Alice exhaled. “I don’t know…I’ve talked about it a few times with Vi, but she’s not convinced. Besides, agents need to be ruthless. Hustlers, you know?”
“Alice Love can be a hustler!” Ella protested. Alice fixed her with a dubious look. “OK, so maybe you’re not slick and insincere like that Tyrell guy, but that should be a good thing. What was it he said to me that time? He’d enjoyed connecting with me. Ugh.” Ella shuddered. “I’m not a bloody power socket!”
Alice laughed. “No, it’s fine. I’m OK doing what I am right now. Besides, I could always see about moving to a bigger agency, doing contracts at one of the corporate places.”
“You mean processing twice the paperwork for half the satisfaction?”
“But three times the money.” Alice grinned.
Ella tutted at her. “There’s more to life than cold, hard cash, my dear.”
Alice tutted right back. “Tell that to my mortgage adviser.” She looked at her reflection again, trying to see past the black bra straps peeping over the neckline and her boring French braid. “All right,” she decided, realizing her lunch hour was dangerously close to being over. “This is the one.”
She quickly changed back into her work clothes, Ella waiting with her at the front counter while the saleswoman packed her purchases in tissue paper and a crisp paper bag. “What about you—anything thrilling planned for the weekend?”
“Hmm…There’s always yoga.” Ella met Alice’s eye for a moment, and they both laughed.
They’d met in the polished exercise space of a local gym, suffering through the strenuous contortions of a beginner’s class. By the time the goateed instructor decided to turn the heat up another five degrees “to really let them sweat it out,” Ella and Alice had suffered enough. They made their escape when he went to change the CD, dashing from the room to the strains of Peruvian panpipes.
“And…” Ella added, looking hesitant. “I might have a date.”
“Ella! You didn’t say.”
Ella blushed. “I know, a rare and momentous event. It’s a setup, though, so bound to end in disaster.” She sighed. “A friend of a friend of Julie’s, at the office.”
“Ah, the wonderful Julie.” Alice had heard plenty of stories about Ella’s co-worker’s need to fix up everyone in sight. “What do you think, will you—?” She stopped midsentence. The saleswoman was waiting with an impatient expression.
“It’s been declined.” She dropped Alice’s card on the counter with a sneer.
Alice frowned. “That’s impossible, I just…Never mind, use this one.” She found her wallet again and passed her backup credit card.
“Anything wrong?” Ella asked.
“No, it’s fine.” Alice shook her head, while the woman ran up the sale again, this time keeping a suspicious eye on them, as if they were about to bolt. “Probably just a mix-up with my bank. They’ve canceled that card three times this year. Last time, they said they sent me the wrong color, can you believe? Like it makes a difference.”
“Ugh,” Ella agreed. “Mine’s not too bad, if you need to switch. Except I have to spend about an hour on hold every time I want to reach an actual human being!”
***
It wasn’t quite an hour, but after being shuffled between three different departments that afternoon—all of them with a tenuous understanding of the words “I didn’t order this”—Alice finally gave up on the mystery of the jewel-encrusted vibrator. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t been billed for it, so wrapping the box in a fresh layer of packing paper, she printed up the return address and reached to add it to her stack of post. There was a moment when she wavered, looking curiously at the dull gleam of the metal and its strange curves, full of promise. Turning the box over in her hands, she wondered, could it really be worth so much?
Alice smiled to herself. It was unlikely. For all their aesthetic appeal, toys like this were for people who preferred the accessories to real sex, the performance rather than the act. Alice had never been one to bind herself up in uncomfortable lingerie or fuss over dripping candles. No, she preferred a little more honesty in life. Tossing the package aside, she turned her attention back to her stack of paperwork.
And that, as far as she was concerned, was the end of it.
Chapter Two
After the trials at the office that week, Alice would have relished a weekend of relaxation; instead, she found herself hovering awkwardly in the corner of her stepsister’s vast walled garden in Hampstead, clutching a glass of Pimm’s and worrying about her lipstick smudging.
“Canapé?”
