt, solid and dependable. More used to seeing him in mud-
spattered jeans and Wellington boots, I couldn’t ever remember seeing Charlie make such an effort to look smart.
    â€œI think it’s wonderful what you do,” Lottie said, leaning tipsily towards me with a lopsided smile. She had large brown downturned eyes that made her look vulnerable.
    â€œShe’s not a neurosurgeon,” Gavin said, as though apologising for his wife’s gushing manner.
    I spotted the flex in Chris’s jaw and caught the tail end of Claire’s anxious frown. Gavin settled himself in his chair as though preparing for an entertaining debate. “How do you regard the current trend for counselling, Kim?”
    This felt like the conversational equivalent of a light starter. Sooner or later, he’d be dishing up the main course. “Depends what you mean.”
    â€œ