Original Sin

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘And I love you, Brooke, I always have. You never gave me the chance to show you how great we could be together, but it’s not too late.’

  ‘I’m getting married in six days’ time, Matt.’

  ‘So?’ he said, gripping his fingers into her arms. ‘Call it off. Do what you want to do. Not what everyone wants you to. Break the cycle, Brooke.’

  She shrugged him off, suddenly flinching at his touch. Pulling open the bedroom door she grabbed her coat and bag, feeling the walls of Matt’s small apartment close in on her.

  ‘I have to go,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Think about it, Brooke. Think about it.’

  But she was already out of the door.

  CHAPTER SIXTY–ONE

  Mary–Ann Henner was a drunk. You could see it and you could smell it. Her sixty–something face, obviously once very pretty, was now puffy and lined, her complexion rough and uncared for. She smelt of booze and bars and cigarettes, and so did her little home in Queens.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ she said, leading Jemma into her small living room. It was chintzy and neat and there were pictures of two children everywhere – on the walls, in silver frames lined along the shelves, even on the top of a kitsch trinket box on the sideboard, the sort of thing you could have made up at funfairs.

  ‘My two kids, Lauren and Jerry,’ said Mary–Ann. ‘They’ve long since flown the nest. Same can be said for their father,’ she added with a hard smile, directing Jemma to the red velveteen sofa. Mary–Ann used the remote to flick the television off, and Jemma noted that it had been showing It’s A Wonderful Life. Ain’t it just, she thought. There was a bottle of nail polish and tumbler of clear liquid on the coffee table. It looked like water, but Jemma knew it wasn’t.

  ‘So you work for Meredith Asgill?’ said Mary–Ann, picking up the tumbler. ‘I have to say Brooke’s done well for herself. Then again, she was always such a pretty girl.’

  Mary–Ann Henner had been Howard Asgill’s PA for almost forty years, ‘retiring’ just before his death when her drinking was beginning to interfere with her ability to do her job. However, she was an obvious point of contact when Jemma had agreed to join in Tess’s investigation. Jemma had first called Olivia Martin’s sister but that had thrown up little beyond her theory that Olivia wouldn’t have taken her own life, and that she had clearly fallen into the river drunk and high. Howard Asgill was dead, so Jemma couldn’t talk to him. But his secretary was very much alive, and didn’t secretaries often know where the bodies were buried – perhaps literally in this case. Jemma had meant what she had said when she and Tess had quarrelled at the apartment. Her friend seemed to be chasing her tail in some futile search for the truth, and she feared that her life would come crashing down if she found it. So it was with mixed emotions that Jemma had volunteered to help when Tess had called her from Louisiana with the latest information she had found.

  ‘You worked for Howard for a long time, didn’t you?’ said Jemma.

  Mary–Ann wiggled her scarlet painted toes and looked out of the window as if doing mental arithmetic. ‘Started when I was sixteen. I was the assistant to Howard’s PA back then, the assistant’s assistant,’ she laughed.

  ‘And did you go to his wedding?’

  ‘’Course I did,’ said Mary–Ann. ‘The most glamorous thing I’d ever been to. I’ve ever been to. Cary Grant was there, ferchrissakes!’

  Jemma shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This was awkward, but Mary–Ann with her world–weariness and her vodka looked ready to talk.

  ‘Did Howard Asgill have an affair with Olivia Martin?’ she asked flatly.

  Mary–Ann offer a weak smile. ‘Has that story raised its head again? Thought it might with all this wedding business. Papers, they can’t seem to write enough about Brooke and David, can they?’

  She took a cigarette out of its packet and lit it, blowing out a smoke ring. ‘Police interviewed me about this at the time.’

  ‘I know, Mary–Ann, but it would help if you could remember anything about those days. For instance, was Howard having an affair with Olivia?’

  ‘As I said back in Sixty–four, I never saw anything that made me think Howard was doing the dirty,’ said Mary–Ann. ‘I sent flowers to Olivia from Howard – tiger lilies mostly, she really loved tiger lilies – and they met for lunch in New York, but she was an Asgill’s ambassador, so there was nothing that made me think it was anything other than work.’

