by Lulu Taylor
I can’t bear it another minute. I have to find out what he feels. Any moment he’ll be off again and then it will be just like it was last time. He’ll leave me hanging, not knowing what it all meant. But it’s not like the Gaveston, he can’t pretend it never happened. It was different! I know it was! People don’t have magnificent sex like that for it to mean nothing.
The last few days had been full of emotion. After her night with Xander she’d gone home the next day feeling elated and excited but also guilty. Going over and over what had happened and thrilling to the memory, she knew that he’d told her to break up with Sam. It’s non-negotiable, he’d said. Surely that meant that, after what had just happened between them, they were supposed to be together … And he’d told her how sweet she was. Why would he if he didn’t feel something for her? Then there’d been the love bite on her neck, a livid red mark on her skin as though he’d branded her his personal property. How could it be a coincidence that he’d done that the night before Sam arrived?
It had been awful the next day. She’d felt nervous, tearful and cross as Sam’s car had pulled into the drive. When he came inside, she turned her face so that his welcoming kiss, meant for her mouth, landed on her cheek. He was bright and cheerful, happy to see her, and she became colder.
At first, he’d tried to hide his hurt at her lack of pleasure in seeing him but eventually he’d asked if something was wrong.
Imogen had looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.
‘Hey, you’re crying! What is it?’
‘Oh, Sam!’ Her irritation with him suddenly melted away. She felt sorry for him, and for herself. He was a good man, really, and didn’t deserve this. But what could she do? She was in love with someone else.
‘Come on now, it’s OK.’ He took her in his arms and hugged her to him, rocking her gently and resting his cheek on her hair. ‘What’s the matter?’
She leaned into him for a moment, taking comfort from the solid warmth of his body, and sniffed. ‘Allegra’s been sent down,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s not coming back to Oxford.’
He pulled back and looked at her, his hazel eyes surprised and sympathetic. ‘Really? Poor kid. That’s bad.’
‘You don’t care!’ Imogen burst out. ‘You’re glad she’s not coming back!’
‘I’m not glad they’ve sent her down. But I think it might be a good thing for you. I know she’s your best friend, but she’s a crazy party animal and takes you along for the ride. I don’t think you’re really like that. Now you’ve got a chance to discover your own identity. Maybe you’ll like it.’
‘No, I won’t,’ cried Imogen stubbornly. ‘I’ll hate it without her. I might not go back myself.’
‘That would be the stupidest thing you ever did,’ Sam said, holding her hand. ‘I know you’re upset but you’ll be surprised how quickly things there will seem normal. You’ll make other friends.’
‘That’s so typical of you!’ Anger coursed through her, and she was glad of it: it helped her find the courage she needed. ‘You’ve always hated Allegra! You’re jealous of her. Don’t think I haven’t noticed because I have.’
Sam frowned. ‘What’s that?’
‘What?’
He was gazing at the flowery scarf she’d wrapped around her neck. ‘That.’ He reached out and pulled the floating chiffon away. Imogen gasped and put her hand up to her neck to cover the mark, but he grabbed her wrist and held it back. His expression changed, the warmth and concern flooding out of it. Now it was cold and grim. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘I … I … N-n-no,’ Imogen stuttered.
‘Yes, it is.’ He dropped her hand as though it had suddenly burned him. ‘What have you done, Imogen? Have you cheated on me? Have you slept with someone else?’
She stared at him, unable to think of a word to say, trying to think of an excuse but none came. There was no way she could explain that mark away: it told its own story. Her face flamed. She knew that guilt was written all over it.
‘I see.’ Sam seemed to wince as though some unseen force was causing him pain, and a look of hurt and bewilderment passed over his face. ‘Shit … Shit! Why? Why did you do it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said helplessly. How could she begin to explain?
‘Who is it? Are you in love with him?’ Her gaze slid away from him and his expression changed. ‘It’s that tosser, isn’t it? Allegra’s brother. It’s Xander fucking McCorquodale! The lord of the manor, conveniently just up the road. You’ve always been like a puppy round him, panting eagerly, hoping for a little pat and a bit of praise. You fucking idiot – did you really go and sleep with him?’
‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘I did!’
Sam groaned and rubbed his hand through his short brown hair. He sat down in an armchair and for a long time stared at his hands. When he looked up, his eyes glistened with wetness. ‘You’ve thrown us away, for that?’
She felt reckless. She was a woman caught in sin with her lover, a tragic heroine, an Anna Karenina. ‘I love him,’ she declared, stoutly.
Sam shook his head sadly; his anger seemed crushed by his sorrow. ‘Oh, Imogen. You think this is the beginning of something beautiful, don’t you? Can’t you see what he’s like, how he operates? He shags girls all the time! Do you think you’re any different? I suppose you’ve got some crazy idea that he’ll realise your devotion to him and that you’re worth hundreds of those society girls he hangs out with, and miraculously fall in love with you …’
Imogen flinched. That was exactly how it was. It hurt to hear the scornful tone in Sam’s voice as he casually laid bare her dearest wish.
‘He’s going to use you and throw you aside, just like all those others. And you’re going to let him. Can’t you see – if he loved you, he’d be with you by now? He obviously knows he can have you whenever he wants, on tap.’ Sam put his face in his hands for a moment and breathed hard. ‘But you’ve made your choice. I can see that. If you had any love or respect for me, you wouldn’t have slept with him. It’s obviously over between us.’
She said nothing but stared at him. He seemed deflated. His bright cheeriness was gone and his shoulders were slumped.
He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. When she remained silent, he said quietly, ‘Well, I’m not going to embarrass us both by staying. I don’t think there’s anything more to say.’
‘All right,’ she replied in a small voice. She was desperate for him to go now, not wanting to hear any more he might want to say about her and Xander. He didn’t understand how it was, that was all.
When her mother came into the sitting room five minutes later, she found Imogen sobbing on the rug.
‘Oh,’ she said, surprised. ‘Has Sam left?’
Imogen had wrapped her arms round her knees and nodded, crying too hard to say anything, and her mother had known at once what had happened.
‘There, there, darling.’ She came over, knelt by Imogen and hugged her. ‘What a rotter, coming all this way just to give you the elbow! You’re better off without him.’
Now Imogen pulled the car to a halt on the sweep of gravel in front of Foughton Castle. She jumped out and skirted the side of the house, taking a short cut to the lawn and from there into the heathery wilderness where the little pink temple stood on its own.
Xander saw her approaching and stood up, waving. For the first time in ages, she didn’t feel the usual tremulous excitement on seeing him but a fierce determination to make him talk to her and tell her what was going on. He owed her that now.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said as she came up to him. ‘Here I am, all present and correct, just as ordered.’
She sat down on the cold stone bench next to him, puffed from her run across the grass. ‘Good,’ she said. He was wearing sand shoes without laces, worn denim shorts and a vintage T-shirt, and looked adorably summery.
He leant forward and dropped a small kiss on her cheek. ‘Lovely to see you. So … what is it you want to tal
k to me about?’
‘Xander!’ she said, exasperated, flushing. ‘What do you think?’
He took out a packet of cigarettes, tucked one between his lips and lit it. As he blew out a cloud of smoke, he said, ‘About the other night, I suppose.’ He glanced at her neck. ‘Did your boyfriend find out?’
She put her hand to the place. ‘It’s nearly gone now, thank God. My mother was beginning to wonder why I keep wearing my scarf. And, yes, he did find out. We broke up.’
‘Ah.’ Xander narrowed his eyes and stared out across the heather. ‘Well, I think that’s probably for the best, don’t you? You weren’t exactly behaving like he was the love of your life.’
‘No,’ she said, thinking, No, because you are!
He said nothing, even though she longed for him to say something. In her wildest fantasies he cried out that now she could be his, and pulled her into his arms to kiss her. That seemed utterly stupid, sitting beside him while he remained silent.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ she said in a small voice. ‘About what happened? I thought it was lovely …’
He turned to her swiftly. ‘Hey, it was lovely.’ He put a hand on hers, smooth and warm. ‘I’m sorry, I should have said.’
