by Susan Lewis
‘Do you think I should send Ricky a text inviting him to the next Robbie concert? My dad can always get tickets …’
‘No way. You’ve got no idea when there’s going to be one, and it’ll look desperate, Sash. Whatever else we are, we must not look desperate, remember?’
Sasha nodded woefully and reached for her Coke. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked, the straw still in her mouth.
Though Neve knew very well what she was talking about she pretended not to, until collapsing into the sheer hopelessness of it all, she wailed, ‘I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s awful, Sash. I mean, it’s wonderful, because he’s so kind and lovely and … Oh I don’t know. This is the worst thing ever. At least where Ricky’s concerned you’re not in the same house as him, so you don’t have to watch him with Lena Laurence the way I have to watch Alan with Mum in our house.’
‘Well, you’re the one who got them together,’ Sasha reminded her snappily. ‘You should be pleased they’re happy.’
‘I am. I mean … No, I am, but sometimes … You know, I really think he’s interested in me too. Not just like I’m a daughter … Well, definitely in that way, but …’
‘Why wouldn’t he be interested in you? Everyone else is.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that. It’s not true, and anyway, I only want him, but I can’t have him because it’s not right. He’s my mother’s partner, so he’s supposed to be like a dad, and he is, most of the time, but …’
‘He’s not your dad. Not for real, and loads of people get involved with someone twenty or thirty years older than them. Look at Melinda’s parents. Her dad’s got to be at least thirty years older than her mum.’
Neve gave a shiver of nerves and closed her eyes. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,’ she groaned, ‘they make me go all funny.’
Sasha shrugged and got up from the bed. ‘Listen, you know you’ve got the hots for him, and he’s bound to have them for you too, so why don’t you stop going on about it and do something for once in your life?’
Neve looked at her aghast. ‘What do you mean?’ she mumbled, not sure she wanted to hear the answer, while dying to.
‘Well, when he drives you home later why don’t you tell him how you feel? Or put your arms round him to say thank you for something and turn it into a snog.’
The mere thought of it turned Neve so weak inside that she couldn’t even summon a reply. She was only able to stare at Sasha and wonder wildly, terrifyingly, wonderfully, if she could ever find enough courage to take her advice. If she did, what would happen then? But she wouldn’t, she just knew it, because he might get angry, or disgusted, or worse tell her mum, and if he did that she’d never be able to face either of them again for the rest of her life.
Chapter Thirteen
THE PERSISTENT RINGING of the phone beside her bed finally brought Patsy up through many layers of sleep to a place she didn’t immediately recognise, or, in fact, even want to be part of, her head was pounding so hard. The bed seemed to be swinging on some kind of pendulum, making her feel nauseous and giddy, then it steadied and she began to register fierce blades of sunlight spilling in through the cracks in the shutters to dissolve in a misty glow over her surroundings. She blinked a couple of times to try and clear her vision, then, as though a veil was being slowly peeled away from her senses, it started coming back to her. She was in Monte Carlo, the Hotel Hermitage, and the piercing shrill of the phone was what had hooked her out of blessed oblivion.
Wincing as she fumbled for the bedside receiver, she tried to remember how much she’d had to drink last night, but it wasn’t a good idea because the mere thought of alcohol started her insides churning again. ‘Hello,’ she mumbled, hardly able to get her mouth open, it was so dry.
‘Pats, it’s me. Is it OK to talk?’ Susannah whispered. ‘We’ve been trying your mobile for ages …’
‘What?’ Patsy struggled to sit up, but thought better of it as everything started swooping and rolling again. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, wanting water now more than air.
‘It must be about ten where you are. Are you still in bed? We’ve been dying to hear about your dinner last night, but if it’s not convenient to talk …’
‘No, it’s fine,’ which it clearly was not, but that wasn’t Susannah’s fault. She looked around the room, and slowly, like a horror scene coming into terrible focus, she began to register the other side of the bed. There was a dip in the pillow and the covers were turned back. ‘Oh my God,’ she muttered, feeling horribly faint.
‘What?’ Susannah prompted.