Alice blinked at a silver tray of elaborate appetizers, all colored a vivid shade of pink to match the rest of the party theme. “No, thank you.” She shook her head politely, watching as the waitress circulated among the crowd of guests who were scattered across the immaculate lawn. Although there had been no mention of dress code, there was obviously a memo Alice hadn’t received. Her blue silk sundress may have looked the perfect garden-party choice, but every other woman was draped in shades of palest cream and caramel: an array of blousy tops and layered gold jewelry that made her feel as stiff as a shop mannequin amongst the lounging, honey-hued guests.
“There you are!”
Alice turned toward the huge, stuccoed house as Flora, in a floating print dress, emerged out of the French doors onto the patio. She surveyed the garden with a beam of delight. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Lovely,” Alice echoed faintly. And it was. From the white, canopied awnings to the spotless tables, overflowing with pink cupcakes and even pinker flower arrangements, the garden was beautiful, a testament to what a husband with a private equity fortune could achieve. The sky was even a cloudless blue, the sun warm on her bare shoulders. Alice took a slice of cucumber from her drink and nibbled. It, at least, wasn’t pink.
“Have you met everyone yet?” Flora linked her arm through Alice’s and happily led her onto the lawn. She had turned twenty-four just a few months before, but with her wispy, petite frame and expression of perpetual bemusement, she still looked exactly like the child who had always gazed absently at Alice across the table at Christmas and holidays for the past ten years. “I don’t even know half the people here,” she confided, waving at different groups as they passed. “But Stefan has all these clients, and their wives, and friends…”
“And accountants, and Porsche dealers…” Alice finished, smiling. Despite the joking, she found her brother-in-law a solid, sturdy relief from her family’s vague chaos. She’d had her reservations when they met, three years ago; Flora was toying with watercolors at art school when she literally tumbled into Stefan’s lap at Glyndebourne. At first, Alice had wondered what a laid-back, thirty-year-old Swedish financier could possibly want with her dreaming, childlike stepsister, but somehow it worked. Stefan adored Flora, Flora basked in his adoration, and within months, they were walking down the rose-petal-strewn aisle.
“Are Dad and Jasmine coming up?” She looked around for a familiar face but found none.
Flora shook her head, fine blond hair fluttering out in the breeze. “No, I called this morning, but Mum’s deep in a new sculpture and I don’t think Dad’s come out of his workshop in two days.” She smiled at Alice. “You can tell Mum’s not going anywhere—it took her five minutes just to remember where he was!”
Alice nodded, well used to their eccentricities.
“Here we are!” Flora planted them in the middle of a group of tanned, tawny-haired woman. “Everyone, this is my sister, Alice.” There were coos of welcome, and she began the loop of air kisses as each woman was presented in turn. “Alice, meet Mimi, and Sascha, and Ginny…”
***
Half an hour later, Alice was beginning to notice a theme. “Is there anyone here…younger?” she asked casually, finding Flora by the dessert table. “I mean, everybody is around my age, aren’t they? Or older.”
“Nathalia is twenty-three.” She pointed out a doe-eyed model in what Alice could
only assume were next season’s hot, draped peg-leg trousers. “With Jonty. He and Stefan used to race yachts together round the Mediterranean.”
“Mmm,” Alice murmured tactfully. Jonty may well be a very nice man, but he was also pushing fifty. “What about your art school friends? Or people from back home.”
Flora gave a small shrug. She picked at frosting on her tiny cake, earlier enthusiasm fading. “It’s been hard, to keep up with people.” Her voice was soft. “They were weird enough about Stefan, but then when we bought the house, and I got the deal with my paintings…” she trailed off, looking so mournful, Alice felt guilty. She often felt guilty around Flora.
“Well, everyone here seems nice!” she exclaimed brightly. “And if they weren’t happy for your success, then they can’t have been good friends to begin with.”
“That’s what Stefan says.” Flora nodded, still forlorn. “When Zara sold her first print, we all had the best celebration. But when things started happening with me…”
“It’s all right.” Alice glanced around, wishing she hadn’t brought it up. “Oh, look, there’s Julian! He said he’d be dropping by. Probably to scope out your catering, you know he’s always sizing up the competition.”
