by Suzy K Quinn
Cassandra laughs. ‘I have to admit, I am a little fascinated by you. He never would have changed. Not for me.’
‘I don’t think this conversation is appropriate,’ I say, my voice shaky.
‘Movies are funny, aren’t they?’ Cassandra continues. ‘Here I am playing your mother. And yet in real life, I fucked your husband.’
Oh god.
I stare at her, my stomach spinning round and round.
‘What’s the matter?’ Cassandra asks, hitting me with dark eyes.
‘I …’ My mouth is dry, and I try to swallow but can’t. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’
I turn left and right, nearly tripping over my feet. Then I decide on a direction and walk away.
Past the pool. Past the bungalow villas and across the lawn.
I run towards the beach.
She’s won. Marc’s gone, and she’s won.
60
I stare at the waves, crashing over each other under an orange sun.
Yachts are scattered far out to sea, waving on the water.
I put hands to my face, sink to the sand and let the tears come.
I cry and cry, hot tears turning to salt in the sun.
When I’m all cried out, I take off my socks and trainers and walk along the beach.
My toes sink into the soft, wet sand as the bad thoughts and feelings tumble around.
This is so humiliating … how can I stay with a man who has this sort of past?
Why didn’t he come for me?
I guess I must have walked a few miles before I realise running away isn’t the answer.
I have a movie to shoot and a baby to look after.
This isn’t solving anything.
As I turn to go back, I see a swimmer far out at sea.
I shield my eyes, watching strong arms tear through the water, following the waves towards shore.
It’s …
Marc.
I watch, frozen to the spot.
Marc is getting nearer, his lean body sparkling in the sunshine.
I want to leave. But my legs stay locked.
When Marc is a few feet away, he stands in the waves and strides towards me, flicking water from his hair.
His body is incredible – a perfect male specimen. Toned and muscular, long limbs, strong arms. An iron jaw below piercing blue eyes.
‘Sophia,’ he growls. ‘What are you doing out here? There could be photographers—’
‘I don’t care about photographers,’ I shout. ‘Where have you been? How could you just leave me like that?’
His feet reach dry sand. ‘I didn’t leave you. It was you who left.’
I put hands on my hips. ‘You could have come after me.’
He marches towards me. ‘I thought you needed space.’
‘I needed you.’ I wipe away angry tears.
‘No.’ He reaches the pile of clothes, inches from me. ‘You didn’t. I was the last thing you needed.’
‘What happened between you and Cassandra?’ My eyes search his.
‘Sophia –’
‘Tell me everything,’ I insist. ‘Every nasty, dirty disgusting detail.’
Marc grabs a crumpled grey t-shirt from the sand and pulls it over his head. ‘That’s not a good idea.’
‘You don’t think I deserve to know about my own husband?’
‘There’s no sense in talking about this.’ Marc pulls his shirt over his chest. ‘My past is … my past. I’ve told you many times. I’m not proud of who I was. There’s nothing I can do about it.’ He strides back along the beach.
‘Well I want to know,’ I say, taking big strides to keep pace with him. ‘So tell me. Even Benjamin knows more than I do. He said Cassandra had a friend. Jessica. And … and …’
I can’t finish that sentence.
Marc stops. ‘I was very young when I met Cassandra. Young and stupid.’ He turns to me. ‘She fulfilled a need I thought I had. But that need only grew. It was never fulfilled. I was never whole. Not until I met you. You want me to be totally honest? She was probably the closest thing I had to a relationship. Until you came along.’
‘Did you love her?’
Marc gives a humourless laugh. ‘No. I didn’t love her. I didn’t even like her half the time.’
‘Then how could you—’
‘Sleep with her?’ He looks out to sea. ‘I’ve slept with many women I didn’t care about.’
‘No. I mean have a relationship with her.’ My insides are churning.
‘She saw things in me.’ He flicks water from his hair. ‘Showed me … I suppose, how to be the way I am.’
