Valentine

by Rebecca Farnworth

  'I am Ivana. Now before you go any further can I ask you to please put these on?' Ivana held up a pair of white cotton slippers identical to her own. 'Mrs Hunter is most particular that all visitors should wear these.'

  'Can't I just go barefoot?' Valentine asked, thinking that the slippers would ruin the elegant and sophisticated look she was aiming for in her purple silk dress and gold sandals.

  Ivana shook her head disapprovingly. 'No, barefoot is not hygienic. There will be germs.'

  Valentine tried not to be insulted by the comment and reluctantly unfastened her sandals and put on the slippers. She followed Ivana across the black and white marble hall floor – easily bigger than her entire flat – into the vast living room. The first thought Valentine had when she walked in was that it was like the Snow Queen's palace – everything was either white or silver. The effect was stark. Valentine was no fan of such a look, preferring cosy clutter. The sofas were white leather, the fireplace white marble, the floor white marble – which felt decidedly chilly through her cotton slippers; the curtains and cushions were all silver silk; even the flatscreen TV that occupied an entire wall was silver. Valentine suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious in her vivid purple silk dress. And cold. The air-con seemed excessively powerful.

  'Is it me or is it cold in here?' she asked, shivering.

  'I will turn air-conditioning down,' Ivana replied. 'Drink while you wait? There are also magazines.' She walked over to a sleek white table and slid out a drawer revealing a selection worthy of a newsagent. 'And films you can watch.' She pressed a button and a section of white wood panelling slid back, revealing floor-to-ceiling shelves of DVDs.

  'I'd love a coffee,' Valentine replied, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

  Ivana nodded and left her alone.

  To keep warm Valentine paced round the room. She paused at the DVD collection. There were two rows devoted to Piers's films – of which she had seen only two, and even then not all the way through. Maybe she could start watching one of them; that should make a good impression, shouldn't it? Piers was renowned for his blockbuster action movies – usually the very films she steered away from. She reached up for one in which the hero (an ex-soldier with issues, naturally) had forty-eight hours to stop central London being blown up by a terrorist cell. Well, at least it wasn't twenty-four hours.

  Ivana returned with a cafetiere of coffee. 'Mrs Hunter allows no dairy in the house so we just have soya milk; I hope that is acceptable.'

  Valentine loathed soya milk. 'I'll have it black,' she replied.

  'And the coffee is decaf,' Ivana added.

  'Perfect,' Valentine lied.

  She had spent the last week in a state of high anticipation about the meeting; a mix of nervousness, apprehension, but also excitement. Maybe as soon as she and Piers set eyes on each other they would experience a deep connection; it would be some kind of life-changing moment for both of them. But she also felt sadness – if she got on well with Piers would she be betraying Chris? She had the chance for a whole new relationship with her father, but Chris was the one who had been there for her and she wondered if she had ever really told him how much she loved him and appreciated him.

  An hour later and Valentine felt as if hypothermia was about to set in. She imagined slowly freezing to death in this white room; Piers would return to discover a block of ice for a daughter. She paused the film, which she wasn't enjoying at all, and resumed pacing round the room. There was a large photograph of Piers and Olivia on the marble fireplace. Olivia had been a very successful Hollywood actress, a great beauty, the Angelina Jolie of her day. But since she had hit her late fifties the roles seemed to have dried up for her. Now she devoted herself to Piers and raising money for her horse-sanctuary charity. Valentine wondered why they had never had children or adopted as so many other celebrity couples had.

  She paced some more. Then watched some more of the film. Another half-hour passed. Any nerves she had had about meeting Piers had gone; all she could think about was that she was very very cold and very very bored. Maybe if I was a fifteen-year-old boy I would enjoy it, she reflected as yet another person was shot, not once but about fifty times. Now on top of feeling cold she needed a wee. Knowing her luck the moment she chose to go to the loo would be the time Piers showed up. But when you've got to go, you've got to go.

