Brooke looked at Tess, her expression one of abject misery. ‘You wouldn’t marry someone if you were happy with somebody else, would you?’ she asked, her voice almost lost on the cold wintry air.
‘I don’t ever want to get married,’ said Tess, turning away.
‘Hey, look, the bride is getting all teary and loved–up,’ giggled Debs Asquith as Brooke re–entered the party.
‘I’m allowed to get a little sentimental aren’t I?’ she smiled weakly, taking a plastic tiara from her friend’s head and wedging it onto her own. ‘Now, hand me that bottle, I need a drink.’
For the next hour she drifted from group to group, barely registering the conversations she was having, trying to lose herself in a fug of champagne.
‘Brookey, I can’t believe we haven’t spoken to you yet!’
Evelyn Roche and Grace Elliot were two friends from Brown that Brooke had not seen or heard from in over two years as they had moved to Chicago and Boston respectively.
‘It’s so great to see you,’ said Brooke, hugging them tightly. She was glad to see her old friends, but she just wished it was somewhere else, some other time, when this bad dream was all over.
‘We were just remembering that time when we drove up to Newport the weeks after our exams had finished,’ said Evelyn. ‘Do you remember? We saw Cliffpoint, and Julie Sanders identified David Billington as the most eligible man in America. She said she was going to make it her mission to track him down.’
‘Gosh yes,’ said Brooke listlessly. ‘Whatever happened to Julie?’
‘Married the most eligible man in Europe, I think,’ said Grace. ‘You know she always had focus.’
Brooke smiled weakly, desperate to leave.
‘Speaking of those happy days at Brown,’ continued Grace, ‘I read what Matt Palmer said about you in the Oracle.’
Brooke drew a sharp breath and avoided their eyes, trying not to register any emotion.
Grace leant in and dipped her chin conspiratorially. ‘Well, I met Sandy Steele the other week in Boston, I don’t think you knew her. She married her med–school boyfriend from Brown and it turns out he knows Matt Palmer. Apparently there were some pretty racy rumours going around about him a couple of years ago. Didn’t surprise me in the slightest when I heard what a rat he’d been with you and the gossip columns.’
‘Rumours?’ asked Brooke with a flicker of panic.
Grace grimaced. ‘Apparently he beat up his wife,’ she whispered.
Completely stunned and bewildered, Brooke felt her pulse start racing wildly.
‘I knew a doctor who did the same,’ said Evelyn, nodding. ‘Big drinkers.’
Brooke felt her fingers tremble. Her throat felt so thick with bile she could barely draw breathe. ‘No,’ she said a little too loudly. ‘I can’t believe that.’
Grace shrugged. ‘That’s what Sandy’s husband said. Apparently Matt’s always been the sort of guy you avoid when he’s drunk, but there’s never any excuse for it, is there? Anyway, Matt and his wife separated and then she died. It was all pretty grim.’
‘Yes, that’s really bad,’ nodded Brooke dumbly. And you have no idea just how bad, she thought. No idea at all.
CHAPTER SIXTY–THREE
Despite the champagne, Brooke had found it impossible to sleep. She had spent the night tossing and turning, unable to believe what Grace had said about Matt. No, that wasn’t true: she could certainly believe he had a drink problem; she’d smelt the sour whiff of alcohol in his apartment, and seen him bleary and hung–over after his break–up with Susie. But believing that he’d hit his wife? It was impossible, wasn’t it?
Sitting in a Brooklyn coffee shop, she rubbed her eyes and downed her espresso in one.
Glancing anxiously at the clock on the wall, Brooke saw it was 8.35 a.m. She was five minutes late, and every second Brooke felt more confused and stupid. At 8.40 a.m. precisely, Susie walked through the door. At first Brooke didn’t recognize her; her strawberry–blonde hair had been cut into a bob that swung around her face. She looked better, thought Brooke.
‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ said Susie nervously, ordering some camomile tea from the waitress. ‘But I can’t stay long, I’m getting the train to my parents’ house in Albany in a couple of hours. Christmas Eve is a big deal in our household, so I’d be in the worst trouble if I miss a second of it.’
