by Caragh Bell
As the Roaring Twenties continued, Phillippe’s fortune grew. Soon he was supplying all the major stores in New York with anything from beads to head pieces. As women’s skirts got shorter, Phillippe got richer. Soon, he was well-known around New York as a man of standing and power. Frank, his great-grandson, chose not to inherit the family business. Instead, he went to Harvard Law School and gave the CEO job to this younger brother Maurice, retaining a share of the thriving business himself. He met Charlotte’s mother, Victoria, at a Red Cross function at the Plaza in the mid-eighties and fell madly in love. She was a Southern belle from Atlanta. Her soft drawl and blonde beauty enchanted Frank and they were married within a month. They were an odd-looking couple: Frank was small and squat with black hair and a moustache, Victoria was tall and blonde.
Newly married, Victoria busied herself as a society lady who organised benefits and luncheons for different charities and causes. They went on to have three children: Charlotte, the first-born, Hugo, a year younger and the baby, Céline.
‘Lunch will be served in ten minutes, Senorita Charlotta,’ said a meek Hispanic maid, averting her eyes from the sun’s glare. ‘Your madre tell me to tell you.’
‘Thanks, Maria,’ answered Charlotte, pulling on her robe. ‘We’re coming.’
Lunch was a delectable ceviche of salmon, served on a bed of avocado and chilli.
Frank du Maurier eyed his plate in disgust. ‘What is with this frickin’ rabbit food, Vic? I can’t eat that.’
Victoria nibbled on her own meal. ‘The doctor said your blood pressure is up, sugar. You gotta eat this.’
‘I’d rather die, I’m telling you that straight. Give me some real food, for Christ’s sake.’ He threw down his fork. ‘Whad’ya think. Luca? You agree with me?’
Luca grinned. ‘I’m staying out of this, Frank. You’re on your own.’
‘But, Luca, he just has to cut out all the saturated fat he eats,’ said Charlotte seriously.
‘He doesn’t eat that much,’ answered Luca, frowning. If he was honest, Charlotte’s eating habits were a mystery to him. He was pretty sure he had never seen her eat a hot dog.
‘He does,’ she protested. ‘Most nights, he stops off in McDonald’s for fries or whatever.’
Luca didn’t see the problem. He loved McD’s. It was the best restaurant ever.
Lydia flashed through his mind, her cheek smeared with ketchup and mustard. She was laughing and throwing French fries at him. He wiped her face clean with a napkin, deliberately taking his time. Then he kissed her, a glorious mêlée of hamburger, fries and coke. She didn’t care about saturated fat. She kept it real …
‘Luca!’ Charlotte’s blue eyes were curious. ‘Did you hear a word I just said?’
He jumped. ‘Sure I did. You said that Frank has to cut out all the junk food he eats.’
Charlotte gave him a funny look. ‘I guess. Try to eat your salmon – it’s high in Omega 3. Then we’ve got fruit for after.’
Luca squeezed her leg affectionately. ‘You got it.’
He was dying for a beer. All he could see on the table was a bottle of Evian. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
‘Hey, you guys, can I get a beer?’ he asked, forking up the remainder of his salmon.
Charlotte shook her head. ‘Not during the day, baby. Try and cut that out – it’s so bad for you.’
Victoria nodded in approval. ‘I agree, Charlotte. Beer is so fattening.’
Luca scowled and patted his six-pack. He didn’t need to diet or whatever. All he wanted was a beer. He could see Maria the maid over by the patio door. She would totally get him some Bud if he slipped her twenty bucks. Charlotte was going to yoga in the afternoon. He was pretty sure there was a game on later. Basketball and beer sounded awesome.
‘Some Evian then, please.’ He held out his glass.
Frank winked at him in solidarity. Anything for a quiet life.
Late that evening, they lay naked and entwined in Charlotte’s huge bed. Luca kissed her soft shoulder-blade and nuzzled her neck.
‘You want some more?’ he asked playfully.
