by Susan Lewis
Unfortunately, Helen’s brother, Julia’s uncle, had not been a part of that agreement, but he had no real power, apart from physical. It would always be Alan’s word against Julia’s, and Alan knew that if it ever went to the wire, Helen would protect her daughter before she’d allow her brother to put her through any kind of public humiliation or pain.
So he’d left, come back to London, and then one day a message had turned up on Friends Reunited …
Neve was feeling weird and uneasy and so nervous that she thought she might be sick. Her head wasn’t right, or her skin, or anything about her. Everything seemed wrong, especially sitting here at the table, without her mother, knowing that she and Alan were going to spend a night under the same roof. She didn’t know what to do, or to say to him. The truth was, she didn’t really want to be here. At least she didn’t think she did. It was all mixed up in her head, and she wished Sasha had said she’d come over when she rang just now, but Sasha had said, ‘No way am I playing gooseberry,’ and Neve couldn’t really blame her, because she wouldn’t want to either if she was in Sasha’s shoes.
‘What would you like to eat?’ Alan asked, as he poured himself some wine. ‘I can make pasta, or salad, or we have all the Nigella Express recipes on Sky Plus.’
‘Um, pasta would be good,’ she answered, tucking her hair behind one ear. ‘Actually, I should probably make a start on my homework. I’ve got loads tonight. Is it OK if I go and do that?’ She hesitated. ‘Or do you want me to stay and help?’
‘Whichever you’d like,’ he told her kindly, and taking out a pan he began filling it with water.
Torn, and horribly self-conscious, she said, ‘I’ll go and do some homework, OK?’ Maybe she could call Sasha again and tell her … Tell her what? She didn’t know, she just wanted to talk to her, but if she tried to back out Sasha would end up accusing her of being all talk and a tease again. She wasn’t, because she’d let Jason Davidson feel her up at Melinda’s party, and had even put her hand on his thing … She felt really spacey inside when she thought of doing that to Alan, like she was being sucked into some kind of secret place that left her hand separate from her, so it wouldn’t really be her doing it. Anyway, she didn’t have to, because Alan didn’t even know what she was thinking, so there was no need to do anything.
As she reached the kitchen door Alan said, ‘If you’re going to have a bath you can use the jacuzzi if you like. I’m just going to get this under way, then make a few calls. I’ll give you a shout when dinner’s imminent. Shall we have some candles?’
His expression was so playful that it made Neve smile. ‘Yes, cool,’ she said. ‘Mum bought some more on Saturday. They’re in the dresser drawer, over there.’
Leaving him to it, she ran upstairs to her room and closed the door. She didn’t actually have very much homework, and Sasha had already promised to let her copy, so instead of getting out her books she put on some music, then went to sit on her bed. So many thoughts were chasing around in her head that she hardly recognised one before another fell in and blocked it out. She could hear voices saying, You’re here now, this is your opportunity, so take it. Or: Everyone says you’re a tease. Or, Why don’t you leave now and go home?
But she was home. Lola would send a taxi if she asked her to. She wouldn’t ask though, because there was no need. He was only downstairs making pasta, and she was up here being really juvenile and all talk, when what she really wanted to do was kiss him again. At least she thought she did … No, she definitely did. Now she was getting used to the fact that it was just the two of them in the house it was starting to feel OK. A bit random, but kind of OK. She trusted him. He’d never do anything to hurt her, so why not go downstairs and use the jacuzzi? She’d done it often enough when her mother was around, so it would just be stupid to start behaving differently now. She didn’t have to let him see her, or anything, the way she had before, when she’d had a bath in the middle of the night and he’d come downstairs and found her. Or she could, if she felt like it. If she didn’t, she only had to lock the door.