‘She made you—’
‘Yes. She made me dominate her.’ He turns to me. ‘And yes, at times there was another woman involved too. With Cassandra, there were no inhibitions. Nothing was off limits. Is that what you want to hear? I did things to her I would never, could never, do to you. Things I’m ashamed to think about.’
I feel sick. ‘She still wants you.’
‘I doubt that. I was one of her many play things. A sixteen-year old toy to fuck around with. I’m all grown up now.’
‘If you hadn’t met her—’ I insist.
‘I still would be the way I am.’ His eyes are softer now, and he puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘She just made it acceptable. Without her … Christ, I don’t know. It always would have come out one way or another.’
I put my hand over his. ‘I can’t be in a movie with her, Marc. I just can’t.’
He nods. ‘I’ll talk to Nadia.’
‘Oh god.’ I close my eyes. ‘If you do that, and Cassandra gets thrown off the movie because of me … that isn’t right either.’
‘It’s your call, Sophia.’ His thumb strokes my shoulder. ‘I’m happy to talk to Nadia as soon as we get back. Believe it or not, I’m not all that happy about acting with Cassandra either.’
I realise something. ‘This isn’t all of your past, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, there’ll always be girls coming out of the woodwork. Sigourney … God knows who else.’
‘Probably.’
I drop my hand from his. ‘I’m not sure I can handle it.’
‘Sophia, I thought you understood. I’ve been honest with you from the start about the man I used to be.’
‘Everything’s different now. We have Ivy.’ I step back from him, forcing his hand to leave my shoulder. ‘I don’t know, Marc. I don’t know if I can live with this pain. Not knowing when it’s going to come. It’s torture.’
‘Sophia—’
‘I need some time alone.’ I turn away.
‘That’s what I was trying to give you.’
‘No, I mean real space. I … I want you to move out of our room. Until I figure things out.’
Marc’s jaw tightens. ‘If that’s what you feel you need.’
61
That evening, Marc’s things are moved out of the main villa and into a luxury mini-villa near the beach.
I watch from the top floor window as his luggage is ported through the complex.
It’s not that I want to punish him. It feels terrible that he’ll miss time with Ivy. But I have a lot to think about.
No inhibitions.
No limits
Jessica ….
I’ve watched Jessica Goldberg on TV for years. She’s pretty. Fresh-faced. America’s sweetheart.
I thought there was nothing more in Marc’s past that could hurt me. But it just keeps on coming.
Can I cope with this? A husband with so many skeletons? And how can he be content with me?
I sway Ivy in my arms, tears running down my cheeks.
Ivy is awake, blinking at me, and I have an overwhelming urge to keep her safe, protected from all these bad things.
Does that mean leaving her father?
That thought hurts most of all – the realisation that maybe I should leave Marc. For Ivy’s sake.
There’s a soft knocking at the door, and I
will whoever it is to go away.
‘Now listen to me, Sophia Rose.’ Tom’s voice is muffled through wood. ‘I’ve crammed myself into a tiny elevator to get up here and talk to you. So you just jolly well open up.’
Usually, Tom makes me smile. But I’m not much in the mood for smiling today.
‘You’re complaining, Tom?’ I hear Tanya’s equally muffled voice fire back. ‘I had to squash into that elevator too. You had a comfy seat the whole way up.’
‘Some people would pay good money to be squashed against the famous Tom Davenport,’ Tom replies. ‘Now LISTEN HERE SOPHIA. This wheelchair makes an excellent battering ram. Let us in or I’ll break the door down.’
Reluctantly, I walk to the door and click open the lock.
‘At long last!’ Tom wheels himself into the room. ‘You’re not dead. That’s something, at least.’
‘How’s Ivy doing?’ Tanya asks, concern on her pale face.
‘Fine,’ I say.
‘And how are you?’ Tom booms.
‘Not so good,’ I admit, putting a hand on Ivy’s cot.
Tom wheels himself beside me, touching my arm. ‘Love. What’s happening? Tanya thinks this is all to do with some ex-girlfriend of Marc’s, but I told her you’d never get upset over something so silly.’
