Who Needs Men Anyway?: A perfect feel-good romantic comedy filled with sass

After Megan left I took a shower then sat in the orangery to work on my plan. The garden views always instilled in me a state of calm but the grass was looking a little longer than I liked, so Jim the gardener obviously hadn’t been. Recently, he’d missed a few weeks here and there, and I’d started to wonder why he called himself a professional since he wasn’t very good or reliable. I made a mental note to contact Sam, the owner of the gardening company, to let him know. With any luck, he’d send someone else. Sam and James were old university acquaintances so I was sure he’d be accommodating.

My phone buzzed with a message.

Charlotte, I’m terribly sorry. I’m unable to make the charity brunch. I’ve popped a donation in the post and we’ll catch up at the ball. Emmy x

I sighed. I knew guests would drop like flies when they caught wind of Lauren’s ball date clash. Coiffured curls and Charlotte Tilbury smoky eyes were more important to those shallow types than showing support for a good cause and a ball always trumps a brunch. I was furious with Lauren, and Emmy Walters wouldn’t be the only one to back out. After her recent lipo, she was probably petrified of eating two full meals in one day. I grit my teeth and tapped out a response.

Not to worry, Emmy, I appreciate the length of time it will take you to get ready. Thank you anyway for your generous support. Since I’m attending the brunch and the ball, perhaps I’ll see you in the evening. Xx

I deleted the kisses, because nothing makes a point better than the number of kisses at the end of a message.

Right, back to business. My first task was to find out who the scarlet woman was. From there I’d decide how best to tell Megan.

‘I’m going shopping,’ I called to James, knowing that wouldn’t rouse suspicion on his part. I wasn’t sure how I’d justify my actions to James – he could never understand why I got involved with problems that weren’t my own, which was silly. I was helping people just like he did every day. Outside I saw that the drizzle had dampened the small red bricks of the house, transforming them into a murky brown colour. I couldn’t wait for summer. Winter had been months of spirit-inhibiting grey drizzle, so some heat and sun would be quite welcome.

I pressed my key fob and the black cast-iron gates at the end of the driveway creaked open. I made a second mental note to call the handyman to oil them. With James being so busy, I really had to take care of all these things.

I drove to the house that Mike had dropped the mystery woman off at the previous night. It looked even worse in the stark light of day: weeds had sprung up between the broken slats of the cheap wooden fence. The upper half of the small property was pebble-dashed, and part of that had chipped away. The door had been painted purple. Purple? Had I liked the woman, I’d have probably arranged for a few of my contacts to spruce the place up for her.

Small and simple plans are the key to success; long, elaborate plans leave too much room for failure. Quite frankly, I didn’t even have a plan. I snuggled into my heated seat and contemplated what to do. I had a few options to consider, including knocking on the door under the pretence of having got the wrong address; waiting in the car until she came out and then following her to get a feel for her routine and how I might catch her; or giving up and going home. But giving up wasn’t in my nature.

As it happens, the decision was made for me, when the door opened and a young woman came out. Younger than me, anyway. Around twenty-seven give or take. She had thick shiny chestnut hair and was wearing some kind of yoga attire. Well, if you live in a place that looks like that I suppose one has to achieve a relaxed state somehow, I thought, already stressed just looking at the unkempt appearance of the house.

The sun broke through the clouds, glinting off the moist pavement and privet hedges. Squinting a little – an action that would definitely deepen my emerging crow’s feet – I rummaged in the glove box for some sunglasses, pulling out some old Chanel cat’s-eye ones that I kept in there for emergencies. I wondered absent-mindedly if they were still in style. Despite my fashion-crisis interlude, I never took my eyes off the woman. She had a mat-roll slung over her shoulder and walked briskly to the end of the street. As she turned the corner, I fired up my engine and crept along the street until I spotted her again at a bus stop.

Pulling over, I checked my make-up in the mirror. It was difficult to tell, but there was a slight possibility the lady at the Lancôme counter had recommended the wrong colour eyebrow pencil. It looked more orange than beige, but it could have been the light.

Debating whether to return the offending pencil, I belatedly realised that a single-decker bus had pulled up at the stop and had set off with the woman on board. My heart started to race as I turned the corner to follow it with no clue as to where we’d end up. As I drove, my mind wandered through the what-ifs: what if she’d noticed the car, knew I was following her, and was leading me to some dodgy disused warehouse on the outskirts of town so she could bump me off before I could disclose her sordid affair? I laughed out loud at my own imagination. Too many thrillers, Charlotte! I shook my head. Plus, she’d hardly be taking the number 84 if that was her evil plan.

The bus was heading away from the town centre, towards the outlying village where Megan lived. Interesting. I knew she wouldn’t be heading to see Mr Megan in the cold light of day, and, of course, I was right. She got off the bus on the high street, which was convenient for me as there was a Costa Coffee there where I could top up my caffeine levels.

I pulled over and watched as she entered a door set between a bridal shop and a children’s shoe shop. Adrenaline coursed through me as I climbed out of the car and approached the door. There were no prizes for guessing she was on her way to a Pilates session. What was puzzling, however, was the choice of venue: Megan’s studio.

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