Taking off her clothes, she wrapped up tightly in her dressing gown, picked up a towel and crept downstairs. She could hear his music playing loudly in the kitchen, Country and Western, which made her and Mum want to puke it was so bad. They never let on how they felt. It wouldn’t be fair, because he never complained when they put on their favourite sounds. He even danced with them, and learned some of the words to sing along. He was lovely really. The best. Actually, she didn’t really fancy him, she just liked him a lot. Well, she did fancy him, but not as much as she thought. And that was all right, because he didn’t know she’d ever fancied him anyway, and the kiss he’d let her give him that time was just him being nice. He was always nice, so she shouldn’t keep twisting things round, and reading things into situations that just weren’t there.
When she got to the bathroom she found that he’d already turned on the taps, so the water was gushing into the bath and the room was becoming all steamy and hot. Closing the door behind her, she put her towel down then went back to turn the lock. It made her feel better to do that, because now she was down here she was starting to feel a bit weird again, and wished she’d stayed in her room. Still, she might as well have a jacuzzi now, or it would be wasting hot water and Mum always said they shouldn’t do that.
When the bath was full and fluffy mountains of bubbles were coasting over the surface she peeled off her robe and slipped into the water. It was lovely and deep and smelled of the Fiore perfume Pats had given them. She’d turn on the jets in a minute, then the bubbles would really go wild, billowing up like giant snowy alps all around her, smothering her in their airy scent. She wouldn’t think about Alan, because it kept making her feel strange and uneasy, and anyway he was listening to one of his operas now so maybe he’d forgotten she was here. She hoped so.
A few minutes ticked by, then sitting forward to turn the controls she realised the opera had finished. She waited for something else to go on, but it didn’t. For some reason it felt spooky having no music, but it would be OK once it started again. She hardly dared to breathe as she waited and strained to hear something. Maybe he’d just turned the volume down, or he might be on the phone in his study.
Then the door handle started to turn and she almost leapt from her skin. He was trying to get in. Her eyes bulged in their sockets, her heart began to throb in great big painful beats. No! Mum! She didn’t want him to come in. He had to go away. Please God, make him go away.
Quickly she drew herself back, hunching to the far end of the bath as though to hide behind the bubbles. Her eyes were fixed on the handle, wide with horror. It was turning again and her chest was burning with fear. It’s only Alan, she tried telling herself. He wouldn’t hurt her. But she’d let him think this was what she wanted and now, if she said no, he might get mad and make her. He wasn’t like that though. He was kind and understanding, and if she just explained that she’d got a bit muddled about things and said she was sorry …
The handle turned again and she almost screamed. Somehow she stayed silent and rigid, as though pretending not to be there, but he had to know she was or the door wouldn’t be locked. Maybe he only wanted to look at her, the way he had before, but she didn’t want him to do it again. She just wanted her mother to come home now. Or Lola to ring, or Pats. Anyone to make him go away. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she was shaking so hard that the water was moving around her. This was all her fault. She should have stayed at Sasha’s, or at Lola’s, but she’d come here, alone, even though she hadn’t really wanted to. So she only had herself to blame if something horrible happened, and it was going to, she just knew it, and it was all her fault.
Outside, in the bedroom, Alan let go of the handle and turned away from the door. She was afraid and he understood that, so he’d give her some time to calm down. She’d have to come out sooner or later, and it would be better if he wasn’t there waiting when she did. It would only frighten her more.
> Going back to the kitchen he put on more music, the final act of Tosca, letting her know that the coast was clear for her to come out. Returning to the kitchen doorway, he stood staring along the hall into the mirror at the end that reflected the landing above.
For a long time nothing happened. There was only the music, passionate and rousing, climbing to the ceilings, covering the floor, pressing the walls. Every other sound was sucked into it. He hummed for a while, but only the vibration reached his ears. His eyes were trained on the mirror, watching, occasionally blinking, until finally she came on to the landing. After the first few tentative steps, she made a dash up the second flight of stairs to her room.
