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Players Page 31

by Karen Swan


  Emily shifted on her seat uncomfortably.

  ‘Excuse me, won’t you?’ Kate said curtly, standing up and walking over to Harry, who was standing talking to the Opposition speakers.

  Cress watched her go, her eagle eyes noticing the way Kate’s trousers strained slightly at the waistband.

  Cress shifted in her seat, looking around the sea of faces and wondering whether there was anywhere she could get a drink. She really didn’t fancy sitting through – what was the debate? She checked the sheet: This House believes that Celebrity is the new Religion. Hardly Socrates! Where did they think up this stuff?

  She smoothed her dress over her tummy and checked her watch.

  Nine fifteen p.m.

  Good, Cress thought. The later this went on, the better.

  She fidgeted about, wrapping one leg around the other like a corkscrew, taking care she hid her cellulite, before becoming aware of the long, skinny legs of the pretty student still sitting next to her.

  She tried to be polite – to pass the time – and turned to face her slightly. ‘What did you say your name was again? I’m terrible with names.’

  ‘Emily Brookner.’

  ‘I’m Cressida Pelling.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Emily smiled. ‘You’re Harry’s publisher.’

  ‘Publisher, mind, not lover,’ Cress sniffed haughtily. ‘Don’t believe what the rags tell you.’

  ‘Oh no, I know you’re not!’ she said with searing conviction.

  Cress looked at her. At least someone in the country believed her.

  She smiled. ‘So what are you reading?’

  Emily paused. ‘Um, well – I’ve just finished East of Eden.’

  Cress burst out laughing.

  ‘No! No!’ she said, amused. ‘I meant your subject – what are you reading for your degree? PPE, English, Law?’

  ‘Oh, oh, I see,’ Emily said, cringing with embarrassment. ‘I thought you meant . . .’ Her voice faded away. ‘Well, I’m not actually a student here.’

  Cress’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed . . .’ Cress looked over towards Chandos, who was shuffling papers importantly at his desk.

  ‘No, Chandos is just an old friend. I’m here with Harry.’

  ‘Ah.’ Cress nodded benignly – tonight’s totty.

  Chandos brought the gavel down on the desk three times and brought the hall to order.

  The buzz of conversation died instantly, and Harry and Kate sauntered back over, taking their seats. Kate started fiddling about officiously with her text messages.

  ‘My honourable Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he began.

  This must be what it’s like in the House of Lords, Cress thought to herself, looking around at the lofty environs and the sea of college scarves. There’s probably as many titles here as there.

  Chandos introduced the speakers, the crowd booing and yelling by turns, already whipped into a frenzy by Harry’s stellar presence and floppy hair.

  Harry was up first, and the hall fell silent as he took the floor.

  He took a deep breath. This was it. Time to get some respect.

  His voice resounded around the room. ‘John Lennon hit a collective nerve when he famously said that the Beatles were more famous than Jesus. It caused a scandal at the time, but forty years on, can we really say he was wrong? Jesus has had over two thousand years to build his fanbase – and yet every Sunday, his throng dwindles in churches across the country, while Lennon’s songs are still played on radio stations every day, all over the world.

  ‘What Christians found so intolerable about Lennon’s remark was not the idea that Jesus should be eclipsed by a mere mortal – after all, both men stood for the same messages of love, hope and peace – but that that mortal should be a celebrity. Had he been an artist, a computer programmer, or – better still – a carpenter, Lennon’s wry remarks may have had a shot at credibility. But a celebrity as a moral heavyweight? Well, not in his lifetime.

  ‘But what about in ours? The school of thought that celebrities have no moral compass, that they are somehow devoid of morality . . .’

  ‘Well, you are!’ shouted a wag from the back.

  Harry raised his eyebrows but let it pass.

  ‘. . . Is, uh, beginning to fade. The fact is, that now – in the twentieth century . . .’

  ‘Try again!’ someone piped up, to much laughter.

  ‘Now, in the twenty-first century . . .’

  ‘Hurrah! Give the man an A level!’

