by Karen Swan
Composing herself, and willing herself to stay focused, Emily ignored the kerfuffle in her ear and looked out to the audience, smiling and bemused.
‘Oh, Harry!’ she smiled dazzlingly, finally. ‘You know perfectly well I’m already married, you naughty boy!’ She looked out to the audience. ‘He’s such a card.’
Harry’s face froze, the smile wiped clean off, as the audience fell about laughing at this British skit. He tried to get up off his knees, but Rock – wanting to prolong the sideshow – stepped in.
‘You’re kidding, right? You only twelve, girl! What you doin’ married?’
Emily laughed. ‘No, no. It’s true. Last month, in the Maldives. We’ve just come back from honeymoon.’
‘Is he here?’ Rock couldn’t believe his luck.
She nodded. ‘Just over there.’ And she indicated towards the wings, where Chandos was standing.
‘Well! Come out here then, Mr Lucky!’ Chris called to Chandos. ‘You’re in the right place. Nowhere loves a happy ending more than Hollywood, right?’
At that, the audience were on their feet, as Chandos strode across the stage looking like a cavalry officer. He picked Emily up and kissed her deeply, forcing the producers to go to a commercial break after all. It was a family show, for Chrissakes!
Harry came back up to standing, humiliated and redundant, clapping feebly as his crowning moment was stolen by the girl who had already taken everything from him – his reputation in his home country and his No.1 slot on the international best-seller lists.
It was three minutes before Chandos put her down, as the crowd whooped and cheered and prolonged Harry’s agony. Just hand over the fucking statue and let me off this stage, he fumed to himself, while he clapped and laughed and looked for all the world like he’d just been joshing them all along. ‘You can’t blame a poor fellow for trying, right?’
With everyone back in their seats, Emily finally picked up the Oscar and handed it to Harry. She placed a hand over the mic, pretending to fiddle with her dress, and as she went in to kiss him on the cheek, her smile couldn’t have been brighter.
‘You didn’t write that book,’ he smiled, bending down to her.
‘I’m afraid I did. I wrote it from some drafts I found in my uncle’s possessions.’ She paused. ‘You knew him actually. Brendan Hillier?’ Her breath felt hot on his cheek. ‘He was notorious for chasing after beautiful young men like you. Is that how it all happened? Did he seduce you, Harry? Did he refuse to sign until he got what he really wanted from you? I bet he couldn’t believe his luck when you turned up on his doorstep – a golden Adonis and a contract offer.’
‘You’re fucking mad,’ he snarled under his breath, as she swapped cheeks.
‘But then what happened? Did he forget his insulin? Did you keep him entertained in bed too long, drunk and insatiable? Did you let his pleas for help go unanswered?’ She kissed the other cheek, a flicker of her tongue scorching him, her curves pushing into him ever so subtly. ‘I’ll bet that was an electric moment, wasn’t it? The second you realized that if you just let him drift into unconsciousness, you could have it all. And you do have it all, Harry. Look at you. My uncle’s made you an icon. You’ve even got an Oscar to your name. You’re a global brand. A superstar. Nothing can touch you now. Right?’
He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. First James; now this.
She pulled back, beaming, and his eyes fell to the key around her neck. His key. He looked up at her as the pennies finally began to drop. The blackmail threat – it had all been a double bluff. She’d never given a damn about their earlier affair. He’d been so busy trying to destroy Cress, so sure James was behind it all, and all along she’d been hiding in plain sight. She’d needed a way in and he’d actually given her her very own key.
‘I did tell you I wanted justice, Harry. But not for myself – for my uncle,’ she said, fingering the key, showing him she’d been to the Kensington house, that she’d found the original manuscript, in his bedroom, in the Fortnum’s bag. ‘You were right, you know. That first night. Why would I stop at one measly million, when I was due all of it,’ she whispered. ‘But you know what’s so sad about this, Harry? You made me fall in love with you again. I’d have shared it all with you. If we’d married, it would have been yours anyway. But then – when Kate and the baby . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Well, none of this would have had to happen.’