She steered Flora firmly across the garden, chatting about the divine profiteroles in an effort to raise her party spirits again. She couldn’t blame her for the moping, but she had some sympathy for those art school friends too. Flora’s paintings were pedestrian, to say the least: endless dreamy watercolors of flowers and pastoral scenes that Ella had once described as “not so much art as a visual sleeping pill.” Nonetheless, Stefan had somehow used his business contacts to wrangle a deal with a publisher, and now Flora was officially the twelfth most-sold artist in the country; her prints (and coasters, and calendars, and wipe-clean placemats) snapped up in gift shops from Bournemouth to the Isle of Wight. Alice could see how that might sting her old classmates, who were struggling in their run-down bed-sits with night jobs waitressing to get by.
“Happy anniversary!” Julian strode over to meet them, sweeping Flora into a bear hug. He was casual as ever in his weekend uniform of corduroy trousers and a crumpled shirt; after a decade of friendship, Alice would have been shocked to see him in a tie. “You outdid yourself this time, Flor, everything looks great.”
Flora brightened. She looked around at the pink wonderland with a faint smile. “It’s all Stefan, he found the best party planner through a client. He did Sienna too.”
“And who did you use for the food?”
“See,” Alice laughed. “I told you!”
“Told her what?” Julian stole a pastry from Alice’s plate, looking back and forth between them. He had oversize, almost dramatic features: a large nose, deep-set eyes, wide cheekbones. Caught still for a moment, they didn’t seem to add up, until he made a gesture or expression, and then they slipped together perfectly.
“Just you and your obsession.” Alice slapped his hand away lightly. “One of these days, you’re actually going to have to open that restaurant, instead of just talking about it all the time.”
Julian gave a sheepish shrug. “When I get my ducks in a row. Anyway, I have to dash now, I just wanted to say congrats and all.”
“Oh,” Flora pouted. “Can’t you stay longer? There’s going to be croquet, and the cake.”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Yasmin’s flight gets in at five, I have to be there to pick her up.”
“But—”
“I’ll save you a slice,” Alice interrupted, before Flora could guilt-trip him into staying. “We still on for lunch tomorrow?”
“Definitely.” Julian nodded, shooting one last look at the dessert table. “Yasmin will probably still be crashed out with jet lag, so I’ll meet you at the pub around one?”
“Perfect.”
***
By the time the sunlight faded to a rosy dusk, the Pimm’s was flowing freely, and laughter was loud in the candlelit garden. Alice made her excuses to Mimi (and Ginny, and Sascha), slipping toward the house for a few moments of calm. She’d offered her advice on a breach-of-contract suit Ginny had mentioned and inadvertently found herself holding a legal advice session for the next hour: advising on nanny disputes, fiddling accountants, and shoddy workmanship on those vital conservatories.
“Leaving already?” Stefan called to her from the patio. He and Flora were tucked together on an antique love swing, her hair even blonder against the blue of his shirt. Their children were going to be angelic, Alice could say that for sure.
“Just taking a breather.” She wandered closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve been locked up in your study all this time?”
“On a call, with Hong Kong,” Flora answered for him, slightly petulant.
“Shame on you” Alice teased. “Workaholic.”
“Don’t remind this one.” Stefan gave Flora’s tiny shoulders a squeeze, grinning. “She still hasn’t forgiven me for the wedding.”
“You took a call,” Flora protested. “Two hundred guests, a truckload of imported roses, and when I appear at the end of the aisle, you’re off in the vestibule arguing over returns!”
Stefan gave an exaggerated sigh, hanging his head. “See, she won’t let me forget it.”
Alice looked at Flora, tucked snugly in the crook of his arm. “You shouldn’t hold it over him forever,” she agreed, a little wistful.
“Oh, I will.” Flora gave a sunny grin. “How else do you think I got everything pink?”
