The Woman Who Knew Everything Read online

  The Woman Who Knew Everything

  Debbie Viggiano

  The Woman Who Knew Everything © Debbie Viggiano 2017

  Kindle Edition published worldwide 2017 © Debbie Viggiano

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.

  The moral right of Debbie Viggiano as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  www.debbieviggiano.com

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  Foreword

  The subject of clairvoyance and the whole trying-to-peek-into-the-future thing, is fascinating! Research was fun, not least because it included a visit to charming psychic, Anne Sharman. Unlike the character Madam Rosa, Anne does not claim to be a woman who knows everything. However, she certainly knows a lot! My tarot reading revealed much, including an impending trauma. Shortly afterwards, my computer not only crashed, but was lost by UPS Couriers somewhere between PC World’s warehouse and the contracted repairer – and with it the manuscript for The Woman Who Knew Everything. At the time of writing, I still await news of my computer’s whereabouts. Investigation has been met with the same urgency as a tortoise racing in the Grand National.

  My fabulous writer friend, Madalyn Morgan, came to the rescue with an earlier draft copy which I’d emailed over before techie disaster struck. Thank you, Maddie, for reading the manuscript and pointing out bloopers, which included a passion for repeating words like clearly, immediately, so-called, instantly and actually. I’m clearly blind to them, but I immediately removed these so-called words so that instantly the MS was actually stronger!

  A big thank you also goes to the gorgeous Joanne Fleming for the loan of her eagle eyes regarding spelling and grammar.

  Thank you to my patient son, Robert Coveney, for designing the mock-up cover after trawling through hundreds of images for the fortune-teller and her glowing crystal ball. Special thanks to the brilliant Cathy Helms at Avalon Graphics, who waved her magic wand and turned it into a book jacket.

  A massive thank you to the wonderful Rebecca Emin at Gingersnap Books for meeting a horribly tight deadline, and turning the manuscript into both an e-book and paperback.

  And finally, my sincere thanks to you, my lovely reader. I hope you enjoy this tale, that it makes you smile, and roots for the three best friends looking for love and what the future holds.

  Debbie xx

  To Maddie with love

  Chapter One

  ‘Well I don’t know about your Christmas,’ huffed Amber, thumping her handbag down on her desk, ‘but mine was decidedly second-rate.’ She shrugged off her coat and slung it over the back of her typing chair. With little enthusiasm, she leant forward and flicked on her dusty monitor. ‘Please tell me at least one of us had a marriage proposal before Big Ben bonged the midnight hour?’ Amber raised her eyebrows at work colleagues Chrissie and Dee.

  Chrissie, sitting at the desk opposite Amber’s, shook her head. ‘There was definitely no engagement ring in any of the Christmas crackers I pulled.’

  Dee, sitting side-on to Amber and Chrissie, waved her ring-less fingers in the air. ‘I’m still a single lady.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Chrissie sympathetically. ‘Perhaps the three of us will have Valentine proposals instead. The fourteenth of February is only six weeks away.’

  ‘Girls,’ said Amber, ‘the three of us have been living with our men for ages. If they haven’t proposed by now, maybe they never will.’

  ‘Perhaps we should propose to them?’ Chrissie suggested.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Dee. ‘Is it a leap year?’ For her, the idea of going down on one knee to her boyfriend seemed full of possibility. Although Dee could imagine Josh looking faintly horrified as he pointed out that weddings cost money. A lot of money. Dee had secretly been squirrelling away some of her wages every month for the last three years, in case Josh ever had a funny turn and suddenly wanted her to be Mrs Dee Coventry. Her savings wouldn’t pay for anything lavish, but she’d happily settle for a second-hand gown off e-Bay, and say “I do” in the local registry office with only immediate family and close friends. Afterwards they could all go to the local pub’s function room for a slap-up meal. A wedding didn’t have to cost thousands of pounds. The important thing was who you married, not how you married.

