by Taylor, Lulu
Tara was surprised at his sudden passion. ‘I suppose that’s the way of the world.’
‘It doesn’t have to be. We can do something about it. I try and help where I can but the challenge is enormous …’ Ferrera trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. Then he changed the subject suddenly. ‘Have I told you about Santa Anita?’
Tara shook her head. Who is this man? she wondered. His honesty and openness were startling and affecting. She couldn’t help warming to him – perhaps it was his drive and ambition, or perhaps it was his obvious determination to help other kids who’d started out like him, even though he was reluctant to talk about it. But how did that square with the man she thought she knew?
‘It’s my estate on the Mexican coast. It’s so beautiful there. It’s where I go when I need an escape, somewhere to retreat to and gather myself together.’ He told her about the golden sands and dazzling blue sea of the Pacific coast, the lush greenery and tropical blooms of pink and yellow. ‘There are four villas. The main one is for my use and the others are guest villas. Most of the time they’re unoccupied but occasionally I’ll take a party of friends out there and we’ll chill down by the ocean, having cook-outs on the beach, playing football on the sand and winding down with some cold beers and the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen in your life.’
Tara smiled. ‘I don’t know. The Bahamas have their charm – we have a cottage there.’
‘Uh uh.’ Ferrera shook his head. ‘They have nothing on the Mexican coast. It’s the most stunning place in the world. But maybe I’m biased. My family comes from that area originally. I always feel like somehow I’m coming home when I go there.’
‘Home,’ Tara said quietly. ‘It’s such an emotive word, isn’t it? We place so much on it. It means more than you can ever explain.’
‘Where’s your home?’ he asked. ‘Your real home?’
Tara thought for a moment. ‘I suppose it’s wherever my children are. They are home for me. I’ve got plenty of dwelling places – too many, really, I’ll be glad to get rid of some of them and all the expense and hassle. I could leave them without a backward glance tomorrow as long as I had my children with me.’
Ferrera gazed at her, searching her face. Then he said softly, ‘Maybe you should come out to Santa Anita some time. Your kids would love it. You look like you could do with some time off. The sand, the sun, the sea … it would do you good.’
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ rejoined Tara playfully.
He looked a little sheepish. ‘Well … I guess I do invite quite a lot of people, but you know, most of the time it doesn’t really mean anything. But this is different. I mean it.’
Tara was surprised. She gazed down at her plate, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
‘Hey, let’s go somewhere for coffee.’ Ferrera signalled for the bill. ‘It’s great walking round here on a summer’s evening.’
They wandered through the Village, watching all the different New Yorkers, going about their business. They passed the basketball courts alive with athletic young men vying for the ball, chess games being played in the streets, lovers sitting on benches, kids dancing on the pavements, old men shuffling about in shabby jackets and battered hats. Beautiful girls strolled about in packs, their bare midriffs and long slim legs on show. Couples queued outside the movie houses for the next picture.
They stopped for coffee in a small café, sitting out on the street and watching the world go by.
‘You know, you’re not what I thought you would be,’ Tara said as they sipped their espressos.
‘What did you think I’d be?’
Tara didn’t say anything, feeling suddenly embarrassed. How could she say that he was supposed to be rotten through and through? It just didn’t fit with the man sitting opposite her – unless he was a very skilled actor indeed. ‘Just different, I suppose,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve read things in the papers, about your divorce … things like that.’
‘You, more than most, should know not to believe that stuff. I understand that it’s reported my ex-wife gave an interview in which she claimed I’d divorced her without a cent of alimony. Well, let’s just say my accountant would beg to differ.’ Ferrera smiled at her. ‘I’ve read quite a few things about your marriage as well, if we’re being honest here. You’ve separated, is that right?’
Tara nodded. ‘Yes. But I can’t really talk about it. It’s all very recent.’ She felt awkward to have brought up the subject of his ex-wife but relieved that he denied her account of their divorce.
