by Lulu Taylor
Gerry passed a sheet over to Amanda, who looked at it with interest. The photocopied article had a black-and-white photograph that showed two girls of about four years old walking either side of their mother, holding her hands tightly. Diane Beaufort had short dark hair and a fine-boned face. Her expression was strained, her eyes wide with tension as she passed through the glare of the press taking their pictures, but nevertheless she still looked dignified and beautiful, elegant in a long dark coat and high heels. The small girls who accompanied her had white-blonde hair pinned neatly back with ribboned clips. They were wearing matching pale coats with velvet collars, and smart white leather shoes.
Amanda stared at the children. ‘It doesn’t say which is which.’
‘No one could tell the difference, I expect.’
‘But one of them is smiling.’ She put a long slim finger on the photograph next to one of the girls who seemed to be giving a broad smile that showed all her teeth. The other twin wore an expression similar to her mother’s: tense, stricken, and with more than a hint of fear.
‘Yes, it’s the same in all the pictures,’ Gerry said, cocking his head to see what Amanda was pointing at. ‘One of them always seems to be giving it her best film-star smile, which seems odd in the circumstances. After all, they’re in court to find out if they’re going to be taken away from their mother. Not exactly a smiling matter, is it? But then I found this photo, taken from a different angle, where you can see the face a bit better …’ he pulled another sheet from the sheaf before him and pushed it towards Amanda ‘… and I realised that this little one isn’t smiling at all. She’s baring her teeth in an awful grimace of pain. Like an animal.’
‘Oh.’ Amanda stared. ‘Yes, you’re right. It’s not a smile. More like a scream.’ There was a pause while she looked at the photograph. ‘I wonder which one it is.’ Then she looked up at Gerry, fixing him with her green gaze. ‘So what happened? Why did the court find against the mother?’
‘Well, it never did. Frances Staunton played every card she had during the case, alleging some pretty fruity behaviour by Diane – all kinds of sexual shenanigans, drug-taking, alcoholism, you name it – and claimed that the marriage between Arthur and his wife had been on its last legs, virtually over when he died, but it still looked as though Diane would keep the children. She was their mother, after all. Then, on the day of the judgment, she arrived at court with the children and asked for an interview with the judge. They were closeted in his chambers briefing and then Diane emerged and it was all over. She’d surrendered her rights to the girls and requested that their aunt be made their legal guardian. Then she walked out of the courtroom, leaving them behind. As far as I know, no one ever saw her again.’
‘Fascinating. Intriguing.’ Amanda stared at Gerry. ‘I wonder how much they know about all this?’
‘I’d be willing to bet almost nothing,’ he declared. ‘And the rest of the world has forgotten all about it too, I expect. There’s been very little about them since but for a few column inches in the society pages. My ball got some nice mentions, and there were some glam pics in a few of the glossies, but no one’s picked up on the old case.’
Amanda looked at her watch. ‘Damn. I really am going to have to get back to Noble’s. There’s a board meeting this afternoon.’
‘What a bore …’ Gerry turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘I was enjoying our chat.’
‘Yes, but I can’t miss it. It’s an emergency meeting to discuss—’ Amanda stopped herself, as though remembering that she was talking to the biggest gossip not just in London but perhaps the entire northern hemisphere. ‘Well, just to discuss things.’
‘Problems at the shop?’ enquired Gerry sweetly.
‘Yes … No … nothing serious, nothing we can’t handle. A bit of a retail downturn, that’s all.’
‘Nothing Noble’s hasn’t seen and survived before, I’m sure. Such a venerable old institution. I must say, Amanda, you’ve changed a bit since you’ve started taking your job there so seriously.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes. Perhaps you’re not spending quite so much time with that dreadfully bitchy circle of yours – that Claudia girl really is the end, I’ve never understood why you hang around with her.’
‘I have seen a bit less of that lot lately, if I’m honest,’ Amanda said slowly. ‘And with things the way they are at work … well, I haven’t had any choice but to knuckle down. Listen, can I take these articles with me? I’d love to read them through.’
