‘I do want to do it,’ she snapped. ‘But...it’s why my parents were worried about me doing it, yeah.’ Her hands were busy playing with some stress toy she’d found in Rose’s drawer when they were sorting the study—a globe that she could stretch and squeeze. After less than a week, it already looked considerably more worn than when they’d discovered it. ‘They know I don’t enjoy dealing with people so much these days. That was always left to Rose, really.’
These days. Since the sex tape? Tom frowned. Since then, she’d stopped trusting anyone outside her immediate family, and avoided other people as much as possible.
Huh. Perhaps the stories he’d read when researching Violet Huntingdon-Cross weren’t all there was to know. And he was a reporter—he always wanted to get to the truth, the real story.
Standing up, Tom reached across the desk and rescued the poor battered globe from between her fingers. ‘Come on.’ He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
‘What? Where are we going?’ That puzzled frown line between her eyebrows was actually kind of cute, Tom decided.
‘Lunch,’ he told her. ‘Completely off the record. I promise.’
* * *
It quickly emerged that Tom had no idea where they could actually go for lunch. ‘Hey, you live here,’ he said. ‘Where’s good?’
Rolling her eyes, Violet grabbed her handbag and car keys. ‘Come on.’
As she started the engine, and tried to ignore Tom fiddling with the radio, she weighed up her options. There was the Peacock in the village, but that was just across the road from the church and the vicar’s favourite afternoon haunt. She could almost guarantee that having lunch there with Tom would mean that the whole flower committee would be talking about her again by Sunday. There was the Three Tuns in the next village over, but Mum and her ladies sometimes took lunch there mid-week, and Violet couldn’t remember if it was one of those days. Even if Mum wasn’t there, the ladies might be.
So that left the Fox and Hounds, three villages over and with hand-cut chips to die for. Violet felt she could live with that.
‘Is there any reason we’re crossing county lines to grab a sandwich?’ Tom asked as they drove past the turning for the village.
‘Hand-cut chips,’ Violet replied. It was only a partial lie, at least.
‘Fair enough.’ Tom settled back into his seat, the radio playing something obscure and jazzy, and folded his hands behind his head.
‘So, these questions you want to ask...’ It made Violet a little nervous, how relaxed he was. As if he already knew the answers to the things he was going to ask.
‘When we get to the pub.’ Were his eyes closed? Violet snapped her gaze away from the road ahead just long enough to check. Yep, he was half asleep in her car. Again.
‘Okay, but you know I don’t believe in off the record, right? I distinctly remember having that conversation.’ That too revealing, too intimate conversation. Since then, she’d taken care to keep their interactions to a minimum. When he’d stopped by to see if he could help with the Benefit Concert a few days ago, she’d handed him a call sheet and left him to it. And when he’d been helping her sort the study, it had been easy to just boss him around.
Until today. Violet was under no illusions who was in charge today, even if she was the one holding the steering wheel. And she really didn’t like it.
Beside her, Tom sighed, brought his hands down to rest in his lap and opened his eyes. ‘Okay, look. This is how this is going to work. We are going to have lunch. Over lunch, we will make friendly conversation. We will probably talk about our families, our friends, our lives. Because that’s what people do when they go out for lunch.’
‘Not always,’ Violet interjected. ‘When we have flower committee lunches we mostly talk about other people. In fact, most lunches I’ve ever been to have been filled with people talking about other people.’ Seemed people were always more comfortable gossiping about people they barely knew than about themselves. In fact, they especially seemed to like talking about her, she’d found.
‘Fair point,’ Tom conceded. ‘Okay, then, imagine we’re at some sort of internet dating meet-up thing.’
Violet couldn’t help but laugh. ‘No way.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because no logical computer programme in the world would ever put us together!’ The journalist and the woman who got screwed over—quite literally and in front of millions—by one. Not a natural match.
‘You don’t know that!’ Tom twisted in his seat to grin at her. ‘We’re both relatively young, relatively attractive...’