When Brooke had finally given up trying to sleep, she had gone into the bathroom and had a scalding hot shower. She didn’t know if it was the reviving power of the water giving her clarity, or her sheer desperation, but she had suddenly been seized with an idea. Scrabbling around in her bag, she had found the business card Susie had given to her at Eileen’s launch party and sent a carefully worded text asking if they could meet.
Sitting opposite her now, Susie looked decidedly uneasy, and Brooke could understand it entirely: why would Brooke Asgill call her up on Christmas Eve morning?
‘Well, Happy Christmas anyway,’ said Susie, fishing around in her leather satchel and pulling out a small brown medicine bottle with a bright red bow tied around the neck.
‘It’s the oil I promised you. Sweet almond, lavender, and neroli. It’s a wonderful de–stresser. I thought you might need it, what with the wedding and all.’
Brooke smiled sadly and wrapped her fingers around the bottle, rubbing her thumb up and down the glass.
‘Susie,’ she said quietly, ‘Why did you break up with Matt?’
Susie paused as the waitress brought her tea. She sipped it, holding the cup in both hands. ‘It just didn’t work out, I guess,’ she said. ‘Busy doctor. Kooky aromatherapist. It was never going to work.’
She smiled broadly. A little too broadly.
‘I saw a friend last night,’ said Brooke slowly. ‘She said that Matthew used to hit his wife.’
A deep furrow appeared between Susie’s brows. ‘Really?’ she said, her eyes flickering to the table.
‘Yes, really.’
There was a long, clumsy silence.
‘Tell me, Susie. Did he hit you?’
Brooke could see that Susie was clasping her cup so hard, her fingers were trembling. ‘It was just a couple of times.’
Brooke felt her skin turn hot, then cold.
‘The first time it happened I thought it was my fault,’ said Susie softly. ‘It was the night of the dinner party and he was pretty drunk. Everyone had gone home and I was a little upset about the way I saw Matt behave when he was around you – stupid, isn’t it?’ she said, trying to laugh. ‘ I said a few things I shouldn’t and he hit me. Not hard – I wasn’t hurt, just shocked. I even blamed myself for annoying him and accusing him of being in love with you.’
Her pale cheeks flushed. ‘I tried to forget about it, but it kept bothering me, so a week or so later I told a friend of mine who’s a therapist in the healing centre where I work. She said it was a pattern and that if Matt hit me once it would happen again.’
Susie was shaking her head. ‘I didn’t want to believe it. You imagine men who hit women are monsters, don’t you? But Matt is a great guy in so many ways and, I know this sounds silly … but I really thought I could marry him. So I had to know if it was true.’
Susie trailed off, carefully placing her cup back on its saucer.
‘So I went to see his wife’s sister,’ she said, her voice sounding almost apologetic. ‘I went snooping around Matt’s apartment and found her contact details in an address book. Well, when I turned up at her doorstep and told her I was Matt’s girlfriend, she knew why I had come. She said Katie, his wife, was about to divorce him just before she died.’
Finally she looked up at Brooke. ‘And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘You had to know too, didn’t you?’
Brooke looked into Susie’s eyes and she saw trust, solidarity, sadness. She nodded, anger and disappointment making her body feeling hollow.
‘He hit me again when I told him I knew about Katie.’
‘
I’m sorry,’ said Brooke desperately, putting her hand over Susie’s.
‘People come into our lives and disappoint us, but at least we both found out in time,’ said Susie quietly. ‘And at least you didn’t make a mistake. Your David looks like one of the good guys.’
‘I know,’ whispered Brooke sadly. ‘I know.’
Leaving the diner, Brooke walked across to Prospect Park and sat down. No one noticed New York’s most famous woman, her hood pulled tight around her head, her eyes fixed in front of her, staring at the tall, bare trees. The bench was cold beneath her coat and snowflakes had begun to fall from the sky. She watched them drift down from the grey sky, so tiny, so perfectly formed, each one dissolving on the wet path as they landed. Her stomach knotted with anger and disappointment. She felt empty, sad, foolish, betrayed, and so very, very sorry.