‘I wouldn’t ask you to.’ Ferrera watched her intently for a moment and then said, ‘Listen, I think we should meet again. When do you go back to England?’
Did she want to meet him again? Yes … yes, she did. She was surprised to realise that she’d enjoyed their evening together. Besides, they hadn’t even touched on the subject of Jecca, or on his business intentions. ‘Well, I’m due on a flight the day after tomorrow. I’ve got a couple of meetings in the morning. Then I’m seeing some girlfriends and going shopping. I want to get some gifts for the kids. Then home.’
‘Meet me for lunch the day after tomorrow. Come to the FFB headquarters. We’re on Park Avenue – I’ll email you the details. Will you do that?’
‘I won’t be able to stay long,’ Tara said doubtfully. ‘My flight’s at six.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll make your flight. I promise.’
Poppy closed the file and shut her eyes. It was too much to absorb all at once. The scale of the betrayal shocked her. The planning involved was so cynical. It made her feel sick and used and utterly stupid.
But it also made her strong. She felt a cold, powerful fury like nothing she had felt before and that made her able to face things she hadn’t thought she could face.
After a few minutes’ thought, she knew what she would do, and exactly what she wanted to achieve. She found her mobile and called George’s phone.
Two hours later there was a knock at the door. Poppy opened it. He was standing in the doorway, red-faced and out of breath, his bicycle helmet dangling from one hand.
‘I came as fast as I could,’ he panted. ‘I cycled all the way from Nunhead.’
‘Come in.’ Poppy stood aside to let him pass.
Once inside, he turned back to look at her, his face alight with happiness. ‘I’m so glad you called me! I’ve been so completely miserable since we parted. All I could do was sit there and hope that you’d have a change of heart and give me a second chance. You’ve got to believe that I love you, I really do. I know I told you some lies, but that part was true, I promise. I love you, I truly do.’
Poppy stared at him, all the hurt and anger flooding back. She had spent a long time pacing round the flat, trying to calm herself before he got there so that she could talk to him rationally. Now she wanted to scream at him again, pound on his chest and demand to know how he could love her and lie to her so appallingly. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she opened them, she said as calmly as she could, ‘I’m prepared to believe that you think you love me.’
‘I do, oh, sweetheart, I do!’ George protested, obviously desperate to convince her that now he was telling the truth. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
‘All right. But you’d better sit down because I want to talk to you about everything else. The things you claim you can’t tell me.’
George looked agonised. ‘Please, Poppy, can’t we just forget all that?’
‘Do you really think I could possibly just conveniently forget that you’ve been conning me since the moment we met?’ she spat, her anger boiling up. ‘Don’t you think I want some answers? Credit me with a little intelligence, please.’
He sat down and hung his head. ‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘I can see it’s got beyond that point now.’
She held up the dossier that Neave had sent her. ‘I’ve done a little investigation, and I’ve found quite a lot of interesting things about you. For instance, I know that you
’re an actor. Not a very successful one, by the looks of things. Gideon Wright doesn’t seem to have made the big time exactly. What have we got here?’ Poppy pulled a print-out from the file as George looked on, astonished. ‘A few provincial theatre tours in minor plays. Some television appearances – Casualty. Midsomer Murders. Hollyoaks. Lewis. All one-off roles. Nothing you can build on.’
‘I’ve acted at the National!’ George protested.
‘Yes, but only in minor parts and in the chorus. You haven’t exactly played Romeo, have you?’ She glared at him. ‘Not on the stage, anyway. So tell me, how did this ridiculous scheme come about?’
George looked sullen for a moment and then his sulkiness evaporated. He looked sad and tired. ‘It’s not something I’ve ever even thought of doing before. No one I know has ever done anything like this. I don’t even know why I was picked, but my agent was approached and asked if I’d be interested in a private acting commission. Perhaps my photo in Spotlight was the reason – I’ve no idea. But the money was good – Christ knows I need it – and I didn’t really see what harm it could do.’