  ‘Well I’m not proposing,’ said Amber grumpily. Her fingers tapped at the keyboard and she logged in. ‘It’s a man’s job. I want Matthew whisking me off for a weekend somewhere staggeringly beautiful, preferably where it’s warm and sunny.’ A misty picture formed in her mind. There would be emerald green fields carpeted with golden buttercups. Overhead a lemon sun would beam down on her and Matthew as they walked – naturally in slow motion – their hands linked as they laughed at some private joke. Then Matthew would pull her towards him, tenderly cup her face with his hands, all the while admiring the way golden sunlight haloed his girlfriend’s fair hair. He would lower his head to her upturned cherry lips, and kiss her lovingly. Then, like the ultimate conjurer, Matthew would produce a Tiffany ring from thin air – ta da! In a sexy, husky voice he would declare his undying love, and beg Amber to be his lawfully wedded wife.

  The picture faded and Amber grimaced. Tiffany rings might not be on the agenda if Matthew’s Christmas present had been anything to go by. She’d been stunned for all the wrong reasons when he’d presented her with a tantalising little box. Her heart rate had tripled as she’d taken the proffered gift, checking Matthew’s expression for clues. He’d been smiling. Good sign. With increasing excitement, she’d tugged off the ribbon and gift wrap. Her hands had trembled as, giddy with anticipation, she’d lifted the lid on the box…to find a £9.99 pair of hoop earrings from Argos. She knew how much they’d cost because she’d checked their website. After that Amber’s Christmas had no more sparkle than a can of flat cola. Hell, she’d be thirty next birthday. Chrissie and Dee, both two years younger than herself, had the luxury of time on their side. If Matthew didn’t hurry up and get on with it, she’d be creaking up the aisle on a walking stick en-route to the post office for her pension.

  Chrissie was inclined to agree with Amber when it came to proposals. At heart she was an old-fashioned girl and wanted an old-fashioned proposal. She and Andrew had been together for five-and-a-half years. In the beginning their relationship had been full of passion, laughter and impulsive romantic gestures. Granted, things changed when you got down to the nuts and bolts of living together. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d stared at each other with dewy eyes over the cornflakes, or when they’d last tumbled into bed and bonked like spring bunnies, but they loved each other. Didn’t they? Although these days the dewy eyes seemed to have turned into scowling on Andrew’s part, and the bunny rabbit bonking had become an infrequent coupling that was more perfunctory than passionate. On the rare occasions it happened, it had left Chrissie totally unsatisfied. She pushed those thoughts away. She didn’t like to admit it to herself, never mind to Dee and Amber, but her relationship with Andrew was in the doldrums.

  ‘So what’s wrong with us, girls?’ Amber demanded. ‘Why haven’t our men proposed?’

  ‘I sus
pect,’ said Dee, ‘they’re perfectly happy in their current comfort zones. Anyway, you know how that saying goes. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Look at Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. Lived together for eons, but were barely married for five minutes. Some wedding rings become a circle of doom.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Amber scoffed.

  ‘Talking of wedding rings,’ said Dee conspiratorially, ‘over the Christmas break I spotted a certain person at Bluewater shopping mall peering into the window of a wedding ring shop. She was on the arm of a much younger man.’

  ‘Are you by any chance talking about Cougar Kate?’ asked Chrissie.

  ‘The very one and same,’ said Dee, with a nod.

  Cougar Kate, whose real name was Katherine Colgan, was the office siren at Hood, Mann & Derek Solicitors. Amber, Chrissie and Dee had worked for the Gravesend law firm ever since leaving college with their secretarial qualifications. They’d seen staff come and go. They’d also witnessed Katherine Colgan’s arrival after she’d sailed through the interview with the senior partner, Clive Derek. Nobody had been surprised at Katherine being a hit with the smarmy Clive. He was the office wolf. He was such a Lothario that if someone had draped a short skirt around his executive chair, he’d have waggled his eyebrows at its metal legs. Katherine Colgan had wowed Clive with her low-cut blouse, brightly lipsticked mouth, and enormous false eyelashes that she’d fluttered so quickly Amber had made a snide comment about tipping Katherine upside-down and using her to sweep the floor. Rumours were always circulating about Katherine. There were tales of her having had an affair with Clive Derek. The gossip was further fuelled by whispers that his wife had caught Katherine in a restaurant with Clive, and made free with several glasses of wine. Katherine always defended herself insisting men misread the signals she gave off.

  ‘What did the guy on her arm look like?’ asked Amber curiously.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Dee. ‘I only saw the back of him.’