‘Don’t let this be true,’ Patsy implored, the words sounding breathy and desperate on her parched lips. Then, realising she didn’t have any clothes on, she let out a whimper of pure despair.
‘What’s going on?’ Susannah cried.
‘I don’t know,’ Patsy said weakly. ‘I can’t … Oh no,’ she wailed. A purple jacket was slung over the back of a chair, looking as comfortable as if it had lived there all its life.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Susannah urged, ‘what went on last night? The last we heard you were outside the palace, about to go in.’
‘Hang on, I have to do something,’ Patsy said, and dropping the phone on the bed she wrapped herself in a sheet and stumbled over to the bathroom to press an ear to the door. Nothing. She waited. Still nothing. Turning the handle she gave a tentative push, and the door creaked open.
Half-expecting a monstrous ‘Boo!’ or worse, a naked Fronk, or even worse, both, she peered in. The room was empty and didn’t, thankfully, appear to have been used in recent times. Next she went to the main door, opened it briefly, spotted a ‘Do not Disturb’ sign hanging on the handle and closed it again.
After sliding the bolt she went back to the phone. ‘Susannah, this is a disaster,’ she croaked. ‘I think I might have slept with Fronk.’
Susannah spluttered with laughter. ‘What do you mean, you think?’ she said. ‘How can you not know?’
Not sure herself, Patsy said, ‘I was drinking this stuff last night … What was it called …? I can’t remember … Oh God, I need water,’ she rasped, and headed off to the minibar.
‘What about Albert and Caroline?’ Susannah wanted to know. ‘Did you meet them?’
Finding a bottle of Evian, Patsy sucked down half of it in one go, then repeated, breathlessly, ‘Albert and Caroline. Yes, that’s right. They came out of the restaurant to meet us.’ She gulped down more water. ‘The taxi dropped us in front of the palace … Fronk paid the driver – that’s when I sent you a text – then this couple came out of nowhere throwing their arms around him, and me, even though I’d never clapped eyes on them before. They turned out to be Albert and Caroline Neuman, old friends of Fronk, residents of Monaco, and surprise, surprise, not a serene highness between them.’
Susannah was laughing so hard that Patsy might have too, were that appalling jacket not still winking at her from the chair.
‘Go on,’ Susannah prompted.
Returning to the bed, Patsy said, ‘There’s a restaurant right opposite the palace, which is where it turned out they’d sprung from … They were a lovely couple …’ She was racking her brains, trying to force out the details, and after a while a fractured slide show started to emerge. ‘He’s American, into electronics of some kind, I think he said, and hilariously funny, though God only knows what we were laughing at, I just remember doing a lot of it. She’s French, and designs pet clothes for the rich and stupid. We ended up going back to their place – you should see it, it’s straight out of Hollywood, all art deco and movie posters – and that’s where we got stuck into whatever it was … Oh God,’ she groaned as her stomach recoiled from the mere thought of the colourless liqueur that had seemed to have some kind of golden-egg quality about it: once her glass was empty it simply, magically, refilled itself. ‘I don’t know how we got back to the hotel,’ she went on, ‘it’s all a blank, but Fronk’s jacket’s here, and the other
side of the bed’s obviously been slept in, and …’ Her eyes closed in abject misery. ‘I don’t have any clothes on.’
Susannah burst out laughing.
‘Please don’t,’ Patsy complained. ‘I know it might seem funny, but I have to face him now, and I have to work with him, and I can’t believe I’ve got myself into this mess. I mean, I know nothing happened, but … What the hell was I drinking?’
‘You tell me,’ Susannah replied. ‘Grappa? Marc?’
‘Marc, that was it,’ Patsy confirmed. ‘Ugh, God,’ she added, almost gagging.
Susannah gave a murmur of sympathy. ‘Did you know that stuff can be over a hundred per cent proof?’ she said.
‘I do now,’ Patsy replied, putting a hand to her head. ‘What am I going to do?’ she implored. ‘I can hardly ask him if we did the deed. Knowing him, he’ll say yes even if we didn’t.’
‘You must be able to tell. How do you feel, you know, down there?’
