Emma carefully placed a sprig of fresh mint on top of the two small white pots of chocolate mousse and stood back to admire her work. Satisfied, she opened the fridge and put them on the top shelf above the bowl of chilled gaspacho that was to be the starter.
A keen cook she had honed her skills over the years to rival those of any chef. Her husband Philip was an enthusiastic guinea pig, who was more than happy to encourage her hobby. In actual fact he was quite happy for her to do anything that would prevent her from asking too much of him. At fifty Philip was still an attractive man, a little broader around the middle perhaps, a shade greyer at the temples, but his eyes when he smiled at her still twinkled in the same sexy way that had swept her away all those years ago.
She had been a waitress back then, at a small but exclusive Italian restaurant in central Manchester. The wages were poor but she loved her job. No two days were the same and in any case the tips went some way to topping up her income. The English degree she had attained by the skin of her teeth was, it seemed no guarantee of employment and the constant rejections from prospective employers meant that what had started out as a stop gap was fast becoming permanent.
Philip had come in one Friday lunchtime with four other guys, all were more than a little drunk. He had stood out from the rest straightaway with his dark good looks and brash manner. He wore an obviously expensive navy blue suit with a nonchalance that bordered on being scruffy. Emma took their order, ignoring the lewd comments and wolf whistles. She was well used to the clumsy attentions of students, fully aware that alone and sober they were mostly polite and well mannered. As she turned from the table Emma felt a sharp slap on her bottom. Boozy banter was one thing but they could just keep their grubby little hands to themselves. Her hackles well and truly up; she nudged the water jug at the edge of the table with her hip toppling it into Philip’s lap. He roared as the ice cold water found it’s mark, while Emma walked back to the kitchen seemingly oblivious to the furore she left in her wake. He had apologised that evening over dinner and then again later in bed. Twenty six years later, he was still apologising to her and she was still forgiving him.
They had been married for five happy years when Philip became a full partner in the law practise where he had worked since qualifying as a solicitor. They moved from their one bedroom flat in the city, into a beautiful Victorian semi on the outskirts of Manchester. She became a housewife and he became a serial adulterer the first affair beginning just after her fourth and final miscarriage. At fifteen weeks it was the longest pregnancy Emma had sustained. The familiar dreaded cramps had started on a Tuesday morning, ending in a hysterectomy on Wednesday, putting an end to their hopes of having a family. Through the following weeks Philip was her rock giving her love and support in spite of his own grief, so when six months later he confessed to having a fling with one of the temps at work, Emma forgave him, promises were made and life continued.
The next time it happened she found out by telephone. The call was from a country hotel in York informing her that a ring had been found in the bathroom of the room in which she and her husband had stayed the previous weekend. They needed to confirm ownership and would she mind giving them a description of it. Emma ended the call promising to ring later when she wasn’t so busy. She never made the call because the ring was not hers. Philip had indeed stayed there, it had been a business trip and she had packed his case herself.
That evening Emma packed her own things and left him. Two weeks later after more apologies and yet more promises she returned home and acknowledged to herself that in doing so she had given him permission to do it again. Philip did not disappoint and since then there had been many more such flings. The women concerned were invariably young, mostly pretty and always single (He was never one for confrontation) they never lasted for long and on the whole he was discreet. Emma learned to ignore the mood swings which signalled the onset. The lies became more outrageous and less believable every time and when each had run it’s course, he begged forgiveness and she pretended it still mattered. The truth was that it didn’t anymore. He always came back to her because he needed her and she loved him enough to be content with that. As much as she hated the situation the alternative was unthinkable.
Emma threw herself into village life, organising and hosting charitable events. She enjoyed socialising and before long found herself much in demand, particularly for her culinary expertise. At home she entertained Philip’s numerous business associates on a regular basis throwing lavish dinner parties at short notice without breaking a sweat.
It was during one such gathering that the name of Vanessa Craig was first mentioned. She was the client of Philip’s partner Joe. At forty two and a widow of five years she apparently, (according to Joe) “had far too much money and time on her hands.” She had bought a small but very exclusive boutique in the centre of Manchester and Philip’s firm were handling the conveyancing. The conversation among the men was mainly centred on her eligibility as a ‘merry widow’ and Emma felt a frisson of fear as she listened to their banter.