‘Certainly. I’ve got more copies at home. Let’s get together again after you’ve read them.’ Gerry picked up another strip of toast. ‘By the way, have you had an invitation to Iseult’s fashion show?’
Amanda nodded. ‘Of course.’
He looked disgruntled. ‘Hmm. Well, I haven’t. Not that I’m surprised. Sometimes this feud of ours is very boring. Now, off you go, sweetheart. I’m going to stay and order the crab salad.’
26
I don’t know why I’m so nervous, Flora thought, watching the sparkle of the West End pass by the darkened windows of the car. It’s Otto, after all. Not some terrifying stranger.
After he had left London, she’d received several lovely emails from him: sweet, supportive messages recalling the days they’d spent together and telling her small details about his life. The most exciting had been the one where he’d written to say he was coming to London very soon, and was she free for dinner at Le Caprice?
Of course she was. And, thanks to her shopping expedition, she had the perfect outfit to wear too.
‘Do I look all right?’ Flora had asked Octavia, her stomach percolating with nerves.
Octavia had smiled at her proudly. ‘You look absolutely stunning. Any man would consider himself lucky to spend an evening with you. You’ll bowl him over.’
A hairdresser and make-up artist had called at the house earlier. Flora’s pale gold hair had been dried into loose waves, and her face simply and naturally made up, with touches of shimmer on her lids and cheekbones and a wash of gloss on her lips.
‘That dress was the perfect choice,’ added Octavia. ‘I couldn’t have picked anything better.’
From the front, Flora appeared to be wearing a classic little black dress, modest with its high neck and long sleeves but still sexy with its clinging, form-fitting jersey. The back, though, was dramatic and attention-grabbing: it was cut low, almost to the waist and black ribbons criss-crossed Flora’s naked back, standing out vividly against her ivory skin and tying at the nape of her neck in a soft bow. The effect was stylish and very sophisticated, with a dash of pizzazz helped along by her black spike-heel Jimmy Choos and the sparkling Judith Leiber crystal clutch purse that she carried.
Octavia had hugged her, careful not to rumple the dress or disturb her hair. ‘Now, go get him, girl. And tell him he has to come and meet me as soon as possible!’
It took all Flora’s courage to get out of the car and walk through the door of Le Caprice alone. Her heart was thumping so hard it made her breathless, but she knew she had to rise to the challenge.
The maître d’ showed her to the table where Otto was already waiting. He looked serious and sombre in dark suit and plum-coloured silk tie but his expression was transformed the moment he saw her. He jumped to his feet, smiling, his brown eyes sparkling. ‘Flora. You look beautiful,’ he said as she arrived at the table. ‘I’m so happy you could come.’
He leant towards her and kissed her cheek, his lips smooth and dry against her skin. She felt her flesh tingle where he touched it and was full of happiness to be with him again. The maître d’ held out the chair for her and she sat down. For the first few minutes, she was still nervous, stuttering over almost all her words until she flushed with frustration, but Otto’s soothing presence and the restorative glass of champagne he had ready for her helped her to calm down. By the time they’d ordered their food, her stutter had gone back to manageable levels and she was able to talk quite naturally.
/> Their starters came – seared scallops for Flora and pea and prosciutto tortellini for Otto – and she relaxed enough to be able to enjoy the atmosphere of the restaurant. The other diners seemed worldly and quietly elegant, the staff discreet and observant. There was nothing loud or frightening about this place. She was sure Otto had chosen it for just that reason.
When they’d chatted for a while, she said, ‘Tell me about your home in Germany.’