  Cautiously she opened the door and stepped out into the hall. She tried one door and that turned out to be the dining room, also in white; another door led to a library. She headed upstairs and thankfully the first door on the right led to a bathroom – also entirely in white. As she sat on the loo and looked around she was startled by the number of antibacterial soaps on the shelf by the sink. There were at least ten all neatly lined up and facing the same way. She looked over to the towel rail where the pristine white towels were arranged in size order. It instantly reminded her of that Julia Roberts film Sleeping with the Enemy where the evil husband lines up all the tins and towels in a scarily regimented way. But maybe it was Ivana, the housekeeper; she looked like she had it in her to be a neat freak.

  Valentine was just making her way back downstairs when, speak of the devil, Ivana appeared in the hall. 'Miss Fleming, you haven't just used the upstairs bathroom, have you?' she asked accusingly.

  'I did actually,' Valentine replied, wondering what the big deal was.

  Ivana uttered a series of what could have been Serbian swear words, then reverted to English, 'That is Mr Hunter's personal bathroom. Mrs Hunter permits no one else to use it.' Valentine was about to apologise when Ivana turned away and called out loudly, 'Sergei! Deep clean Mr Hunter's bathroom now!'

  By the time Valentine had reached the bottom of the stairs, the summoned Sergei was running into the hall wearing a white boiler suit and clutching a bucket filled with an array of cleaning products. Now Valentine was remembering another film clip – Silkwood, when the heroine has been contaminated with radioactive waste and has to be scrubbed down. Except in this instance Sergei and Ivana seemed to believe that Valentine was the one doing the contaminating. She was now somewhat offended – just how dirty did they think she was?

  Ivana held the door open to the living room. 'Please, Miss Fleming, wait in here. Mr Hunter will not be long.'

  Was it Valentine's imagination or did the room seem even colder as she walked in. She was about to ask Ivana to adjust the air-con again, but she had already clicked the door shut behind her. This was ridiculous! Valentine began jogging on the spot – no small achievement in the slippers, which slid against the marble floor making this a potentially perilous undertaking. If the hypothermia didn't get her first, a crack to her head from the marble floor would finish her off.

  She was just doing star jumps when the door swung open and Piers walked in. He looked just as handsome and distinguished as in his photographs.

  'Wow! An exercise freak! You'll get on well with my wife!'

  Why oh why did she have to be doing star jumps when her father saw her for the first time? This was supposed to be an emotionally charged meeting; now it felt more like a comedy.

  Piers strode over to her. 'I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting.' He stuck out his hand, which Valentine took. It all felt very formal, as if she was in a business meeting. But then Piers smiled and said, 'This is weird, right?' his voice had a slight LA twang – Valentine remembered reading that he spent half the year in the States.

  'Yes,' she replied, smiling back.

  'Come on, let's get to my study. I never sit in here; it's way too minimalist and cold for me. My wife, Olivia, has got a bit of a thing about air-con and filtered air.'

  Valentine followed him as he strode out of the living room, up the stairs and into a snug little room filled with books and magazines. Piers sat down behind the desk and Valentine sat opposite him in a comfortable, battered brown leather armchair.

  'Ever since the results came in, I've been dying to meet you.' Piers didn't exactly look like a man who was dying to meet anyone, and see
med cool and detached. But then Valentine knew she wasn't giving much away either. It was clearly a tense time for both of them. What followed resembled a job interview as Piers fired a succession of questions at her.

  Where did she live? What plays had she been in? Did she know such and such a director? 'I just want to know everything about you, Valentine,' he said at one point during the interrogation. 'By the way, you do know that's a boy's name, don't you? Maybe that's why the roles have been a little slow coming in for you.'

  Valentine shrugged; it was all very well her thinking that her career wasn't going well, and quite another for someone else to say it, even if that person was her father. And where was the emotional connection she had hoped for? She remembered with a sudden pang one of the last times she'd seen Chris. It had been Halloween. As usual Chris had gone to town, throwing a huge fancy-dress party. He'd spent ages festooning the house in fake cobwebs and skeletons, and put carved pumpkins on the doorstep to welcome trick or treaters. Chris had dressed up as a witch and took great delight in opening the door to trick or treating children and making them choose between two bowls – one full of sweets and one full of jelly – though of course he ended up giving sweets to everyone. He was so exuberant and so full of life. She couldn't imagine Piers behaving like that.