Charlotte sighed. ‘I’m kinda tired,’ she said, yawning. ‘I worked out at the gym after yoga, so I’m pretty wiped.’
Luca buried his head in the pillow in annoyance. They were on holidays for Christ’s sake. It was supposed to be all about sex, beer, more sex and good food. Not Evian and raw fish.
‘I’ve got to work off some energy,’ he said eventually, pulling back the sheets and swinging his legs on to the ground. ‘You sleep – I’ll take a walk on the beach.’
‘Sure, honey,’ answered Charlotte sleepily. ‘Whatever you want.’
Luca pulled on his jeans and T-shirt. ‘I won’t be long.’
Ten minutes later he was digging his feet into the sand. The moon lit up the water as the waves gently rolled in. He could hear noise from the mansion next door; it sounded like a party. He should totally crash and have a good time. He was sick of this healthy living.
He couldn’t wait for his wedding to be over. Charlotte was obsessed with her weight. All she could think about was fitting into her goddamn dress. She should know that all that didn’t matter. He preferred her out of her dress. Style and couture didn’t interest him.
He picked up an oval stone and tried to skim it out over the water.
He liked Martha’s Vineyard but he missed the city. Mimi was giving them an apartment as a wedding present, right by Central Park. It was an incredible present and Charlotte was thrilled. She had picked all sorts of stuff for the gift list in preparation for their new home.
He frowned. There was some real random stuff on that list. Like china and silver napkin rings. What was the point of those? He would prefer lots of dough so that they could travel.
The water crept up the beach and doused his feet. It felt cold as it was still only April. Shaking his feet, he moved away from the shoreline. He should be getting back anyways.
Turning around, he headed back towards the du Maurier mansion, whose lights glittered in the distance. Maybe he could have a quick drink before bed. Just to help him sleep. He was pretty sure he had seen some scotch in the library. Charlotte would disapprove, but he didn’t care. Marriage was not going to change him. That was one thing that she would have to accept.
‘So she pulled off her top and started to pole-dance around the lamppost!’
Lydia gasped.
Joe’s eyes creased with laughter. ‘I took a video on my phone. So, if that bitch ever pisses me off again, I’m putting it on YouTube.’
She put her head in her hands. ‘Remind me never to piss you off then,’ she concluded. ‘Poor Chloe.’
‘Poor Chloe? Hardly. She had it coming. She was behind Glasses-Gate.’ He sipped his latte and winced. ‘Jeez, the milk is hot.’
‘Glasses-Gate?’ asked Lydia, confused. ‘What’s that?’
He handed her a sheet of paper and a pen.
‘Write something, anything,’ he commanded, taking off his glasses and placing them gently on the desk.
Lydia obliged and wrote ‘Are you serious?’ in her large scrawl.
Joe peered closer and after much deliberation, said ‘I can’t read that.’
Lydia shook her head. ‘At all? Incredible.’
‘Well, you can see I’m as blind as a bat without them, yeah?’
‘You’ve just proved it.’
He took a deep breath and put his glasses back on. ‘Last Christmas, they went missing. I took them off, placed them on my desk and turned around to get something from my man bag. When I turned back, bam! They were gone.’
‘Gone?’ Lydia looked incredulous. ‘Who would take them?’
‘Who, indeed. Well, I felt around for ages, checking every nook and cranny of my cubicle. I mean, humiliating shit like crawling around the floor and scaling the walls. All the time, Chloe Bitch was videoing me on her iPhone.’
Lydia looked shocked. ‘The cow.’
‘Exactly. Anyway, Colin came
along and started to help me, but to this day, they were never found. I wouldn’t mind, but the frames were Prada.’ He stirred his coffee with a scowl.
‘What did she do with the video?’
‘Up on the big screen at the Christmas party. She dubbed it with ‘I Can See Clearly Now’ – you know that song? I was mortified.’ He paused dramatically. ‘Especially as I fancied Trevor, the photographer. I looked so dumb, Lyd. I hate her.’
‘We’ll get her back this Christmas, I promise.’ She patted his arm.