She waited for more and, when it didn’t come, said, ‘Is that all? Isn’t there anything else you want to say?’
‘Well …’ Xander blinked and thought hard. ‘You are a lovely, sexy girl, and thank you for sharing that with me.’
She felt desperate. Was he being deliberately obtuse? ‘You haven’t even asked me if I’m on the Pill! You … finished … inside me. I might be pregnant for all you know.’
He looked startled, taking his hand off hers. ‘Really?’
‘Well … no. I am on the Pill as it happens, but that’s not the point. You didn’t ask me. You pretend these things – us being together – don’t exist after they’ve happened. Sometimes I don’t even know if you remember them! I just need you to tell me if … if … if it’s going to happen again.’ She could hear the beseeching note in her own voice and knew she was looking at him with pleading eyes.
Xander’s face softened. ‘Of course I remember. We both know it was glorious. You’re a very sexy, lovely girl … but you’re far too good for me.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she protested. ‘Not at all.’
His eyes became solemn. He tossed his cigarette to the floor, scrubbed it out under his shoe and then turned to face her. ‘You are, I promise you. Listen, Imogen, if you’re holding a torch for me, you’d better put it out right now. I’m telling you, it’s really not worth it. I’m not worth it.’ He reached for her hand again, taking it in his. ‘You know that I’m half in love with you – because you’re sweet and funny and good, you’re something real and natural in my crazy world – but that doesn’t mean it’s enough.’
‘But …’ She was agonised. ‘You wanted me to break up with Sam!’
‘Only because I could see he’s not right for you. It doesn’t mean I’m the one who’ll take his place. You do understand that, don’t you?’
She kept her head bowed so that she was staring at his hand over hers. Don’t cry, she told herself sternly, even though despair was coursing through her. Why won’t he even give me a chance?
Xander’s voice was light-hearted again. ‘You’re going to find a fantastic guy one of these days, I know it. And I shan’t forget the lovely times we’ve spent together.’
She felt a sob rise in her throat and choked it back. Her shoulders shook with the effort.
‘Hey.’ He was tender, stroking his hand over hers. ‘Don’t cry. Please, Imogen. Like I said, I’m really not worth it.’
Oh, Xander, you are. But what can I do if you don’t want me?
Chapter 29
Paris
Summer 2003
IT WAS A great relief to be home, even if the circumstances of her return were not quite what she would have hoped.
In her daydreams, Romily had imagined Cherub becoming a successful chain of stores, with an outlet on all of the world’s most exclusive shopping streets. That dream was well and truly shattered now. Cherub was over and, to be honest, she was glad to see the back of it.
Right from the start, the idea had been cursed. She dated the bad luck back to the opening night, when she’d seen that man being beaten up in the alley. From then on, things got worse and worse but the culmination was the robbery. It was lucky that the boy robbing them had been such a bad shot he had managed to sink all the bullets he fired into the wall of the stock room. Lucky for Muffy too that she had fainted: several entered the plaster at head-height, and she had been in line for one in the skull if she hadn’t hit the floor first.
Romily had stayed amazingly calm: she didn’t mean to be brave but something inside had taken over and she had remained mentally alert, able to dart forward, knock the gun out of the boy’s hand and yank him by the coat. He’d stared up at her for a long moment, looking very young and very scared, before he’d shrugged the coat off and slipped from her grasp, running out of the door. He’d taken Muffy’s wallet with him but left hers. It was small consolation.
Once Muffy had been taken away in an ambulance, Romily had locked the shop for the last time. I never want to go there again! she told herself, as the driver negotiated their way back to the Fifth Avenue apartment and civilisation. The whole thing was ruined for her. New York was ruined for her. She told the lawyers she was through with her shop and left it to them to deal with closing it down, tidying up the paperwork, settling any bills and getting it off her hands. She herself booked a flight back to Paris for as soon as she possibly could.