‘So what was the point of it all? I mean, I can guess, but I’d like to hear you say it,’ Poppy pleaded as she sat down.
‘They said it was nothing that could hurt you personally. They told me that all I had to do was let you tell me anything you wanted about your business and your plans for the new perfume, and pass it on. Simple as that.’
‘How on earth did you think I wouldn’t find out? What about your job at the bookshop? Didn’t it occur to you that I might go in and ask for George?’ she demanded.
He looked shamefaced. ‘I didn’t think it through. I never thought you’d come in unexpectedly. You were mostly at the office. I just had an idea that if you ever said you were coming, I would make sure I was there.’
She half laughed, though she felt like crying. It was so like George not to think it through quite well enough. She caught herself. I mean, Gideon. Sadness rushed through her. ‘Did you honestly think that none of this could hurt me personally?’ she whispered.
‘Look, they told me you were a rich bitch, a spoiled, over-indulged It girl who deserved a dose of reality. They said it was just business. I didn’t expect all this to happen. I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. And I saw very quickly how much this all meant to you.’
‘But that didn’t stop you, did it?’ Poppy said quietly. ‘You went on, pumping me for information about our plans, and passing it on.’
‘I had to tell them something!’ he protested. ‘If I stopped, they would have suspected something and taken it all away: the flat, the money, my relationship with you.’
‘So it was the trappings you really wanted, was it? Was it fun playing the privileged rich boy?’
‘It wasn’t that!’ George said angrily. ‘But if I lost it all, I’d have had to explain myself to you and I wasn’t ready to do that.’ He looked at her pleadingly. ‘I told them only the bare minimum, I promise. I pretended that you didn’t like to talk about your work, that I had to persuade you to tell me anything. I even gave them some false leads – I just couldn’t go too far in case they suspected.’
‘When were you ever going to stop? Surely you knew that some day you’d have to tell me the truth.’
‘Yes. I just hoped that I’d be able to sort it out somehow before then. I was hoping that Tea Rose would still be launched and it would be a huge success and they would just lose interest. Then, somehow, I’d be able to make you fall in love with the real me. Not George Fellowes. Gideon Wright.’ He looked mortified. ‘I mean, Gideon Marlow. That’s my real name. I took on the Wright for my stage name.’
‘Yes. That did make you a little harder to trace, apparently. You’re a man of many identities.’ Poppy got up and began to walk about the room. Then she spoke quickly, as though needing to get her thoughts out before she lost track of them. ‘All right, Gideon – I suppose I should call you that now – here’s the deal. I don’t know what lies ahead for us. Probably nothing. But you’ve done a very bad thing and if you want me even to consider forgiving you, then you’ll have to make it up to me. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll do anything. I want us to have another chance.’
‘I can’t promise that. If you do what I ask though, I can promise that I’ll try to think about a fresh start.’
Gideon looked apprehensive. ‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘I can’t pretend it’s easy. In fact, you probably won’t be able to do it. But I want something very important returned to me. Listen and I’ll explain.’
51
THE NEWS THAT Neave had agreed to be the face of Tea Rose created a welcome moment of joy and celebration for everyone at Trevellyan. Donna danced round the office, whooping with delight. If she were honest, she had begun to doubt that they would ever see the results they wanted from the hard work and money they’d put into the relaunch. Without a face to generate attention and excite the press, Tea Rose would be a damp squib, no matter how much they tried to whip up enthusiasm. Sex was such a vital angle. A fragrance like Tea Rose didn’t have the inherent glamour of a scent by a house like Chanel or Gucci. It had no designer name to give it an identity. It needed a personality people could understand, an image of beauty, style and femininity they could aspire to, and Neave was that person. She was the sexiest, most womanly supermodel in years. She had enchanted the public like no other, and her appeal seemed universal.
The fact that she was going to be a Bond girl was the icing on the cake. With movie stardust sprinkled on her, Neave was all the more exciting and glamorous.