‘I’ve no idea. My head’s in such a state that the rest of me has given up trying to be noticed. Anyway, wait for this, I had a colonic rinse-out yesterday, so that might be confusing things.’
‘This is getting more hysterical by the minute,’ Susannah told her. ‘I’m not sure you’re safe to be let out alone.’
‘I’m having serious doubts myself. Anyway, I’d better go. I need to shower and I’m supposed to be having another massage treatment at noon, I seem to recall. How come I remember that and nothing else? Ow. Mustn’t get worked up, it hurts. Before I go, is everything OK with you?’
Still laughing, Susannah said, ‘Fantastic. I won twenty quid at bingo last night, and my schedule’s filling up so fast for the next few weeks that I have to go out later to buy a bigger diary.’
‘And how are things with Alan?’
‘Fine. We had a long chat after Neve had gone to bed last night, and he seems to be coming round to it all now. He’s just popped out for the papers, actually. There’s supposed to be quite a bit in them about the new series, apparently, and Neve’s sitting here, listening in as best she can to what we’re saying.’
‘Oh God, she doesn’t know … Sorry, I have to go. Big white telephone. Urgent. Talk later.’
After dropping the phone she scooted to the bathroom and spent the next ten minutes on her knees in front of the loo wishing she was dead. Snatches of the return journey to the hotel were now starting to emerge through the fog, and unless her memory was playing her vile tricks she’d snogged Frank in the back of the taxi, and worse, far, far, far worse, she might have tried to seduce him in the lift. On the other hand she could be recalling a dream – nightmare – because everything after the scene that-please-God-didn’t-happen-in-the-lift was still a blank.
When finally she managed to struggle to her feet she found that in spite of some lingering dizziness she was feeling marginally better. A vigorous splashing of cold water over her face improved things a little further, then going back into the room she began tracking down her mobile phone. She discovered it in one of her Manolo Blahniks, which prompted a nasty little memory flash of trying to order room service with a shoe, then turned the phone on to check her messages. Most were from Susannah, left that morning, a couple that had come in overnight were from friends, nothing was from Frank. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or unnerved by that, but it hardly mattered when the bathroom was in urgent need of her presence again.
Eventually, after a very long hot, then cold, shower, a luxurious hairwash and a rather enlivening spell on the bidet, she downed another half-litre of water and climbed into a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a Dolce and Gabbana T-shirt. Though moving any further into this day remained a direction she did not want to take – given the choice, she’d be back-pedalling so fast she’d crash into yesterday and maybe even have the good fortune to land up somewhere in pre-noon Friday – reverse was sadly not an option, so she put on her sunglasses, assumed her bravest face and went off to confront her shame.
She found Frank having breakfast on the terrace, looking annoyingly perky and at one with the world as he soaked up the sun, read his paper and sipped his coffee.
‘Ah, at last,’ he smiled cheerily as she arrived at his table. ‘I tried to wake you, but you could not hear me, or maybe you did not want to. How are you feeling this morning?’
Aware of how close they were to other guests who no doubt spoke both languages, she sank down in a chair and mumbled that she’d like a coffee too, please.
Summoning a waiter he ordered a double espresso and a refill for himself, then turned back to her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. ‘Would you care for something to eat?’ he offered kindly.
She almost felt her face turn green.
‘I think that must be a no,’ he decided.
‘Just tell me,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘Did we …? Last night, when we got back … Did you …?’
His head was bent forward in order to hear her, but when she stopped he turned to regard her in confusion.
‘You know what I’m trying to say,’ she hissed angrily.
‘I do?’ he asked.
‘Don’t make me spell it out.’
He blinked. ‘I am sorry, I think you must or I will not understand.’
Wanting to thump him, she cast a quick look round and said through her teeth, ‘Did we have sex last night?’
He sat back in shock, then very slowly a smile started to creep across his face. ‘You do not remember?’ he said, clearly relishing this moment with every molecule of his sadly warped sense of humour.
‘If I did I wouldn’t be asking, would I?’