‘When you’re thinking of divorcing the father of your child … there’s nothing silly about that.’ I stare down at Ivy, sadness gripping my chest.
‘Oh come now, Sophia,’ says Tom. ‘Surely you can’t be serious? You and Marc are made for each other.’
‘I love him.’ My fingers stroke the travel-cot fabric. ‘But … I’m frightened. What else is going to come out of the woodwork? How much more can I take? And what about when Ivy grows up? I don’t want her tainted by any of this.’
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ says Tom. ‘But I’ve missed a page in the script, somewhere. Would someone fill me in?’
‘Marc … had a thing with Cassandra Kilburn,’ says Tanya, sitting on the bed.
‘No! He did?’ Tom turns to her in surprise. ‘She’s … you know, old.’
‘She’s not that old,’ says Tanya. ‘She’s only forty something. And she wears it well.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ I mumble.
‘Sorry,’ Tanya replies. ‘You know me. Say what I see.’
‘But surely that was years ago?’ says Tom. ‘Ancient history.’
‘It’s not ancient history when it turns up at your villa,’ says Tanya.
‘And you have to act alongside her,’ I add.
‘Look. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.’ Tom takes my hand. ‘But I’d hazard a guess that any extremely attractive, famous man has his share of past women. Surely you never thought you were the only one?’
‘I knew I wasn’t the only one,’ I say. ‘But this is … I don’t know. There’s more too it. Cassandra brought out his dark side.’
‘Ah,’ says Tom, with a playful waggle of his eyebrows. ‘Like Tanya does with me.’
‘More like the other way around,’ Tanya laughs. ‘But listen, Soph. Tom is right. Marc has been with plenty of women. I’m sure he’s got up to all sorts. I know it’s horrible. But the past is the past.’
‘These women keep appearing in my life,’ I say. ‘And not just my life – my movies.’
‘You could stop making movies?’ Tom offers.
‘She can’t do that!’ says Tanya. ‘Acting is her life.’
‘Ivy is my life,’ I correct her. ‘Closely followed by Marc. At least, that’s how I thought things were. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep going through this pain. It’s humiliating. And I feel like everyone is talking about me.’
‘Well I didn’t know anything,’ says Tom.
‘And I only knew because you told me,’ Tanya adds.
‘Benjamin was up here earlier,’ I say. ‘He told me. About stuff with Marc. And Cassandra. And another woman too.’
‘Oh, that’s horrible,’ says Tanya. ‘Benjamin should have kept his mouth shut.’
‘Maybe,’ I admit. ‘But I’m glad he said something.’
‘Are you?’ says Tom. ‘It seems to me some things are best kept quiet.’
‘You have a baby with Marc,’ says Tanya. ‘You’ll work things out. I know you will. Just give yourself a bit of space and time. You’ve had a shock. But you’ll get over it. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you hit the town tonight? Have a few drinks. Forget your worries.’
‘I’m really not in the mood. Anyway, I have Ivy to look after.’
‘I’ll look after Ivy,’ says Tanya, coming over to the cot. ‘You can go out with Jen and Tom. I’d be happy to—’
I shake my head. ‘I’m just too miserable.’
‘Tanya’s right, Soph,’ says Tom. ‘It will do you good to get out. You’ve got some big decisions to make. It’s going to be hard to make them if you stay here, brooding.’
I sigh. ‘Maybe some other time.’
62
When Tom and Tanya leave, I draw the curtains, even though it’s still light outside.
I put Ivy in her cot and lay on my bed, willing sleep to come.
All I can think about is Marc and Cassandra.
As I’m considering getting a glass of water, I hear footsteps on the stairs.
Marc?
But it’s not him. I know his footsteps, just like I know his knock.
‘Who is it?’ I call.
The door falls open and Jen appears, one hand on her hip. Over her arm, she’s holding a dry-cleaning bag.
‘You’re in bed?’ she demands.
I rub my eyes. ‘So?’
‘You can’t be in bed.’ She marches into the room. ‘It’s barely even nine o’clock.’
I sit up. ‘I didn’t really feel like doing anything else.’
