One Minute Later Read online

  Copyright

  Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

  Copyright © Susan Lewis 2019

  Jacket design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

  Jacket photograph © Reilika Landen /Arcangel Images

  Susan Lewis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008286736

  Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008286743

  Version: 2018-12-15

  Dedication

  For Jim Lynskey

  The bravest and most inspiring

  young man I know

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Vivienne

  Chapter Two: Shelley

  Chapter Three: Vivienne

  Chapter Four: Shelley

  Chapter Five: Vivienne

  Chapter Six: Shelley

  Chapter Seven: Vivienne

  Chapter Eight: Shelley

  Chapter Nine: Vivienne

  Chapter Ten: Shelley

  Chapter Eleven: Vivienne

  Chapter Twelve: Shelley

  Chapter Thirteen: Vivienne

  Chapter Fourteen: Vivienne

  Chapter Fifteen: Vivienne

  Chapter Sixteen: Shelley

  Chapter Seventeen: Vivienne

  Chapter Eighteen: Gina

  Chapter Nineteen: Vivienne

  Chapter Twenty: Vivienne

  Chapter Twenty-One: Vivienne

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Vivienne

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Susan Lewis

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  VIVIENNE

  The day started out so well.

  It was sunny, warm – a welcome bonus for what had so far been a rainy April – with misty slats of sunlight streaming through the partially open plantation shutters. The delicious aroma of fresh coffee and buttery croissants floated up from Max’s café next door, enticing her further into the day.

  Vivienne Shager stretched luxuriously, her taut, lithe body unravelling its impressive length from the contours of sleep as her mind made a happy reconnect with the world and what it had in store on this glorious work-free day.

  It was hard to believe that four full weeks had passed since she and the GaLs – Girls at Law – had run – and completed – an entire marathon to raise funds for the charity Heads Together. So much had happened in that time – mostly work related – but she’d also had an irritating bug that kept coming and going, trying to lay her low, but never quite succeeding. However, she was feeling pretty good today, she soon realized. This was a huge relief, for she and the GaLs were planning some serious celebration of their fund-raising efforts. The day was exclusively theirs; partners, spouses, offspring, parents, bosses and colleagues had been given notice that they’d have to manage without the key women in their lives from midday until said women were ready to tip in the direction of home.

  For Vivi there was less of a problem on the family front, since she had no children and her partner, Greg, was going to Lord’s for the day. Her mother fortunately didn’t live anywhere close by. On the work front, her immediate boss, Trudy Mack-Silver, was one of the GaLs, so no difficulties there. This wasn’t to say that Vivienne didn’t have a mountain of work to get through; being a senior member of the in-house legal team at FAberlin Investments meant her desk and inbox were always crammed with issues needing urgent attention. Over time she’d learned how to prioritize the ceaseless flow of demands, though many of them saw her labouring late into the evenings and often over entire weekends. She didn’t mind. She loved her job, and even liked many of the giant corporation’s upper-management team. They could be tough, bad-tempered, inconsiderate and in some cases offensively sexist, but in times of crisis she watched closely, spoke confidently, and managed to learn a lot from those whose jobs she had in her sights.

  ‘You give great kickback,’ Trudy often told her following an intense negotiation or fiery confrontation. ‘They respect you for it. It makes them listen and, provided you don’t go wrong, you could be heading up the entire legal team by the time you’re thirty.’ Trudy didn’t have a problem with this, because she had no such ambitions for herself. She was happy to stay at the level she’d already attained, since it allowed her time to be an at-home-most-evenings wife to Bruno, and available-for-school-runs mum to Nick and Dean.

  The other important thing about today was the fact that it was Vivi’s twenty-seventh birthday, another reason the GaLs – all graduates of LSE law school – had decided that this should be the marathon reunion day. Combining occasions was something they often did; being so busy with their careers it was the only way to make sure nothing got overlooked.

  Throwing back the pale blue striped duvet, Vivi stood as tall as her willowy five foot nine inches allowed, arched her long back and gave a lazy side-to-side twist to stretch out her waist. Since ending the intense pre-marathon training her body had softened slightly, making it, according to Greg, more feminine and curvy, and way sexier. He had a thing about large women, which made his attraction to her a bit of a mystery, given how slender she was. However, they’d been seeing one another for several months, non-exclusively, so their friends weren’t living in daily expectation of some significant news. A baby. A wedding. Or perhaps something as simple as moving in together.

  Despite their casual relationship, Vivi had to admit that he was a bit of a dreamboat in his way, sporty, witty, fiercely intelligent and very well connected in the financial world, thanks to his gentrified family and their historic ties to the City. When he spoke it was immediately evident that he came from privileged pastures; however, Vivienne strongly doubted that he gave a single thought to the relative ordinariness of her own roots. He wasn’t a snob, or not that she’d ever noticed. Nonetheless, she’d never taken him home to meet her family, who still lived in the hopelessly unsophisticated coastal town that Vivi had called home for the first eighteen years of her life.

