Lie For You

by Pippa Summers

  My shiny black Louboutin heels clicked across the polished floor of the Meurice foyer, past a huge white ornamental pot and elegant white pillars topped with clusters of yellow-globed lamps, loving the opulent, neo-classical vibe of the hotel decor. I knew what I needed. However unwise, I was going to take a bath and a drink before I got back into that man’s limo tonight. Both of them with sinful amounts of bubbles.

  ‘Sasha?’ someone said behind me, and I turned, still smiling like an idiot, and blinked hard as a camera flash went off in my face.

  Bloody hell, not twice in one day!

  The French paps were rather better dressed than their Brit counterparts, I noticed, my smile freezing at the sight of my natural enemy. The photographer, a young woman wearing what looked like a knock-off Armani suit, straight blonde hair falling to her shoulders, grinned at me like it was all a big game. Which, I suppose, it was to her.

  Her companion, another young woman in the same mould, held out a microphone. ‘Sasha, what brings you to Paris?’ the reporter asked loudly, her accent sharp and Parisian. ‘Is there any truth in the rumour that you’re here to lay flowers on the roadside where your sister died?’

  I stared, speechless.

  ‘This is your first visit to Paris since Lisette’s death,’ the woman continued brassily, pushing her microphone into my face, ‘n’est-ce pas?’

  Abruptly, Damian and Paul were on either side of me, ushering me away from the reporter with a few choice swear words in French. Nonetheless, the two women pursued us all the way back to the reception desk, shouting questions and taking several more candid shots, where two security guards intercepted them and turned them firmly back towards the hotel entrance.

  I resisted an urge to throw a potted plant after them, turning to my manager instead with quiet fury. ‘I thought you said nobody would know I was in Paris?’

  Damian looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, I tried to keep your participation quiet. But with so many people involved in this concert, it would have been amazing if nobody had leaked the story to the press.’

  I battled a familiar feeling of sickness. I was having a sudden flashback to the way the press had pursued me everywhere in the aftermath of that fatal night, snapping cruel pictures of me looking red-eyed and withdrawn, yelling intrusive questions whenever I appeared in public.

  ‘People are curious,’ Paul commented, slipping his passport back into his inner jacket pocket, then raised his eyebrows when Damian shot him an angry look. ‘What? It’s true.’

  I buried my face in my hands, counting slowly to ten. Better that than blow up at my own team. ‘It may be true, but it’s none of their bloody business why I’m here. I wish they’d all just go away and leave me alone.’

  ‘Well, that’s not going to happen,’ Damian said grimly, but put his arm about my shoulders.

  ‘Tell me about it!’

  ‘Look, it’s unfortunate, but we might as well deal with it head-on now it’s happened. Your plan to travel incognito hasn’t worked out as well as we’d hoped. The world’s press know you’re back in Paris, and if we don’t explain why, and soon, the paparazzi will come up with their own stories to explain your return. I had hoped for a few days’ grace before the press descended on us. But we need to stay calm and develop a strategy to deal with this situation.’

  Damian gave me a little hug, as though to apologise for the hard truth of his little speech, but I suspected he was secretly pleased that the press had shown up. Publicity was his oxygen, after all, and nothing says publicity like a healthy dose of celebrity tragedy.

  ‘From now on, Sasha,’ he told me, a glint of satisfaction in his eye, ‘you’re going to be out there in the public eye again. Front and centre.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘You won’t refuse.’ His gaze turned hard. ‘Not if you want to stay in my good books.’

  Ugh.

  I didn’t want to argue with him. Especially in public. But recently, Damian had started to infuriate me with all his rules and regulations.

  ‘You’re not very understanding.’

  He bent his head, saying quietly into my ear, ‘I’ve been very understanding for years, darling. Too understanding, maybe. I remember what you said, that you never wanted to talk about it again. And I’ve respected that. But there’s a price to pay for that kind of loyalty.’ His breath was warm on my throat, disturbing my equilibrium. ‘Do you get what I’m saying?’

  I didn’t reply, merely staring at him.

  I remember what you said, that you never wanted to talk about it again.

