‘Well, it’s not a demand or an accusation. It’s probably just another attention–seeker.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Meredith quietly. ‘But I’d like it taken care of.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,’ said Tess with as much reassurance as she could muster. ‘And get any post like this diverted to me as soon as it arrives.’
‘Thank you Tess,’ said Meredith. ‘This is exactly the reason I hired you.’
She watched Meredith leave the room and her face creased into a frown. What the hell does she want from me? she thought, annoyed. First a PR, then a baby–sitter, now they want me to be a private bloody detective!
She grabbed her coat and switched off the light, throwing the letter into the back of her drawer.
CHAPTER FORTY–TWO
‘What do you mean, you can’t make it?’ asked Brooke, cradling her phone to her ear as she pushed through the revolving door of her office building and out onto the cold street.
David’s voice sounded apologetic but firm. ‘I’m sorry, honey, but it’s impossible. The producer wants to follow up a story that has just broken on the Huffington Post. We’re going to do an extended segment about it on the show tomorrow, so it’s all hands on deck. Meetings with the researchers, you know the drill. I think it’s going to be a late one.’
‘But we’re supposed to be there in an hour,’ said Brooke, exasperated. She heard a long sigh into the phone.
‘Brooke, this is my job, whereas tonight’s supper is for a guy I don’t even know; in fact it’s for someone I’m not actually that happy you’re seeing, if I’m honest.’
Brooke felt angry and defensive. When she had finally plucked up the courage to invite David to Matt’s birthday dinner, it had raised all sorts of difficult questions. Why had Matt invited Brooke when they weren’t even close friends? Who wouldn’t invite New York’s premier couple to their birthday party if they knew them? she’d answered. How many times exactly had she seen him? She could count them on one hand, she’d said. Was she regularly in touch with him on text and email? Yes! But wasn’t that how everybody maintained friendships in the twenty–first century?
‘If you had a problem with me going, you should have said so earlier,’ said Brooke with irritation. ‘Then I wouldn’t have accepted his invitation. I can’t exactly get out of it now when we’re supposed to be there in twenty minutes.’
‘Listen why don’t you just go?’ he said after a pause. ‘But come and stay at mine tonight? At least that way I’ll get to see you.’
‘Well, I’ll just have to see how busy I am,’ she said curtly and hung up. As she walked out of her building and stepped into the waiting car, she ran over David’s words. Why had he made a point of asking her over to his place? she wondered. Was it a test or did he really want to see her? She shook her head angrily and resolved not to think about it for the rest of the night.
*
Brooke stood outside Matt’s apartment, holding a bottle of Château Pétrus, feeling such nerves that she wanted to open the claret there and then. The endless parties and fundraisers she’d attended with David over the past year had made Brooke much more confident in social situations, but she still felt anxious. It hadn’t helped that she had told Tess Garrett that she was going to Matt’s dinner party – Tess hadn’t been pleased. How had she put it? Beware new friends, that was it. Brooke kept the advice in mind as she pressed the bell. A pretty blonde about her own age opened the door with a broad smile.
‘Hi, I’m Brooke.’
‘Of course you are,’ said the girl, moving out of the way to let Brooke inside. ‘I’m Susie, I’m Matt’s girlfriend.’
Her wheat–coloured hair was piled up on her head, slim jeans showed off her long legs, and a tie–dyed Indian smock top made Brooke irrationally wonder if she was into tantric sex. The thing she noticed most, however, was how wide her eyes were, giving her a slightly manic look. Brooke had met this type of girl at college. She’d heard men refer to them as ‘mad chicks’.
‘Hey.’ Matt came forward and awkwardly air–kissed her.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have,’ said Susie, as Brooke handed her the wine.
Matt peered at the label on the bottle. ‘Wow, you really should have,’ he said.