‘No, I suppose you would not,’ he agreed. ‘Well, I could consider your poor memory an insult to my masculine pride, but I think I understand what is the case here. You are pretending not to remember because you are embarrassed, or maybe a little shy, about this very important milestone in our relationship.’
Patsy felt her fingers curl with intent. ‘I’m neither embarrassed nor shy,’ she lied, ‘I just want an answer. Did we, or did we not make a terrible mistake?’
‘For me there was no mistake,’ he assured her.
‘Oh God,’ she murmured, starting to feel faint again. ‘Frank, I was extremely drunk …’
‘Yes, this is true.’
‘Whatever I might have said, or done, I wasn’t in my right mind so you mustn’t read anything into it.’
‘I see. So you did not mean to happen what did?’
‘No, absolutely not.’
‘Then what did you mean to happen?’
She opened her mouth but instead of words only air came out. ‘My brain isn’t up to this, this morning,’ she told him, ‘you have to give me a straight answer. Did we, or did we not sleep together last night?’
Picking up her hand he held it tenderly between his own. ‘It is not a problem,’ he said wickedly, ‘I am very discreet. Now I am afraid I must go. My next massage is at eleven forty-five and already I am late,’ and after planting a friendly kiss on her knuckles he downed the rest of his coffee, tucked the paper under his arm and marched jauntily off towards the spa. The only thing he didn’t do was kick up his heels in a chipper little quickstep, but he was clearly so pleased with himself he might just as well have done.
‘I’m going over to Melinda’s to do some homework,’ Neve announced, carrying her school bag into the kitchen. ‘Janey’s coming too, so her mum’s picking me up on the way past.’
‘No Sasha?’ Susannah asked, sliding the Sunday papers on to a chair to make some room on the table.
‘Don’t you ever listen to anything I say?’ Neve sighed. ‘I told you earlier, she’s gone to her gran’s in Brighton today.’
‘I’m sorry, yes, you did mention it. So how long are you going to be? We’re eating about six, so I’d like you back by then. Alan can always collect you when he goes for Lola.’
‘Cool. Oh, I expect that’s them to say they’re outside,’ she cried as the phone started to ring, and grabbin
g her bag she took off down the hall.
‘Don’t I get a kiss?’ Susannah called after her.
Spinning on her heel, Neve came to plant a peck on her cheek, and before she could zoom off again Susannah grabbed her in a giant bear hug. ‘OK, off you go,’ she said, turning to the phone. ‘I’ll let them know you’re on your way out.’
Needing no more encouragement Neve ran back down the hall, and was already going through the door as Susannah said ‘Hello,’ into the receiver.
‘Susannah? It’s Michael Grafton.’
Feeling a leap in her heart, partly because she’d expected to hear Janey, but mainly because his voice had such a sonorous resonance, she cast a quick glance out to the garden to where Alan was putting in some new plants. With the door closed he wouldn’t be able to hear, so feeling free to inject an equal warmth into her own tone she said, ‘Hi, how are you?’
‘I’m fine. I hope it’s OK to call on a Sunday, but I believe your schedule’s already pretty crowded for the coming week, and I wanted to find out if you’d be free to have lunch with me on Tuesday or Thursday?’
Experiencing another fluttering inside, along with a heady surge of elation, she said, ‘That would be lovely. I think it’ll have to be Tuesday because I’m pencilled in to go shopping with Lizzy from costume on Thursday.’
‘Then Tuesday it is. I’ll be at my London office, which is in Soho, but if it’s not convenient to come into town I’ll be happy to …’
‘Soho’s great. I’m meeting the publicists in Covent Garden at three thirty, so that should work out well.’
‘Actually, it’s very good timing, because I was hoping to have a chat with you before you got together with them. So shall we say one o’clock at Vasco and Piero’s? I’ll text you my mobile number in case something crops up in the meantime, but provided it doesn’t, I’ll see you then. Oh, and by the way, congratulations. We’re all thrilled to have you on board.’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I’m thrilled too.’ She wanted to ask if he was responsible for the change in her casting, but decided it might make her sound flirtatious, or perhaps eager to develop some kind of exclusivity with him, so she simply repeated the date and time they were meeting and said goodbye.