‘None of what?’ he said, growing cold.
‘This,’ she said, grabbing his hand.
Emily turned back to the audience and leant over the podium, Harry vaguely aware that he needed to stop her. But it felt hard to move, to react. The lights so hot. All those faces . . .
‘I know I probably shouldn’t say this, given that it’s not scripted – although, neither was being snogged by my husband actually!’ Emily laughed, and the world laughed with her.
‘But even though I can’t marry him, I just want to say what an amazing man I think Harry Hunter is.’
The crowd roared its approval and Harry flinched as he saw the camera swing back on to him. Emily gripped his hand tighter and raised it in the air, like a rally salute.
‘The world needs more people like him!’
There was another cheer. It was like being at a rock concert.
‘No, I mean it, America. He’s unique. A true icon! Because, ladies and gentlemen, how many people do you know who’d give their entire fortune to charity? Please, Hollywood – give it up for Harry Hunter!’
Chapter Fifty-eight
The limo sped through the night, back to the hotel, its glamorous occupants dazed and exhausted.
Cress had never given so many interviews in her life, as journalists – in the wake of Harry’s sudden and mysterious absence – clamoured around her for details of his switch from icon to benefactor.
She’d had a whale of a time with it all. ‘I know Harry will want to talk about this at length with you all,’ she beamed, knowing full well he couldn’t imagine anything worse. ‘But when the time is right! Right now he wants the money to do the talking, and the focus to be on the charities he’s supporting. I will of course get my office to release a full and comprehensive list of those charities to you as soon as possible. In the meantime, I would also like to take this opportunity to formally welcome Emily Brookner to Sapphire Books, and you are invited to the press conference tomorrow morning for the details of the film deal for The Wrong Prince.’
Tor still had the hiccups, the last vestiges of the tears which had fallen steadily in the wake of James’s departure, his gladstone between her pretty ankles, the Planed Spaces envelope twisted and wrung and battered and unread in her hands; Kate was glued to her mobile, trying to get through to London; Mark, after the shock of Greta’s wanton indiscretion and the realization of how close he’d come to screwing things up with Cress, was succumbing to the jet-lag, his head resting on Cress’s shoulder.
‘I’ve been such a pillock,’ he mumbled into her hair.
‘I know,’ Cress smiled, feeling the weight of a million lies lift off her like hoverflies.
‘Although you’ve been a ruthless bitch too,’ he added lovingly.
‘I know,’ Cress repeated, her smile growing wider.
‘I think I had a mid-life crisis,’ he drawled.
‘You did.’
‘But I’ll make it up to you,’ he mumbled.
‘And I’ll make it up to you too,’ she smiled, rubbing his thigh. ‘Believe me.’
When they pulled up outside the hotel, they trooped slowly out of the car, their shoes pinching, their make-up worn off, their dresses creased, their hair floppy. So different from eight hours ago, when they’d looked like supermodels stalking down the Versace catwalk.
Cress and Kate went up to the reception desk.
‘I’d like a room for my friend here, please,’ Cress instructed, full of her own importance. After tonight, everyone knew who she was.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re fully booked.’
> Cress raised her eyebrows at her.
‘Actually, I think that if you look again, you’ll realize you’re not.’
‘Uh . . .’ The receptionist looked back down at the screen, perplexed. ‘No, I’m sorry, ma’am, but we really are. This is the busiest night of the year for us.’
Cress leaned over the desk and lowered her voice.
‘Is there a manager on duty I can speak to? Clearly I need to deal with someone who has a little more authority.’ The ‘Robert, the fake butler’ episode had proved to be useful leverage so far.
Kate leaned in, embarrassed by Cress’s bullishness. She was clearly still on an adrenalin kick. ‘Cress, it’s fine. I can go elsewhere. Really.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Cress hissed. ‘You’re staying here, with your friends.’
‘I can pass you over to the manager, ma’am, but he’ll only tell you what I’ve told you. The gentleman just over there took the last room,’ the receptionist shrugged.