Otto brightened. ‘I love it there, more than I can say. My family have always lived in Bavaria,’ he explained in his soft accent, ‘for as far back as we can trace. Our fortune came from our land – the wonderful pine forests that stretch over the estate, our vineyards, our farms. And later generations used their skills to enlarge the family coffers through canny trading and land purchases. At one time we owned estates all over Germany but circumstances changed and most of those are gone now. Only the last and greatest of them, Schloss Meckensberg, survived the wars and upheaval that followed. The castle –’ his face lit up ‘– oh, Flora, you should see it. Perhaps one day you will. It’s so beautiful. Originally it was medieval but few parts of the original remain. Instead it was rebuilt by one of the wealthiest of my ancestors in the eighteenth century, and it is now a Rococo delight. I would spend every day of my life there if I possibly could – the peace and beauty are astounding.’
‘It sounds amazing,’ Flora said, as the waiter cleared away their plates from the starter. ‘Do you live there alone?’
‘Oh, no, my mother also lives there. She watches over it for me when I’m forced to be away. I have no brothers and sisters – I am the last von Schwetten. Last in the direct line, anyway. There are distant cousins. But no one else who, like me, was brought up at the castle, has a love for its stones running through their veins. I would die to protect it.’ Otto’s eyes flashed with emotion.
‘Goodness.’ Flora was impressed by this revelation. ‘What is your mother like?’ she asked shyly.
‘Ah, she is a saint. A wonderful woman. I love her because she is my dear mother, but I also respect and admire her. You two are very alike, in the best way – you share the qualities of strength, patience and goodness.’
Flora laughed. ‘Oh, dear, I don’t feel very strong! Quite the opposite most of the time.’
‘You are wrong, my dear,’ Otto said softly. ‘I can sense your strength. You have more than you realise perhaps. I would love you to meet my mother, I am sure you would get on very well.’
‘Perhaps one day,’ she replied, blushing lightly at the suggestion that this might happen, with all its connotations. ‘Oh, look, here are the main courses.’
Over dinner, Otto talked a little about his work, explaining that he was helping a large company break into the Chinese market. He had many contacts there and in Hong Kong, he said, and there was good business to be done. China, he predicted, would emerge strongly from the current economic downturn, with its large, low-paid workforce and the government’s ability to impose any austery measures it chose on the people.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the world at all,’ she said, impressed by his grasp of international affairs. ‘I’m very ignorant. I’ve never even been to school.’
Otto looked surprised. He took a sip of the excellent Bordeaux he had ordered to go with his beef, and then said, ‘That is unusual. Tell me about your life. I know so little about you. I know you live with your twin sister and that you love to paint. Apart from that, you have said hardly anything about your home circumstances.’
‘I don’t like talking about myself,’ Flora said hastily. ‘I’d prefer not to. For family reasons, my sister and I were educated at home. But there are limits to a governess education, and we never went to university.’
Otto smiled. ‘But that is part of what is so wonderful about you. You are so unspoiled, dear Flora. You are unlike any woman I have met before.’ His expression became intense for a moment. ‘That is something I like so much.’
Flora stared down at the tablecloth, happy and flattered that Otto seemed to think so highly of her but also painfully self-conscious. Why can’t I relax and enjoy it? she asked herself, feeling her cheeks warm again. A normal woman would. This is normal, for goodness’ sake! Going out for dinner with a man is a perfectly ordinary thing to do.
Otto seemed to sense that he had embarrassed her a little and instantly changed the subject. They talked about food and he told funny stories about some of the more outlandish meals he’d eaten, and spoke again of his home in Germany and how he loved to have a traditional meal whenever he arrived home: ‘Sauerkraut, Kartoffeln – that is, potatoes – and Wurst. Wonderful! If I’m away from home for too long, I begin to dream about it.’
Over pudding she talked about Octavia. Otto looked interested. ‘Octavia? Her name means the same as mine – eight. That is a coincidence.’ He smiled at Flora, his stare intense again, and she felt a strange fluttering inside her. She started to talk quickly about something else but the sense of something portentous hung in the air.
The evening was over far too quickly. Flora was surprised when Otto looked at his watch and said regretfully that it was time to go.
‘My driver is just around the corner,’ she said. ‘I can send him a message and he’ll be outside almost at once.’