He went on standing where he was, until the last doleful chords faded into silence, then after locking the front door he started up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘CLAUDIA.’ PATS WAS smiling warmly as her boss came sauntering, unannounced, along the corridor towards her office, a picture of unrelenting glamour, with her tight cap of sleek dark hair, pale pink Chanel suit and matching pumps. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming early? I haven’t had time to put out the red carpet yet.’
‘Yes, I noticed it was missing,’ Claudia retorted drily. Then, treating her star executive to a frankly assessing once-over, she said, ‘You’re looking gorgeous, honey. Well done,’ and throwing aside her designer purse and glasses she held out her arms for an embrace.
‘A pretty compliment,’ Patsy smiled as she hugged her, ‘but I’ve a way to go before I catch up with you.’ And she wasn’t being entirely untruthful, because though Claudia might be seventy-one and a little creased around the edges now, the lustrous topaz eyes that had made her one of the great beauties of her day were still every bit as arresting as her inimitable air of wealth and perfectly capped smile.
‘Your emails have me crackling with excitement,’ Claudia informed her, in a Southern drawl that seemed to belie any such effort. ‘I’m going to call a meeting in New York sometime in the next couple of months that I want you to be at. By then you should be able to give us a fair assessment of how well your promotional ideas are working here in France. I like the search for a teenage face very much. Have you got TV backing for it yet?’
‘Frank’s meeting with one of the channel heads even as we speak,’ Patsy replied, glancing at the time. ‘Now, I want to know why you don’t look jet-lagged. Really, Claudia, you are disgustingly fresh for a woman who’s just crossed the Atlantic.’
Twinkling her appreciation, Claudia sank down in a chair and caused a little static as she crossed her expensively pantyhosed legs. ‘I came early,’ she said, ‘so we can have a little chat, entre nous, before the meeting starts. Frank will be back for it, I hope?’
‘I fully expect him to be, unless he stages another of his vanishing acts.’
Claudia’s eyebrows rose in a question.
‘I was hoping you might fill in those particular blanks,’ Patsy told her, ‘but I’m sure you’d like a coffee first.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I would,’ Claudia agreed, flipping out a black lacy fan to cool herself down.
After buzzing through for her secretary to do the honours, Pats returned to her own chair saying, ‘Are you still scheduled to leave on Thursday?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Claudia sighed, ‘and I so love Paris, but I expect you’ll be glad to be rid of me by the time it comes round. You don’t want the old lady in your hair, interfering and messing things up, when you’re doing such a great job of putting this office on the map here in France. I have to hand it to you, Pats, you’ve taken next to no time to make your mark, and I know it won’t have been easy in this deplorably chauvinistic environment. You haven’t even sent any emails screaming for rescue, which I was fully expecting. So, can I take it you’re happy and willing to stay?’
Patsy was surprised. ‘Do I have another option?’ she ventured, curiously.
‘Not one that’s on the table at present, but I wouldn’t want to lose you so if you did want out, I’m sure we could find you something in the US.’
Patsy was shaking her head. ‘It’s a challenge here at times,’ she admitted, ‘but I don’t give up easily and I’m still hopeful that I can win at least some of my male colleagues round, if not all. Frank, I have to say, is an exception. He seems to have no problem either with my gender or my nationality.’
‘No, I didn’t imagine he would. When he turned the job down he gave me his word that he’d support you in every way he could.’
Patsy’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I’m curious to know why he turned it down,’ she said evenly. ‘He was the obvious contender when Marcel jumped ship to join L’Oréal, so why am I in this chair instead of him?’
Claudia gave a little shrug. ‘The way he told me was he didn’t want to do all the travelling,’ she answered. ‘Being the senior executive for France is more localised than taking on the top job for all of Europe.’ She twinkled mischievously. ‘Entre nous,’ she went on quietly, ‘I couldn’t have been happier, because it’s long been an ambition of mine to get a woman to the top in this testosterone-charged environment, and I knew if anyone could do it, you could.’
Smiling briefly at the compliment, Patsy said, ‘Did he ever give you a reason for not wanting to travel?’