  She was pulled back to the present by his next comment. 'I've just realised that I know someone you were at drama school with. Tamara Moore – such a delightful girl and doing brilliantly now.'

  Valentine checked his face for signs of irony. There were none. This probably wouldn't be a good time to say that she loathed Tamara.

  'Oh yes,' she replied. 'In fact she's in King Lear at the moment with my boyfriend, Jack Hart.'

  'Would I have seen him in anything?'

  She shook her head. 'He's just starting out, but he's hugely talented.'

  'Well, Tamara's mother is an old friend, so maybe we should go see Tamara and Jack in Lear.' He paused. 'That's the kind of high-profile play it would be good for you to be in.'

  This was not exactly turning into her dream meeting with her new-found father. After a further twenty minutes of questions, another vile decaf coffee and no offers of lunch, even though it was after one p.m., Piers's Blackberry beeped.

  'There's the alert for my next meeting. I'm going to have to go. It was lovely to meet you, Valentine. I'm sorry if it sounded like I was firing so many questions at you – I just really want to know as much as I can about you. Greta will be in touch to arrange another meeting. I'm sure you'll agree that we need to take things slowly. Olivia, my wife, has been very unsettled by your arrival in my life and I need to be sensitive to her feelings. Also I must ask that you tell no one yet that we are related. I feel we need time to get to know each other and we can't do that if there is some God-awful media feeding frenzy. You know what the press are like. You haven't told anyone, have you?'

  'Well, my mum obviously, and my boyfriend,' Valentine admitted, thinking she'd better be economical with the truth.

  'If we could just keep it to those two just now, that would be good.' He stood up to show Valentine out and at the front door he shook her hand again.

  Valentine felt incredibly deflated and disappointed by the lack of emotional connection. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but something more than the sense of anti-climax she was experiencing now. Piers's comment about Tamara hadn't helped. Valentine couldn't help thinking that he would have preferred to have discovered a successful daughter. Maybe he even regretted getting in touch with Valentine. She hardly matched up to Piers's A-list life. As soon as she was safely out of sight of the CCTV cameras she called Jack. He was reassuring, telling her that it was bound to be strange and that she and Piers needed time to get to know each other. In fact he said all the right things until yet again in the background she heard the unmistakably annoying tinkly laugh that could only belong to Tamara.

  'Are you out with NTM?' she said accusingly.

  'Don't you think that name is a little childish?' Jack said quietly. 'I'm just having lunch with her and two other members of the cast.' He sounded slightly put out that Valentine was questioning him.

  Valentine knew that Jack hated any kind of jealousy or possessive behaviour in his girlfriends. Julia had made him wary, but Valentine couldn't stop herself from coming out with her next sarcastic comment. 'Oh well, have a lovely time bonding, won't you?'

  Jack sighed. 'Valentine, don't be like this; there's no need. Look, I'll call you tonight.'

  Valentine had to bite her tongue to stop herself making any more snide remarks about NTM, but the thought of Jack and Tamara getting close was almost unbearable. And so when Finn called later she was a little more receptive than she had previously been. When he picked up on how low she felt, he immediately suggested meeting that afternoon.

  'V, it's just for a coffee. You sound really down, come on.'

  'All right, but just coffee: no alcohol, no funny comments, no outrageous flirting; I've got a boyfriend, remember?'

  'V, I can't help my feelings for you,' Finn said reproachfully.

  'That kind of comment is exactly what I mean,' Valentine replied.

  A bottle and a half of wine later – coffee really hadn't seemed like a suitable drink after all – Valentine was feeling slightly more mellow. Finn had been incredibly sweet and attentive, wanting to know every single detail of the meeting. When Valentine mentioned how Piers hadn't even kissed her, Finn suddenly remembered reading that Olivia was fanatical about cleanliness and had a terror of germs, bordering on OCD. Apparently she hated her husband kissing anyone except her.