‘Hey, you two!’ Colin popped his head around the corner. ‘Coffee break time?’
Lydia sighed. ‘What will I get you?’
‘No rest for the wicked,’ said Joe, draining his latte.
Colin looked mock-wounded. ‘If you’re going to make me feel guilty, I’ll just do without.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Lydia. ‘A skinny latte, one sugar, no sprinkles.’
‘Love you, cuz. Get me an iced Danish too, okay?’
Chapter 18
Lydia read the lines for the fourth time, pausing at intervals to correct punctuation and expression. She had just finished her second article; the first was about break-ups and this one was about how babies change relationships. She had to admit that after merciless editing, they were pretty good. Just the right amount of humour with a sprinkling of hyperbole. It felt good to write; her brain was like an engine that needed oil. Slowly but surely, the cogs were turning and she was producing some pretty good stuff. Satisfied, she saved her file and shut down her laptop.
‘Lyd! Are you ready? We’ll be late!’ Colin’s clear voice penetrated her closed door.
‘I’m ready!’ she called, grabbing her coat and bag.
Samantha had invited them over for dinner. She and Craig had received a Jamie Oliver cookbook as an engagement present and were cooking up a storm.
‘It’s amazing, Lyd,’ Sam told her enthusiastically. ‘I mean, he puts a lemon inside a chicken. Who’d have thought?’
The evening was mild as they walked the short distance to Sam and Craig’s flat. Val had a six-pack of beer under his arm and Colin carried a bottle of wine. Lydia had her bridesmaid’s notebook under her arm as she wanted to discuss the finer details of the hen party with the bride. It was only a week away and the bunting with Sam’s Communion photo on it hadn’t arrived yet. It was the pièce de résistance: yards of bunting with a fresh-faced Samantha wearing huge glasses and braces. Lydia knew that she thought her Communion was the most embarrassing day ever, so it made the whole thing even funnier. Sam would be mortified; that much was plain.
Craig opened the door with a big smile. ‘Welcome!’ he said, taking the wine from Colin’s outstretched hand. ‘Thank God it’s Friday.’
Lydia nodded in agreement and pecked him on the cheek. ‘I’m exhausted. It’s so hectic at the office.’ She ambled into the living room and could see Samantha huddled over the hob in the kitchen. ‘All okay, Sam?’
Samantha made a thumbs-up sign and continued stirring the contents of a large pot. Lydia grinned and sat down near the electric fire whose artificial flames were dancing merrily in the grate.
Val flopped down beside her and opened a can of Carlsberg with flourish.
‘Did you have a good week, Lyd?’ he enquired pleasantly.
She shrugged. ‘It was good but I’m really tired. Waitressing was a doddle compared to this job. I feel like I’m running and racing all over the place.’
‘Did you write anything yet?’
‘Yeah. A couple of small articles. I’ll show them to you two before I send them in.’
‘I’ll tell you the truth, you know that.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘You know me well enough by now to know that I won’t hold back.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ she admitted. ‘Still, an unbiased view would be great. I’m pretty sure Colin won’t have the heart to crush my dreams.’
‘You’re pretty sure Colin won’t what?’ Colin thrust a glass of wine in to her hand.
‘Nothing. Is Sam surviving in there?’
Colin made a face. ‘Who knows? I offered to help and she barked at me to get out of the kitchen. I mean, I’m quite knowledgeable when it comes to anything culinary so I don’t get why I was evicted.’ He smoothed his pants with his hands prissily.
Val snorted. ‘I know exactly why you were kicked out. Did you criticise the way she was stirring the sauce? Let me guess: Turn the spoon anticlockwise, Sam darling!’
‘I didn’t get a chance to advise her about that.’ Colin stuck his tongue out at Val. ‘Admit that under my tuition you have blossomed as a chef.’
‘Oh, blossomed,’ echoed Val, winking at Lydia.
Craig interrupted at that moment, asking them to be seated. ‘For God’s sake, tell her it’s gorgeous. She’s been slaving over it for hours.’