  Harry clenched his jaw and tried again. Fuck these little smart-arses for patronizing him. ‘Now, in the twenty-first century, we live in an empirical age where . . .’

  ‘That’s a big word for such a pretty boy!’

  ‘. . .Where there is simply no tolerance any more for unsubstantiated dogma. In this day and age, Fact is king. Logic and reason – the progeny of Science – underlie everything we believe in now. Creationism can’t compete with the Big Bang . . .’

  ‘Nor yours, Harry! From what I keep reading, yours is the biggest bang of the lot!’

  The roof lifted with laughter, whilst Harry clenched the rostrum, flushed red with anger.

  ‘. . . Adam and Eve are just a fanciful fairy tale to the real story of Evolution. And it’s in the wake of cold, hard fact – which has systematically taken away our belief in religion’s hollow promises of miracles and redemption – that celebrity has taken on a new role, new depth . . .’

  The three women sat together, watching him, the various spokes in the Harry Hunter machine.

  Kate’s phone kept vibrating, giving her something to do with her hands and silently elevating her status as indispensable. Cress got her BlackBerry out of her bag and started checking her own texts too. She’d be damned if she was going to lose face to Kate. Not after what she’d done.

  There was an update from Rosie.

  B. Hillier not on Elect. Reg. No trace of Am. Hillier.

  She stared at it. Did she even need to pursue this quest any longer? The Wrong Prince author had signed the contract this afternoon. The presses were now running and it would soon be printing money for Sapphire; the first quarter of the book was being drip-fed to the bloggers, copies had been sent to the critics and the omnipotent Richard and Judy book club, and her film scout would find the story sitting in his inbox when LA woke up in four hours’ time – Cress expected a film deal by the end of the week. This book would be her insurance policy against any fall-out from Harry; she could feel it.

  And yet she still couldn’t relax about it. The author’s continuing insistence upon anonymity bothered her. Only her senior legal adviser knew his name – divulged in a separate affidavit – and it made her worry that this author wanted to hide his identity not so much from the greater public, but specifically from her. It had to be tied in with the chilling Hillier connection. She knew she had to keep investigating.

  She looked back at the text. If Bridget wasn’t on the electoral register here, did it suggest she was foreign; or maybe that she lived abroad? Perhaps she had married and Amelie had been born abroad – that was why there was no trace of her on the birth register?

  She shifted position. The seats were narrow, and her circulatory system was already compressed enough in the control underwear. Her left glute was going to sleep. She shook out her leg, her mobile flying off her lap as she did so.

  ‘Shit!’ she hissed, as it clattered on to the stone floor, at Kate’s feet.

  Harry lost his place in his speech as he looked around, and Kate shot her a withering look.

  ‘Apologies,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Accident!’

  Kate leant down and picked up the phone, the text flashing past her eyes as she handed it back. Hillier? So Harry had been right. Cress was in on it.

  ‘Thanks,’ Cress said, taking it without looking at her. She gunned off a message to Rosie – oblivious to the fact it was 9.30 at night – telling her to look in Europe for Bridget and Amelie Hillier. Amelie – that was
French, right? Try France, or – where else did they speak French? – Belgium? Switzerland? Luxembourg?

  Kate’s phone rang silently and she picked it up without saying hello. ‘Mmm’, ‘mmm’, ‘mmmm’, she breathed, before clicking off.

  Cress’s text was still bothering her but she sat back in her seat, trying to relax and not feel so ruffled by the fact that Emily was infinitely more luscious than she had ever realized. She’d be gone after tonight anyway. She’d turned up on Harry’s arm in front of 200 photographers. Someone was bound to have caught the two of them together. They only needed one shot.

  Imperceptibly she slid her eyes sideways, taking in her rival’s retroussé nose and upturned mouth, her lashes as thick as bullion and creamy hair. Emily was completely wrapped up in Harry’s speech, nodding occasionally and smiling supportively at his ridiculous arguments, which Kate knew were bound to result in a flurry of hate mail from religious fundamentalists. That was all she needed – Harry Hunter with a fatwah!

