Marbella Beauty

by Oster, Camille

  “I arrived a week or so back.”

  “I can see you’ve gotten a bit of sun.” She ran her hands along his hair, smoothing as she saw fit. No matter how old he became, she still treated him the same way she had when he’d been twelve. “Are you hungry?” She walked past to the kitchen.

  “Where have you arrived from?”

  “The Bahamas.”

  “Nice.”

  “It’s lovely. I do so love it there, the colour and the tradition. It is quite unlike anywhere else.”

  Alistair wouldn’t know. The Bahamas was a new passion of his mother’s, spurred by new friends she’d collected, people he didn’t really know. He knew she’d bought a house there, and she’d sent some pictures a while back. It had been uninteresting to him at the time, a yellow, wooden house with white-painted balconies and a view over the lush tropical coastline.

  A part of him didn’t like that his mother was shifting her focus there and away from here. It felt as if the ties to his past were loosening, and for some reason that felt wrong. A year ago, he wouldn’t have cared less, but at the moment, it felt as if the past was important.

  “So how come you are here?” he said.

  “There was a storm coming, so I thought it was best to head away for a while. Bit of a rough take-off. They say it’s going to be a bad one. It must have hit by now.”

  “How’s father?”

  “He’s good. Spending a bit of time in New York lately, so the Bahamas is obviously more convenient. He can fly straight down in a few hours. How long are you here for?”

  Alistair shrugged and his mother gave him a questioning look. “How long have you taken off work?”

  “I quit.”

  “Alistair,” she said with disappointment.

  “I need to take a moment to consider my next step.”

  “In that case, perhaps it is time you join your father.”

  “I’ve only just arrived. Can I have a chance to take a breath first?”

  “I’m making omelettes. Do you want one?”

  “Yes.”

  She grabbed a flask of orange juice out of the fridge and poured him a glass. Again, he felt like a twelve year-old. Taking it, he walked over to the table next to the kitchen. “Do you know the Wentfords?” he asked as she started chopping onion and capsicum. His mother had always prided herself that she cooked for her family.

  “I used to play tennis with Constance quite often. Why?”

  “Just wondering. Where do they live?”

  “They’re down the coast a bit, up the hills.”

  Alistair wasn’t quite sure what it was he wanted to know. “They have a daughter, don’t they?”

  “Yes, Terese. Never see her around. She wouldn’t say it, but I think Constance was quite embarrassed about it, her constant absence.” He might have played a part in that absence, but it was weak of Terese to compromise her family. It grated, actually. Everything about her grated.

  Frying sounds filled the space as eggs were poured into a pan. “Nice family,” his mother said after a while. “I haven’t seen them in ages. Now that you mention it, I should invite them around for dinner one night.”

  “I think that’s a marvellous idea,” Alistair said with a smile. Now that the smell of omelettes filled the air, he couldn’t deny his hunger.

  Chapter 31

  The seafront gardens looked spectacular. The lighting was professionally done and everything looked dramatic. It was going to be a fantastic night and the event organisers were running around like mad, getting everything perfect. It had to be perfect, or Cheyenne wouldn’t be paying. She would have liked to have had this party at her house, but her ambitions had been too grand for her own place. Instead, she’d hired the outside space of one of the seafront hotels.

  The cake was being delivered from Belgium and had cost an absolute fortune, but it wasn’t every day one turned a year older. The number had not been specified anywhere. It was unnecessary to advertise it, even if she was young compared to the company she was keeping here. In model terms, the scales were different, and she didn’t want to highlight she was practically ancient now that she was in her later twenties.

  Anyone who was anyone had been invited, and she’d done sufficient work to ensure they came. One guest in particular, was her aim, and word had it he was coming. Dominic—her goal—her future husband. Giving up the title might actually be worth it. As opposed to some, she only valued the title as a vehicle for getting that she wanted. She saw little value in the title itself, beyond what it achieved in legitimising her. It was a step; one she’d already taken.

  She wore silver Versace with a teardrop neckline that scooped down across her cleavage. It hugged in the way only few could pull off, and she looked utterly gorgeous. Her makeup was done by the hottest London makeup artist. Cheyenne knew her way around powders and glosses, but tonight, she wanted to look flawless, and she did. Her cheekbones veritably glowed, her eyes were smoky, and her hair was slicked back, a thin, silky ponytail dropping down her back. Not a single hair was out of place.

  For a moment, she wondered if she should do some coke, but she really didn’t need a confidence boost. What was there to worry about? It was all going to be perfect. Instead, she settled for ordering a martini to be brought up to her room overlooking the gardens. The wide-rimmed glasses meant she would have to have the lipstick reapplied.

  The makeup artist was packing up. She was contracted to stick around in case Cheyenne needed a top up. Her makeup was not going to run and fade during the night, but equally, she wanted the room cleared—in case she should need it.

  The jealous and covetous gazes on her fed her very soul. She was the princess of this ball and she greeted everyone graciously, as expected of a princess. Unfortunately, her target wasn’t there yet. Alexi was, though, and she made her way over, joining them as if she’d come across them by accident. Alexi was standing with his arm around his little mouse. This infatuation didn’t seem to be diminishing, which was… interesting.

