Free Trophy Life by Elli Lewis

identity of the clique's final member, a tall, brunette with hang-dog eyes. She was Darcy Highgrave, daughter of a Marquis. Together with Olivia, all three women were so skinny and tall they looked like a clump of reeds swaying in the wind.
    'So, you’re Harry’s wife?' Binky drew her words out slowly and was looking confused as well as a tad suspicious. It wasn’t the first time Amy had been asked this, but this time it felt somehow more sinister. Dangerous even. Her shoulders tensed involuntarily. It felt wrong, audacious even, to be in such close proximity to this particular ex-client of Drakers. And it was even stranger that she was asking her who she was given their history. It was like they were on different sides of a thin veil which could so easily blow away, taking with it Amy’s whole existence. There again, she and Binky had never actually met before. Amy had just been a lowly trainee, not even a solicitor at the time of their last encounter. Binky would never even have known Amy’s role in the failed enterprise. 
    In any event, Binky was still busy struggling with Amy’s current status.
    'Harry Green’s wife?' she was now saying. 'Andrea never mentioned that.'
    'Um, well yes. We’ve been married two years.' Amy heard her tone rise at the end of the sentence, as though she was asking a question rather than stating an incontrovertible fact. She had to resist the urge to laugh in relief that it seemed to be taking longer than usual to establish who exactly she was. She wondered if she should present some identification.
    'And it’s taken you two years to join,' Darcy said amazedly, shaking her head slightly.
    As they all stared at her, Amy felt like she was being inspected by a particularly curious flock of birds, each wide eyed.
    'Amy used to work in the city,' Olivia said in supposed explanation, her voice a combination of awe and mild condescension. It was the same way Julia told Amy about the fact that Flynn had done a wee in the toilet.
    The two women’s faces glazed over and their mouths opened in small ‘O’ shapes, clearly unsure what to make of her. A foreign specie. A short silence fell over them all as Darcy looked at her nails while Binky browsed her phone, seemingly bored. Across the room, Giselle shared a look with Amy as if to say, 'told you so'.
    Then, the distinct ping of a fork on wine glass filled the air and she turned to see her mother-in-law smiling around the room with the benevolence of a cult leader, resplendent in a tailored grey skirt and blazer the Queen herself would have selected. To her left side stood a small, pudgy figure, looking almost as if she’d been squashed down by a giant hand. Amy recognised her as Andrea's ever obsequious sidekick, Esther Stumpingfield.
    'Welcome,' Andrea said, 'to this month’s meeting of the London Ladies. Unfortunately, due to the annual repainting of the main hall having been delayed we have had to decamp, but don’t worry, we’ll be back home shortly.' The headquarters of the London Ladies was located in a prime townhouse in the streets of Knightsbridge.  
    'So lovely to see you all. Let’s begin by going through last month’s agenda.' It transpired that last month’s meeting had been dominated by numerous issues of etiquette, including whether members could bring their pets to meetings, after a beloved Chihuahua had left their mark on a nineteenth century ottoman.
    'Lots to get through today,' Andrea said briskly. And there was. To Amy’s surprise the group was comprised of various subcommittees, each with their own activities, issues and agendas. It seemed that the chess club and bridge club were vying for a particular night of the week for their weekly game whilst it emerged that there was a massive divide in the baking society over the issue of readymade pastry versus homemade. Apparently, there was a threat of a split into two different societies, which simply wouldn’t do. Impassioned speeches, tears and UN-style