Finally Brooke pulled out her phone and called Tess Garrett.
‘Don’t panic,’ she said with as much certainty as she could muster. ‘The wedding’s going ahead.’
CHAPTER SIXTY–FOUR
‘Who wants Irish coffee?’ asked Kevin.
Tess flopped back on his bright yellow sofa and rubbed her stomach.
‘I don’t think another thing is going to fit in there,’ she said. ‘I think that was the biggest Christmas dinner I have ever eaten.’
‘I’ll have some!’ said Jack eagerly.
‘I don’t think so,’ smiled Patty, pouring cream into long glass mugs and handing it to Kevin. Tess saw him smile and wrap a hand round Patty’s slim waist. They had been discreet with their shows of affection all day, but they obviously couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
‘Ah, young love,’ sighed Jack rolling his eyes dramatically. ‘Come on, Tess, let’s leave them to it. I’ve got something to show you.’
Groaning at her bloated tummy, she stood up. It was time she was going anyway; it had been so kind of Patty to invite her, especially when she was clearly looking forward to a quiet intimate Christmas with her new boyfriend, but she didn’t want to outstay her welcome. She followed Jack into his room where he presented her with a box gift–wrapped in brightly coloured paper and ribbon.
‘Ooh, what’s this?’ she said, eagerly tearing it open. Inside were half a dozen DVDs.
‘Just a few recommendations. I thought you could do with some help if you’re sneaking into horror movies all the time.’
‘Wow Jack, these are great,’ she said, hugging him. ‘I haven’t seen any of these.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said wryly. ‘You’re always working.’ Jack looked at her with a frown. ‘Why do you work so hard?’
She screwed up a ball of gift–wrap and threw it at him. ‘Because I have to.’
‘No you don’t,’ he said simply. ‘You think it makes your life better but it doesn’t, it makes it worse. I mean, if you didn’t work so hard, you could have gone back to England for Christmas.’
Tess shrugged. ‘I don’t think going back to London for Christmas would make my life better. It’s not like there’s anyone I really care about over there any more.’
‘That’s sad, isn’t it,’ said Jack, and Tess felt herself squirm. There was no accusation in his words, just good nature and concern, but he was right. It was sad. Where had she gone so wrong? she wondered; what bad decisions had she made that had brought her here? Thousands of miles from home. Yes, she was rich, yes she was successful, but she was alone, despite all the friends around her.
‘Couldn’t you go and see your mum?’ asked Jack.
Tess shook her head. ‘She’s not a very nice person. She hurt me very badly and I guess I blame her for how a lot of things in my life turned out.’
‘But she’s still your mum.’
Out of the mouths of babes … thought Tess. With Jack’s childish simplicity, it almost made sense.
‘So why don’t you call her?’ he said, warming to his idea. ‘You know, after my mum tried to take me away from Dad, I didn’t want to talk to her for a few weeks. But I forgave her. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do at Christmas?’
Tess sprang forward and pulled him into a bear hug. ‘You know, if I ever have a son, I hope he’s just like you.’
‘I thought you didn’t want kids?’
She laughed. ‘D’you know, I’m not sure what I want any more.’
Scooping her DVDs into her bag, she went back into the living room. ‘I’m off,’ she said, more brightly than she felt.
‘Not back to work I hope?’ said Patty sternly.
‘Just a few emails,’ smiled Tess. ‘Can you believe I’ve had ten calls from the photo agencies today? Apparently word’s out that the wedding is going to be at Leonard’s house over the holidays. I have to get back and arrange a photo–call. I thought we could release one picture of the happy couple and the proceeds can go to charity.’
‘Do it tomorrow,’ smiled Patty lazily from Kevin’s arms. ‘It’s Christmas.’
Tess almost laughed out loud. What had turned this ball–breaking career girl to mush? Love, she decided, realizing with an uncomfortable afterthought that it had made Patty a stronger, richer person. Tess had always thought of love in negative terms: vulnerability, loss of independence, the possibility – no the inevitability – of heartbreak. After what had happened to her father, Tess had convinced herself that she didn’t want a family, deciding instead that it was money and position that made you safe. But looking at Kevin and Patty, it dawned on her that maybe she’d got it upside down. Perhaps Jack was right; instead of rejecting the idea of family entirely, perhaps she just needed to approach it in a different way.