Cress looked round. A booted and suited businessman was walking towards the lifts, a copy of The Times sticking out of his briefcase.
Cress looked over disdainfully. And then screeched.
‘Monty!’
Kate whipped round.
Monty turned and saw her, dishevelled and blooming and gorgeous, staring back at him.
‘Kate?’ he asked, incredulous. ‘You’re here?’
He ran towards her, not noticing he’d dropped his bags.
‘Oh, Monty,’ she cried, as he reached her, his hands automatically stroking her tummy. ‘I’ve been ringing you solidly all night,’ she said quietly, looking up at him. ‘Where’ve you been? I thought you must be out with some new dollybird.’
He smiled. ‘I was in Chicago. But then I saw you, on the telly and – I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You looked so beautiful. And so bloody sad. I knew I had to come here and try to talk some sense into you.’
They looked at each other.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ she whispered.
‘What a daft question,’ he twinkled, clasping her face in his hands and kissing her, the tears streaming down both their cheeks.
‘Wait. There’s something I have to tell you first, Monty, something you need to know,’ she said, taking a deep breath. She felt unexpectedly nervous.
He kissed her eyelids and the tip of her nose. She tasted sweet, like rain.
‘Billy’s not your son. You’re not a father, after all.’
She watched the emotions run across his face – confusion, disbelief, relief, disappointment – and, try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the little smile twitching on her lips.
‘But you’re going to be.’
His eyes snapped up to hers. What?
She stepped back to make it easier for him to see what she was saying – letting him admire her ripe bump.
Slowly, he dropped his eyes downwards to where his hands were resting on her tummy.
‘It’s so hard,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion, before jumping back suddenly. ‘Was that a kick?’
She nodded, her eyes bright with tears. It was the moment she’d waited for her whole life.
‘She’s saying hello to her daddy,’ she whispered.
Monty looked at her, a twinkle in his eye.
‘I’ve told you before. She’s a boy!’
Cress and Mark and Tor didn’t intrude. The catch-ups could wait till breakfast. The Marfleets were well and truly in their own world.
They stepped into the lifts and pressed for their floors. The door was just closing when a porter carrying a muffin basket and a bunch of pink balloons jumped in. He pressed for the presidential floor and stood at the back of the lift, staring at the ceiling.
Cress stared at Tor meaningfully, but Tor pretended to busy herself with kicking off her shoes and stretching her feet. Not now, please. She was shattered. She’d had enough crying for one night.
The doors slid open at her floor a few seconds later.
‘See you in the morning, guys,’ she said wearily, sloping down the corridor, shoes in one hand, the tough leather bag banging on her shins.
She passed Hen’s door – three rooms away from her own. The light was still on.
Feeling indignation flush her sleepy bones, she let herself into her room and unzipped the dress, letting it float to her feet like a puffy cloud. She pulled on her pyjamas and padded back down the hall, the dress back on its hanger.
She knocked on the door twice and stood back.
Hen answered, still fully dressed.
‘Tor!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t expect to see you this evening. Was it a wonderful . . .’
‘You’re his mother?’ Tor asked, rhetorically, completely disregarding Hen’s line of conversation.
Hen fell silent. ‘Ah. I see.’ She stepped back and motioned behind her. ‘You’d better come in.’
Tor walked in, placing the dress carefully on the bed and the gladstone on the floor.
‘Thank you for lending me that,’ she said primly, cross that she was beholden to her for her Cinderella moment. She wanted to be free, free from all of them.
Hen waved her hand lightly. ‘I’m thrilled you wore it,’ she said. ‘It’s been too long since it was last out of that bag.’
Tor stayed silent.
‘Nightcap?’ Hen offered, moving to the minibar. ‘I’ve only got brandy, I’m afraid.’
Tor just shrugged. Whatever. She just needed something to make her eyes sting. Something to camouflage the fact she was on the verge of tears again. Because even though she was furious with Hen for hiding the fact she was James’s mother – no, for being his mother – she was still her friend.
And right now, she needed a friend who wasn’t having a life crisis of her own.