  I didn’t get it, no. I didn’t have a clue what he was saying. And the look in his eyes made my skin crawl.

  I wanted to tell him to get lost.

  But I was suddenly, horrifically afraid. And I had no idea why.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘Lisette?’

  Sasha slammed the door to their hotel suite at the Ritz so loudly that the walls rattled. She stood in the entrance hall a moment, listening to the silence with a mounting sense of fury, then strode through into the elegant sitting room they shared.

  The room was empty.

  The breakfast trolley had been cleared away and the room tidied since she left it that morning. So the maid had let herself in, at least. But there was no sign that her sister had ventured in there for breakfast too. Indeed, her black satin jacket was draped over a chair back and her heels were still lying near the window where she must have come in at some point during the night and kicked them off. And there was a faint trace of her perfume on the air …

  Sasha threw her bags down onto the yellow chaise longue, then backtracked into the entrance hall to the suite. The bathroom door was open, but it was dark inside. Her own bedroom door was shut.

  So was Lisette’s.

  Angrily, sure now that Damian had sent her on a fool’s errand, she rapped on her sister’s door. ‘Lisette? Are you okay? Are you in there?’ She waited, putting an ear to the wood, and heard faint movements from within. So much for their manager’s worries about a suicide attempt. ‘I swear to God, Lisette, if you don’t open this door right this minute –’

  The door opened a crack. Lisette peered out, her face pale without make-up, her hair an uncombed mess. She was wearing a white, mid-thigh Yves St. Laurent T-shirt and not much else, by the look of her bare legs, perfectly waxed and tanned, her nipples pressing against the thin fabric

  ‘You’ll do what, dearest sis? Huff and puff and blow my house down?’

  ‘I should smack you round the face,’ Sasha told her.

  ‘You’re so boring first thing in the morning.’ Lisette rubbed her eyes, yawning. ‘What the hell kind of time is this anyway? Feels like I’ve only been asleep a few hours.’

  ‘Gone three in the afternoon.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lisette shrugged, a desultory lift of one shoulder as she sloped back to the bed and started rummaging among the bedclothes for her dressing-gown. ‘Well, it’s still too fucking early for me. I didn’t get to bed until … God knows when, probably five o’clock this morning. Maybe later.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘At a night club. They had naked dancers suspended in cages above the dance floor. Men as well as women. Completely bollock naked. It was the hottest thing ever.’ Lisette grinned, shrugging into her dressing-gown, then tying the sash at the waist. ‘You should have come.’

  ‘I was tired.’

  ‘You’re always bloody tired.’

  ‘You know we have a gig tonight, don’t you?’

  ‘There’s plenty of time.’ Lisette left the door and walked away, stretching out her arms as she yawned again. ’You worry too much. Besides, they won’t say anything if we’re a little bit late. It’s not like the old days. We’re headlining now, remember?’

  With a groan, she threw herself back onto the rumpled covers of her bed, then gave a little shriek of horror when Sasha strode across the room and dragged open her curtains. Daylight streamed into the room, highlighting vario
us items of discarded lingerie and two empty bottles of Moet et Chandon on the carpet.

  ‘Oh my God, what the hell?’

  ‘It’s time to get up, babe.’

  ‘I am up, I am up. Jesus, keep your hair on. And don’t babe me. I’m the one who says babe. You never say babe unless you’re taking the piss.’

  ‘So I’m taking the piss. Just get up.’ Sasha stared, suddenly aware of a large unmoving lump under the covers on the other side of her sister’s bed. ‘Who’s that?’

  Lisette looked round too, frowning. ‘Erm …’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Lisette!’

  ‘No, wait, hold on, it’s coming back to me.’ Lisette bit her lip, then gingerly lifted one edge of the duvet to peer beneath. ‘Oh yeah, I remember. God, yeah. His name is … ’

  ‘Simon,’ the shape whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Fuck, yes!’ Lisette clapped her hands, turning back to her with a triumphant smile. ‘Simon, that’s who it is.’

  ‘Simon who does the sound checks? Irish Simon?’

