Diva

by Carrie Duffy

  She’d been going stir crazy, holed up in his apartment for the past fortnight. No one had discovered her hiding place and the press had finally lost interest. Since she’d released the statement, there’d been a flurry of activity and then she’d been forgotten about. The Next Big Thing was always just around the corner – in this case, some young Brit actress that was making waves in Hollywood.

  Alyson had no idea what she was going to do next, but for once she was enjoying the luxury of free time. She spent her days pottering round Aidan’s apartment, watching films, reading and occasionally speaking to her mother, then cooking for Aidan when he got back at night. They sat down over long meals, sharing a bottle or two of red, and talked about everything – life, art, politics. His interests were varied, and he was far more eloquent and informed than she’d given him credit for.

  She was aware he was neglecting his work for her. He’d cancelled a trip to Dublin in favour of spending time at Kennedy’s London, and while Alyson felt guilty, she was also grateful. More than that – she was flattered; secretly thrilled that he’d chosen to spend time with her over anything else.

  Last night he’d asked her if she was ready to go out again. Alyson had hesitated at first – she’d grown so accustomed to living in their little bubble that the thought of heading back into the real world was terrifying.

  ‘Low key, I promise,’ Aidan told her. And she trusted him.

  She’d dressed well, but casually, in jeans and a silk tank paired with a cropped blazer. Her make-up was neutral, and she wore no jewellery apart from a plain silver pendant. She didn’t even bother to blow-dry her hair, just left it to dry naturally. It was such a relief after all that time spent caring about her appearance, having her hair sculpted into eccentric styles and paired with outrageous make-up.

  The car swung left, then left again, coming to a stop outside a smart restaurant. Above it was a discreet sign, navy blue with white writing in a scroll font.

  Alyson’s eyes lit up in delight. ‘Kennedy’s?’

  ‘Yeah …’ Aidan looked embarrassed. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I wanted you to see it. And we’re closed for the night, so you don’t have to worry about other customers,’ he explained, as Alyson visibly relaxed. ‘The staff are all sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘You’ve thought of everything,’ Alyson smiled. Their eyes locked, and for a second Alyson felt a shudder of excitement clutch at her belly. Aidan looked so handsome, so mature in that grey suit and the dark-blue shirt which perfectly picked up the colour of his eyes.

  Stop that, she told herself sharply. Aidan had been so good to her. She didn’t want to spoil it by making things complicated.

  Quickly, she climbed out of the car, checking the street for photographers. Aidan held the door open for her, ushering her into the restaurant.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked expectantly, watching her face carefully as she stared round for the first time.

  ‘Aidan, it’s wonderful. I love it,’ she told him honestly.

  It was light and airy, the feel modern, but not brash. The walls were painted cream, the decoration in shades of taupe and mushroom, with beautiful crystal chandeliers overhead.

  ‘It’s so relaxing, really welcoming,’ Alyson continued, running a practised eye over the room. ‘Everything’s luxurious, but understated.’

  ‘Good.’ Aidan looked thoughtful. ‘I’m glad you like it. There’s something I want to discuss with you later.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Alyson began, but they were interrupted as the maître d’ came over.

  ‘May I show you to your table?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Thanks, Pawel,’ Aidan grinned, as Alyson giggled nervously. She was aware of a waiter hovering discreetly in the background, the girl behind the bar standing to attention. It felt odd that all those staff were there for just the two of them.

  Pawel showed them to a table at the back, away from the window. They sat down, and the waiter brought over a bottle of white wine and a jug of iced water. There were no menus on the table.

  ‘What are we eating?’ Alyson asked.

  ‘A little of everything,’ Aidan smiled. ‘I’ve requested the tasting menu – with a few twists.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ Alyson sighed, as she relaxed in her seat, taking a sip of deliciously chilled wine. Discreet music was playing in the background and the overhead lights had been dimmed, the restaurant illuminated by soft uplighters on the wall and candles on the tables.

  ‘I’m glad you made me come out tonight,’ she told Aidan.