Hen handed her the drink and Tor took a big slug, shivering as it slid down and burned her.
Hen motioned for her to sit down, and Tor perched on the bed.
‘How did you find out?’ Hen asked quietly.
‘The dress. He said his mother wore it the night she met his father.’
‘Aaah,’ Hen said, nodding. ‘I did wonder whether that would trip him up. He’s always loved that story, that dress. I thought seeing you in it might catch him off guard.’
Tor looked at her, shaking her head with disbelief.
‘How can you sit there so calm about this, when all this time you’ve been betraying me?’
‘Oh Tor, I’ve never betrayed you. Whatever you and I have talked about has stayed in my confidence. I didn’t smuggle conversations back to James.’
‘How could you not tell me? After all that time?’
Hen shrugged. ‘Because he made me swear not to. He knew you’d run for the hills if you knew I was his mother.’
Tor stared at her, catching flies.
‘You do realize what it is he’s done, I take it? You’re aware of his role in fucking up my life?’
Hen blanched at Tor’s uncharacteristic invective.
‘I know. He told me everything. He was beside himself after he saw you at the tennis. He’d just found out about Hugh. I’ve never seen him so agitated.’
‘Did he order you to befriend me?’
Hen gave a small smile.
‘How could he do that, Tor? Friendships come down to chemistry, not orders. But he asked me to keep an eye on you. Check you were OK, not locking yourself away, finding your feet in the village . . . But as soon as I met you, with your black teeth . . .’ She smiled fondly at the memory. ‘Well, I knew we’d be friends.’
She gave a big sigh. ‘I’m glad that you know, actually. I wasn’t comfortable with the fact that you didn’t know James was my son. It made me feel as if I was lying to you, even though I tried very hard not to. It did mean I had to be economical with the truth on occasion. I kept telling James you should know, but by then you’d settled here, the children were making friends . . . What would have happened if I’d told you? Would you have left there too? Gone somewhere ne
w? You deserved to be able to settle, Tor, to rebuild your life peacefully, among people who cared about you. You’ve been through enough.’
Tor pulled her knees up and pushed her teary face into them, the brandy long since past its limits as a disguise.
‘It’s such a mess, Hen. I don’t even know where to begin with it all. He hates me now. Despises me.’
‘Well, I know for a fact that’s not true,’ Hen said, coming to sit beside her and putting her arms around her. ‘Quite the contrary. He’s just frustrated that he can’t resolve things with you.’
‘Today’s just been one long disaster,’ Tor sniffed. ‘I wish we’d never come. We should have just stayed put in Burnham. From the moment I got on the plane, it’s been one crisis after another. I just can’t cope with any more. I’m a housewife. Not a sleuth.’
‘I know, dear,’ Hen said soothingly, shushing her. ‘But it’s all over now.’
Tor sat up and looked at her. ‘Do you know? Has he told you? Has James told you what happened tonight?’
Hen nodded.
‘So you know, then – about everything?’
‘Mmmhmm. Cress does get herself into some pickles, doesn’t she?’
Tor couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Yes, she does,’ she sniffed. ‘She drives me nuts with her melodramas. I don’t know why she can’t just be like other working mothers. Do the nine-to-five, drive the 4 x 4. Why does she have to start blackmailing the most famous man in the world?’
Hen laughed. ‘When you put it like that . . .’
Tor gave a big sigh and looked down at her hands.
‘I’m so sorry about Lily. It must have been an awful burden for you to live with.’
Hen started slightly. ‘Well, it has been. Yes. But I’m just glad everything’s out in the open now. Life is so much simpler when people just talk honestly.’ She tipped her head to the side. ‘Will you talk to James?’
Tor sniffed. ‘There’s no point. He doesn’t want to talk to me any more. He doesn’t even want to look at me.’
Hen raised her eyebrows, doubtfully.
‘No, it’s true, Hen. You didn’t see him tonight. He’s been pushed too far. I’ve accused him of things – dreadful things he could never have done. I don’t know what I . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. ‘Too much has been said. We can never be friends now.’