  Her sister stared, clearly thrown by a need for further information about the unfortunate male in her bed. ‘Erm … ’

  ‘Aye, that’s me,’ the shape grunted in a strong Irish accent. His whole body stirred and shifted, turning over noisily under the bedcovers. The top of a tousled dark head could just be seen above the duvet, his voice still muffled by the pillow. ‘Morning, ladies. Any chance of some black coffee?’

  Sasha closed her eyes. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘And maybe a Danish or two?’

  She had meant to be understanding with her sister. To be brisk and firm but understanding. But this was the last straw. She swore loudly and comprehensively, remembering to bring male genitalia into her tirade, and ended with, ‘Now get the fuck out of here, Simon, before I call Damian and tell him exactly where you are and what you’ve been doing all night!’

  By the time she finished, Simon was sitting up in bed, combing down his dark spiky hair with his fingers and staring at her in amazement. ‘Okay, okay, no need to be so rude. Your sister’s a grown woman, you know.’

  ‘Only just.’

  ‘She’s eighteen.’

  ‘I know precisely how old Lisette is. She’s seventeen minutes older than me. We’re twins, remember?’ She dug her mobile out of her jacket pocket. ‘I’m ringing Damian.’

  ‘No need, you’ve convinced me.’

  Simon fell out from under the duvet, butt-naked, and thudded to the floor beside the bed. He scrambled up, grinning at her horrified expression, then lurched across the room with a pillow clutched to his privates.

  ‘Au revoir!’ he called over his shoulder, bending to retrieve his clothes on his way out and giving them both an unforgettable view. ‘I’ll see you two pretty girls later. Oh, and thanks for the champagne, Lisette. You’ve a lovely way with a cork …’

  Sasha walked to the windows and looked out. Paris lay beneath her, bright and glittering in the afternoon light. She had been out to the Galeries Lafayette that morning, and bought several sets of new heels and matching accessories. French designers were so hot right now, and there had been some real bargains in the department store. But when she got an urgent text message from Damian, complaining that Lisette was not answering her phone or coming to the door, she had hurried back to their hotel suite at the Ritz, worried what she might find.

  Lisette had been acting weird lately, getting drunk and sometimes even cutting rehearsals, which she would never normally do. For some reason no one could work out, she was fragile at the moment and behaving unpredictably. Everyone in their entourage was concerned about her state of mind. But especially Sasha.

  When the door to the suite had finally slammed shut behind him, Sasha turned to look at her twin sister. ‘No more bullshit, please. What the hell are you doing? I thought you and Damian … ’

  Lisette groaned and flopped backwards, pulling a pillow over her head to hide her face. ‘Don’t go there, Sasha. Not today. I can’t cope.’

  ‘Hangover?’ she asked unsympathetically.

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘I understand that Damian will fucking flip when he finds out you slept with Simon last night.’

  Lisette pulled the pillow off her face and stared up at her pleadingly, the look in her eyes serious for once. ‘So don’t tell him. Please?’

  ‘I won’t if it’s a secret, you know me better than that.’ Sasha frowned. ‘But I don’t get it. I thought you and Damian were a big item. If you don’t love him anymore, why not just tell him? End it nicely, for God’s sake. Damian’s one of the good guys. Please don’t go round sleeping with other blokes behind his back. It’ll break his heart.’

  Lisette closed her eyes. ‘Oh go away, Sasha. I’m not in the mood for your self-righteous indignation.’

  ‘I want to talk about this.’

  ‘I want you to get out of my bedroom.’

  ‘Okay, I’m going. But you’ve got to get up, have a shower and get dressed. Promise me you won’t go back to sleep.’

  ‘Fine, I promise.’

  Torn between irritation at her sister’s behaviour and fear that she was in genuine trouble, Sasha hovered in the doorway. ‘Look, if you want to talk later, after the concert, I’ll be around. Maybe we could go for a drive. See Paris at night.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’

  ‘But no more booze until after the performance, understand?’

  Lisette hurled a pillow at her and Sasha hurried out, pulling the door shut behind her.

  ‘Two hours, we have to head out,’ she reminded her through the closed door.

