She closed her eyes, clasping her fist around the cold metal. He was so sweet. He was so lovely. Surely love didn’t have to be this complicated.
The words came tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Something happened between me and Matt Palmer,’ she said, unable to keep the truth from her loving, honorable man any longer.
He stared at her for a few moments, his expression one of incomprehension, then cold, bitter knowing. ‘What happened exactly?’ he said with such icy composure it frightened her.
She nodded, the shame filling her up, sitting on her heart like marble. ‘We kissed. We fooled around … ’
‘You had sex with him,’ he stated coolly.
‘No. I stopped. I couldn’t do it.’
‘How loyal of you,’ he spat bitterly. ‘When was this?’
‘When you were in Vegas,’ she said, not daring to breathe.
David stood up, grabbed the bottle of champagne and hurled it into the sea.
‘Fuck!’ he roared. Brooke reflected that it was the only time she’d ever heard him swear.
‘David, I’m so sorry,’ she said scrambling to her feet, her hand outstretched, but he moved away from her.
‘What a laugh you two must have been having behind my back,’ he said, his mouth turned sourly downward. ‘‘Oh David, come to Matt’s dinner party,’ he mimicked, ‘he’s such a good friend.’’
‘We were friends,’ pleaded Brooke. ‘It was only once. I was scared about the wedding and confused about our future.’
‘Well, I’m sorry that a future with me is so disturbing,’ he deadpanned.
She tried to hold his arms, but he shook her off and turned his face away.
‘David, you know I love you.’
He looked at her and all she could see in his eyes was pain. ‘Do I?’
He was right. What could he possibly know about her feelings when, here she was, hours away from their wedding, completely unsure of what she felt, of what she really wanted? Thousands of happy memories flashed through her mind: those first dates, their trips to the Hamptons, the Bahamas, even just sharing breakfast in bed on a Saturday, lazily swapping snippets from the morning papers. But was he the one? Her one true love? Was it unrealistic to think that – out of all the billions of people in the world – you could find the one person that was a perfect fit?
Brooke certainly knew that she had compromised with David. He was handsome, clever, kind, and she adored him, there was no question about that; but neither was there any question that signing up to a life with David was a life of standing two steps behind him, a curious mixture of living both in the public eye and yet in the shadows. Maybe that was what she might have wanted once, when she and her Brown friends went walking along the cliff–path below David’s home, but now it felt as if she were cheating herself, cheating herself out of a happier life. Brooke knew she could lie to him, she could back–pedal, fudge the facts, tell him it all meant nothing. But it did, it had. Whatever and whoever Matt had turned out to be, it had been more than a silly fling; it had been her own heart telling her something.
‘This isn’t about you, David,’ she said finally. ‘I love you. I know it doesn’t sound like it right now, but I do, I honestly do. This is about our lives, it’s about the life we would have together.’
‘But if you’re unhappy with the way I–’ he began, but she cut him off.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s not that I’m unhappy with you, honey. Don’t ever think that. I’m just unhappy with our lives.’
The relief she felt in finally admitting it out loud was almost physical. Her back straightened and her ears sang. It was as if she was finally taking a step towards freedom, but she realized with a terrible sinking feeling that that freedom could mean giving up David.
‘What’s happened to you, Brooke?’ he asked, unable to disguise his pain. ‘There’s a million girls who’d want to swap places with you.’
‘Maybe,’ she said slowly, ‘maybe you’re right.’
Her stomach clenched with fear, but then out of nowhere she thought of Eileen Dunne and their first lunch together at the London hotel.
‘Someone told me once that marriage isn’t just about love,’ said Brooke, finding strength and courage in the words. ‘It’s about wanting to go on life’s adventure with your chosen partner.’
‘So you don’t want to do that with me?’ His tone was desperate and woeful.
She reached up and touched his face tenderly. ‘More than anything, David. But I just don’t think we want to go on the same adventure.’
He blinked at her, as if she had said something unfathomable.
‘So that’s it,’ he said flatly.
Suddenly Brooke felt overcome with an unfamiliar emotion: anger. Anger at the situation, anger at him, anger for him. He had been bred for this life; he had never chosen it himself. This kind, sensitive man was being pushed into something he’d never asked for.
‘Is this really the life you want, David?’ she asked. ‘The politics, the ambition? Is this really all you’ve ever wanted?’
‘Of course, I … ’
‘Okay, so if you wanted to be president one day so badly, why aren’t you running for Congress next year? Why are you putting it off for the Washington show? I know you love working in television, but that’s not just it, is it?’
‘You know this, Brooke,’ he said with irritation. ‘The Washington show is a positioning tool; it raises my profile and sets me up as a serious political player.’
‘Oh bullshit!’ spat Brooke, surprised at herself. ‘You’re just postponing the inevitable.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Taking up a life someone else chose for you.’
Indecision flickered across his face and then it was gone. ‘This life might have been chosen for me, Brooke, but it’s what I want.’
‘It’s not,’ she said, grabbing both his shoulders. ‘You’re too honest; you’re too decent for the life they want for you. Why are you doing it? Why?’