  ‘Good,’ Aidan smiled. ‘I was starting to worry.’ He tried to keep his tone light, but he meant what he said. It had been great having her around all the time – better than great; he didn’t know he’d function when she left – but this wasn’t the Alyson he knew. She was smart, ambitious and determined. He knew she wouldn’t be happy spending the rest of her life doing nothing.

  Alyson understood him immediately. ‘I just needed some time,’ she explained.

  ‘I know. But you’re getting restless. I can sense it.’

  ‘Maybe …’ Alyson smiled, forgetting how well he knew her.

  She was saved from saying anything more as their first course arrived – an amuse-bouche of mushroom velouté, served in a shot glass and drizzled with truffle oil. It tasted delicious.

  ‘Aidan, that’s amazing,’ Alyson told him.

  ‘Did you expect anything less?’

  ‘Perfectionist,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘Sounds like someone I know,’ Aidan countered, spinning the focus back onto her. ‘So tell me, Miss Wakefield, what are your plans?’

  ‘I don’t know. What do unemployed, twenty-something ex-models do?’

  ‘Whatever they want.’

  ‘I don’t know what I want,’ she said uncomfortably.

  ‘I think you do. What did you always talk about – going into business, working for a company …’

  Alyson laughed hollowly. ‘Who’s going to employ me? Do you think I can get an entry-level job somewhere, doing the photocopying and making the tea?’

  ‘You think it’s beneath you?’

  ‘No,’ Alyson retorted hotly. ‘It’s just … complicated. And in any case, I do have some experience. I worked …’ she hesitated ‘… at Rochefort Champagne for a few months.’

  ‘Yes,’ Aidan nodded, his expression grim, as Alyson looked away.

  Fortunately, at that moment, the waiter arrived with their next course – scallops cooked in butter and garlic, served with grilled asparagus and a swirl of sweet potato puree. He poured fresh glasses of wine from a new bottle, then disappeared.

  ‘God, this is divine,’ Alyson gushed, as the perfectly cooked food dissolved in her mouth.

  ‘Try some of the potato,’ Aidan suggested.

  Alyson did, closing her eyes in rapture.

  ‘So …’ Aidan began, trying to sound casual, as though he hadn’t been turning the idea round in his mind every day for the past fortnight. ‘How about working for me? My company’s expanding. You could help me out, oversee the business when I’m not around. We could go into partnership …’

  Alyson was shocked by the suggestion, but she instinctively felt his proposal wasn’t right for her. ‘Aidan—’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a vanity job,’ he insisted quickly. ‘You could invest cash – I’m always looking for backers to help finance new ventures. Then you’d have a vested interest.’

  Alyson put her fork down and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Aidan, I can’t. Not again …’ Unwillingly, she thought of Philippe. The situation felt too similar, and there was no way she could have someone in control of her again.

  ‘Right.’ Aidan chewed thoughtfully, realizing what she meant. It felt as if the shadow of Philippe Rochefort was always hanging over them.

  ‘I need to be independent,’ Alyson explained. ‘To do something on my own terms.’

  ‘So start your own business.’

  ‘Doing what? I don’t want to just
bring out a skin-care range, or a make-up line, or bloody yoga mats, the way every other retired model does.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ Aidan said easily. ‘Do something you really want to.’ He took a long swallow of his wine, then stabbed an asparagus spear. ‘What are you good at? What are your skills and interests?’

  Alyson shrugged. ‘I finished my education at eighteen, did a little bar work and a couple of months making the coffee in an office. Then I spent the next two years being really good at walking up and down and having my photo taken. What exactly does that qualify me for?’

  To her surprise, Aidan burst out laughing. ‘Wow, when you put it like that it sounds pretty bleak.’

  Alyson flushed, realizing she sounded like a spoilt brat. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I’m being pretty negative, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Aidan said flatly. ‘I’m not trying to hassle you, but I think you need pushing and I think now’s the time. You’re climbing the walls at my place, and it’s not healthy. You need to think about what you’re going to do next.’

  ‘Why are you doing this for me?’ she asked softly.

