Tease

by Immodesty Blaize

  ‘Mwah! Mwah! Thank you, darling, that was a fabulous interview, thank you for your time. I must say you’re looking exceptionally well today, Ms Starr,’ Lydia Appleby muttered. It was her first compliment of the meeting. Tiger took a deep breath and looked sideways at Lewis who gave a barely detectable nod and wink. That was a tough interview. It was supposed to be a huge feature on how a British national treasure was making her mark on the most American of institutions, Las Vegas, although one would think it was about Tiger’s personal life, the way Lydia had been digging around for gossip like a kid on an Easter egg hunt. Tiger had fielded her questions like a pro, always aware of how her words could be twisted, and always making sure to drag the subject back to her new Vegas show. For once, she was pleased that Lewis was there in the background with his ears pricked as usual, particularly since Rex was a no show, unusually for him. He was normally keen to police any major interviews himself.

  Tiger wondered if Lydia’s choice of venue today – the infamous and opulent Les Trois Petits Cochons tea rooms in the heart of Knightsbridge – had been chosen to distract her and lull her into thinking it was a gossipy coffee morning. Lydia had stuck to her story that she wanted the accompanying photographs to be somewhere quintessentially European, and seeing as Tiger was reknowned for her fabulous figure, she felt it would be something of an irreverant celebration of that to feature her in amongst the exquisitely decorated cakes. She was certainly right on that front, the cakes verged on artworks and were delicious; Tiger felt entirely happy spending an afternoon surrounded by sugary confection.

  Tiger had, in fact, declined to mention to Lydia that she often came to Les Trois Petits Cochons to hide away quietly with a book and a delicious coffee éclair for an hour between meetings, whenever she had the opportunity. The kitchen staff would even send small boxes of macaroons outside to Vladimir while he waited in the limo. Tiger simply loved the vaulted ceilings and enormous gold chandeliers and the mezzanine level with its sweeping gold staircase and rich purple velvet chairs. It was all so fancy and overtly decorative with its filigree duck-egg blue and gold wallpaper; it made her feel like she was sitting right in the middle of a doll’s tea party. It also reminded Tiger of happy times spent in the beautiful rich old cafés of Budapest when she spent a month there in a show at the State Opera House. No, there was no way she would mention to Lydia that she was a regular here, or her occasional peaceful breaks would turn into autograph-signing sessions.

  ‘We’d like to take the shots now, near that display by the window,’ said Lydia, motioning over at the lanky, whiskery photographer who had already lit the corner and was now flapping a test Polaroid, while his assistant played around with the lighting, trying to adjust one of the reflectors by an eighth of an inch without disturbing a pile of iced fancies. Tiger immediately recognised the photographer as Kris Stewart, some new hotshot on the scene who had already shot everyone from Bowie to Beckham. She walked over and shook his hand warmly to break the ice. Lewis buggered off for a pot of lapsang souchong on his own. Shoots always bored him senseless and he was happy to leave Blue to do what he did best. Blue was already chatting with Kris and having a careful look at the Polaroids.

  ‘Darling, it’s quite muted – candy-box ’fifties colours – you might want to pop a black hat on so your hair isn’t disappearing tonally,’ he whispered over at Tiger. ‘It’ll balance out the Chanel dress perfectly too.’

  ‘Okay, darling, choose me something from your magic box,’ said Tiger as she eased into the shot between the huge displays of cakes.

  Ageing, dried-out ladies with expanding waistlines, bundled up in Bulgari diamonds and other spoils from their failed marriages, were nudging each other at their tables and winking sourly over their teacups at the action unfolding, while Blue disappeared out to the car to retrieve some accessories. A crowd was steadily gathering outside. Teenage girls huddled together and chattered about Tiger’s outfit, as young men pressed their noses up at the glass hoping for a flash of stocking top. Tiger looked over and batted her eyelids for the boys, who excitedly jostled for the best view.

  ‘Okay, Tiger, another test with you in shot please, and – click – thank you,’ said the photographer, retrieving the Polaroid and holding it under his armpit while it developed.

  ‘So, Vegas here we come eh!’ said Kris as he waited. This was always the small talk part where the good photographers tried to get a rapport going before giving their directions.

  ‘Yes, not long now,’ replied Tiger brightly, turning as she heard a tapping at the window. One of the boys outside was getting a little forward. She winked and smiled.