Matt led her down a short hallway and into the living room; as she stepped through the door, everyone turned towards her and conversation hushed to a silence. Brooke could feel herself blushing. On the New York social circuit, no one ever acted in a self–conscious way around her because to do so would be tantamount to admitting Brooke was somehow more important than they were. Instead, they adopted an over–friendly and familiar tone, whether they had met her before or not. All of which made Brooke feel even more awkward, even more of a circus freak, standing in Matt’s small living room.
‘Please Brooke, come and meet Greg,’ said Matt, ushering Brooke over to a rangy blond man on the sofa. ‘Greg’s a friend from school,’ said Matt, ‘and this is his girlfriend Courtney.’
Courtney was the youngest in the room, perhaps early twenties, and had obviously dressed up for the occasion in a sequinned emerald cocktail dress. She seemed to be completely star–struck and could only offer an open–mouthed smile when Brooke said hello. Matt then introduced Peter and Ed, doctors from the hospital and their wives, Sally and Grace. While Matt went to get Brooke a drink, she glanced around the room, noting the changes since her last visit when she had twisted her ankle in the park. It had definitely had a woman’s touch: the boomerang and baseball had gone from the bookshelf to be replaced by a line of scented candles. She made a mental note to check the bathroom for signs of Susie’s permanency: another toothbrush by the sink, perhaps, or bath oil in the cabinet. Brooke took a glass of white wine and sidled up to Sally.
‘Great tan. Have you been anywhere nice?’ Brooke asked politely.
‘Actually we’ve spent the year in Ghana,’ said Sally. ‘We’ve been on a medical exchange programme. Grace is a nurse, too. We all went out together.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ said Brooke. ‘Is that the programme Matt is interested in?’
She said it without thinking, realizing too late that Matt might not have made his plan public just yet. Future politicians’ wives have to learn to be more diplomatic, she reminded herself.
Ed seemed to pep up noticeably at the question. ‘Oh yes. I kept emailing him while I was out there, telling him what a life–changing experience it was. The poverty we saw out there was depressing, but it’s humbling to go out there and try and make a difference.’
Susie pulled a face to communicate that she had been rather less enamoured by the idea; Brooke noticed the atmosphere and dropped the subject. There was another lull in the conversation. Brooke was just about to remark on the change in the weather when Courtney piped up, ‘So, when’s the wedding?’
Brooke laughed out loud and everyone else followed suit. She felt a sense of relief that someone had pointed out the obvious and broken the ice.
‘She’s been dying to ask ever since Matt told her you were coming,’ said Grace in a stage whisper.
‘Oh please,’ said Courtney to Brooke eagerly. ‘Can’t you tell us? I read in US Weekly it was going to be May at some grand lodge upstate. But people are now whispering that it’s going to be over New Year at Belcourt.’
Brooke flashed her a smile. ‘You don’t expect me to tell you that, do you?’ she teased.
‘Yes, Courtney, the Secret Service will have you killed,’ said Susie, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
‘I doubt Brooke has any dealings with the Secret Service,’ replied Ed, not unkindly. ‘Not yet, anyway,’ he added with a wink.
‘But I bet you will, one day,’ said Courtney, pushing her olive around her glass. ‘Matt says David is going to be president in fifteen, twenty years’ time. Imagine that life, it’d be so glamorous! Not being able to eat, sleep, shop without some man with an earpiece and a gun in his pocket guarding you. Do you think they monitor the Pre
sident having sex?’ She dissolved into giggles.
‘Doctor, can you get this woman a coffee to sober her up?’ said Greg to Matt only half jokingly.
‘Speaking of the wedding, you must let me make you an essential oil for the big day,’ said Susie. ‘Lavender and neroli oil would be just dreamy.’
‘That reminds me,’ added Brooke, picking up her clutch, ‘I must just go and deliver something to the birthday boy.’ She crossed the corridor and went into the kitchen. It had a wooden swinging door like a Wild West saloon. The windows were steamed up and Matt was bent over the stove, tasting something that looked like bubbling stew from a wooden spoon. The scene reminded her of his attempts at cooking when they were in college, and she found it comforting that some things hadn’t changed all that much. He looked up from his pots with a start.