  Kate could see that Emily had fallen hook, line and sinker for him. She just hoped tonight’s public witnesses and the back-up sex tape would be all it took to encourage her to make a clean getaway. Kate wasn’t entirely convinced that Harry would be so easily able to untangle himself from this stunning girl by himself.

  She dropped her phone into her bag and swept her hair away from her face, gazing up at the ornate frescoed ceiling, not noticing Emily’s own return scrutiny as the heart-shaped emerald earrings twinkled beneath the chandeliers and betrayed her best-kept secret.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Feeling the weight of her stare, Kate looked back. But Emily still couldn’t take her eyes off her. Her rival was revealed; she was here and she was so, so untouchable. Just look at her. Those almond-shaped green eyes – just like Harry’s – the glossy ‘power’ hair, the aura of importance emanating from her like perfume. Emily knew she didn’t stand a chance. She was nobody.

  The two women stared at each other, the tears building in Emily’s eyes as she knew that it was finally over.

  Kate said nothing, but she realized instinctively that Emily had guessed. She frowned a little, trying to work out what had given the game away – a look between her and Harry? A touch?

  Not that it would matter. She could see defeat in the younger girl’s eyes. She wouldn’t have to worry about her hanging around after all. She was going to be out of there like a greyhound at the gate.

  Kate gave a small victorious smile, tipping her chin slightly in acknowledgement, before turning back to Harry and joining in with the polite, tepid applause as he sat down.

  Suddenly, Emily felt a hand upon hers, dragging her up from her seat and pulling her along the benches to a room at the back.

  ‘Chandos! What are you doing?’ she hissed, as she skittered past Harry, her long legs knock-kneed and tangled. Harry looked up, alarmed, as she sped past, but Kate’s slight shake of the head kept him in his seat.

  A chorus of wolf-whistles and shouts of approval at their apparent tryst echoed around the benches. The Archbishop of York looked on sternly, but didn’t falter.

  Chandos shut the door behind them.

  ‘Chandos!’ she spluttered, throwing her hands feebly up into the air. ‘You can’t just . . . what the hell do you think you’re doing, dragging me in here in front of everybody, like some wench?’

  Chandos wiped his hair away from his face and looked at her, concerned. ‘You looked as if you were going to pass out,’ he stuttered. ‘You just suddenly went as white as a sheet. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought you might need some water or air or something.’

  Emily stared at him, shaking, her colour well and truly returned. ‘I don’t need any bloody water, thank you very much.’

  He paused. ‘A valedictory glass of wine then, perhaps?’ he asked, motioning towards the bottle on the desk.

  Emily looked away, exasperated. ‘If this is some seduction technique you’ve found works a treat on the new undergraduates, I’m afraid you’re going to find it gets short shrift from me.’

  Chandos shook his head. ‘I’m not trying to seduce you, Emily. Apart from the fact that you’re with one of the most legendary playboys in the western world – which makes it quite hard, even for me, to compete – I think it’s hardly my place to start doing a number on you . . . not after what I did.’

  ‘Oh, don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Emily said dismissively, beginning to calm down and feeling really quite relieved to be away from Harry and Kate, after all. She walked over to the table and picked up a glass.

  Chandos poured one for her, and then another for himself.

  ‘My betrayal didn’t break you, then,’ he said theatrically, stealing a glance at her.

  ‘Why? Was it supposed to?’ she asked, archly.

  ‘No, of course not. But – I guess my ego would like to know you didn’t just walk away without a backward glance.’

  Emily tipped her head to one side. ‘Your ego?’

  He shrugged and gave a boyish grin. ‘I was gutted when you left. I’d no idea you meant so much to me. Not until after you’d gone, anyway. And then seeing you here tonight. With him.’ He took a slug of wine. ‘I mean – of all the people – why does it have to be him? It hardly lets anyone else in with a chance.’

  Emily smiled, in spite of herself. ‘So you did bring me in here to seduce me,’ she said. She snorted derisively. ‘Trust me, Chandos. That’s the last thing I want.’

  ‘But it may be the very thing you need,’ Chandos said assuredly.