  And then there was Paul, looking embarrassed and sheepish. The man really didn’t have a cool bone in his body. He looked moderately good in the navy linen suit, but he just didn’t have that dominance she needed in a man. At least, he didn’t have a date with him—that would have upset her. It was bad enough he was trying to wriggle and escape, but to bring a date to her party would just be bad form. And Paul could be depended on to be polite.

  Cheyenne greeted them all in her best hostess fashion, refusing to show any of them more courtesy than just another set of invited guest. None of them deserved better, or any more of her time. She moved on.

  The party was positively crowded now and the musicians played light jazz. They had been imported for the night, as well, at quite a large cost, but they were the ‘must have’ entertainers at every party in London.

  She took some time and spoke to Marjerie St Johns, who was probably the reigning doyenne of the set. The other matronly women followed her lead and it was worth keeping her onside. Cheyenne was eventually going to take her job, when she was too old to be the young ingénue.

  As she chatted with this exalted group of ladies, she was pleased to see Dominic Dunbury had arrived. She watched his progress across the space, speaking mainly to men. That was good. He had no date with him, which wasn’t strictly a problem, but things would be less messy this way. Men like Dominic didn’t go in for drama.

  Excusing herself with hostess duties, she left the group and made her way over.

  “Mr. Dunbury. I am so glad you could make it.”

  “Wonderful evening,” he said, and Cheyenne hoped he was impressed with her skills. His gaze did subtly travel down her, which was encouraging. He wasn’t gay, at least.

  She stepped a bit closer, her body slightly touching his arm as she leaned in. “I do so hope it goes well. This is my first soiree here and this is a tough crowd.”

  “I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

  Stepping back slightly, she smile
d at the reassurance. She already knew it was going to go well; she’d made sure of it, but men like Dominic often took their role as adored mentors well. Hand that role to any man and they would pick up the burden.

  “How is the construction of the new headquarters going? There has been quite a bit of discussion in the papers about what this means. So many people are curious that this signifies a change in strategy for you.”

  He looked impressed. “More of a change in location.”

  “It must be strange having all eyes on you.”

  “I am sure you know how that feels,” he said with a smile.

  Okay, she couldn’t quite blush, but she put her fingers to her nose to make out that she was. Thank God for the makeup.

  “Have you met Felix, my son?” he said, indicating to an approaching younger version of himself. Too young, but handsome. A hard edge to him, just like his father. Cheyenne smiled and shook hands with him.

  “You must try the wagyu beef. It was flown in from Japan this morning. It simply melts in one’s mouth,” she said, drawing the attention of a passing waiter, then hovering over the tray as if choosing which delectable morsel she wanted. The beef was served on what was apparently these organic Finnish rye squares, which had a sweet taste that blended perfectly with the beef. She made her enjoyment clear, before turning her attention back to Dominic. “Now, I must see to the guests. A hostess’ job in never done, but I do hope we’ll get the chance to sit down for a drink later.”

  She would bet anything he was watching her walk away. Walking she was good at, professionally trained, in fact.

  Having returned from topping up her makeup, Cheyenne took a moment to compose herself at an elevated patio above the garden. All her guests were milling below and there was a hum of chatter. Waiters were shifting between groups offering delectable after delectable. No one would fault the food she served.

  Someone leaned across the balustrade next to her, looking out over the space. For a minute, she thought it was Dominic and her mood soared. But it wasn’t, and she’d known that bagging him wouldn’t be that easy. Instead, it was the son, Felix. He did look somewhat familiar, although she couldn’t quite place where she’d met him.

  “He’ll never go for someone like you,” Felix said, straightening and turning to her.

  He had that arrogance in his face that just made her want to claw his eyes out. Too cool to respond, she raised one eyebrow. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Just letting you know you’re not his type, before you embarrass yourself.”

  Her, embarrass herself? Men were lucky to be seen with her. She couldn’t help but laugh. It was a light, lilting sound. The arrogance in this boy was just astounding. She had to choose whether to pretend she didn’t know what he was saying or not. “And what type is that?” she said a light voice. She wasn’t an idiot and pretending to be one just rubbed her the wrong way, particularly with a coddled little boy like this.

  “You know,” he said, stepping a little closer and blatantly checking out her cleavage. “Recently titled, has-been models, who regularly give it up to gangsters. Really not his type.”

  Cheyenne’s mouth pulled tight, but she gave him a cool look. “I don’t think you understand men.”

  “I understand my father.” As much as he tried to hide it, there was that flicker of uncertainty.

  Running a lacquered finger down the front of his shirt, she looked him in the eye. “Sweetie, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t worried. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

  His face contorted with disgust and she felt like laughing at him, but thought better of it. As much as she wanted to rub this little boy’s face in the dirt, she would probably have to deal with him later. “You just can’t help who you’re attracted to sometimes. Love’s a bitch.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t know. Where’s your husband?”

  She gave him a disappointed look. “Exactly where I want him.”

