The Summer Villa. Melissa Hill

ago when she’d been offered a translator position at the Home Office.

      A little while before that, Ed had asked her to marry him, and suddenly Colette was a Londoner with a comfortable house near Hyde Park.

      Three bedrooms, living/dining area, a kitchen and outdoor terrace, and yet the house felt so empty. She walked into the living room and turned on the television before going into the kitchen to start breakfast.

      She had just plated some eggs and bacon when Ed walked in, dripping with sweat, his sandy hair now dark against his forehead.

      ‘Good morning, darling,’ he greeted, walking over and kissing her cheek. He pulled open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of his post-run shake.

      Her husband was very concerned with his health, jogged seven days a week, and drank pre- and post-workout elixirs comprised of things Colette didn’t want to think too much about.

      ‘How was your run?’ she asked as she set his plate on the white granite worktop. Her sister Noelle often joked that the brightest thing in the entire house was Colette’s hair.

      Ed’s mother Laura had ‘helped’ with the decorating (an understatement) and had declared bright colours gaudy and unsophisticated.

      Colette hadn’t wanted to argue. She was in a different world here, where the rules were set but often not shared, and one small misstep could have negative social or professional consequences.

      The older woman also cautioned that people would look to topple Colette because of Ed’s profile within the London business world and that there would be several who would love nothing more than to see their relationship ruined.

      Laura’s intentions weren’t malicious, Colette knew, but a heartfelt warning. Ed’s mother was much like her, in a way. She’d come from a simpler life and had been propelled into this world by her own marriage. It had ended badly for many of the same reasons she now cautioned Colette about.

      She’d left Ed’s dad a few years later and made a place for herself on her own terms. She wanted Colette to do the same, without the broken marriage.

      ‘It was good. I ran into Carter and Freddy in the park,’ Ed informed her as he continued to drink the contents of his bottle. ‘They said they had some news about that IPO I’ve been tracking.’

      When they first met, her husband was a lowly portfolio manager’s assistant for a small investment firm in London. Now, he was the personal fund manager for seven- and eight-figure families, who paid him more than handsomely to manage their investments.

      He’d gone from a tiny fish in a small pond to a great white in a lake of other investment managers just like him.

      ‘And speaking of news – according to Mother there’s another grandchild on the way.’ Ed’s tone was casual but Colette noticed he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

      She was glad of it, because she knew there was no way she would have been able to hide her reaction. ‘Oh. Sarah’s pregnant again?’ She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d even got the words out, the lump of disappointment in her throat was so huge. Or was it envy?

      Colette wasn’t sure how to describe the visceral, almost primal disappointment you experienced when someone else managed to achieve the very thing you wanted.

      Five years of marriage and countless attempts, and still she and Ed had yet to conceive. There had been occasions when she thought she might be pregnant, but each time proved to be dodgy hormones or a faulty pregnancy test.

      Ed was great about it, always encouraging, but she knew he was as disappointed as she was.

      His brothers already had five (now soon to be six) offspring between them, and had been married years after them. Her own sister, Noelle, also had family; she lived in Germany with her husband and twin girls.

      Sometimes it felt like Colette and Ed were the only ones with all these rooms and nothing to fill them.

      ‘Could you put that in the microwave for me?’ Ed said now, referring to breakfast. ‘Just the eggs, actually. I’m going to take a shower before I eat.’ He duly washed his bottle and set it out to drain, before coming over and kissing her on the cheek. It was his way of letting her know that he understood her disappointment, knowing she wouldn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

      Colette was grateful for it, but she sometimes wished they would talk more about the void in their lives, instead of pretending it didn’t exist, the way Ed tended to sometimes.

      ‘Of course,’ she answered. She’d just taken a seat at the kitchen island, hoping for a cosy breakfast together, but it seemed it was going to be another morning of eating on her own.

      ‘Thanks.’ Ed kissed her forehead and jogged back out to the hallway. ‘It smells amazing.’

      ‘No problem,’ she said to his back, then turned to her own food and sighed.

      He was so busy these days. Up early and to bed late so many nights. His clients could be demanding, and a call from someone meant he – or sometimes both of them, depending on the effort required – could be called away to the country for a weekend retreat, or invited to a party of rich elites.

      It was something that both amazed Colette and made her uncomfortable. She’d adjusted, though: five years of marriage had done that, but in that other world the glaring differences between her and Ed’s peers was more than evident.

      He never complained or made her feel unworthy in any way. In fact, it was just the opposite. He was supremely proud of her and loved to talk about her accomplishments.

      The translator position, which had started her career, had moved Colette along the path to her present job as Project Manager in the Department of International Development. It was a fantastic opportunity, which sometimes even allowed her to work for the United Nations. She was so lucky to be living her dream, at least in part.

      Colette had the wonderful home, fantastic husband and an amazing job making a difference in the world, just as she’d always wanted.

      There was just one thing missing.

      An hour later, she was dressed in a stylish pencil skirt and heels. A string of pearls draped from her neck and a matching pair of earrings dangled from her ears.

      Ed was on the couch going through the newspaper when she emerged downstairs again. This was often the way. Two ships passing in the night.

      ‘Where are you off to?’ he asked as he looked up.

      ‘I told you on Wednesday that I was going shopping with your mum, then we’re going to have lunch in Mayfair,’ she stated.

      ‘You did, but I thought you said Saturday?’

      ‘Ed, it is Saturday,’ she replied.

      He looked perplexed. ‘It can’t be.’ He closed the paper quickly, checking the date on front, then promptly jumped to his feet. ‘Damn! I was supposed to meet the boys at the tennis club for brunch. I can’t believe it.’

      Colette watched as he picked up his phone and swiped quickly through his contact list.

      She sighed. Her husband was wonderful, just too busy sometimes. If he wasn’t dashing around the city for business, he was travelling around the world on business.

      Sometimes his clients demanded he personally check out the companies in which they were interested in investing. It came with the trappings of the life they had. But still she wished that the pace of that life could just slow down a little now and again.

      Leaving Ed to call his friends, she made her way out to the hallway, then stopped as the post on the bureau got her attention. Ed must have picked it up earlier when coming in from his run.

      She stood, absently flipping through the envelopes to see if there was anything important. A crisp white envelope addressed to Colette and Ed Hargreaves caught her eye.

      It wasn’t so much the letter, but the fact that it wasn’t