‘Hey, what are you doing in here?’ he said, taking a long swig of his claret. ‘Go and get back to your adoring audience.’
He gave her a big, wide smile. He seemed happier, more relaxed than usual. Then again, he’d clearly had quite a bit to drink. Matt had always liked his liquor.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said with a playful tap. ‘They’re here for your birthday, remember?’
‘Don’t kid yourself,’ smiled Matt. ‘I can’t believe how everyone has dressed up in your honour. You should see what they look like on a normal day, it’s like Halloween. Honestly, when Courtney knocked on the door, I wasn’t sure if it was my guests arriving or the early delivery of my Christmas tree.’
Her gaze tracked across the room to where a large chocolate gateau was defrosting on a shelf on top of the radiator. ‘You should have said you were doing food. I know a couple of really great chefs that do private catering.’
‘Like I’m a private chef kinda guy,’ he laughed.
‘ I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Brooke, a little embarrassed.
‘Money isn’t the issue, Brooke,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘Anyway, shame David couldn’t make it.’
‘He’s working late. Again. I counted up the nights I see him per month and I’m lucky if I get to double digits.’
‘Maybe it was just as well he didn’t come. He’d have made us men feel inferior.’
‘I’m not marrying Bruce Wayne,’ she said, nudging his arm playfully.
He grinned and lifted the wooden spoon to her lips. ‘How does that taste?’
She licked her lips. It wasn’t half bad. ‘And a good cook too,’ she said. ‘You are a catch. Oh, I think I’d better warn you,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘I think I put my foot in it. I asked if Ed and Peter’s medical exchange programme was the one you wanted to do. Susie seemed a bit surprised.’
He shrugged, turning back to the stove. ‘She knows about it. I haven’t made a decision yet, but she isn’t going to influence that decision anyway.’
Brooke found herself feeling oddly relieved. ‘I forgot,’ she said, producing a small package wrapped in shiny red paper. ‘Your birthday present.’
‘I thought that was the Château Pétrus you brought. I am a lucky boy.’ He wiped his hands on a tea towel and tore the paper off. Inside was a slim box. He opened it and his eyes widened with pleasure.
‘Tickets for the Guns N’ Roses reunion gig?’ he cried. ‘No way! These are impossible to get hold of. I can’t believe you remembered I like them.’
‘How could I forget all that posing in front of the mirror?’ she grinned.
He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. A stillness descended between them. Brooke stepped back, brushing a trace of sauce from her cheek just as Susie burst through the Wild West doors.
‘We’re already out of red wine,’ she announced, squeezing into the small space. ‘You should have reminded me what big drinkers you doctors are.’
She paused and then examined Matt and Brooke, who both carried slightly guilty faces.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘More than okay,’ said Matt enthusiastically, showing her the tickets. ‘Look what Brooke gave me. Guns N’ Roses, man!’
‘Great,’ said Susie flatly. ‘I didn’t know you were into rock.’
‘You should have seen him in college,’ smiled Brooke. ‘He wanted to grow his hair like Slash, but it just hung there like two curtains.’
‘Hey!’ he protested. ‘And you call me indiscreet!’
Susie eyed them warily. She pushed past Matt and began to stir the stew furiously.
‘Go on, get back in there,’ she said. ‘I’ll take over. Dinner will be just a couple of minutes.’
Sitting down at the dinner table, wedged in between Ed and Courtney, Brooke quickly found herself much more at ease. Matt’s friends were fun and intelligent and conversation bounced between the serious, such as universal health–care schemes, to the more frivolous, such as the latest exposés in the New York Post. The casserole was actually excellent, although the gateau was still semi–frozen – but by then Brooke didn’t care; she was relaxed and having fun. It was so unlike the birthday celebrations she usually went to these days: they were more like exercises in social competitiveness. They were held in restaurants that hadn’t yet officially opened or had the guest list managed by the hottest PR agencies in town. When they were held at people’s homes they were grand affairs: dinner–parties catered by Mario Batali or cocktail parties for one hundred to demonstrate the size of their duplex. Brooke had also found that once she started talking about David, in particular recounting the Florida drama for the benefit of an open–mouthed Courtney, Susie relaxed a little and seemed actually quite sweet. She was clearly besotted with Matthew, at any rate. And isn’t that a good thing? she asked herself. Of course it was.