Violet tossed her hair over her shoulder, the way her mum did when she was dealing with idiots who didn’t know they were idiots. ‘Relatively?’
‘In your case, relative to the pop stars and supermodels of this world. In mine...relative to everyone else.’ Tom shrugged, as if to admit he knew the argument was kind of weak.
Violet raised her eyebrows as she pulled into the car park of the Fox and Hounds.
‘Regardless of our relative attractiveness levels, I can assure you that our personality profiles would be very, very different.’ Violet switched off the engine.
‘Oh, I think we could have stuff in common.’
‘How would you know? You don’t know the first thing about me, apart from what you’ve read on the internet.’ And watched, of course, although she didn’t feel the need to remind him of that.
‘Exactly.’ Tom flashed her a grin and opened the door. ‘And you don’t know anything about me.’
‘Except that you’re a reporter.’
‘That’s my job, not who I am.’ He got out of the car.
‘So who are you then?’ Violet called after him.
‘Come to lunch and find out.’ Tom leant down, rested him arms on the door frame and peered in at her. ‘I’ll do you a deal. For every question you answer of mine, I’ll answer one of yours. Off the record.’
‘I told you, I don’t believe in that.’
‘You might by the end of lunch. Now come on. I’m starving.’
CHAPTER NINE
VIOLET HAD BEEN RIGHT—the hand-cut chips were definitely worth the trip. The conversation, not so much. So far, over a pint of bitter for him and an orange juice for her, they’d discussed the menu, the merits of starters over puddings and the general preference for both, whether a table by the window might be nicer than one by the bar, and if the couple arguing in the car park were ever coming in.
But now, as the waitress retreated after leaving them their meals, he had his chance.
‘So, do you want to go first, or shall I?’ Tom popped another chip in his mouth while Violet considered her answer. Then, since it seemed to be taking her a while, he ate another. ‘That wasn’t meant to be such a brainteaser, you know.’
‘It’s a big decision!’ Violet said. ‘Like that bit in The Princess Bride with the iocane powder. You know... Are you the sort of person who’d put poison in your glass or my glass? That bit.’ She looked down and selected her own chip, biting it in half.
‘How, exactly, is lunch with me like deciding whether to drink poison or not?’
‘Not lunch. The question thing,’ Violet said. ‘I mean, if you ask first, then I’ll know the sort of level of questions we’re asking, which makes it easier for me to come up with mine. But if I go first, then I can see how good your answers are before deciding how good my answers should be. See?’
‘Sure.’ Or, you know, not at all. ‘So, you like movies?’ Tom asked, oddly charmed by her uncertainty.
Violet’s gaze flew up to meet his. ‘Is that your first question? Because I hadn’t decided...’
‘Okay. Not an official question. Just an idle wondering.’ Anything that got her talking was good with him.
‘Then, yes. I like movies.’ She took a breath. ‘So, my turn.’
‘You’ve decided, then?’
Violet nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘So was that me going first, or did that one
not count and this next question is you going first?’ He grinned at the frustration that crossed her face.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not really, I suppose.’ Tom settled back in his chair. ‘Go on, then. Ask away.’
‘Why did you agree to come and stay at Huntingdon Hall, and work on this book for Dad?’
Was that an easy one, to lull him into a false sense of security? Or did she just have no idea what to ask? Either way, he wasn’t going to be so gentle.
‘Because it’s the chance of a lifetime,’ he said with a shrug. Faint disappointment coloured Violet’s face, and he realised suddenly that maybe this wasn’t an easy question. Maybe she was asking more than he’d first thought. He paused, and considered the real answer. ‘The Screaming Lemons were my mum’s favourite band; they were the soundtrack to my childhood. So even if this wasn’t a great opportunity to really make my name—and hopefully some money—I’d still have wanted to take the job. Your dad, his friends, your family—you’re part of modern history. You matter to the collective memory of music lovers everywhere. I don’t want that to be lost when we’re all dead and gone.’