  She’d moved on since uni, had redefined her focus, and was part of another world that could hardly be more different from the simplicity of her early years. Not that she had changed in character, for she was still the same upbeat and optimistic Vivi that her beloved grandpa used to call Vivi-vacious. This nickname came from her love of life and people, especially him and NanaBella, which was what she used to call her grandma on account of her name being Bella. Vivi also adored her younger brother, nineteen-year-old Mark, and there was no doubt that she loved her mother with all her heart, and knew that
her mother felt the same about her. However, their relationship was the most complicated and frustrating part of Vivienne’s world, which was why she didn’t often go home. She’d spent too many years trying to unlock the closed doors in her mother’s heart and unravel the secrets Gina had never shared, and now all Vivienne wanted was to avoid the confusing and conflicting emotions she always came away with after spending time with her mother.

  She wasn’t giving any of this a single thought on this glorious spring morning, although she expected her mobile to ring at any minute bringing a dutiful happy birthday call from home. The postman would almost certainly deliver a card from her mother later, and a text would no doubt pop up at some point during the day saying something like Hope you’re having a fabulous day, but please don’t have too much to drink. There wouldn’t be a present, because her mother had stopped buying them a few years ago, saying, ‘I always get it wrong, so there doesn’t seem any point in wasting my money. If you want something, just ask.’

  That was Gina all over. In spite of being a glamorous and successful forty-six-year-old businesswoman with a good sense of humour and plenty of friends, she could be prosaically practical about things that called for frivolity or indulgence. (Although, Vivi reminded herself, their surprise trip to Venice a few years ago had proved her mother could be both imaginative and impulsive when she wanted to be.) However, it was true to say that Gina was usually awkward with celebrations, and as for showy declarations of feeling, well, that wasn’t her at all. Actually, she was nothing if not a maddening set of contradictions, because she could be a lot of fun when she wanted to be, and when it came to throwing a party she didn’t do things by half. Things had changed, however, since Gil, Vivi’s stepfather and Mark’s father, had left, just over nine years ago. Dear, wonderful Gil, who was still as much a part of their lives as if he’d never gone, except he didn’t live with her mother any more – and if anyone could work out the bizarreness of that relationship they’d certainly have a better insight into Gina’s mysterious psyche than Vivi had ever managed.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ NanaBella had lamented at the time of the break-up. ‘I’ve never really understood your mother, you know that, and she could baffle the heck out of Grandpa when he was alive.’

  ‘But you always loved her and stood by her,’ Vivienne had pointed out, for it was true, her grandparents had always been there – for them all.

  There was no NanaBella or Grandpa to stand by any of them now. Grandpa had succumbed to cancer when Vivi was six, and NanaBella had been the victim of a drunk driver four Easters ago while on her way into town.

  That was another reason for Vivi to feel guilty about not going to see her mother more often. Gina had been devastated by the sudden loss of her beloved mother – they all had, including Gil. But trying to be supportive of Gina was like trying to hug a cactus. She couldn’t accept love without becoming prickly and awkward; although she clearly wanted affection, she just didn’t seem to know how to handle it.

  What was that line about an enigma wrapped up in a mystery inside a riddle? Well, that was her mother, and even Gil, as besotted as he was with her, never tried to claim she was easy.

  Reaching for her mobile as it rang, Vivi saw it was one of the GaLs and decided to let it go to messages. She simply had to go to the bathroom before speaking to anyone, and then she’d pop down to Max’s for an Americano and pastry to fuel herself up for the day. If her mother called and didn’t get an answer she’d assume Vivi was either out for a run, or at Greg’s, or still asleep with the phone turned off. She wouldn’t worry, because that was something Gina resolutely refused to do, in spite of the fact that the tight line between her beautiful eyes showed that she spent just about every moment of every day worrying about something.

  Did she even realize that?

  Vivi thought she probably did, but whatever was causing her anxiety – and maybe it was many things – she guarded it jealously, as though letting go of a single hint of an issue would snap the strings inside her and everything would fall catastrophically apart.

  Standing in front of the twin-mirrored bathroom cabinet with its frame of snowball lights and inbuilt heat pad, Vivi pulled a face at herself and stretched out her jaw. She must have slept awkwardly because her neck seemed achy, and the stiffness in her limbs told her that she ought to get back to some proper exercise soon. Still, at least she was breathing more easily this morning, so the bug she’d no doubt picked up on one of several flights she’d made in the past three weeks might finally be clearing.

