Friends & Rivals by Tilly Bagshawe Page A

stables at The Rookery, giving her the third degree. But only for a second. Clearly Ivan made a habit of extramarital flings. One more was hardly going to make a difference.
    â€˜I don’t want things to go back to how they were,’ she murmured, unbuckling his belt. ‘I want London. And Fascination. And you.’
    It was all Ivan Charles could do not to punch the air in triumph.

CHAPTER SIX
    The next morning, Catriona Charles came down to breakfast to find Miley Bayley, the three-year-old daughter of The Blitz’s lead singer Brett Bayley and his wife Stella, drawing on the walls in indelible marker.
    â€˜Stella!’ she said, horrified, removing the pen from the little girl’s clutches to a cacophony of spoilt wails. ‘Look what Miley’s doing. It’s everywhere.’
    â€˜Hmm?’ Stella Bayley looked up absently. Sitting in the middle of Catriona’s kitchen floor in the lotus position, her lithe, perfectly toned limbs folded over one another effortlessly, like bent pipe cleaners, she was clearly in a world of her own. ‘Oh, sorry, sweetie. I was meditating. Nothing gets through to me when I’m in the zone.’ She turned her attention to her whining daughter. ‘Hey, baybeeeee,’ she crooned. ‘Whassamatter? Did you get scared, Miley-Moo?’ Scooping the child up into her arms, she turned back to Catriona. ‘We try never to raise our voices to her,’ she said chidingly. ‘Brett and I are big believers in peaceful parenting.’
    Catriona bit her lip and counted to ten. What had possessed her to say yes when Stella invited herself down for the weekend? She was a well-meaning girl at heart, and Catriona felt sorry for her, trying to create an illusion of the perfect family life while married to the vain, philandering Brett Bayley. Stuck at home with Miley while her husband gallivanted around Europe on tour with his band must be a lonely life. But, even so, having Stella as a house guest was tough work. She wouldn’t eat anything that wasn’t organic and cruelty-free and purified to within an inch of its life. She would only sleep in east-facing bedrooms – something to do with energy flow – and was terribly keen on ‘healing’ people by laying her hands on their heads. Rosie and Hector both found this hilarious, but the poor dogs were really quite frightened by it. Old Mr Carruthers, the gardener, had threatened to give in his notice last time if Catriona’s American friend didn’t leave him and his tomato plants well alone. But worst of all was the little girl. Catriona felt guilty actively disliking a child of three. But Miley was without doubt the most whingeing, overindulged, obnoxious brat she had ever encountered, the spitting image of her famous father, and obviously destined to be just as much trouble.
    â€˜I’ll pay to get it repainted,’ said Stella, sensing that Catriona had perhaps been pushed too far this time. ‘But you mustn’t yell at Miley.’
    â€˜I didn’t yell at Miley, Stella. I merely pointed out that she was defacing my walls and took away the pen.’
    â€˜The problem is she’s so creative,’ sighed Stella, smothering her daughter with kisses. ‘Gifted children often struggle with boundaries. Don’t they, Miley-Moo?’
    â€˜What the bloody hell happened in here?’
    Ivan’s voice made both women jump. Standing in the doorway with his overnight case in his hand, he looked tired, unshaven, and distinctly grumpy.
    â€˜Darling!’ Catriona’s face lit up. Ivan almost never came home early. ‘I wasn’t expecting you till tonight. How lovely you’re here.’
    But Ivan evidently wasn’t feeling lovely. He’d forgotten Stella Bayley was down for the weekend, and was irritated to find her hanging around in his kitchen with her snotty toddler glued to her hip. ‘Who the hell scrawled shit all over my