‘The music would live on,’ Violet said, her head tipped slightly to one side as she studied him. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘In lots of ways, yes. But the Lemons were more than just the music. They’re people too—people who mean a lot to their fans, like my mother. And I don’t want the truth of who they are to be lost to the stories and anecdotes of people who barely knew them.’ Had he even realised why this mattered to him until she’d asked? He didn’t think so. Until this moment, he’d thought he was just there to do a job—a fun, fulfilling and hopefully lucrative job, but a job nonetheless. Now it felt more like a vocation.
‘So is your mum pleased you’re doing it?’ Violet asked.
‘That’s a separate question,’ Tom pointed out with a frown. Why had he even mentioned his mother? She was the last thing he wanted to talk about, and he had put the idea in her head. He was normally sharper than this. ‘My turn first.’
Violet took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something deeply unpleasant. ‘Go on, then.’
What to ask? Or, rather, what to ask first? He had a lengthy list in his head of things he wanted to know, but where to start? If he went in with something too heavy, she might shy away. But if he started out gentle and they ran out of time, or she called a halt earlier than he’d like, he might never get to the important questions. Tricky.
In the end, he went for something in the middle.
‘How do you feel about your twin sister marrying your best friend?’
Violet rolled her eyes and picked up her sandwich with both hands. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to get to that.’ She took a bite of her sandwich—a stalling tactic, Tom decided. Something to make her look busy while she considered her answer.
‘You promised me the truth,’ he reminded her.
Violet swallowed her mouthful. ‘I know, I know. Okay, it’s a little bit weird, but I’m honestly really happy for them. I thought I was going to have to spend the rest of my life pretending to like Will’s fiancées, then celebrating when he inevitably ran off and left them at the altar. This time, I was praying for him to go through with it. They’re a good match.’
‘So why is it weird?’ Tom asked, hoping she wouldn’t notice him slipping in the extra question.
Violet tilted her head to the side, considering. ‘I guess just because it was never like that with us. Rose is practically my double, but there’s a chemistry and a connection between them that just never existed between me and Will. And now it’s my turn again.’
She smiled, her gaze catching his, and Tom found himself mesmerised by those bright blue eyes once more. He knew what she meant about the chemistry. He’d met Rose, had a very pleasant lunch and conversation with her. But he’d never found himself wanting to uncover all her secrets, or wanting to reach across and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. If Rose had told him that no dating agency in the world would set them up, he’d have laughed with her—not stubbornly set out to prove her wrong.
Which was ridiculous. Violet was right—they had nothing in common, no shared history or world. So why was he trying so hard to find a connection between them? Even he wasn’t oblivious enough to pretend it was just for a story.
‘Go on, then,’ he said, breaking away from the look first. ‘Ask.’
‘I already have. Is your mum pleased you’re doing this story?’ Violet asked, and Tom’s gaze flew away from hers. ‘Sorry, only...you mentioned her before—that she was a big fan of Dad’s. I just wondered if you were close, I guess.’
‘She’s dead,’ Tom said, wincing at how blunt it came out. ‘I mean, she died, about seven years ago now. So, uh, she doesn’t know I’m here, but if she did...yeah, I think she’d be pleased. I think she’d have wanted to come too!’
‘I’m sorry.’ Violet’s eyes were wide and sad. ‘The way you talked about her, I just assumed... It must have been awful.’
Tom shrugged. ‘It was. Still is, in lots of ways. I miss her, of course. And I think about her a lot. But...’ Did he want to tell her this? One confidence in the hope of winning a lot more from her in return. ‘When she died...we weren’t on the best of terms. That’s what I regret most. Not having the time to make things right with her before she died.’
He’d expected the sympathy in Violet’s eyes, but not the sadness. ‘I really am sorry, Tom. But I think she must have known how much you loved her—I can tell just from five minutes speaking with you, and she knew you your whole life.’