‘Tanya told me everything.’ Jen throws the dry-cleaning bag on the bed. ‘You and I are going out for cocktails. Look – I brought you a dress. It’s free, as long as I take one photo of you in it. Chop chop! Let’s hit the town.’
‘No, Jen.’ I pull the duvet up around me. ‘I’m really not in the mood.’
‘Of course you’re not in the mood.’ She sits heavily on the bed beside me. ‘You’re miserable. But we’re going to change that. You’re in Saint-Tropez, for crying out loud! With your good friend, Jen. And I’m going to show you a good time.’
‘Jen—’
She puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘Look, I know you’re hurting. But Ivy doesn’t need a moping mother. Come out with me. We’ll have a few drinks. And work out what to do. Okay? Tanya is ready and waiting to take over.’
‘I don’t know.’ I rub tear-tired eyes.
‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ says Jen. ‘So just save time and say yes.’
Dressed in fluttery, strapless grey silk, I step out of the limousine onto the hot pavements of Saint-Tropez.
Beside me, Jen is polished and perfect in a fitted cream shift.
‘I can’t believe you talked me into this,’ I say, as we join the moving street party of young, rich and elegantly dressed.
‘And I can’t believe how amazing you look in that outfit,’ says Jen. ‘The designer is going to be so happy with the pictures.’
In the evening heat, loud voices ring out and champagne and cocktails are knocked back.
Jen arranges my hair around my shoulders. ‘Look at you. The perfect Saint-Tropez princess. I’ll bet you get mistaken for a Chloe model or something. You’ll probably get signed by some French agency.’
I fiddle shyly with my hair. ‘Hardly.’
‘Come on.’ Jen grabs my arm and leads me down hot, crowded streets. ‘The best party is with a client friend of mine. It’s this way.’
63
At the harbour, it’s easy to see where the party is.
A giant, 200-foot luxury yacht flashes with lights and trembles with beats.
Beautiful, bronzed girls swim around the boat, laughing and screeching as men pour champ
agne over them from the deck.
Jen links her arm through mine and walks us confidently up the gangplank, waving away the security man.
‘If this party doesn’t cheer you up, nothing will,’ says Jen, grabbing us each a glass of pink champagne from a passing bikini waitress.
‘I don’t know, Jen.’ I feel noise and chaos on all sides. ‘I’m not sure this is for me right now.’
‘It will be when you get drunk. Trust me.’ She thrusts a glass at me.
‘I can’t get drunk,’ I insist, taking the glass. ‘I’m filming tomorrow.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jen snorts. ‘Plenty of actors party before filming. And you need to let loose. Come on – down in one.’ She necks her champagne. ‘Your turn,’ she urges.
I look at my glass reluctantly. ‘I’m a mother now. I can’t be downing drinks.’
‘Yes you can,’ Jen barks. ‘It’s just one night. You need to take your mind off things. This is your psychological health we’re talking about.’
‘Oh, fine.’ Some hedonist part of me clicks into place, and I find myself knocking back the glass.
‘That’s my girl!’ says Jen. ‘Okay – let’s go dance.’
She pulls me towards the back of the yacht.
‘Oh my god.’ I see a cocktail bar, Jacuzzi and mini swimming pool. ‘This is a yacht?’
Tanned men and women sip cocktails on white-leather sofas and dance on varnished wood.
‘Yes,’ says Jen. ‘Well, if you’re a billionaire.’
Half an hour later, Jen and I are dancing back-to-back, downing champagne and singing along to dance tracks.
‘You’re right,’ I shout over the thumping music, ‘I did need to loosen up.’
‘Told you,’ says Jen. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘A little,’ I decide. ‘There’s light at the end of the tunnel.’
‘Time heals all, right?’ Jen replies.
‘Maybe.’ I accept another glass of pink champagne from a man in a Ralph Lauren v-neck.
‘Pardon me,’ the man asks me, with a hopeful smile. ‘Are you a model?’
He has sun-bleached brown hair, a dark tan and an upper-class West London accent. The yacht suits him perfectly.