  ‘Well, this shot is as far from neon and casinos as possible,’ laughed Kris, peeling back the Polaroid.

  ‘Oh, but that is what they want of course, isn’t it!’ agreed Tiger, hearing the tapping at the window again. She turned and the boy outside drew a heart shape in the air with his index finger. The ladies on the tables nearby were tutting loudly and scowling as best they could through their botoxed brows. Tiger put her finger up to her mouth to the young boy as a ‘shhhhh’.

  ‘Right, this is looking gorgeous now, I just need to give you a little more cheekbone then we’ll go for it,’ said Kris, sounding happy with his shot.

  ‘Okay great, but I just want to pop on a hat if I may. Blue will be back in a few minutes with a couple for me to try.’

  ‘Fine, no probs,’ said Kris, as he motioned for his assistant to tweak a light. Tiger heard the tapping again, this time louder.

  ‘Hmm, they make them cheeky these days,’ she remarked.

  ‘Heh heh, ah you never know, maybe they’re just after a bit of cake frosting,’ said Kris.

  ‘Yeah right,’ snorted the up until now mute assistant.

  Tiger’s mind whizzed as the tapping on the window progressed to banging, and the old ladies were emitting loud, plummy Wimbledon Village-style ‘Well really’s’ in Tiger’s direction. There was only one way to shut the naughty boys up, Tiger decided. She scanned the tall piles of cakes and located a dish of cream-filled choux buns. This ought to silence them, she thought, and she threw a bun towards them as they tapped madly on the window, forgetting that the reason she had never made it into the netball team at school was entirely down to her lamentable aim. Tiger gasped in horror as the cake sailed past the window, hitting one of the particularly unattractive lunching ladies’ brigade squarely in her rock-hard sandy blonde coiffure. The room fell silent as cream dripped from her dry hair. Her thin lips pursed so tightly they resembled a cat’s bum. Tiger bit her lip and braced herself for a torrent of braying abuse. Instead she watched as a wicked gleam came into the old lady’s eyes, she screwed up her face, grabbed her jumbo Florentine and threw it like a frisbee. Tiger ducked as it flew by, a shard of almond nearly taking her eye out. The sticky biscuit hit Lydia in the face with a ‘thok’. Lydia looked shocked for a moment as she stared at the cream-covered old lady, who was now struggling to stop laughing.

  Tiger and Lydia scooped up everything they could lay their hands on. So did the entire tearoom. Macaroons, buns, croissants, cakes, strawberries, profiteroles and tarts flew through the air in all directions. Tiger laughed like she hadn’t laughed for months. Crumbs rained upon her hair and cream spattered her dress, and she howled with laughter as she took aim. Kris Stewart clicked away frantically, unable to believe his luck as he moved around capturing the action.

  Everything blurred in a creamy haze before Tiger’s eyes, but she could just make out what appeared to be a team of security guards parting the crowds, with Lewis at the helm. A huge lemon meringue flew through the air from behind and hit him in the face. Tiger looked behind her to see a horrified Lydia with her hand over her mouth. The two women looked at each other, then fell about in hysterics. Tiger slipped in spilt cream and went down laughing all the way.

  ‘Okay, time for a sharp exit, young lady,’ boomed Lewis’ voice as he appeared from above, scooping Tiger up from the floor and carrying her through the carna
ge to the back entrance, led by the security men.

  ‘Most bodyguards take a bullet, darling, but I took a pie. Now that’s what I call devotion,’ huffed Lewis as he dripped meringue all over Tiger’s Chanel dress. She held on to him tightly and snuggled blissfully into his strong arms, letting him carry her into the street and all the way round the corner to safety.

  Blue had been watching the drama unfold from outside and he now stood by the Towncar bewildered and still clutching a pile of hatboxes. His eyes widened even more as he watched Lewis staggering from around the corner with Tiger curled up in his arms, the pair looking for all the world like newlyweds in love, as the outrageous cakefight continued without them in the tearooms. Not wanting to interrupt the moment he carefully popped the hatboxes back in the trunk of the Towncar and made off for some solitary retail therapy.

  * * *

  Tiger perched herself on one of the tall brown leather stools of Claridge’s fumoir and brushed crumbs from Lewis’ lapel.