It stung to see how happy her mother was that she was back. Romily could tell that she was very satisfied with the way things had turned out, even if she was appalled at what the girls had gone through. It was clear that Athina de Lisle thought she had been very generous in allowing Romily to play at keeping shop and that everything had turned out just as she’d thought it would, although perhaps a little more violently. The shop was finished, Romily was bored with the notion of a career, and now they could go back to how things were supposed to be. In New York, Romily had refused to have a bodyguard. Well, there would be no more nonsense like that now …
‘You’ve missed the best fashion shows,’ her mother said happily, almost before Romily was back in the apartment. ‘We’ll have to ask for special viewings. I’m sure they’ll do that for us. They know how we like to place our orders at this time of the year. There is so much to think about – the ball in Rome is in October and I haven’t anything to wear, and nor have you! So we’d better get a move on.’
Romily surrendered to it all. She had failed at what she’d set out to do, and that was a bitter pill. But soon, she hoped, it would be forgotten about and she would be able to find something else to do with herself. She had a feeling that her mother was about to concentrate very seriously on potential matches for her; there was the definite sense in the air that a wedding was due, or at least a little bit of romance and courtship. When Athina de Lisle told her cheerfully that she had been married at Romily’s age and already running a home, she knew her suspicions were correct.
It’s another game she wants to play, she thought crossly. I’m no more than a great big doll to her. She dresses me, orders my life, controls me … now she wants to marry me off. No doubt she’s keen to pick my wedding dress and organise the party to end all parties.
Well, she can dream all she likes. The last thing I’m going to do is get married.
‘Hello, Imogen? It’s Romily! How are you, darling?’
‘Rom, how wonderful to hear from you. Where are you? In the States?’
‘No, I’m back from there.’ Now that she was home, she was beginning to remember her old life and the girls who’d been her dearest friends only a few short years ago. ‘I had a lovely time in New York, but now I’m home. What’s happening with you?’
‘Oh, God! I’d love to see you.’
‘Then come to Paris. You and Allegra. What’s stopping you?’
There was a sigh down the telephone line. ‘Allegra won’t be allowed. She’s been grounded since she was sent down—’
‘Sent down?’ Romily was shocked. ‘When did this happen?’
‘A few weeks ago. She’s stuck at home for the foreseeable. Why don’t you come here?’
‘Scotland, darling? It’s the back of beyond. And I won’t have time, I’m committed to so many things already. Why don’t we compromise on London? Maybe Allegra will be allowed to see me there.’
‘Well, I’ll ask …’
‘Good. We obviously have a lot to catch up on.’
After a few attempts to make arrangements, the London trip was abandoned. Allegra wasn’t allowed, Imogen explained, and it was so near the beginning of term, she herself had a lot of reading to do before she returned to Oxford. But they would meet very soon, she promised. Perhaps when things were settled, Romily could come to Oxford and see the sights …
Romily was disappointed. She’d been looking forward to seeing her old friends and swapping all their news. There had obviously been developments while she’d been away, with Allegra’s scandal and Imogen’s break up. She had so many questions, but finding out what had gone on would have to wait another few weeks, she supposed.
But the long silence from Allegra bothered her. It had been almost a whole year since she’d heard anything, even though she’d sent her usual postcards, always remembering to add MG4E, to show that she hadn’t forgotten their schoolgirl bond. Why on earth was she so distant? Imogen had spoken enigmatically of Allegra’s party lifestyle – perhaps she’d simply become absorbed in the excitement of Oxford and the new people she was meeting. Yes, that must be it. It was easily done – after all, Romily herself had hardly given a thought to the other two when she was caught up in Cherub. A visit, and soon, would remedy all that, she was sure of it.
It was a rare get-together for several branches of the de Lisle family. These happened only occasionally because members were usually scattered around the globe, but the occasion was Charles de Lisle’s sixtieth birthday and there was going to be a grand party at the Ritz to celebrate in appropriate style. But before that very extravagant occasion there was an intimate family dinner for twenty at Reynard on Ile-St-Louis.