  She was, by anyone’s standards, a strikingly lovely young woman. With almond-shaped eyes, blue as a summer sky, and a full, sloppy mouth (her description), she was so entrancing that her friends swore she could hypnotize at a hundred paces. Her complexion was smooth and olive, her cheekbones high, and her light brown hair was a wayward riot of waves that fell about her face and neck in a style all of its own.

  Right now it was a tangled mess, and her still sleepy eyes were shadowed by the residue of last night’s mascara.

  Last night?

  Oh, that was right; she’d been at the office until almost midnight, after returning from New York on the red-eye in the morning. It had been a flying visit to the Big Apple, quite literally: one meeting, followed by a dull dinner at Bobby Van’s Steakhouse and an overnight stay at the Beekman.

  After dragging some trackie bottoms on over her pyjama shorts and a T-shirt over the camisole, she slipped her feet into an old pair of flip-flops and texted Max with her order. Before leaving she made a quick scan of her emails to be sure nothing earth-shattering had cropped up overnight and finding that nothing had, she went through to the spacious open-plan kitchen-cum-sitting room and gave a small sigh of pleasure to find it virtually drowning in sunlight.

  She loved this apartment so much she could marry it. With its high, stuccoed ceilings, tall sash windows and wonderfully airy rooms – all two of them, plus full bathroom containing utility area – she simply couldn’t bear to think of living anywhere else. It was certainly one of the reasons she and Greg hadn’t considered moving in together. It wasn’t big enough for two, and it would be crazy to make this their home when his riverfront duplex in Wapping was at least three times the size, and in real-estate terms far more desirable. Plus, he owned his place outright, thanks to his father, while her first-floor, street-view section of a Georgian town house close to Hollywood Road in Chelsea, was rented. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford a mortgage, she was earning enough now to take on some hefty repayments, but the amount needed for a deposit in an area like this – in fact almost anywhere in London – was still out of her reach, largely thanks to her lavish lifestyle. Her friends had managed their down payments thanks to BoMaD – bank of Mum and Dad – but her mother could never have found a near six-figure sum without selling her own house or hairdressing salon, and even if she’d been prepared to do that (she wasn’t), Vivi wouldn’t have let her. However, her mother – refusing Gil’s offer to step in – had practically emptied her savings account to help raise a deposit for the lease on this flat. Having viewed it with Vivi she’d understood right away why her daughter had fallen in love with it, so she’d been keen to make it happen. Since that time, just over four years ago, Vivi had repaid almost two-thirds of the amount, and by the end of the year her mother’s account, thanks to the interest Vivi had added to the loan, was likely to be healthier than it had ever been.

  Still feeling slightly stiff, she performed a couple more stretches, then grabbed her phone and wallet and let herself out of the flat into the black-and-white-tiled front hall where her upstairs neighbours had parked a bicycle and pushchair. There were also several paintings lining the walls, all done by the delightful and talented Maryanna, who paced about the large attic studio like a trapped cat in the grip of an artistic frenzy. Though her canvases were as indecipherable as they were confrontational (Maryanna’s word), Vivienne had long ago decided that she loved them. She owned two, but had left them in the hal
l for others in the building and their visitors to enjoy as they came and went.

  The large black front door with its colourful stained-glass windows and shiny brass letter box was as grand as any Regency house could boast, as was the Doric-columned portico with its ornamental box hedges in tall granite pots. Slender black railings edged the steps down to the pavement, where they turned at right angles to each side to provide a barrier between passers-by and the void above the basement flats.

  Max’s was adjacent, with a handful of bistro tables spilling out of the wide-open bifold doors, its palm-strewn interior with plush leather banquettes and slouchy sofas cooled by the gentle spring breeze. In spite of it not yet being nine on a weekend morning, the place was already buzzing.

  After collecting her order, free for the birthday girl, Max insisted, and bowing her thanks to the Greek regulars whom Max encouraged to join in a chorus of charoumena genethlia, Vivi ran back up to the flat accompanied by the musical sound of many text messages arriving.

  Five so far. As she read them, still catching her breath after the sprint, she sipped her coffee and blinked away a spell of dizziness. Remembering she hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime, she tucked into her Danish and turned on the radio. Though she probably wouldn’t listen to the news, it was second nature to have it on in the background, and when she’d had enough of it she’d do her usual thing of planting her phone in the speakers and scrolling to some favourite tunes.

  More texts piled in, mostly from the GaLs: Trudy, Shaz, Saanvi, Sachi and Becky, all saying they couldn’t wait to see her later. In came a surprise message from Michael (CEO of FAberlin) and then up popped one from Greg.

  Have a great day. Can you do dinner with Carla and Seamus on Wednesday? Sushi?

  She thought there might be a conflict, so making a mental note to check before getting back to him, she finished up her Danish and began a quick sort of the mail that had come through the door while she was in New York.

  Work hard, play hard, that was her motto, and lately she’d been doing far too much of the former. Boy, was she ready to party today!