  Lisette did not reply. But a moment later she heard the sound of the shower running in the ensuite bathroom.

  Her heart beating hard, Sasha leant her forehead against the cream panel of the bedroom door and fought off an almost overwhelming panic.

  What the hell was wrong with Lisette?

  They had always talked as they were growing up, always shared each other’s problems and secrets. Sometimes they had even guessed each other’s fears before anything was said, as though they shared a psychic link.

  Twin power, their Nan called it.

  Only this time they were older and things felt very different. Lisette was in serious trouble, she could sense it. Yet her sister was refusing to admit that there was anything wrong. And try as she could, Sasha was unable to work out what was upsetting her. Except that it was obviously something to do with her relationship with Damian, which had sprung up so suddenly a few months ago and taken everyone by surprise.

  Nan had strongly disapproved of Lisette sleeping with their manager, especially with her being only just eighteen, but she had known better than to interfere. Lisette always stuck her heels in deeper when someone tried to stop her getting her own way. But now it seemed something had gone badly wrong between her and Damian. And there was nothing Sasha could do to help.

  It was as though Lisette had closed her heart and mind to Sasha, shutting her out of her life completely.

  And that hurt.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jean-Luc Ressier had described his country home modestly as a ‘ranch’. From a distance, it looked more like a glorified fortress, I thought, staring out through the dark tinted glass of his limousine windows. Not a very comfortable impression, especially given that I was about to spend an evening alone with him there.

  I wished again that Damian had come out with me tonight to meet Ressier’s young daughter. But he had insisted I would be perfectly safe, and besides, he had ‘work to do’. Putting a positive spin on the paparazzi’s premature discovery that I was in Paris again. It sounded plausible. But something told me Damian had lied about having other things to do tonight, and that suspicion had left me on edge.

  To confront him about it would have made me look weak though, and I was hyper-aware that he was watching me for signs of strain. So I had shrugged and said nothing.

  ‘Jean-Luc will look after you,’ he had insisted when I pr
otested about this trip to Ressier’s ranch. ‘And he’s used to dealing with the Parisian paparazzi. So you won’t get any trouble from that quarter.’

  The paparazzi were not the only things that worried me, I had thought, forced to accept Ressier’s invitation to dinner with a reluctant smile.

  ‘Whereabouts are we?’ I asked, gazing about as the limousine swept down the broad, tree-lined driveway.

  ‘Not far from Versailles,’ Ressier told me.

  I had visited the seventeenth century royal palace of Versailles with Lisette, Damian and Missie on a free morning last time. We had taken the full tour together, and marvelled at the magnificence of Versailles’ vast galleries, apartments, and formal gardens, which seemed to stretch forever into the heat haze of a perfect sunny day.

  ‘I remember learning about the French Revolution at school. All those innocent people who were guillotined ... I could never decide whether to pity Marie Antoinette, or blame her for not being socially aware enough.’

  ‘Marie Antoinette made mistakes, yes. But essentially she was executed because she was of royal blood,’ Ressier commented. ‘How can anyone not pity her?’

  I shuddered, unable to disagree with that.

  We were approaching the house now. Curious, I turned to look and could not help feeling impressed. His ‘ranch’ was an ultra-modern build rising to three generous storeys, mainly glass and steel but with a tower-like structure of traditional white stone at one end, and an eco-roof with vast solar panels above what looked like a rooftop garden. The site itself overlooked peaceful woodlands beside a large, tear-shaped lake, glimpsed through the trees, water reflecting the rays of the setting sun as their limousine rolled slowly down the gravelled drive.

  Ressier was leaning back against the leather seat opposite, watching my face. ‘Like what you see?’

  I glanced at him, arrested by the tone in his voice. ‘Very much, yes.’

  ‘I first started building this place six years ago for my wife. Eva wanted to live in the country, but nowhere too … rustic.’ His smile barely tugged at the corners of his mouth, a mere twitch of his muscles. ‘Sadly, my wife died before it was completed. But our daughter liked the site, so I agreed to carry on with the construction work. Now that it’s completed, we both spend as much time here as we can.’