Alice watched her face glow. The vivid, tender intimacy between Flora and Stefan was still touching to see. She had only fleeting memories of experiencing that kind of love herself, years ago, and when the months stretched out alone, Alice even wondered if she’d ever really known it at all. So she watched them as if she were an anthropologist, at rare family events or holidays, studying for proof of a foreign tribe. The light glances, the reassuring touch—the completeness of their world together was beautiful, and almost baffling to her. To share that much with somebody, to need someone the way Flora so clearly did—Alice could hardly imagine it.
“Do you need anything from inside?” she asked, automatically checking the drinks and thinning dessert table. “I could bring some things out, if you need.”
“No, no, you’re a guest.” Stefan insisted, wrapping his arms carefully around Flora. “Just enjoy yourself.”
Alice left them curled together on the swing and made her way into the cool of the house, relaxing as the chatter of the party receded behind her.
“They’re that way.”
She looked up. A man in a loose linen suit was coming down the hallway toward her. Alice recognized him from outside, she thought, or perhaps they had even been introduced, in that first whirl of greetings. “I’m sorry?”
“The bathrooms,” he explained, his voice edged with an American accent. The man made a show of looking around before leaning in, conspiratorial. “I’ve got to warn you, it’s kind of a trek. You take a left past the stairs, and then a right…” He paused, visibly sketching out his route in the air before correcting himself with mock seriousness. “No, I tell a lie: it’s another left, at the strange ceramic statue. A horse, I think?”
“Unicorn,” Alice said with a smile.
The man raised his eyebrows. “I stand corrected. And the bronze figurines in the hallway?”
“Dolphins.”
“Really? Huh. I would have guessed mutant slugs myself.”
Alice couldn’t help but laugh. Flora’s décor had always been eclectic, to say the least.
“You need a map?” The man lingered in the hallway with her, making a show of patting down his pockets. Up close, he was square jawed and sturdy, with leather braces edging out from under his linen jacket, like something from a Prohibition-era movie. He made a change from the rest of Stefan’s sharp-suited guests, Alice noted, relieved she wasn’t the only one out of place. “I think I’ve got a napkin here somewhere…”
“That’s all right, I kn
ow my way around,” Alice assured him, and then, in case he thought she was snooping, added, “I’m Flora’s sister.”
“Really?” He glanced at her in surprise.
Alice bristled, just imagining the comparison that was going on in his mind. It was always the same, whenever people heard that they were related. Blond and ethereal, she wasn’t. But this time, the man simply gave her a teasing grin. “You don’t seem to have inherited her love for all things pink.”
She relaxed. “We’re stepsisters,” Alice explained. “The pink is definitely in her genes.”
“I guess that settles the nature-versus-nurture debate.” He laughed.
“Someone should alert the media,” Alice agreed.
There was a pause, one of those natural conversational spaces Alice knew signaled the time for a polite retreat, but this man was such a welcome, friendly break from the forced conversation that she lingered.
He stuck out a hand and introduced himself: “Nathan Forrest.”
“Alice”—she shook his hand firmly—“Alice Love.”
“Good to meet you.”
“So…How do you know Stefan?” Alice asked, curious. He didn’t strike her as the hedge-fund type, but perhaps there was a Rolex lurking under those sleeves and a mansion in Holland Park waiting at night.
Nathan hesitated. “It’s actually kind of an embarrassing story.”
“Really?” Now it was Alice’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You have to tell me, with a buildup like that.” When he made a face, she laughed. “You should have just lied, said you met through work or something.”
“We did, kind of,” Nathan explained, leaning back against the wall. “It was one of those corporate parties, a couple of years ago. I was trying to impress a potential client, this Russian oil guy, and for some reason, he was determined to set me up with his daughter.”
“Lucky you.”
“Nothing lucky about it.” Nathan shook his head at the memory. “She was eighteen, and way more interested in flirting with the bartender than hanging out with me. So the party goes on, I notice the kid’s gone, and when I go looking, I find her stumbling out of a supply closet with not just the one guy but a busboy too!”
The Liberation of Alice Love Page 2