  For a moment, Aidan didn’t respond. Silence fell between them, just the gentle tinkle of background music audible. The soft candlelight flickered over Aidan, shaping the contours of his face. His cheekbones were sharp and defined, his lips thick and full. Alyson squirmed on her chair, feeling the first stirrings of something she’d suppressed for a very long time start to lick at her groin. It’s the alcohol, she insisted to herself, hastily taking a sip from her water glass.

  Aidan stared at her, those dazzling blue eyes unrelenting. ‘When I first met you, all that time ago in Chez Paddy, you were so ambitious, so dynamic and motivated …’ And beautiful, he added silently. ‘I knew you were destined for better things than that crummy bar – and I don’t mean modelling. That was incidental. It was never what you were meant for.’

  ‘And what was I meant for?’ she asked, her voice low.

  ‘Whatever you want,’ Aidan said simply. ‘I honestly believe that you can do anything. Just decide what that is, and don’t stop until you get there.’

  ‘I wish it was that simple,’ Alyson said helplessly. ‘I wish I had your kind of self-belief.’

  ‘You do. You just need to rediscover it.’

  The next course arrived. They both sat in silence until the waiter had left.

  ‘Right,’ Aidan said briskly, ignoring the food on the table. ‘Let’s brainstorm. What are you good at? What are your key skills?’

  ‘Well …’ Alyson began, trying to stay positive. ‘I have a pretty good brain. I’m very logical and organized.’

  ‘Excellent start,’ Aidan smiled encouragingly.

  ‘And … I’ve travelled a lot?’ Alyson offered hesitantly. ‘I mean, I’ve met a lot of people, have a knowledge of a lot of different cultures. Whenever I have time off, I always try to get out into the city to see things and learn about the country …’

  ‘Good. Languages?’

  ‘French, obviously. My Italian and Spanish are pretty good. I’ve picked up little bits here and there – Japanese, Arabic.’

  Aidan raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. ‘That’s great. What else?’

  ‘Um …’ Alyson was stuck.

  ‘Great people skills.’

  ‘No.’ Alyson shook her head.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Aidan insisted. ‘Even back in Chez Paddy I could see that. The customers loved you. You were really relaxed with everyone, easy to talk to. You still are. Look how polite you are to people.’

  Alyson shrugged off his compliments. ‘That’s just manners.’

  ‘Well, that’s something a lot of people don’t have these days, believe me. And you’re real – not like so many of these fake bullshitters,’ he said with feeling. ‘Look at the tributes in the press when you announced your retirement. Everyone was falling over themselves to say nice things about you – how sweet you were; how much you’d be missed.’

  ‘That’s not what that Mail on Sunday journalist wrote,’ Alyson muttered darkly.

  Aidan waved his hand dismissively. ‘Right, put it all together and what do we have? Languages, travel, people skills, a business brain—’

  ‘Travel agent?’ Alyson couldn’t resist quipping, as Aidan glared at her.

  ‘You know, maybe that’s not too far off,’ he said eventually. ‘You could use your knowledge in a consultancy role – maybe some kind of travel advisory service …’

  ‘Or business advisory,’ Alyson spoke up suddenly. ‘When businesses relocate. If they’re moving to a territory they don’t know – or even thinking about moving – I could let them know what it would entail, help them ensure that a move goes smoothly—’

  ‘That they know the local customs, don’t make any cultural faux pas,’ Aidan cut in.

  ‘Exactly!’ Alyson exclaimed. She was starting to get excited in spite of herself. It sounded perfect. It meant she would get to travel, which she loved. She could use her languages and she would be running her own business. ‘A consultancy firm, helping companies to expand and relocate overseas,’ she clarified. ‘Could I really do that?’

  ‘Of course you could,’ Aidan encouraged her, thrilled to see her old enthusiasm returning after two weeks of moping round on his sofa. ‘We’ll get on the Internet when we get back, start doing some research. I can help you put together a business plan. I guess you probably don’t need to raise finance …’

  ‘Well, I’d want to start small,’ Alyson put in, terrified at the thought of gambling all her hard-earned cash on some insane business venture.