  ‘Well, Rex is gonna have his work cut out for him that’s for sure, patrolling the press after today’s little scene,’ remarked Lewis with a smirk. ‘About time he put in some hard graft.’ Lewis had been less than pleased with Rex’s recent sloppy record on the press front; never mind the piss-poor performance on the bad stories. For example, where the hell had he been today for Tiger’s interview? Rex needed to be reminded that no one was irreplaceable. ‘You don’t seem too concerned?’ noted Tiger, slightly surprised at how laidback Lewis seemed to be about the whole afternoon’s debacle. Lewis’ mobile buzzed. He checked and saw that it was a text from Georgia. He tutted and deleted the message without reading it.

  ‘Oh it was only Georgia, she can wait.’

  ‘No, silly, I meant about this afternoon!’

  ‘Oh right!’ said Lewis, slightly embarrassed. ‘Ah well, how bad can it be? It’s hard to see how a journalist could get too serious about a cake fight. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and the magazine will cover any damages.’ He paused. ‘Besides, I know it was Lydia who got me with the pie. So she owes me one,’ laughed Lewis, as Tiger scooped up a smear of lemon filling from his sleeve and sucked it from her finger. She let her eyes linger on Lewis as he chuckled to himself. He had such a gorgeous smile, she thought to herself. She’d never really noticed before; she couldn’t remember him laughing very often with her at work. A waiter suddenly appeared with napkins to help them clean up.

  ‘No thanks, do you know how expensive this cake is?’ exclaimed Lewis as he shoo-ed the bemused waiter away before turning his attention back to Tiger. ‘Anyway, one thing I am concerned about is you.’

  ‘Me?’ asked Tiger, brushing crumbs from her shoulder. The last thing she wanted to do was explain about the letters. She’d already been through it once today with Blue. Lewis didn’t really need to know, anyway. Blue would look out for her.

  ‘So come on then. What’s up?’ pressed Lewis. ‘You’ve been so withdrawn lately. You’re losing weight. And today was the first time I’ve seen you laugh properly for weeks. What’s going on? Oh, you’ve missed a bit,’ he said, pointing at a smudge of cream on Tiger’s wrist.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she replied, holding her arm up to Lewis’ mouth. He held her delicately and licked the cream from her skin slowly. Tiger was shocked to feel a warm wave of electricity. Lewis’ lips lingered over the soft underside of her wrist. He closed his eyes for a moment then looked up at Tiger. Their eyes locked for a split second. Instantly they pulled back from each other and reached for their drinks. Tiger gulped her dirty Martini, Lewis swigged his Whisky Mac.

  ‘So come on then, what’s up?’ continued Lewis. Tiger fiddled with her napkin, wondering if perhaps she should tell him everything after all. Lewis’ mobile buzzed again.

  ‘Oh for Pete’s sake, what does she want?’ he muttered under his breath, deleting the text.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay if you wanna go and call Georgia outside, I’m alright here on my own for a bit,’ offered Tiger.

  ‘No. Georgia can wait. She probably only wants my credit card number anyway. I want some time with you now.’ Tiger raised her eyebrow at the comment. But the mobile was buzzing again. ‘Oh, this is ridiculous, what does she want? Sorry, Tiger, I’m just nipping out, I’ll be two minutes.’ Lewis strode out of the bar, leaving Tiger perched and nursing her Martini. So he really is under the thumb after all, she mused, fiddling with the olives in her glass. Or maybe he just fancies a quiet life away from work and lets Georgia lead the way once in a while. Either way, Tiger was fascinated. So rarely did she see any personal side to Lewis. She blushed to herself as she recalled feeling his heart beating under his shirt when he had carried her in his arms earlier. She tried to push it to the back of her mind.

  ‘Right,’ came Lewis’ voice as he came back into the bar, ‘I’ve just seen a load of paparazzi outside – they’ve obviously got wind of the fracas earlier and someone’s tipped them off that you’re here,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve told Vladimir to wait out front as a decoy, and I’ve asked the concierge to have another car waiting out back for you. I’ll take you down in a minute. Sorry about this. Drink up and we’ll go,’ Lewis ordered, fully back to working mode and breaking the spell … whatever it had been back there. But if only Tiger had told Lewis about the letters, and if only Lewis had known what was waiting at home for her in that morning’s post, he would never have let Tiger out of his sight. It was turning out to be quite a day.