‘Of course,’ Lydia assured him. ‘Even Colin will behave, won’t you. cuz?’
‘That is a fait accompli,’ he answered haughtily.
Samantha arrived at the table, holding a big pot. ‘Everyone help themselves,’ she said, placing it on a mat. ‘It’s lamb tagine. I’ll just get the pomegranate couscous.’
Colin choked on his wine. ‘Say again?’
Sam rubbed her hot face with a napkin. ‘It’s a tagine with couscous,’ she repeated. ‘I added pomegranate and coriander. It’s really tasty.’
She disappeared back into the kitchen. Colin stared wide-eyed as Lydia piled her plate.
‘In all my life I have never seen Sam produce a meal like that,’ he whispered. ‘I bet it’s out of a packet.’
Craig shook his head. ‘Nope, you’re wrong there. She made it from scratch.’
‘You bet I did!’ Samantha arrived back to the table, her eyes flashing, having heard Colin’s comments. ‘It took hours.’
Val took the serving spoon from Lydia’s outstretched hand. ‘Get over it, Col. You have competition from the wannabe homemaker over there.’
‘She’s preparing for married life,’ agreed Lydia. ‘Dutifully cooking for her husband and children.’
‘Watch it,’ warned Samantha, spooning some couscous on to her plate. ‘We will divide cooking duties equally, won’t we, Craig?’
Craig shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, darling.’
‘Gosh, Craig, you’re a husband already,’ giggled Lydia. ‘Agree with your wife no matter what.’
They retired to the sitting room after the meal. Samantha had bought some ice-cream for dessert. Colin smirked when he saw the tub in the kitchen.
‘Not confident at desserts, Sam?’ he asked innocently. ‘You should’ve said. I could have brought a roulade or something.’
‘One step at a time,’ she answered sweetly. ‘That’s the last section of the book.’
Craig, who had consumed a lot of wine, got unsteadily to his feet. ‘Any one for a top-up?’ he asked.
Val shook his head. ‘I’m fine. I have an early start tomorrow.’
‘Col? Lyd?’ He held up the bottle.
They looked at each other and shrugged. Why not? It was the weekend after all.
They were halfway through the new glass of wine when Craig’s phone started to ring. Drunkenly, he answered the call, peering at the screen.
‘It’s FaceTime,’ he complained with a frown. ‘I hate that.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Samantha, looking over his shoulder.
A voice spoke.
‘Hey, buddy! Sorry for calling your cell so late but I’ve got to ask you something.’
Lydia froze, clutching her glass like a vice. She knew that voice. She heard it in her dreams. Her startled eyes met Colin’s and she bit her lip.
‘Luca! How’s it going? Not long until the stag.’ Craig beamed down the phone. ‘Why did you FaceTime? You know that I hate it.’
Luca laughed. ‘It’s not cause I want to see your face, that’s for sure. No, man, Charlotte is here and she wants to show Sam something she got for the wedding. I don’t know, a veil or some
thing like that. I can’t see it, so I’ve got to split. Is Sam there? Can she check it out?’
Lydia’s head started to spin. Charlotte? Wedding? She needed to get out of there and fast. She looked at Colin in panic.
‘Tell him it’s not a good time,’ hissed Samantha to Craig, but he didn’t hear.
‘I’ll just turn the screen around, man. Sam is sitting over there.’ He pressed on the icon to switch the screen.
Lydia, who was sitting directly next to her best friend, didn’t have time to move.
She kept her eyes cast down and moved her hair over her crimson face. Colin opened his mouth and then shut it again. Val began to whistle.
‘Luca?’ Craig sounded confused. ‘Are you there?’
There was an interminable silence. Lydia prayed that it would end.
‘Look, man,’ said Luca eventually. ‘I didn’t know you had company. Let’s just leave it for another time.’
Craig turned the screen back to him. ‘It’s no problem, Luca. Honestly.’
‘Look, I’ve got to go.’ The phone went dead and Luca’s picture disappeared.