  ‘Start small, think big,’ Aidan grinned at her. He raised his glass and they clinked in celebration. Alyson was glowing, radiant with excitement. Aidan didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking more beautiful – she just seemed to get better and better. But she would never feel the same way about him, she’d made that clear. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself like last time – this time around it was strictly professional.

  Aidan broke the silence. ‘In fact, I might have a proposal for you.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Alyson looked at him, intrigued.

  ‘Kennedy’s Dubai. I’m setting it up at the moment and I need someone to help me. It would be a semi project manager role, but I need help with all the red tape out there. Is that something your new company might consider?’

  Alyson smiled. ‘Maybe …’ She felt as though she’d been set up.

  ‘Great. Well if your company – what is it called, by the way?’

  Alyson thought for a second. ‘Dante,’ she said eventually, breaking into a smile. The name of the street she’d lived on when she first moved to Paris. ‘Dante Consulting.’

  ‘Dante.’ Aidan nodded. ‘Well, if Dante Consulting could give me a quote, I’ll consider it and get back to you.’

  Alyson wanted to hit him. ‘Don’t you dare turn me down after all this, Aidan Kennedy,’ she threatened.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll hire you unconditionally,’ he grinned, the teasing look in his eyes making him more handsome than ever. ‘Congratulations to the world’s newest MD,’ he toasted. ‘Dante Consulting has its first customer.’

  31

  Dionne was sitting awkwardly on the ergonomic chair in her obstetrician’s office. It was an exclusive clinic, the best in Paris, located on the Avenue Marceau.

  ‘Yes,’ Dr Anne-Sophie Vincent confirmed. ‘You’re pregnant. I’d say around five to six weeks. We’ll be able to give you a more accurate date with your first scan. Congratulations,’ she added unnecessarily. It was clear from Dionne’s face that this wasn’t a longed-for pregnancy.

  ‘Right.’ Dionne swallowed. She felt faint suddenly, a whole range of emotions rushing through her, impossible to take in.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Dr Vincent asked. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  ‘A glass of water, please.’

  Dr Vincent picked up her phone and, within a few seconds, the door opened. An assistant ushered
Dionne outside, seating her on a chair in the waiting room and returning with a glass of water.

  ‘Thank you,’ Dionne said stiffly. The assistant left and Dionne sipped at the water, trying to gather her thoughts.

  She was pregnant. Fuck.

  She hung her head, dizziness overwhelming her once more. Okay, so she hadn’t had her period for a few weeks, but that was nothing new. Her cycle had always been erratic – extreme dieting and the stress of the job did that to you. And she went through so many different time zones, it was difficult to keep track of when exactly it was due.

  But now … That was it. Confirmed. She was pregnant.

  Whose was it? Her subconscious formed the question she didn’t want to consider. She didn’t even know. She’d initially assumed it must be David’s but, thinking back, there’d been so many guys lately …

  Oh God, Dionne thought, feeling nauseous. She didn’t know whose it was. There’d been that photographer who’d shot her for some Russian magazine, the model from the Armani shoot, André the racing driver, and a couple of random guys she’d met in clubs – one a stockbroker, the other … a DJ? Dionne screwed up her face, trying to remember. Not that it mattered. They’d been brief encounters – hot and heavy, with instant gratification. She hadn’t even caught the surname of most of them.

  Man, she sounded like such a slut. It hadn’t seemed that way at the time. As far as Dionne was concerned, she was just having fun, enjoying being young, gorgeous and single. But looking back on it … Damn, she’d been drinking heavily too. More than drinking – she’d indulged in a little coke here and there, done some of the party drugs that were going around … Whatever was available and made her feel good. Every night she’d been out getting trashed.

  Instinctively, Dionne cradled her stomach. There was barely any difference yet – it was still toned and flat. It was so weird to think there was already a new person in there, a new life. What if she’d done some damage to it already? Could they test for that sort of thing? Hell, did she even want it in the first place? How could she be a mother, responsible for a whole other person, when she could barely take care of herself?