Otto leant forward and took one of her hands in his. He held it close to him, wrapping it in his long fingers. ‘Flora, Flora,’ he murmured, gazing into her eyes. She felt herself tremble. ‘If you were a different woman and I a different man, perhaps I would be suggesting that we go somewhere – to a bar or a club – to sit and drink and continue talking. Perhaps I would suggest that we return to my hotel to have coffee and listen to music. Perhaps we would allow ourselves to follow our natural instincts. But we are not that kind of man and woman, are we? No. We are different from other people.’
He looked down at the tablecloth for a moment, and when he looked up his expression was grave. ‘You must guess that I have feelings for you. Ever since I met you, I’ve been unable to think of anything else. When we’re together, I cannot take my eyes off you. It is not just your beautiful face but also the beauty of your spirit. You are so sweet and pure and good.’ He smiled at her, a gentle smile with that hint of melancholy that always surrounded him. She couldn’t speak, her heart was beating so hard. She could only listen. ‘I dare to hope, to dream, that you might one day return these feelings. Please don’t say anything now – I don’t want to rush you. I only wanted to tell you how I felt.’
She was lost for words. Otto spoke so movingly, she hardly knew how to answer him without sounding clumsy and stupid. Her face flamed again and she could feel her hands trembling. The things he was saying made her very happy. They made sense. And he didn’t want to kiss her or force himself on her. He knew that she needed to take things one step at a time. He understands me, she thought happily.
Otto watched her patiently, still holding her hand.
At last Flora said, ‘I-I-I feel as though we know each other so well already. We are friends, I know that. And I would like to see you again. I love spending time with you.’
‘Good!’ he said vehemently. ‘Good.’ He dropped one small, quick kiss on her fingertips. ‘I ask for no more.’
* * *
Flora came into the house, dreamy and happy.
‘So it went well?’ Vicky asked. She had waited up for her cousin, appearing in the hallway as soon as she heard a key in the door.
Flora nodded with a sigh. ‘Is Octavia in?’ Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to talk to her sister. They’d shared important moments all their lives, and she felt she was on the brink of something huge. All she wanted to do was curl up with her twin and talk and talk and talk.
Vicky shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. She’s out at rehearsals for this fashion show.’
‘Oh.’ Flora felt a stab of disappointment.
‘But you can tell me all about it, I’m dying to hear!’
‘All right. L
et’s get some tea and I’ll tell you everything.’
27
Backstage at the fashion show, someone was passing around a tray of cocaine along with tiny straws to snort it through. The models were all keen to partake but it was Roddy himself who took the most, coming back for line after line.
‘He’s nervous,’ Iseult said to Octavia, watching as Roddy, high and energetic and outwardly full of smiles, dived for the tray and laid out another thick sausage of white powder. ‘In fact, he’s terrified. I can’t blame him. It’s a make-or-break moment as far as he’s concerned. But he doesn’t need to worry, he’s got talent. Anyone can see that.’
Iseult herself looked stunning in a black suit nipped in tightly at the waist. She was wearing her green python platforms again, with a lime green satin blouse peeping out from under her jacket. Her face was half obscured by a veil that fell from a high black comb set in her auburn hair, her blood-red lips visible below it. She turned towards Octavia, eyes sparkling behind the black mesh. ‘Look at Jasmine and Rosie squabbling over that tray of powder. Are you going to have any, Octavia?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Not really my style.’ She didn’t want to betray her absolute inexperience of drugs, and was shocked to find other people were so open about taking illegal substances. So far she hadn’t been tempted, but that was more from fear than any desire to be good. What on earth was that stuff everyone was merrily taking up their noses? It could be anything. It could do anything to her … Besides, life was exciting enough as it was. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like if it were heightened any further.
‘Very wise,’ Iseult said. ‘It does get so tiring when everyone is high all the time. They like to talk and talk for so long. And what does it always culminate in? Sex, of course. That’s what it’s all in aid of.’
‘Then you don’t do drugs, Iseult?’