  'So V, there was nothing personal in him not kissing you,' Finn told her, filling up her glass again.

  'You think?'

  'Definitely – you've just got to give the relationship time to develop.' He paused and looked pensive. 'Did he mention anything about film roles?'

  Valentine shook her head, annoyed with Finn for bringing up the subject again. 'That's really not why I got in touch with him.'

  'I know,' Finn said smoothly, 'but it could be really good for your career, V. Look at someone like Tamara; you're way more talented than her.'

  'D'you really think so?' The comment was exactly what she wanted to hear after Jack's support for NTM.

  'Absolutely – there is no comparison between you. Do you seriously think Tamara would have got on without her connections? Come on V; don't you think you deserve a break?' He reached out and took her hand. 'I think you're on the cusp of a life-changing moment.'

  If Valentine hadn't been feeling quite so drunk and annoyed with Jack, she might have moved her hand away, and told him not to be so ridiculous. As it was, she liked his concern for her. And when he said he was going her way and would walk with her, she thought that perfectly reasonable. She also thought it perfectly reasonable that he put his arm round her as they strolled along Notting Hill Gate, down the first part of Portabello Road with its row of pastel-coloured Victorian terraces – after all, she often walked arm in arm with her friends. She even thought it reasonable that when it was time to say goodbye on the corner of Portabello Road and Westbourne Park Road outside Coffee Republic, he kissed her. Friends kiss goodbye, right? Though maybe not like this – as the light kiss on her lips turned into a proper serious let's-get-down-to-business kiss. But it didn't mean anything, she tried to tell herself as she finally managed to extricate herself from his embrace and walk home. It was just a kiss. Admittedly tongues had been involved, but that was because she'd had such an emotionally charged day, and she was slightly drunk. It would never happen again.

  Just then her attention was caught by an elderly well-dressed couple walking slowly arm and arm on the opposite side of the road. It was unmistakably Frank and Lily. Shit! Surely they hadn't seen her with Finn? She was just about to pretend that she hadn't seen them when Frank noticed her and raised his arm in greeting. No escape. She crossed the road, feeling horribly guilty.

  'Hiya,' she said, falsely cheerful. She noticed that
Lily looked paler than ever and even though it was a warm day was wrapped up in a white mohair cardigan with a red velvet shawl round her shoulders. The old timers just looked at her. Was that sadness she could see in their eyes? Disappointment? Disapproval? They must have seen her.

  'It was just a kiss, Lily,' she said defensively.

  'A kiss is never just a kiss,' Lily replied sternly.

  'Oh please, don't be like this!' Valentine exclaimed. She tried for their sympathy. 'I'd just met up with Piers, which was a bit stressful, so I had a few drinks with Finn. But the kiss meant nothing.'

  'It's not like you to behave like that.' Now Frank was putting his oar in. Any minute they'd be pinning a scarlet A to her breast to mark her out as an adulteress.

  'And it's not us you should be justifying yourself to; what about Jack?' Lily again.

  'OK, OK, it was a mistake.' Valentine hung her head.

  'We won't say anything.' Lily again. 'But don't throw away what you have with Jack for him.'

  'He can't hold a candle to Jack,' put in Frank. 'Not a fucking candle. He's a gutless bastard who nearly destroyed you.' Bloody Lauren and her bloody mantra.

  * * *

  Valentine spent much of the train journey to Manchester the following morning obsessing about whether to fess up to Jack about the kiss, rehearsing how best to break it to him: Jack, I've got something to tell you, but I swear it didn't mean anything; I kissed Finn. Somehow saying it made it sound as if it had meant something. Also it was Jack's birthday on Sunday and revealing that you've snogged your ex didn't exactly make for the best birthday surprise. By the time she arrived at Manchester Piccadilly station she was resolved. She would say nothing. Whatever Lily had said about a kiss never being just a kiss simply wasn't true. It had just been a kiss.

  Her heart flipped when she saw Jack waiting beyond the barrier. He looked more gorgeous than ever – really he should carry a health warning. As soon as he saw her he ran over, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. 'Very Brief Encounter,' she murmured once she'd come up for air.