Page 19 of The Work Husband

He retreated, and I turned back to my screen. The fear had left me and so had the anger, and all that was left was puzzlement. It was quite true that any random person who’d happened to spot Cormac and his mystery overnight guest could have passed on the photograph. So could Irina, my contact at the Ritz, or any of her colleagues.

But Irina had no reason to put her job at risk any more than I did. Any more than Jamie did.

So it followed that it hadn’t been them, same as it hadn’t been me.

Didn’t it?

TEN

I didn’t ask Jamie about the leak to Gossip Guru.

If he’d been right there at the desk opposite mine, we’d certainly have jumped right into a discussion about it as soon as Jasper’s back was turned, possibly going outside so he could furiously vape while we analysed the ramifications of what might have happened. But he was still in Prague, no doubt dealing with a dozen brutally hungover footballers determined to miss their flight home by whatever means possible.

I did pick up my phone, though, tapping straight through to WhatsApp and my chat with him, automatically looking to share this latest development from the office.

But what I saw stopped me in my tracks.

He’d sent me a message a few hours before. It was a photograph of the Charles Bridge, its graceful arches spanning the river, lights reflecting below it in the still water, a glorious hot pink and gold sunrise illuminating the Prague skyline.

It was almost unheard of for Jamie to be up early enough to see the sun come up, I thought, puzzled. Then I realised he’d almost certainly taken the photo before going to bed the night before.

How beautiful is this? he’d typed. Wish you were here with me.

I half-laughed, shaking my head in confusion.

What the fuck? Are you drunk?

I watched as the grey ticks on my message turned blue and the little dots indicated he was typing.

Course not – I’m working. Do keep up. I’m implementing our plan.

What…

I typed the word and stopped. Of course – the daft idea we’d briefly floated the previous week, about making Sam jealous. I hadn’t taken it particularly seriously at the time – it had felt like a silly conversation, aimed more at making me feel better than an actual plan.

Apparently, though, Jamie had meant it. And he was already acting on his idea, sending me a message that, if Sam were to see it, would no doubt awaken surprise if not suspicion. It was subtle. It was genius. It felt all kinds of wrong.

But before I could think how on earth to respond, never mind compose a reply, Jamie had messaged again.

I’m going to delete this. You delete yours too. Just leave the photo.

What’s the point of that? I wondered. If Sam were to see the exchange, he’d see that messages had been deleted and realise we’d been kidding around.

Or would he? Jamie was a strategic thinker, even on zero sleep. If a romantic photo and an affectionate message roused Sam’s suspicions, a series of deleted posts following it would probably raise even more doubts in his mind.

Not that he would see. He had no reason to check my phone for private stuff, any more than I did to check his.

Except, I thought with a pang in my chest, maybe now I did. Maybe now I needed to be on high alert, keeping a watching brief on the correspondence I knew he’d been having with his ex-girlfriend.

The thought made me feel a bit sick. I deleted the four letters I’d typed without sending them, then deleted my previous message too. Jamie had already removed his. Then another message from him flashed up.

Anyway, enough of that, followed by a wink emoji. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Miss you.

Almost automatically, I typed, Miss you too.

I hesitated for just a second before pressing send – and immediately afterwards, I felt terrible.

Trust had never been an issue between Sam and me until now. I’d always taken what he’d said about his feelings for me at face value, happily confident of his attraction, then his love, then his commitment – because I felt the same way about him.