  ‘Then how do you know he was younger than her?’ asked Chrissie.

  Dee tilted her head in the manner of one considering. ‘Well, for starters he wasn’t bald. In fact, he had a lovely head of thick hair. It reminded me of your Matthew,’ Dee said to Amber. ‘And he was slim – no love handles like most middle-aged men. Oh, and he had a very pert bum,’ she added.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Chrissie, ‘Katherine has finally found the man of her dreams.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Amber cynically, ‘but we all know that where Cougar Kate is concerned, her boyfriend usually belongs to another woman.’

  ‘Or,’ added Dee, ‘another woman’s fiancé…or even another woman’s husband.’

  ‘As long as she keeps her cougar paws off my Matthew,’ said Amber with a sniff, ‘peace shall remain within the walls of this building.’

  The three women briefly fell silent as they cast their minds back to the Christmas before last. Hood, Mann & Derek had announced there would be an office party and that members of staff were welcome to bring their other halves. Everybody had piled into the boardroom at half past five on the dot, devouring the buffet and hoovering up champagne. Then somebody had produced speakers and suddenly there was music. Everybody, partners included, had danced around the boardroom wearing paper crowns and singing off-key. It had descended into a massive piss-up with the young office clerk drunkenly jumping onto the photocopier. He’d printed off two-hundred copies of his bare bum captioned with “World’s Biggest Arsehole” before stapling them all over Clive Derek’s office walls. And young Jessica, from Accounts, had grabbed nerdy junior partner Alan Mann by the tie and pulled him into the stationery cupboard, just as someone else was vomiting into Reception’s feature potted plant. To top it all off, Katherine Colgan had undone another two buttons on her blouse and made a direct play for Amber’s boyfriend. When Matthew had protested he wasn’t into “older women”, Katherine had turned an unfetching shade of magenta and spat, ‘I’m a cougar, darling,’ coining her nickname.

  Amber had been incensed and shoved the remains of a salmon quiche into Katherine’s face whereupon Amber’s boss, Steve Hood – who’d been the least drunk of them all – had flicked on the overhead fluorescent lights and called time.

  ‘At least Katherine apologised to you the following morning,’ said Chrissie.

  ‘Chuffing right too,’ Amber growled.

  There had been no Christmas party this year on the grounds of cutbacks and a need to tighten financial belts. In reality, the partners had decided to boycott it. There had been a nasty episode on the morning after the party with an elderly female client. Mrs Fosberry had arrived early at Hood, Mann & Derek for an appointment with Clive Derek. She’d been directed to Clive’s office to wait. Upon seeing the clerk’s captioned backside plastered all over the walls, Mrs Fosberry had suffered a mild coronary. The paramedics had barely finished strapping the pensioner on a stretcher, when the junior partner’s wife had turned up in a rage. Mrs Mann had cannoned into a paramedic, tripped over the stretcher and landed on the gasping Mrs Fosberry. Hauling herself up, Mrs Mann had demanded to know who “sodding Jessica” was and why “sodding Jessica’s” telephone number had been tucked into her “sodding husband’s” suit jacket that she was taking to the dry cleaner. Fortunately, the client had lived and Alan Mann’s marriage had survived. However, the partners had mutually agreed the rumpus hadn’t been good publicity for the firm. There would be no more Christmas parties.

  At that moment the door to the girls’ shared office opened and Cougar Kate walked in. ‘Morning,’ trilled Katherine. ‘Happy New Year to you all! I trust everyone had a good Christmas?’ She beamed at them one by one. ‘Just thought I’d pop by while things are relatively quiet, and invite you all to my birthday celebration this Saturday evening.’

  Three sets of eyebrows shot up into three hairlines. Since when had Cougar Kate ever been Kate the Mate?

  ‘Oh, er, I’m not sure if I’m already doing someth–’ began Chrissie.

  ‘Cancel it,’ Katherine ordered. ‘I won’t hear any of you say no. Firstly, it’s my fortieth. Secondly, instead of having a big bash, I’m doing something really alternative. I’m having a psychic evening!’

  ‘A what?’ asked Dee.

  ‘You know…a fortune teller… a clairvoyant,’ Katherine explained. ‘“Madam Rosa” will be reading auras, palms and tarot cards in my very own front room. One-hundred per-cent accuracy guaranteed.’

