Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  ‘You got me to the top one time. We sat up there like we were the Queen and King of England.’

  Rob stopped by the gate. ‘Can I give you my Christmas present now?’

  ‘Now? If you want.’

  He reached inside his coat pocket and took out a little box tied with a gold bow.

  Eliza’s heart leaped into her mouth.

  ‘Not going to go down on one knee, these strides were expensive and there is mud.’ His eyes were twinkling. ‘But . . . Lizzie Rose, I wondered if, maybe, you’d like to marry me?’ He slid the bow off the box and opened the lid. ‘Well?’

  She couldn’t speak. She didn’t trust herself to.

  Emotions scrambled for attention. She tried to bring them under control, shuffle the positive ones – joy, delight – to the head of the queue.

  But elbowing its way to the front was a sense of walls closing in, doors shutting, keys turning.

  ‘OK, I’ll muddy my knee if I have to,’ he said, as the silence lengthened. But the line fell flat as he registered her confusion.

  ‘Rob . . . it’s so beautiful.’

  ‘Shall I put it on for you?’ He was less sure of himself now.

  ‘But . . . I’m only twenty-four.’

  ‘That’s kind of irrelevant. We’re looking for a house; you’re a CEO. We’re grown-ups.’

  She loved him so much; she didn’t want to hurt him. Eliza didn’t know what to say – but she knew it couldn’t be ‘yes’.

  ‘You know how much I love you. But you also know how I feel about marriage. I told you years ago it wasn’t for me.’

  ‘Because of Harry. I know. But look at him now.’

  ‘Only took him five tries to get it right.’

  But this wasn’t only about Harry. Marriage meant compromise; it meant adapting, putting your partner first. Often.

  How could she be that person, with a media empire to run? Rose would always be her priority; work would always come first.

  So why are you looking for a house together? asked the voice inside her head.

  Because I love him; I want to be with him. But on my terms.

  ‘Rob, we don’t need pieces of paper and official things; we know we belong together.’

  ‘So what are you saying? You don’t want to marry me?’

  She touched his arm. ‘I want to be with you, but I don’t want to be married. Please, try to understand?’

  He shoved the box back in his pocket. ‘Every time I think I get you, think I know what you want, you throw me a curve ball.’ His voice was exasperated.

  ‘No, Rob. You do get me. I’m sorry – that was the loveliest thing you just did, and I’ll never forget it. But something deep inside says marriage isn’t for me.’

  She held his gaze, willing him to understand, until finally he smiled.

  ‘I won’t sulk, on one condition.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘You let me try again – sometime.’

  She loved how he never bore a grudge. Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him. ‘I adore you, Rob, and you make me so very happy. Believe me when I say a ring on my finger couldn’t make me love you any more than I do right now.’

  At midday, Stu and Mac arrived, and as they sipped pre-lunch drinks, Mac buttonholed Rob, asking him about plans for My Dark Soul. He seemed only too happy to chat about it; she was asking all the right questions, had done her homework.

  Eliza headed to the kitchen.

  Stu followed her. ‘Eliza, you got a mo?’

  She stopped and faced him.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry I lost it in the pub that night.’

  She recoiled a little at the alcohol on his breath. It could have been a Christmas Eve hangover, or an early start to Christmas Day.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said those things. Can we be friends? You’re my half-sister, after all.’

  He left her cold, and the words he’d spat at her in the pub rang truer than this apology.

  ‘Maybe. But you need to leave your attitude behind. Bigotry isn’t appealing.’

  ‘I need to get a job – can I talk to you about that?’

  ‘Not unless you have experience in media. And if you want to make a go of things here, maybe cut down on the booze?’

  ‘Bugger me, you don’t pull your punches, do you?’

  ‘And don’t ever call my friends fags again. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are sprouts waiting.’

  She diverted into the TV room, where Eddie was deep into a new video game. ‘Carry on,’ she said. ‘I’ll just sit here.’

  She waited for her heartbeat to slow. There was something lovely and wholesome about Eddie. She always felt better for spending time with him, even just sitting beside him, saying nothing.

  She took out her phone.