  She perched on the edge of the desk and took a deep breath.

  ‘Well, I guess I am back on the market,’ she said contrarily. She felt no desire to be predictable. Pliable. Not now. ‘I’m a free agent, I can do as I please.’

  ‘Huh?’ Chandos stared at her quizzically. ‘But you just told me outside on the steps that you’re living with Harry.’

  ‘What’s the matter? Do you only want me if I’m Harry’s, is that it? You want the accolade of sleeping with his bird?’

  Chandos frowned. ‘No, of course not. I’m delighted you’re not with him. But – I’m lost.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t understand what’s just happened in the last fifty minutes that’s meant you and Harry are no longer together.’

  Emily inhaled deeply. ‘Let’s just say, some new information has come to light.’

  Chandos frowned at her.

  ‘He’s been fucking another woman,’ she said brightly. ‘And I’ve just had the pleasure of meeting her.’ She shook her head, matter-of-factly. ‘There’s no way I can compete.’ She put her glass down and he saw her hands tremble, even though her voice was defiant.

  ‘Oh, baby,’ Chandos said, advancing towards her. ‘What are you talking about? No one can hold a candle to you.’

  ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s only been a game to him. I started out holding all the cards but he’s just been playing me. I’ve been an idiot. I let my heart rule my head.’

  ‘It’s his loss, Emily. He’s the fucking loser. Just like I was.’ He stroked her hair. ‘But I’d do anything . . . anything to have you back. I was desperate to make it up to you. But I didn’t know where to find you. You just disappeared.’

  There was thunderous applause from the other side of the door, as Harry’s opponent emerged the clear victor.

  Emily looked at him, confused, feeling a tiny lock begin to turn inside her, threatening to spill out all the emotions she’d buried away. It hadn’t crossed her mind she’d bump into him tonight. His infidelity had tossed her world upside down – she had drunk when she should have eaten, worked when she should have slept, cried when she should have laughed – and it had taken her so long to get over him. And now he was standing here, stroking her, adding more complications to her world, trying to catch her off-balance, when in the next room . . .

  She pulled away roughly. ‘Do you really think I’d go straight from his betrayal, back to you? I already know you’re a cheating bastard,’ she
said harshly, wiping away the stray tear that had fallen. ‘You’re all the bloody same, the lot of you. I should have known that this is always how it’s going to end.’

  She poured herself another glass and downed it. ‘But it’s my own fault. You treat me this way because I let you.’

  She put the glass on the table and walked to the tall window. She watched all the photographers standing smoking and chatting outside. ‘But not any more. I didn’t come here to get back with you. Just like I didn’t get back with Harry to fall in love with him.’

  ‘Back with him? You were with him before?’

  But her voice was remote, distracted. ‘It was supposed to be business.’

  ‘Business?’ Chandos’s voice rose an octave. What did that mean?

  ‘He made me fall for him all over again and I lost sight of the fact that he was only ever a means to an end.’ She turned and walked back to him, with renewed focus.

  She stood in front of him, her hands on his arms. ‘Thanks for this pep talk, Chandos. It was just what I needed.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, her tongue tracing his lip suggestively. She winked. ‘For old time’s sake.’

  Then she ran to the door and fled down the long hallowed hall, her hair streaming like ribbons behind her.

  ‘Emily, wait!’ Chandos called, placing his glass on the table and running after her.

  But she was nimble and light and got to the main doors quickly. As she opened them, the night was bright white again, as though an alien spaceship was landing on the cobbled street outside, but she could instinctively feel that something much more ominous than that was happening.

  The crowd was at fever pitch and it was almost impossible to move in the glare of the flashbulbs. Emily shielded her eyes and inched her way around the gaggle surrounding Harry and Kate. Everyone was calling out, pushing this way and that, and she could see Kate crying as Harry tried to cut a swathe towards the car.

  Emily looked for an exit point, but suddenly the crowd pushed back and her ankle turned on the edge of the step. She felt herself fall, and she screamed. She’d be crushed in the mêlée.

 

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