‘Oh, I knew why without him telling me,’ Claudia replied breezily. ‘Just like I guessed, when I offered him the job, that he’d turn it down, because unlike most of the rest of us Frank has his priorities in the right place, as well as possessing that rarest of commodities, a well-ordered male ego.’
Pats glanced up as her secretary brought in the coffee, somehow keeping the irritation from her face at such an untimely interruption. She waited, impatiently, as the haughty young thing, all sweetness and light with Claudia, Pats noticed, poured, sprinkled, stirred and served, before finally leaving them alone.
‘Back to Frank and his priorities,’ Patsy said, making sure the thread wasn’t lost before Claudia wandered on to another subject.
Claudia sipped her coffee, then replaced the cup in its saucer. ‘I take it from your interest, and tone, that you don’t know what they are,’ she said blandly.
‘Correct, I do not, but in the light of recent events I’d certainly like to.’
It was Claudia’s turn to look intrigued. ‘Recent events?’ she repeated. ‘Is there something you want to tell me, Pats? I have no rules concerning office relationships, you know that …’
‘You’re misunderstanding me,’ Patsy interrupted, wishing her cheeks hadn’t decided to burn out another story. ‘There’s no personal relationship between us, but …’
‘You would like there to be,’ Claudia cut in knowingly, ‘however, you’re not willing to commit yourself until a few questions have been answered.’
Trying not to bristle at the assumption, Patsy said, ‘You’re right in thinking I’d like some answers, so what is the big secret? Where does he go when he disappears? And why would he back off the top job when he must have been working towards it for years?’
Putting her cup on the desk, Claudia steepled her fingers as she said, ‘Did you know that Frank was – still is, in fact – married to Juliette de la Frenais?’
Patsy blinked as her heart turned over. ‘You mean the same Juliette de la Frenais who was the face for Cachet until five or six years ago?’ she said, her mind flipping back to last Sunday morning when she’d come across Frank with the Cachet files spread out around him. It hadn’t even entered her head that there might be a serious personal connection between him and one of the most beautiful women on the planet, let alone that she could be his wife. And why would it, when she could hardly imagine a less obvious match, Juliette being so gorgeous and him being so, well, bald, and portly and … Actually, she had to admit, the more she was getting to know him, the more attractive he was becoming, even physically, but still …
‘They have a son, Jean-Luc,’ Claudia told her. ‘He’ll be four years old by now, I imagine. An adorable li
ttle boy who Frank is devoted to. I guess his mother probably is too, but Juliette has problems, which you might have heard about. She got in with the wrong set while she was globetrotting for Cachet and before anyone realised how bad it was she’d already become hooked on the white stuff. She went through a very promiscuous phase that kept landing her in the gossip columns for reasons that were unsavoury, to say the least. There was one scandal after another, after another, and so many men … It broke dear Frank’s heart, but there was nothing he could do, she was out of control, and in the end Marcel was left with no choice but to drop her. She took it very hard, and blamed Frank for the decision. In her book, he should have fought Marcel, but as devoted as he was, Frank was never stupid. He knew the image she was portraying was all wrong for the product, so he refused even to try to step in, and ever since she has been threatening to divorce him.’
With a sigh, she took another sip of coffee, then went on, ‘Speaking personally, I wish she would let him go, because no one should have to put up with the kind of crap she throws his way. As far as I know they are living separately now, but she uses the boy to keep Frank on as tight a leash as she can manage. If you say he is disappearing at odd times and with no explanation, it will be because she is back on the drugs, and if she decides she has to go to a party, then he must come and get his son, no matter what time of the day or night. I think he sleeps at her apartment sometimes, usually when she’s depressed, to make sure she doesn’t do anything to harm herself or the boy.’ She sighed again and shook her head. ‘So, my dear, that, in a nutshell, is what’s happening in Frank’s world. His priority is his son, and he turned this job down because he was afraid of the clash of responsibilities.’