  ‘Was Howard ever unfaithful to Meredith?’

  After a few moments, she nodded. ‘Couldn’t keep his pecker in his trousers, if that’s what you mean. But then, aren’t most rich, powerful men like that? Most men, in fact,’ she added, casting a glance at a framed picture of her children,

  ‘Do you remember anything strange about the night of the wedding? Anything unusual? Did you see Howard with Olivia, for instance?’

  ‘Sure. They had a dance. Howard danced with all the Asgill ambassadors, showed them off in front of the crowd. He always did mix work with pleasure, even on his wedding day. I’m not sure Meredith liked it much, though. I saw her having quite a ding–dong with Olivia.’

  ‘Did you tell the police this?’

  Mary–Ann looked sheepish and shook her head.

  ‘I was seventeen years old, honey,’ she shrugged. ‘It was my first job and I didn’t want to rock the boat. They asked me if Howard was running around with Olivia. I said no and that was the truth, but I wasn’t going to go digging up any more trouble. Still, he’s dead now,’ she said, blowing out a long stream of smoke. ‘I can say what I like.’

  ‘Where did Meredith and Olivia have this conversation exactly?’

  ‘Just across from the big fountain in front of the house. It was about ten p.m.’

  ‘You’ve got a good memory,’ said Jemma.

  Mary–Ann snorted. ‘Big night for me, baby, it was the night I lost my cherry. You remember nights like that.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jemma awkwardly.

  ‘Should have been the most romantic night of my life,’ said Mary–Ann, looking wistful. ‘All that beautiful jazz music, the smell of the flowers in the rose garden – that’s where we did it,’ she whispered. ‘First night a man let me down, but not the last. Said he’d meet me at midnight for the fireworks. Son of a bitch never showed.’

  ‘Do you remember seeing Howard Asgill around midnight? Maybe after the fireworks?’

  Mary–Ann nodded. ‘I remember that one because by then I was crying. Howard saw me and gave me his handkerchief. Must have been about twelve thirty, I guess.’ She reached for the tumbler and drained the last of the liquid. She waggled the glass at Jemma.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘No, I must be going,’ she said standing up. ‘But thank you so much for your time.’

  ‘No problem, honey,’ said Mary–Ann, showing her to the door. ‘Always happy to talk about the good old days.’

  She opened the door and Jemma stepped out.

  ‘Never get involved with a man, honey,’ said Mary–Ann as a parting shot. ‘They all let you down in the end.’

  Amen to that, thought Jemma as she heard the door close behind her.

  CHAPTER SIXTY–TWO

  Brooke had been dreading her bachelorette party, given that her sister Liz was in charge of the arrangements. She had been expecting some humiliating stripper bar involving baby oil and beefcake, so she was therefore astonished to find Liz had booked the private room of the Buddha Bar, the hottest club–restaurant in the Meatpacking District, and had filled it with pink champagne and exquisite canapés. She had also invited at least forty of Brooke’s closest friends: people from school and college, colleagues from Yellow Door, and girls from the society circuit. Brooke reminded herself what her sister was like: whatever Liz did was always the best it could be. On the other hand, Brooke was mildly cynical about this show of good nature – there just had to be some motive behind it, didn’t there? – although standing at the bar, strewn with gardenia petals, surrounded by frien
ds, it was hard to think what it might be.

  ‘I just want to say thank you for all this,’ said Brooke, touching Liz on the arm. ‘It’s just perfect. I can’t believe you’ve got so many of the old crowd here.’

  Liz gave a casual little shrug. ‘I just thought it was a shame you don’t see too many of the Spence and Brown lot any more,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s important to stay connected.’

  Tiny tea–lights dotted round the room gave Liz’s face a soft golden glow, but her expression was unsmiling and melancholic. If Brooke hadn’t known better, she would have said her sister actually looked, well, sad. She glanced at her again; it was rare you saw any emotion from Liz apart from anger. Brooke leant across the bar and ordered two champagnes, handing one to Liz, who drained it in one long gulp.

  ‘Liz, are you okay, honey?’ asked Brooke.