In the weeks that followed her suspicions grew. Although not his usual M. O, his fascination with Vanessa Craig was undeniable He became withdrawn and distant. When he did manage to hold a conversation, her name would invariably crop up. Emma found that she could do nothing right. Her appearance, the house, even her cooking were subject to his nit picking criticism. All the usual signs, but this was different. There was no guilt and no extravagant gestures. She felt him slipping away from her. This woman was no young, love struck, air head. She was a mature and beguiling predator and the threat to Emma’s marriage was tangible.
It was at Philip’s suggestion that she turned her culinary talents to a more lucrative use. He had assured her that a job would help to cure her ‘depression,’ completely oblivious to the fact that he was the root cause of it. As it turned out this was a good move for her. Emma found that she loved her job as a freelance cook. She would visit people’s houses making restaurant style dinners, leaving just before the guests arrival enabling the hostess to claim the credit for herself. Word quickly spread and soon Emma found herself booked up months in advance.
At home things were worse than ever. They were seldom in the house at the same time and when they were, it usually resulted in a row. Things had come to a head last Sunday evening when Philip had finally admitted his infidelity with the fragrant Mrs Craig and stated his intention to leave home. Emma broke all her own rules, begging and pleading with him to stay. She even offered to accept the affair and let him conduct it openly. He laughed in her face telling her that he’d been doing that for months. Emma felt her fear dissolve, only to be replaced by anger, shame and hatred for this man she had loved so much for so long.
In the days since, they had avoided one another whenever possible. Philip had arranged to move out the following Sunday and Emma had finally accepted that she too had to move on with her life. Leaving her home would be a wrench, but she decided to do it sooner rather than later. She had booked a flight to Spain for Saturday morning, intending to stay with friends until she found work there. The relief on Philip’s face had been obvious and she despised him for it.
It was now Friday. A last minute booking meant that she was working tonight. Her client was a regular customer. A single mother with a son at university she owned her own business and found it difficult to find the time to cook. Emma had frequently chosen to drop her more lucrative clients in favour of her. She was easy to talk to and they had become mutual confidantes. Before leaving home, Emma had stowed her suitcase in the boot of her car. It didn’t contain much, just a few summer clothes and toiletries. It was to be a new start and she wouldn’t need much. Placing her passport and tickets into her handbag, she ran her fingers over the pen she had taken from Philip’s pocket that morning. He had had it for as long as she had known him and apart from her wedding ring, it was the only souvenir she took.
The oven timer bleeping brought Emma out of her reverie. She reset it and placed the par boiled potatoes on the top shelf, removing the roast and putting it to rest. Satisfied that everything was ready, she removed her apron and gathered together her equipment. Just then the kitchen door opened and her employer came in holding out an envelope. She was dressed to impress in an emerald green Grecian style gown. Her honey blonde hair was perfectly coiffed in a lop sided twist. Her make-up was understated making her seem younger than her forty two years. She handed the envelope to Emma and said, “thank you so much Anna, it all looks and smells wonderful as usual. What on earth shall I do without you? Are you sure I can’t tempt you out of retirement just for me?” Emma smiled pleasantly at the woman who had stolen her husband. How did the saying go? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. The two women shared a hug “Not even for you Nessie darling, but I promise to keep in touch” she lied convincingly. “If only to keep track of your love life. Have you got any tips for me?”
“That’s easy” Vanessa said laughing. “Just treat ‘em mean keep ‘em keen.” Emma smiled at the irony. She had treated Philip very well indeed. In fact she had saved his life more than once, when he had inadvertently eaten food containing nuts. He had a severe allergy which meant that if he was exposed to even a tiny amount, he could die within minutes.
With a final wave, Emma let herself out of the back door, just as her husband went in the front. She toyed with the idea of keeping the name, deciding on second thoughts to let ‘Anna’ go. She had served her purpose very well. She took the Epi pen with its life saving dose of adrenalin from her bag, wrapped it in the envelope (from which she had removed a very generous wage for her work) and dropped it into the wheelie bin which awaited collection at the end of the drive. Her wedding ring she would keep, it was souvenir enough. As she drove away Emma wondered if her ‘piece de resistance’ would set properly.
Chocolate mousse was always a gamble particularly when it was laced with a generous amount of Amaretto and ground almonds. She hoped Philip would have room for her very special farewell dessert.