  ELIZA: Happy Christmas! What you doing?

  KIT: Christmas lunch with Will. You know I have a thing for tragedy ELIZA: Stu’s here. Why do I hate him?

  KIT: Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears ELIZA: Riddle me ree. Rob proposed. Don’t tell anyone, not even Will. I said no KIT: Of course you did

  ELIZA: I knew you’d understand

  KIT: My turkey’s getting cold. It was terrible to start with ELIZA: Enjoy. Love you xxxxx

  During Christmas lunch, Stu ripped into the wine, drinking two or three glasses for everyone else’s one, as if in defiance of Eliza’s words. His cheeks grew redder and his voice louder. Then he started on the brandy.

  Mac was talking to Rob again. He was absorbed in the conversation, and Eliza’s eyes narrowed as she watched them. Was this something to do with her ‘no’ this morning?

  Harry remained inscrutable as Stu held forth on various topics – strident opinions, all with lashings of grievance.

  As soon as Eliza had swallowed her last mouthful of Christmas pudding, she said, ‘I’m going for a walk. I’ll help clear up when I get back.’

  She expected Rob to follow, but he didn’t.

  ‘I’ll come,’ said Harry.

  ‘Me too,’ said Clare.

  ‘Hard to believe Stu’s your son,’ said Eliza, walking briskly along their well-trodden path. Across the park, children were trying out new bikes, scooters, drones.

  ‘Or Bennie’s,’ said Harry. ‘She’s such a sunny person.’

  Eliza gave him a look. ‘He’s staying with Mac,’ she said. ‘He’s probably poisoning her mind with all sorts of crap. She should throw him out, or he might drag her down with him.’

  ‘I’ll happily fund him a one-way ticket home,’ said Harry. ‘Mac’s all right. Bright girl. Questionable taste in friends, though. And not just Stu.’

  ‘And you know this how?’

  ‘Cecil did some digging for me.’

  ‘Honestly, Harry,’ said Clare. ‘You could be accused of paranoia.’

  ‘Once bitten, twice shy, darling,’ he said. ‘If I’d kept proper tabs on Phil Seville, we’d have been spared a whole lot of trouble.’

  ‘Or if I had,’ Eliza said. She’d learned a lot about the importance of spy networks since those early days at Rose. ‘So who is this other questionable friend?’

  ‘Probably more than a friend, in fact. Hamish Earle. Fingers in all sorts of pies, many of them likely to cause food poisoning. He’s involved in Scottish politics in a roundabout way – that’s how Mac knows him.’

  ‘It does make me wonder,’ said Clare, ‘why a lovely, intelligent girl like Mac would choose to associate with people like this man and Stu.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s got a thing for bad boys,’ said Eliza.

  ‘I can relate,’ said Clare, grinning at Harry.

  Chapter 39

  Eliza

  Eliza and Rob’s house-hunting seemed to have stalled. February wasn’t really the time of year for it.

  After the latest viewing, of a beautiful period home in Chiswick, Rob had started to sound antsy. ‘It’s near the river, it’s near your parents. It’s everything you said you wanted. What’s the problem?’

  ‘It�
��s a little too far out. I like being close to work.’

  ‘So what about the swanky Butler’s Wharf penthouse?’

  ‘I thought you wanted a garden.’

  ‘I’ll settle for a window box. A house plant. A herb in a pot. Anything, as long as it’s ours and not Harry’s.’

  This was clearly about more than finding a new place to live. But Eliza just didn’t have the time to be traipsing all over London assessing whether a property was private enough for a high-profile couple, or the garaging sufficiently secure for Rob’s Ferrari, or whatever. Rose was a demanding mistress, and there was always something more urgent needing her attention.

  ‘Rob, you know work has to come first,’ she snapped down the phone, after cancelling a viewing due to a threatened pilot strike at Rose Air. ‘Cecil and I have to meet with the union.’

  ‘Surely Cecil can handle it by himself?’

  ‘I need to be there. It shows I care. And it’ll make our bargaining position stronger.’

  ‘Right. Tomorrow?’

  ‘Unlikely. Rob, can I get back to you? I’m waiting on an important call.’