‘It’s what I want,’ he repeated, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.
‘Well it’s you I want, David. Not your life, not your family – you. If you still want me, then maybe it doesn’t have to end like this,’ she said desperately, tears beginning to roll down her face. ‘We can have another life, David. We can start again somewhere else. London, LA; anywhere where you’re not being crushed by the weight of expectation.’
‘I have ambitions too, Brooke,’ he said softly. ‘It’s not just my family; I want to succeed for myself. Yes, they have certain expectations of me, I’m aware of that – no, I respect that, because I happen to think family is important. But I’m not a robot, I can make my own choices.’
Brooke listened to the slow laps of water rolling towards them and thought about the cruel irony of the setting. This was how their relationship had begun eighteen months ago, a first kiss on a beach in bright moonlight. Now their relationship seemed destined to finish in exactly the same way. Perhaps it was the pressure his family had brought to bear on him over a lifetime of conditioning, or perhaps it was genuinely David’s own choice to pursue politics. Either way, he was unwilling to compromise those ambitions for her. And, for her part, she was unwilling to compromise herself. She was unwilling to become part of the Billington machine, but, more than that, she was unwilling to become a part of David. And that was the saddest thing of all. Finally, Brooke began to sob.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I never meant to hurt you. I do love you.’
Slowly, sadly, he took a step toward her and took her into his arms.
‘I’m sorry too,’ he whispered. ‘I really am.’
CHAPTER SIXTY–EIGHT
By the time Tess got back to the party, most guests had left the tables. Some were laughing and drinking champagne in the garden, others had begun to drift back to their hotel rooms. Looking around for Sean, she saw a glint of rich red hair. Paula Asgill was sitting alone at a side table, staring down
into her coffee.
‘Paula,’ she smiled, walking over. ‘I haven’t seen you in two weeks.’
Paula looked up and smiled. ‘No, there’s been lots to do. Lots to think about,’ she said with unexpected warmth.
Tess was pleasantly surprised; Paula’s demeanour had always been so prim and icy, but there was softness around the eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Perhaps not every crisis was a bad thing, she thought.
‘Did you get my interview with Metropolitan magazine arranged?’ asked Paula.
Tess nodded. ‘Next week, it’s all set. Full copy approval.’
Alongside everything else she’d had to do over the last few weeks, Tess had set up an interview for Paula with Metropolitan, a smart society read that ran puff–pieces alongside glossy photo–shoots of all the Park Avenue Princesses who mattered. Tess had struck a bargain with Shelley Vine the editor; she would get a scoop that would reverberate all around Manhattan, as long as she promised to treat Paula and her family in the most sympathetic manner possible. Tess could tell that Paula just wanted to get her story out there, to finally be free of the burden, but, having talked to Shelley, Tess genuinely believed that Paula could come out of it unscathed.
‘Well, thanks for everything, Tess.’
‘I was just doing my job.’
Paula shook her head, meeting Tess’s gaze. ‘No, it was more than that.’
‘So what happens now?’ said Tess, a little embarrassed. ‘I hear that William is stepping down from the company.’
‘Yes, from the CEO job at least. Leonard wants to retire in the new year, so William might take on his international development role, but we’ll see,’ she smiled again. ‘The emphasis is on our own little family for the moment. We’re buying a house in North Carolina, maybe somewhere near the mountains. I think it will be good for both of us to spend more time out of the city. I’m not sure that fierce competition and stress is particularly good for you, especially when we want to try for another baby.’
Tess was amazed to see Paula’s face glow at the thought of it. Tess had always thought of Paula as a particularly hard creature but, in the end, it turned out she was just running away from her demons. It wasn’t difficult to see what the trauma of having to deal with a disabled daughter would do to a young girl with no support network, but the endless acidic guilt of having abandoned her must have eaten away at her year after year. Perhaps Paula was harder than she had given her credit for, thought Tess as she excused herself and went to the bar for a martini. She took out the olives and knocked the drink back in one, steeling herself for what she had to do next.
‘There you are.’
Turning, she saw Sean. ‘What’s up?’ he said, his big green eyes searching hers.
Dammit, am I that transparent? Tess thought.
‘Oh, nothing,’ she replied dismissively. ‘I just needed to speak to Leonard. Have you seen him?’
‘He went back to Jewel Cay on the boat with my mom about ten minutes ago,’ said Sean. ‘Honey, are you okay?’
No, I’m not okay, she thought, averting her eyes. She had been unable to settle all day, debating over and over in her head whether to act on the information she had pieced together on Olivia Martin’s disappearance. Her first instinct was to tell Meredith and let her sort it out; after all, that was her job, wasn’t it? But then how would Meredith feel about her publicist accusing her brother of killing Olivia? And, assuming it was true, would she really want to know after all these years? More importantly, how would Sean feel about it? At best it would create a family rift, at worst … well, she didn’t want to think about that. Anyway, it wasn’t as if Tess had any real proof about what happened on the night of Meredith and Howard’s wedding and, even if she did, what real purpose would it serve to dredge up old secrets that would cause the family so much pain? Certainly it would not help Brooke and David, whose private lives she was being paid to protect. But – and this was what Tess kept coming back to again and again – what if this was murder? If Leonard had killed Olivia, how could she keep that secret to herself: just file it away under ‘unpleasant truths’? She didn’t know Olivia or her family, but she did know that if she had been in a similar situation, she would want to know the truth about her loved ones, even if was difficult to bear. And that was the final twist, of course: Meredith had married Howard for social convention and companionship, but her heart had belonged to Olivia. Surely she would want to know what had really happened? But at what cost?