‘So, Brooke, will you be having frozen cake at your wedding?’ asked Greg, crunching his fork into icy chocolate. Matt threw a napkin at his friend.
‘Hey, you’re a guest,’ he laughed, ‘but any more cheek from you and you’ll be washing up.’
Ed and Pete cheered raucously at the suggestion, drumming their hands on the table.
Courtney leant forward, resting her small breasts on top of the table. ‘Is it all right if Matt tells us every detail of the wedding after it’s happened?’
Matt looked up. Although Courtney was at the other end of the table, his ears seemed to be tuned into any conversation directed at Brooke.
‘Oh I’m not going,’ he said quickly.
‘Why not?’ asked Courtney.
‘Nah, quite right, I wouldn’t invite this reprobate either,’ said Greg, winking over to Brooke.
‘No, no, of course you’re invited,’ said Brooke, fixing her gaze on the birthday boy.
Matt smiled and then looked down at his empty plate. ‘So who’s for coffee?’ he said, quickly getting to his feet. ‘I think we need something to defrost that cake.’
Brooke glanced her watch. It was gone eleven and she was feeling more drunk than she had done in ages. ‘No, I think I have to run,’ she said, beginning to rise, then sitting down again. ‘Actually, stagger is more like it. I think I’ve had one too many of Greg’s cocktails.’
‘If you need any help with the bar at your wedding, you know where to find me,’ winked Greg. Susie went to get Brooke’s cashmere coat from the bedroom and helped her on with it.
‘Good luck with everything,’ said Courtney, grabbing Brooke and clasping her to her sequinned bosom. ‘I wish I was you.’
‘I’ll come out and get a taxi with you,’ said Matt, guiding her out into the dark hallway. He pressed the button and they waited for the elevator.
‘That was fun,’ smiled Brooke, buttoning up her coat. ‘And Susie is lovely.’
‘Brooke. Don’t make this bigger than it is,’ he replied. He was standing so close to her that she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
‘Listen, Matt. I know you’re still thinking about Kate, and that’s really sweet, but you don’t have to feel guilty for dating again.’
They both turned as they heard Matt’s
front door creak open. ‘Matt. Do you want me to make the coffee?’
Susie had a slightly hopeless, insecure look on her face that made Brooke’s heart go out to her. She was just an ordinary girl doing her best to defend her new man – a doctor no less, a real catch in most circles – from a threat she saw as impossibly glamorous. Brooke felt awful for all the uncharitable things she had thought about Susie throughout the night. In the end, like all of us, she thought, she’s just looking for someone to love. Brooke tapped Matt’s arm in the most platonic way she could.
‘I forgot,’ she said, looking over at Susie, ‘it’s the launch party for one of my books on Friday. It would be great if you could both come along.’
Susie’s worried face broke out into a relieved smile. ‘That would be great,’ she beamed, walking over to Matt and hooking her arm through his. The lift arrived and the doors swished open.
‘Well, goodnight,’ said Brooke, hurriedly air–kissing them both like the good politician’s wife, then jumped inside, watching the floors click past, suddenly glad to be out of there.
CHAPTER FORTY–THREE
‘Mr Billington,’ she gasped. ‘That was … absolutely … spectacular.’
Liz slid off Wendell’s cock and collapsed onto the mattress, her flushed face mashing into the pillow. Liz and Wendell had been meeting three times a week since their first encounter in the Hamptons, and the sex just seemed to get better and better every time. The convenience of Wendell’s permanent suite at the Pierre certainly helped. They had been known to slip out of their respective offices for lunch and be back, invigorated and alert, for a meeting an hour later. Far from interfering with work, Liz felt there was nothing like a quick, hard, lunchtime fuck to sharpen you up for the day ahead.
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