  Chapter 32

  Plugging the small earphones into her ears, Terese started running down the esplanade along the beach. It was early, so the sun didn’t have a lot of heat yet, although it would be a stretch to call it chilly. Her feet pumped along the path as music provided the beat for her. It felt good to move, to clear the confusion that sat like a cloying blanket over her brain.

  She’d been so very close to heading to the airport if it wasn’t for how hurt her parents would have been if she ducked out of this visit too early.

  It was Parmi’s betrayal that hurt the most. Alistair, well, she expected him to be an utter bastard. Some things never changed. If she’d thought he’d grown up a bit, then no. He was exactly the same—using girls to serve his purposes. The sheer arrogance of it was what grated. And Parmi had been stupid enough to fall for it. No, she couldn’t have been. She knew exactly what he was like; what he’d done. Terese just couldn’t understand it.

  It didn’t matter, she kept telling herself as she ran along, passing others out getting some exercise or walking dogs. She both loved and hated this place. The sea and the beach were stunning, but it also representing something ugly, something Alistair was the ambassador of.

  It didn’t matter, she repeated. Another few weeks and this will all be done; she would go back to the life she had built. She would not be chased away. He could keep his ugliness; she was only going to see good things in the world. Okay, so maybe Marbella in general was a confluence of bad taste and lots of money.

  Having gone far enough, she turned around and picked up the pace to ensure she truly was puffed by the time she got back to the car. All the bad karma cleared out of her lungs and she felt energised again.

  Reality didn’t exactly go to plan, but she felt as if she had a little more control of herself and her surroundings. The drive back wasn’t long, back up the hills until she pulled into her parents’ driveway.

  “You really must eat something,” her mum said when she placed the car keys down on the kitchen island. “You’re skin and bones.”

  “I’m fine, Mum. I’ll have some muesli after I shower.”

  “You have a visitor,” her mum said. “Parmi’s outside.”

  “Ugh,” Terese said before she could stop herself.

  “Did you two have a falling out?”

  “Yes, kind of. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, she’s here, so you might as well sort it.”

  Terese wondered if she should make Parmi wait and have a shower first, but she couldn’t make herself be so rude, even if there was the faint hope Parmi would chicken out and leave.

  Crossing her arms, Terese stepped outside towards where Parmi sat by the pool. She wore one of her typical dresses and her hair was pushed back with a headband.

  Terese had no idea what to say, or how even to start this conversation. On some level, she was interested to see how Parmi would justify all this.

  Parmi looked up. Mum had obviously given her a cup of tea. “Hi,” she said.

  Terese sat down on the opposite side of the table, trying not to sulk like a teenager, even if she felt like Parmi needed to know how unhappy she was. “How are you?”

  “Good,” Parmi said. “Well, not… ” She cleared her throat and Terese waited for her to say what she wanted to. She’d come here, so there was obviously something she wanted to say. Terese hoped she wasn’t stupid enough to think there was something between herself and Alistair. That would make this whole thing much more uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry. It just happened,” Parmi started.

  “Kind of like a bird shitting on you.”

  Parmi didn’t appreciate the similarity, her mouth growing tight. She shrugged and looked away.

  “You know what he’s like. You know he’s only using you.”

  “You don’t know him,” Parmi replied. “You left and you don’t know anything about him.”

  “And you do?” Terese said, unable to believe her ears. Parmi was defending him. Seri
ously? “I told him he was a complete fucking shit and the next day he sleeps with my best friend. Is that okay with you? Is that normal, in your book?”

  “It wasn’t the next day.”

  “Close enough.”

  “We met in a bar and had a few drinks. He’s not the awful person you make him out to be. You have him as this monster in your head, and you’re sticking with that. He knows what he did to you was shitty, but he was a kid. Kids to shitty things.”

  “And this whole bullshit went down hook, line and sinker?”

  Parmi managed to blush as she looked down at her hands. “It just happened, okay? He said he was sorry for what he’d done. He was really nice. You don’t give him credit for the person he is now.”

  “The person who came to our lunch and accosted me with the fact that he fucked my best friend?”

  “You don’t need to be so crude.”

  “They’re his words.” Closing her eyes, Terese forced herself to calm down. “Look, Parmi, if you’re friends or whatever, I don’t care. If you’re gullible enough to not believe he has an ulterior motive, that’s your business. Just leave me out of it.”

  “He said you’d be like this; so set on being a victim, you’d never let that go.”

  Taking a breath, Terese swallowed and slowly exhaled. This was the bullshit she’d gotten away from. He won’t chase me away, she said to herself slowly and calmly.

  Parmi continued. “Look, I’m not saying he’s perfect. Yes, he comes on a bit strong and doesn’t make bones about his opinions, and he really likes me. Maybe you’ve been overreacting a tad all these years. He did apologise and you treated him shittily. Maybe you need to stop being obsessed with people getting back at you over every slight thing.”

  Terese didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or to strangle Parmi. “Fuck it. Whatever. I hope it works out for you. I really stink and need a shower. Thanks for coming over.” Getting up, Terese couldn’t believe the stuff coming out of her own mouth. She was just too dumbstruck to think of anything else to say. And what was the point? Parmi had obviously decided to go with Alistair’s story. They always did, it seemed.