  ‘Which this obviously isn’t.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but you know what you signed up to.’

  ‘Lapdog?’

  He appeared in her office an hour later, a bouquet of spring flowers in his hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I know you’re under pressure. Just tell me to fuck off next time I give in to my insecurities.’

  She smiled, taking the flowers. ‘Shall we go get some lunch, Roberto?’ She looked at her calendar. A one-thirty with a reporter from the Radio Times. ‘I’ll postpone my next meeting. Say I’ve got the plague or something.’

  ‘Good plan, Snow White.’

  As they passed the crèche, Rob stopped and peered through the door. ‘Cute,’ he said. ‘Look at that little guy with the dinosaur.’ A toddler with floppy red curls was talking earnestly to a fluffy stegosaurus. ‘With that hair, he could be ours.’

  Eliza grimaced. ‘Children? You’ve got to be kidding. Oh, nice pun, me.’

  ‘One day, Lizzie? I love kids. They’re so on my level. I can’t wait to be a dad.’

  Eliza hadn’t even considered the prospect. Did she want children? Certainly not for many, many years. If ever. How could she possibly run Rose Corp and bring up a family? If she did have kids, she’d hardly see them. Would that be fair? On them or herself? She was reminded of Maria’s desolate childhood.

  ‘Would you be a stay-at-home dad?’ she asked.

  ‘No way,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t need to be – we have this.’ He looked through the door again. ‘Aw, look at him.’

  ‘But it shuts at five. And at weekends.’

  ‘Nannies, Lizzie. Babysitters.’

  ‘God, Rob. When would I find time to organize all that? I can hardly find time for a life of my own now.’

  ‘It’s what staff are for. You’re a Rose, girl.’

  Would the maternal instinct strike at some point? Right now, that felt like an impossibility.

  Most Human of Saints began screening, and Brits and Americans alike were hooked. As the season continued, viewers binge-watched through the night. BAFTAS and Emmys were surely a shoo-in, and everyone was asking, what next from RoseGold?

  Leigh returned from the States to move forward the plans for My Dark Soul. She would need Rob to go back with her, to set up the deals.

  They put house-hunting on the back-burner.

  Chess was promoted to production director, and Rob suggested giving Mac her old role.

  Eliza was against it. ‘She’s only been with us six months. Surely she’s not ready for management.’

  But she acknowledged her resistance wasn’t entirely professional. And the appointment of lower-level management should be down to Rob, as head of department. If she overruled him, it would be personal.

  She tried to be objective. Rob knew Eliza’s cousin made her uneasy, but that shouldn’t influence his decision – or hers – which should be based on what was best for Rose. Mac was efficient, bright, would bring broad experience to the position, and was popular with staff. She’d do a great job.

  And reason argued that a production manager role wasn’t going to threaten Eliza’s position at the top, especially with Chess as Mac’s line manager.

  She approved it.

  ‘I’ve made Rizz her assistant,’ said Rob, over the Valentine’s Day dinner he’d cooked – sea bass with locally sourced vegetables cooked in interesting ways.

  ‘Lucky Mac,’ said Eliza, looking him in the eye and beheading an asparagus spear with her teeth. ‘He’s adorable.’

  Angelo Rizzio, known to all as Rizz, was a cute, dark-eyed Italian who’d been employed on Most Human and then kept on in the production department, as no one could bear to see him go. He was everyone’s favourite – especially Will and Kit’s. He had long flowing hair to rival Will’s, and was permanently smiling, rushing around fetching coffee, making sure everyone had what they needed. And, best of all, he would sing while he worked, and he had the voice of an angel.

  ‘Kit certainly thinks so,’ said Rob.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That part in the script where the priest’s being tempted by thoughts of a beautiful boy? Sounds like Rizz to me.’

  ‘Kit isn’t tempted by beautiful boys. Temptation implies an internal battle.’

  ‘He hit on me once,’ said Rob. ‘I never worked out if he was joking.’

  ‘Probably not. Were you tempted?’

  ‘No. I’m unfashionably straight.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Were you? While I was away?’