  ‘Are you sure you’re ready for the Billington family?’ said Liz, ignoring the question. Her gaze was unsettlingly direct, her tone unmistakably heartfelt, and for one anxious moment Brooke wondered if Liz knew about last night, the night she had almost had sex with Matt Palmer, a memory that had been both thrilling and repelling Brooke in the twenty–four hours since it had happened. The irony was that Brooke was desperate to talk to her sister about her misgivings. While the two women were not close, Liz was the smartest, wiliest person she knew; no trouble ever seemed insurmountable to her, every problem was an opportunity, and she always seemed able to manoeuvre her way out of anything. Brooke would have loved her sage advice, but the truth was that Brooke just didn’t trust her.

  ‘Of course I’m ready for them,’ said Brooke.

  ‘Well, you’d better be,’ Liz replied, her eyes flat and sad, ‘because they don’t care about anybody or anything except themselves.’

  Brooke frowned. ‘Liz, is there something–’

  Her question was interrupted as a tall, slender blonde approached, wearing a skin–tight sequinned mini–dress, the veil of a pillbox hat obscuring her face.

  ‘Lily? Is that you?’ asked Brooke, bending to peer under the veil. The hat nodded, a quiet sniffling coming from beneath.

  ‘There’s been an accident Brooke,’ whispered her bridesmaid–to–be. ‘Something awful’s happened.’

  Her heart lurched – did Lily know? If his cousin knew, did David know? She felt completely paranoid.

  ‘It’s the Botox,’ sniffed Lily as she lifted her veil. Her left eyelid was puffy and drooping badly, as if she’d been punched squarely in the eye.

  ‘I was having a quarter–head especially for the wedding, and it’s slipped.’

  ‘What were you doing? Cartwheels after the procedure?’ said Liz tartly.

  Brooke glanced at her sister. It was insensitive, even for her, but Lily didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Please, can you help me?’ said Lily clasping Liz’s arm. ‘There must be someone at Skin Plus who can help! How can I be a bridesmaid like this? I can’t,’ she said, beginning to sob.

  Liz peered at her more closely. ‘I’m not sure anything can be done,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, though. It will probably wear off in two to three weeks.’

  Just then Brooke’s mobile phone rang. Her throat tightened as she saw the name on the LCD display. David. She touched Lily’s arm sympathetically as she took the call.

  She had been avoiding David all day but she couldn’t ignore him forever. He was due back from Las Vegas any time and she had no idea what to do or say to him. She took a deep breath and picked it up.

  ‘Hi honey,’ he said.

  The sound of his voice churned up the guilt that had been staved off with champagne and old friends.

  ‘Are you back?’

  ‘We got into New Jersey ten minutes ago. I just wanted to say have fun this evening.’

  ‘How was Vegas?’

  ‘Robert lost a hundred thousand dollars on blackjack.’

  ‘He can afford it. It’s the strippers I’m worried about.’

  He laughed. ‘It’s the strippers I’m worried about, Brooke. Bachelorette nights are always far worse than bachelor parties.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ she said, over–playfully.

  ‘I guess you don’t want me to come round tonight?’

  ‘I think it’s going to be a late one.’

  ‘But I’m driving up to Belcourt in the morning. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?’

  She inhaled to steady her voice. ‘Honey, this will be my last Christmas with my family. I thought that’s what you wanted too.’

  Part of her was desperate to see him at that very moment, as if his presence would somehow erase what had happened the night before. On the other hand, she was grateful for the three days of Christmas that was conspiring to keep them apart.

  ‘I know, I know. I just miss you, Mrs Billington.’

  Mrs Billington. Suddenly she started feeling hot. ‘Not yet,’ she replied weakly, feeling her skin flush.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  She snapped the phone shut, tugging at the high funnel neck on her black jersey cocktail dress. There didn’t seem to be much air in the room. She pushed through the crowd, heading for the outside. On the dark cobbled street she bent down, hands on her knees, blonde hair falling forward. She was sure she was going to be sick. She had spent the last twenty–four hours in a state of complete anxiety, constantly bouncing from one conflicting emotion to the next: fear, love, guilt, shame – and right now she felt so consumed by it she could barely breathe.

  ‘Hey Brooke. What’s wrong?’

  She looked up to see that Tess had followed her into the little side street.