‘I hope so.’ Tom reached for his pint as a distraction. ‘My turn. So...’ This was it. This was his chance to ask the question he really wanted to know the answer to, while she was still feeling sorry for him. So why didn’t he want to ask it, all of a sudden?
He pushed himself to, though. ‘The sex tape. Why did you never issue a statement about it? An apology or an explanation?’
‘Because it was nobody’s damn business,’ Violet snapped. ‘If they want to watch it, fine, I can’t stop them. But I don’t have to acknowledge it.’
‘Yeah, but a leaked sex tape... There’s always talk that the subject might have put it out themselves. For the publicity or whatever. You didn’t even deny that.’ And everybody denied that. That was what made the whole Sex Tape Twin scandal so strange.
Violet looked him straight in the eye, her mouth hard and her jaw tight. ‘Since I didn’t even know I was being filmed at the time, it seems unlikely that I’d have been able to leak it to the media, doesn’t it?’
‘You didn’t...you honestly didn’t know you were being filmed?’ Because that made it a whole different story. That...well, that explained a lot about why Violet was so touchy on the subject of trust.
‘Of course I didn’t! Do you really think I’d let someone film me doing...that?’ She shook her head. ‘Of course you do. Because you don’t know me at all, just like I said. All you know about me is what you’ve read on the internet, the same as everyone else. Despite the fact you’ve spent the last week in my home—and apparently learnt nothing at all.’
‘I didn’t... I just assumed...’ His arguments sounded stupid now. Of course Violet wouldn’t—this was the woman who trusted no one outside her family. Why would she trust someone to film her being that vulnerable? Except, of course, something had to have happened to make her that wary. And it would make sense for this to be it. ‘You looked straight into the camera, Violet. You had to know it was there.’
She blinked at him, shock in those blue eyes. ‘I...I did? God, how many times did you watch it, Tom?’
‘Not even once all the way through,’ he promised. ‘But there are stills...’
‘Oh, I know. Someone sent a whole pack of them to my parents, along with a note that read “Your daughter is a whore” in bright red lipstick.’
‘That’s...wow. That’s awful.’
‘Yeah.’ Reaching over,
Violet stole his pint and took a sip. Then she sighed. ‘Okay, look. I will tell you the story of the sex tape saga. But then that’s it for today, yeah? And if you use any of it in this damn book of yours—’
‘I should. You should want me to,’ Tom interrupted. ‘The world thinks that you filmed that tape on purpose. Half of them probably think you leaked it yourself. That’s all the world knows of you. Don’t you want them to know the truth?’
‘I just want them all to forget,’ Violet whispered, and something in Tom’s chest clenched tight at the misery in her voice.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said, reaching across the table to take her hand.
Violet looked up, her eyes wide and sad, and said, ‘Okay.’
* * *
Oh, God, she didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want to admit all over again how stupid she’d been. Stupid, naïve and blind. Or, as Rose put it, nineteen.
‘So, after I left boarding school, I took a gap year. I did some work experience at a newspaper because I thought I wanted to study journalism.’
‘You wanted to become a reporter? You?’
Violet rolled her eyes at the mocking disbelief on Tom’s face.
‘Yes. I was eighteen then, and a totally different person. And this will go a lot quicker if you don’t question everything.’ If he interrupted her too much, Violet wasn’t sure she could get through to the end of the story at all.
‘Sorry. Carry on.’ Tom took a big bite of his burger to show he wasn’t going to talk any more.
‘Okay, so I was working on this paper where no one cared who my parents were—or if they did, it was mostly only to complain about it. I wasn’t getting paid, and mostly I fetched coffee, made photocopies and—eventually, once they realised I wasn’t an idiot—checked copy and wrote filler pieces from press releases that got emailed in.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ Tom said through a mouthful of lunch.
‘While I was there, I met a guy.’
‘Less familiar.’
Violet tried to smile, to acknowledge his attempt to lighten the mood. But just thinking back to those days made her chest hurt. She’d been so young, so carefree. She’d really believed she could do anything she wanted, could be anyone if she just worked at it hard enough.
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