  ‘For god’s sake, how many more times? We’re mates.’

  ‘You’re far more than that.’

  ‘Yes. But you shouldn’t feel threatened.’

  ‘I’ll never understand you two. You’re different with him.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘Lizzie – don’t go too wild while I’m gone. Promise? Save your good times for me?’

  A wave of despondency hit as she confronted the lonely months to come. She reached across and took his hand. ‘I will, Rob. I’m a responsible CEO now, not a louche student. And you save your wild times for me. No carousing with Hollywood starlets.’

  He grinned, and pulled a what can you do? face. ‘Goes with the territory, I’m afraid. But don’t fret.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘Starlets are ten a penny. But you, my lovely Lizzie, are a supernova.’

  She snorted. ‘You mean one that’s exploded.’

  ‘Exploded my heart,’ said Rob. ‘See, I can do words too.’

  Time apart had ever been a thing in this relationship, but Eliza’s spirits plummeted as Rob left for Heathrow.

  It was a Thursday evening. Needing a distraction, she paid Mac a visit. Eliza was aware she could do with more galpals – going out with Will and Kit was always fun but often exhausting – and in spite of her wariness, Mac was family, after all.

  It was just gone six as she headed down to the RoseGold floor. Approaching Mac’s corner of the office, she saw her cousin wasn’t alone. Perched on her desk was a dark-haired man in a black suit. Mac was smiling at him in a way that suggested this wasn’t a business meeting.

  Mac sat up straighter, the smile leaving her face. ‘Eliza!’

  The man turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. His eyes were hooded, his expression inscrutable.

  ‘This is Hamish Earle.’ Mac looked flustered. ‘A friend from Scotland. Hamish – meet Eliza Rose.’

  ‘I know who ye are.’ He held out his hand; there were black hairs on the back of it. His grip was strong. He didn’t smile and his dark eyes appraised her, partly as a woman but mostly as a fellow person of power. He was good-looking, in the way that a swaying cobra is a thing of beauty.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Hamish. Are you down on business or pleasure?’

  Hamish glanced at Mac. ‘A bit o’ both.’

  ‘What’s your line of business?’

  ‘Finance.’r />
  ‘Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I was just popping down for a catch-up, Mac. I’ll come see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Mac.

  ELIZA: Hamish Earle visited Mac today. They seemed cosy. Exactly who is he?

  HARRY: Banker and so much more. Approach with caution.

  The following day, Eliza invited Mac for lunch in the cafe. She stopped off at the production floor to fetch her.

  Rizz was sitting with Mac at her desk. Their heads were bent together, and they were giggling about something.

  ‘Hello, you two,’ said Eliza.

  Mac looked up. ‘Oh, is it lunchtime?’

  ‘Almost. How are you getting on, Rizz?’

  ‘Oh, molto contento!’ He flicked back his hair and gave her a big smile. ‘I love to work with Mac. She’s bellissima and very kind.’

  ‘Bless you, Rizz,’ said Mac. ‘Where would I be without you?’

  At lunch, Mac seemed distracted, losing the thread of the conversation as Eliza talked about the plans for My Dark Soul.

  ‘What’s Stu up to?’ Eliza asked, changing the subject.

  Mac sighed. ‘I wish Harry had given him a job when he first got here. A reason to get up in the mornings. Then maybe things would have turned out differently.’ She moved her food around her plate, eating little.

  ‘It wasn’t up to Dad. He’s retired. And honestly? Stu’s not a good fit for the company. It wouldn’t have worked.’

  ‘Not a proper Rose?’ said Mac, raising her eyebrows. ‘Well, it’s probably too late now. I think he’s passed the point of no return.’ She dropped her voice. ‘I’m really worried. When he’s been drinking, he gets so angry. He gets into arguments in the pub; he’s been in fights; he’s making enemies. I don’t want him living at my place any more, but he’s got nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Just tell him to leave! Dad would pay to send him back to Australia.’

  ‘I tried, but he flipped. It was quite terrifying; he lost his temper. Said I was siding with you against him. And if I kick him out he might end up on the streets. Surely we don’t want that.’