She waved goodbye and went out onto the cold street, where an inch–thick layer of snow was already covering the street. She trudged back to the apartment, breaking the virgin snow with her lonely footprints. The flat was silent and cold. Jemma had gone to Toronto to see her sister and the small Christmas tree in the corner of the room looked rather forlorn without its lights on. Join the club, thought Tess.
She uncorked a bottle of wine, turned on the stereo, and flopped down on the sofa. Letting the red liquid slip down her throat, she closed her eyes and listened to Nick Drake and his lilting melancholic song. In three days’ time the wedding would be over and her contract with it. Then what? Where exactly did she fit in the world now? She would have no job and – she realized suddenly – nowhere to live. The flat came as part of the package with the Asgills; if she was no longer in their employ, she’d have to ship out. But where to? Could she go back to London? What was there? Who was there? Dom. Sean. Her mother?
Tess looked over to the mantelpiece where she and Jemma had lined up their Christmas cards. This was the first year she hadn’t had a card from her mother, she realized. In the years after her father’s death, her mother had kept sending her birthday and Christmas cards, usually to Tess’s work address. She wasn’t sure how her mother kept tabs on where she worked, but for years the cards kept coming, always containing her mother’s contact details. You could call her, said a little voice in Tess’s head. What a stupid idea, she scolded herself, grabbing a copy of the nearest book to distract herself. Simply Divine: Charles Devine – the whole story. Stretching out on the sofa she began flicking through the pages of Charles’s memoirs. She had to admit he had a wonderful narrative voice, camp and witty, and couldn’t understand why a publisher hadn’t picked up his manuscript. Perhaps that’s what happened when you were out of favour. Too tired to read any more, she turned to the photographs in the middle of the book. Charles as a toddler, running around a country garden. Charles as a teenager. How handsome he was! Charles with Truman Capote, Pamela Harriman, Babe Paley, Gregory Peck. Just as he said, they were all there. Charles looked so glamorous and chic in every one. What a life he’s led, marvelled Tess. Suddenly she stopped, one particular face catching her eye. Yes, it was definitely her: much younger; much happier, it seemed. Tess read the caption: ‘On the high seas with Olivia Martin and Meredith Carter. Catalina Island. July 1963’
. She examined the picture more carefully. The three of them were on a yacht, Olivia and Meredith were dressed in bathing suits, laughing and clinking two flutes of champagne together. It was a happy, relaxed photograph, but something about the image just didn’t fit. She reread the caption: Catalina Island, July 1963. Tess frowned. She remembered back to one of her first conversations with Meredith, at Brooke and David’s engagement party at Belcourt. Yes, that was it! She distinctly remembered Meredith saying that she barely knew Olivia. Tess grabbed her mobile and phoned Charles.
‘Darling Tess! Yuletide greetings to you,’ said Charles with evident pleasure. ‘How are you? I thought I was never going to hear from you again.’
‘I was just reading your memoirs.’
‘Aren’t they splendid?’
‘Yes, yes they’re wonderful.’
She paused. ‘Charles, are you at home? I need to talk to you.’
She could hear him clapping his hands.
‘I knew it! You smell best–seller, don’t you?’ he trilled.
‘Just put the kettle on,’ said Tess. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can find a cab.’
*
Charles answered the door in a blue velvet smoking jacket and matching slippers, his initials embroidered in gold on both.
‘Single malt,’ he smiled, pushing a tumbler of amber liquid into her hand. ‘It is Christmas, after all.’
One delicate silver star propped up on the fireplace was the only sign of Christmas.
‘I find holiday decorations so vulgar,’ he said airily.
‘I have to say I’ve hardly bothered myself this year,’ said Tess, sitting on the chair opposite Charles.
‘Well you do have the wedding,’ he sighed. ‘My invitation never did show.’
‘It’s a fairly small affair, Charles,’ said Tess sympathetically.
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