  Chapter 21

  Keys. Purse. Moleskin. Scarf. Cashmere cardigan. Make-up bag. Air tickets. Freshening wipes. Moisturiser. Passport … Bingo. Sienna opened it up and looked in the back. Pah! Only Tiger would have a great passport picture, thought Sienna bitterly. Now, the name is … Starr, Tiger. No surprises there, Lance. Hang on, place of birth … Clonmel? Sienna suddenly felt lightheaded.

  ‘Everything okay in there?’ shouted Blue as he came into the lobby.

  ‘Er yes, thanks!’ replied Sienna, stuffing the passport back in Tiger’s Hermés handbag before swinging round and holding it out to Blue. ‘Sorry, darling, I couldn’t find them. It was just a faint hope that I might have put them the wrong handbag absentmindedly after the strategy meeting at the office yesterday. I guess I must have lost them after all,’ said Sienna. ‘Where shall I put this?’

  ‘Oh leave it down there with her cases. I’m sorry you can’t find them – god, if I had a pound for every pair of sunglasses I’ve lost,’ tutted Blue. ‘Were they expensive?’

  ‘Nah. It’s okay, I’m sure they’ll turn up,’ said Sienna, her hand flying to her own bag to make sure her sunglasses weren’t visible in there. How embarrassing would that be. ‘Well, pleased to catch you before you go, wish Tiger good luck for me.’

  ‘Yes of course. She’ll be back in, like, three minutes if you hang on. Gravy doesn’t like being walked too long when it’s raining. Actually Tiger’s been a bit quiet the last few days, it might be nice if you said “hi”.’

  ‘Er … no, I really have to dash, I have a cab with the meter on,’ replied Sienna hurriedly.

  ‘Oh, I can give you some money. It would be nice if you two could catch up.’

  ‘No no, I’ll be late for work otherwise.’

  ‘Oh, alright then. Are you okay? You look a little pale.’

  ‘Yeah yeah, just in a hurry that’s all.’

  ‘Well if you’re sure …’ replied Blue, walking Sienna to the door.

  ‘Thanks, appreciate it. See you guys when you get back.’

  ‘Okay. Mwah, mwah, darling,’ said Blue, half to himself as Sienna was already out of the door into the early morning mizzle and running towards her waiting black cab.

  That was easy enough, thought Sienna as the cab rattled the short distance back towards Marylebone. She knew Tiger would have to have her bags packed and passport at the ready for her morning flight to Cannes, and she also knew Tiger liked to take Gravy out to stretch his legs just before they travelled. All Sienna had to do was huddle down and wait in the cab
until she saw the pink hair bobbing past, then dive into the house, fob Blue off with some lame story about losing something, then raid Tiger’s handbag. The only problem was she hadn’t bargained on what she had found.

  Dad had had lots of sayings, and he had once told her, ‘Be careful of asking questions you don’t already know the answer to.’ Sienna had always thought it a ridiculously stupid thing to say, since why else would you ask a question? Only now, she understood perfectly what he meant. Sienna was shocked. Her parents wouldn’t have lied to her. So what was Tiger doing, being born in bloody County Tipperary? It was possible her mother had given birth while she was in Ireland visiting relatives, but it was odd that no one had mentioned it while Sienna was growing up. She couldn’t even remember any visits back to Ireland during her childhood. If there was family back in Ireland, mother had long since lost contact with all of them before she died. Lance’s words rang again in Sienna’s ears from their conversation at The Ivy … that Tiger had told him she grew up in County Tipperary. Could she be adopted? Could it be that the bitch had lied to Sienna for all these years and they weren’t bound by blood after all? Perhaps Lance might just be useful to her now. Sienna wasn’t fussed about loyalty at the best of times, let alone loyalty to someone who wasn’t even real family.

  ‘Tiger, what on earth is wrong with you, you’ve hardly said a word since you got here.’

  ‘I’m f-f-fine.’

  ‘Look, you’re on in half an hour. Prince Romano’s already here having his champagne and toasts. If you can’t do this I need to warn Lewis, he’s down there with the Prince and the guests.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘No what? No you can’t do it, or no don’t tell Lewis?’

  ‘I’m f-fine. Just look out for m-me. Okay?’