Jemima returned to London in high spirits, thrilled at the news that Neave was on board and keen to get on with the campaign. They were perilously near their deadlines. They had to have images ready for the print advertising, and prepare film for the cinema and television campaign. Poppy, Donna and Jemima would work together to style the adverts. They had hired the most expensive fashion photographer in town to take the pictures, a canny referral from Iris, their friend at Vogue. Poppy’s art school contacts had put her in touch with an up-and-coming young ad director who would shoot the twenty seconds of film for the television campaign Donna had hurriedly booked. Just having these people involved would be enough to get the media even more interested in the story of Tea Rose.
There was so much to be done, and they had to fit all of it into Neave’s incredibly hectic diary. She only had three windows when she could be available, before she went off to Mauritius on another shoot, and from there to Italy before heading off to the States.
Jemima had wanted to wait until Tara returned from New York before she told her sisters the terrible revelation about Jecca and their father but it was too much to deal with alone. On the evening before Tara was due to return, she and Poppy stayed late in the Trevellyan office, long after everyone else had left, and Jemima told her sister everything Alice had said.
Poppy looked as shaken and sickened as Jemima had. ‘It’s frightful,’ she whispered. ‘Horrendous.’
‘If it’s true, and Daddy did sleep with Jecca from the time she was twelve, that makes her a victim. It’s abuse, Poppy. Clear and simple. It means we have to completely rethink our position.’ Jemima sat perched on the desk, her arms crossed. She was trying to stay as calm and rational as she could but it was hard, given what they were discussing.
‘But …’ Poppy shook her head. ‘Could it be true? She’s lied about so much. Why not this as well?’
‘There’s no one to contradict her. Daddy’s not here to defend himself.’ Jemima paused and then said quietly, ‘Did you ever get the faintest hint that this was happening at the time? Did he ever … did you ever think that he might …’
‘Be interested in me like that?’ Poppy looked indignant and appalled at the same time. ‘God, no. No! Never! Did you?’
‘No.’
‘That’s what I can’t understand. If Daddy was in love with Jecca’s mother and, presumably befo
re that, with our mother, well – his tastes were obviously for adult women, not girls. Not children.’
Jemima nodded. ‘But perhaps his passion for Jecca overcame that. She was very well-developed for her age – physically and emotionally. Perhaps as soon as she began to look like a woman, like her mother, he couldn’t stop himself.’
Poppy shuddered. ‘It’s too awful. I can’t believe it, I just can’t. And I wouldn’t put it past Jecca to lie, either. She’d stoop as low as she had to, to get what she wants.’ She buried her face in her hands.
‘She’s evil,’ Jemima agreed solemnly. ‘She’s always been the same.’
‘Yes. But you don’t know what she’s capable of. I didn’t want to tell you. It’s so humiliating, so awful …’ Poppy’s eyes instantly welled with tears.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
The story came bursting out: how Jecca had hired an out-of-work actor to befriend Poppy, persuaded the downstairs neighbour to vacate her flat for a handsome fee, and put Gideon into it, posing as George Fellowes, pleasant, floppy-haired bookseller, as far removed from the world of perfume as he could get. While Jecca may not have been able to force a love affair between the two of them, she obviously hoped that some kind of closeness would result, something that she could capitalise on.
‘It was Neave who found out,’ Poppy finished, her hands clasped tightly together with the strain of telling her story. ‘She thought something wasn’t right. She has to deal with weirdos all the time, she says, and she’s learned to notice the signs.’
Jemima was furious. She strode about the office, looking for things to slam and cushions to punch. ‘God, the things I could do to her! That utter, utter … I can’t think of a word bad enough. The lowest, shittiest, vilest behaviour – it’s unbelievable. This is personal, Poppy, it’s so personal. She’ll stop at nothing.’ Jemima came to a sudden halt on another circuit of the office. ‘We have to tell Tara. We have to tell her all of it as soon as we can. She has to know, so she can be on her guard.’