  ‘I’m okay, I just felt a little sick in there.’

  Tess looked down at her, those searching eyes examining Brooke’s face.

  ‘Brooke. What’s wrong?’

  She uncurled her body, feeling the knot of claustrophobic panic subside a little. But she couldn’t go on like this; she had to tell someone. It might as well be the person paid to sort out her troubles.

  ‘I’m not sure I can go through with it, Tess,’ said Brooke, tears welling up. ‘I don’t know if I can marry David.’

  She watched Tess’s eyes widen in amazement. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Neither do I, thought Brooke, closing her eyes. Neither do I. She had no idea whether it was because she loved David too little or cared for Matt too much. It had been something she had been raking over again and again in her mind since she had left Matt Palmer’s apartment. The thought of having to drive to Belcourt over Christmas and call off her wedding made her feel physically ill, but the idea of never seeing Matt again made her heart thud with pain. It had made Brooke realize, no matter how selfish and greedy it may seem, that perhaps the human heart was big enough to love more than one person.

  Tess walked over to Brooke, high heels clacking on the cobbles. ‘You’re drunk, it’s just nerves,’ she said, rubbing Brooke’s shoulders. ‘It’s only natural. Why don’t I call you a car? I’ll take you back home and we can talk this over.’

  Brooke looked up at her. ‘I slept with Matt Palmer.’

  Tess’s hand covered her mouth. ‘Oh Brooke, you didn’t.’

  Brooke dipped her head in shame. ‘Well, no, I almost slept with him. I was about to. It was the best sex I never had.’

  Her publicist’s brows arched hopefully. ‘So you didn’t actually have sex with him?’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she said fiercely, thinking about Matt’s mouth on her skin and how much she’d enjoyed it. Brooke supposed that everyone’s definition of unfaithful was different, but the fact that she had kept her jeans on throughout the interlude still made her – by most people standards, including her own – guilty of infidelity.

  ‘You don’t think you’re in love with him, do you?’ said Tess incredulously.

  Thump, thump. Was it the music from the club or the pounding in her head?

  ‘I don’t know,’ Brooke croaked, thinking back to the nigh
t in the Providence club and what would have happened if she had gone home with Matt Palmer. Life was full of small decisions that had monumental consequences. Like going up to Matt’s apartment last night to collect her wedding present, which had thrown everything she thought she wanted into question.

  ‘I know that when I’m with him I feel happy. Somehow lighter.’

  ‘Go on a diet,’ said Tess scornfully.

  Brooke turned to her angrily. ‘Tess, I’m serious. Matt is leaving New York and he wants me to go with him.’ Tears that tasted of salt and cosmetics dripped into her mouth.

  Tess glared at her. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ she said, her hands on her hips.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Brooke fiercely, ‘or maybe this is the first time in years I am actually using my own mind.’

  Tess was shaking her head slowly. Brooke did not need her to say the words to tell what she was thinking. I told you so. She had warned her about playing with fire.

  Suddenly Brooke shook her fists and kicked out angrily at the wall.

  ‘Do you think I want to be going through this, Tess? I don’t even recognize myself, doing something as awful as this,’ she cried. ‘David’s a good man. I love him, I really do. I owe it to him – to myself – to go into this marriage being one hundred per cent committed to him. Call me old–fashioned, call me a romantic, but when I marry someone I want the whole of my heart to belong to them. I don’t want to be fresh out of another man’s bed.’

  Tess suddenly grabbed Brooke’s shoulder and pushed her back towards the club.

  ‘What on earth … ?’ she protested.

  ‘Look,’ said Tess urgently, pointing towards the other end of the alley. A dark figure was moving towards them holding the unmistakable shape of a long–lens camera.

  ‘Bloody paparazzi,’ hissed Tess, ‘get back inside.’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘You have to,’ said Tess, her voice firm but tough. ‘Go back in there, have a drink and try and act as normal as possible.’

  ‘Tess … ’ she pleaded, but Tess’s grip was strong.

  ‘Do you want David to read about this in tomorrow’s papers?’ she asked. ‘If you leave now, they will know something is wrong. Just get through tonight, pretend you’re having a brilliant time. We’ll talk this through first thing tomorrow.’