Tess forced a smile on her face. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be long.’
She leant forward and kissed him on the lips. For one second, she wanted to wrap herself in his arms, tell him everything, let him help her. But that was a cop out. This was something she had to do herself.
‘Can I come to your room later?’ he smiled lazily.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ she said, hoping against hope that, by then, things would not have changed irrevocably.
*
Tess was the only person on the small boat ferrying guests to and from Jewel Cay. Sitting in the darkness, she watched the lights strung from the masts of the million–dollar yachts moored at the hotel’s dock get smaller and smaller. The short journey across smooth waters still made her stomach churn; maybe that Martini was not such a good idea after all, she thought, hopping onto the jetty. The house in front of her looked like a huge ghostly face – the glowing windows its eyes and nose, the double–fronted oak doors a gaping mouth, and suddenly Tess thought about taking the boat straight back to the hotel and climbing into bed with Sean.
Be brave, she scolded herself. You’re almost there. A maid smiled as she opened the front door and pointed towards the east wing of the house. Tess could hear gentle classical music coming from the drawing room and through the open doorway, could see Meredith and Rose and Robert Billington laughing over champagne. She moved away before anyone saw her: Leonard wasn’t with them. Over the past twenty–four hours she had got to know the layout of Jewel Cay well, so she walked across to the other wing of the house. The corridors were dark, but light was spilling from the far room that Tess knew was Leonard’s study. Quietly approaching, she peered around the door of the room, a hexagonal space with long windows and wood–panelled walls decorated with maps and nautical paintings. Her pulse jumped as she saw Leonard sitting behind a huge sea–captain’s desk.
‘Heavens Tess,’ he laughed. ‘You did give me a fright!’ He stood up to beckon her in. ‘Come in, come in. Shouldn’t you still be at the party? I thought we’d leave you youngsters to it.’
Tess smiled weakly, suddenly finding that she couldn’t swallow as she looked at him. What made this worse was that she liked Leonard Asgill.
‘I have to ask you something, Leonard,’ she said finally, with more resolve than she felt. She moved a few feet further into the room but remained standing, still not wanting to get too close.
‘I have to know what happened on the night of Meredith’s wedding. I have to know what happened to Olivia Martin.’
His smile was rigid, but his tone remained light.
‘Surely that’s all water under the bridge,’ he said, ‘We all read the Washington Spy story, but it didn’t have any impact – old news. Certainly the wedding is still going ahead tomorrow, which it wouldn’t be if Wendell Billington believed a word of what was being alleged.’
‘I know what happened, Leonard,’ she said softly, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
His smile relaxed until his mouth was a thin line. ‘No one knows, Tess,’ he said. ‘No one will ever know.’
‘No one except you.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he replied airily.
‘I think you do, Leonard,’ insisted Tess. ‘You’d do anything for family, isn’t that what you told me once? Support them, protect them? Does that extend to killing for them?’
He put down his pen. The genial smile had now completely left his face.
‘To what?’ he said, his eyes narrowi
ng. ‘How can you say such a thing, Tess? After everything this family has done for you.’
Tess could feel her fingernails pressing into her palms. Her resolve was wavering, but she had to go on.
‘You were in the rose garden the night of Meredith’s wedding, weren’t you, Leonard?’ she persisted. ‘You had just had sex with Mary–Ann Henner and, when she left, you saw your sister and Olivia come into the rose garden. You overheard Olivia blackmailing Meredith.’
‘This is nonsense!’ he said, his voice angry and raised.
Tess heard a noise behind her and turned to see Meredith standing in the doorway, her face still. For a long moment, her eyes locked with Leonard’s, then he looked away.
‘Well, Leonard?’ she said. ‘Is she correct?’ Meredith’s voice was taut yet even, her eyes hard as flint.
‘Of course she’s not right. This is fantasy, supposition.’
Meredith closed the door to the study, the satin of her Valentino couture rustling as she walked slowly into the room. ‘I want the truth, Leonard.’
Leonard sank back into his chair. ‘It is the truth.’
His sister walked up to the desk and placed both hands on the dark wood.
‘Tell me!’ she hissed. ‘Tell me now.’
For several long, painful moments, he just stared back at her. Finally he gave a tiny shrug and nodded.
‘Yes, Mary–Ann and I were in the rose garden. She returned to the party but I stayed back to have a cigarette. You and Olivia came in, but I was sitting on the ground so you didn’t see me. I heard you talking, and I heard how much money she wanted.’
His expression darkened. It was a few seconds before he continued.
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