  The girls exchanged looks before Amber answered for them all. ‘Count us in. We want to know if our other halves will ever propose.’

  ‘Don’t we all, sweetie,’ said Katherine with a big smile. She had large teeth that reminded Amber of Bruce the shark in Finding Nemo. Hungry…predatory. ‘Good, that’s settled then. I’ll ping you all an email with my home address. See you!’ And with that she turned on her heel, shutting the door quietly after her.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ asked Dee. ‘She wants to know if she’s going to get proposed to as well. So that guy I saw on her arm outside the wedding ring shop must be her beau after all.’

  ‘Bully for her,’ said Amber sourly. ‘On the plus side, if Cougar Kate is loved-up she’ll leave our men alone.’

  ‘Surely you don’t believe all that clairvoyant nonsense.’ Chrissie rolled her eyes.

  ‘Who knows,’ said Dee, wistfully thinking of her secret wedding savings. ‘But I would certainly like to believe it. Roll on Saturday night.’

  Chapter Two

  Amber slotted her key into the front door of her neat terraced house. The place was in darkness. Matthew wasn’t home. Again. He seemed to be coming in later and later. Not that it was late late, but at quarter-past six in the evening he used to beat Amber home by half an hour. Up until a few months ago she’d come home to a smiling boyfriend who’d already started cooking their dinner. They would eat together whilst snuggled up in front of the telly. Afterwards, Amber would make her contribution by clearing up the kitchen and doing some ironing. Then she would go upstairs and run a deep bub
ble bath which they’d share together. Matthew’s long legs would stick out at right-angles to her shoulders. She’d always been given the luxury of lying back, because Matthew had insisted on taking the end with the taps.

  Amber wondered how late Matthew would be tonight. Unlike her employers, who always closed from Christmas Eve right the way through to the third day of January, Matthew had returned to work the day after Boxing Day. Between then and New Year’s Eve he’d arrived home at eight, half past eight, nine o’clock, half past nine, and then not at all. Amber hadn’t told anybody that she’d spent the last night of the year on her own. She’d hugged Mr Tomkin, her cat, and sobbed into his ginger fur. Matthew’s excuses were always the same. Work, work, work. Busy, busy, busy.

  Like Amber, Matthew worked locally. His career in digital marketing had its moments of stress, as did all jobs. But Amber wasn’t sure if she believed Matthew’s recent excuses. There was the one about Matthew’s boss demanding the team stay longer at the office to reach their end-of-year targets. Okay, that sounded plausible. But then there had been the rather far-fetched one about going for a few drinks with workmates on New Year’s Eve, completely forgetting what day it was, accidentally getting blotto, and crashing on a mate’s couch. Matthew’s justification had been fluently delivered, and Amber had desperately wanted to believe it, even though she suspected Matthew was lying. On New Year’s Eve, she’d rung his mobile more than thirty times. At first her calls had been hesitant and apologetic. But, as worry kicked in, her voicemails had become tearful and frantic.

  Stifling a yawn, she walked into the kitchen and rummaged through the freezer. Thanks to the Christmas break and bank holidays, the first week of the New Year at Hood, Mann & Derek had been only three days. It had felt like three months. And now, on the cusp of the weekend, Amber couldn’t wait to have a long luxurious sleep-in. Her fingers hovered over a couple of steak-and-kidney pies. Should she cook one or two? Matthew used to order a takeaway for them both on a Friday night. Recently he’d stopped doing that. Amber was instantly reminded of another reason Matthew had given for lateness. On the Friday before Christmas he’d arrived home with his breath reeking of onion bhajis. He’d blamed his boss yet again for making him and the team work late. Matthew had explained away the smell of spices by saying a colleague had volunteered to get a take-out from the Star of India. The restaurant was right next to their offices. Matthew said he’d been grateful to his colleague because no-one had gone hungry whilst toiling away at their desk. Amber had made suitable noises about being glad Matthew wasn’t famished, and how thoughtful Matthew’s colleague was, and how awful his boss was starting to be. Matthew had arranged his features into one of weary acceptance and said, ‘It will all be worth it in the long run. The next promotion is bound to be mine.’