Original Sin (27 page)

Brooke felt a little deflated, but stood up and smiled as Eileen walked timidly to the table.

‘Nice place,’ said Eileen weakly, looking around. She looked as though she expected someone to eject her at any moment.

‘I love it here. They have a great bon–bon trolley,’ smiled Brooke.

Eileen sat down, carefully removing her coat.

‘Let someone take that for you,’ offered Brooke, waving to the waiter.

Eileen looked up with alarm. ‘I’d better keep hold of it; it’s my mother’s.
Ralph Lauren
.’

The woman flushed and for one moment Brooke wondered if she should have picked another restaurant. Eileen looked awkward, sitting bolt upright with her precious nylon coat draped over the arm of her chair. Was this all too intimidating for her? Brooke stopped herself. She was being patronizing. Still, when the waiter approached, she made sure she gave Eileen a little time to settle herself as they read the menus.

‘I’ll have the pork,’ said Brooke.

‘I’ll have the same,’ said Eileen quickly. Brooke poured their water and glanced at her new author. She wasn’t bad looking, quite pretty in fact, but she had terrible blue eye shadow and too–red lipstick. She badly needed a makeover to bring out her best. Yes – Brooke felt sure she could help her in that department, thinking of all the designer clothes, bags, and cosmetics she got sent daily.

Eileen caught her appraising look and her hand flew nervously to her face.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Oh nothing, I just expected you to be older,’ smiled Brooke.

‘Is it the name?’ she winced. ‘It’s a family tradition you see. The oldest girl gets the same name as her grandmother. Anyway, I was expecting you to be more scary.’

Brooke giggled, thinking of the paparazzi photos that got printed in the tabloids magazines. Shots when she’d be sneezing or rubbing something from her eye or just changing expression and which always seemed to make her look in pain or miserable. ‘I get that a lot.’

She took a sip of wine. ‘Well, I have to tell you that we are all so excited about
Portico
,’ said Brooke, ‘Although we will have to turn it around very, very quickly. Still, we’re getting there. The manuscript should be going into proof next week.’

‘What’s a proof exactly?’

‘An uncorrected manuscript bound up like a book. It goes out to retailers who decide if they want to order it. Then it goes out to the press so they can decide if they want to review it.’

‘Gosh, that’s a lot of hoops,’ said Eileen, wide–eyed.

‘Don’t worry, the whole company is getting behind it,’ said Brooke.

Eileen nodded and looked down at her lap, fiddling with the cuff of her mother’s jacket.

Brooke’s mouth opened as she saw that Eileen’s eyes were filling with tears.

‘Hey, hey, what’s wrong?’ she asked.

Eileen shook her head, still staring down. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so grateful.’

Brooke felt her heart swell. She was so sweet. ‘
You’re
grateful?’ laughed Brooke. ‘Eileen, I’m the one who should be grateful. This is the book I’ve been waiting my whole career for.’

‘But for you, Brooke, publishing books is just a job, isn’t it?’ she replied not unkindly. Catching Brooke’s expression, she added: ‘I read
US Weekly
. You’re rich. You’re marrying into a family even richer.’

She blew her nose on the tissue Brooke offered her.

‘The difference is that you’ve changed my life,’ continued Eileen. ‘Six weeks ago I was working three jobs. That’s not easy when you have three kids as well.’

‘You have
three kids
?’ said Brooke, wondering if Eileen just looked very good for her age.

‘Oldest is eight. Youngest is three,’ she grinned. ‘And, before you ask, yes I
am
twenty–six.’

‘That’s incredible,’ said Brooke, taking a slow sip of water. ‘Not the fact you have three kids, of course, just that you manage to do everything. You must have a very supportive husband.’

Eileen looked down again. ‘He left me last year.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I have a habit of putting my foot in it.’

Eileen shook her head. ‘Don’t be. Danny – that’s my husband – he worked at the local garage. I went down there one night and found him in the office with the boss’s PA, pants round his ankles. My friends said “forgive him”, said “you need him” – and they were right, seeing as I’m only making twenty thousand bucks a year.’

‘But you kicked him out?’ said Brooke eagerly, wanting to hear more.

‘Sure I did! You don’t stay with a man who doesn’t respect you.’ She shrugged. ‘I thought it would be scary, being left with three kids, but I guess it’s best to be on your own than with someone who doesn’t really love you. Truth is, it was never right. I married Danny when I was eighteen because I got pregnant and I used to look at him and think, “Do I want to grow old with you?” “Do I want to share life’s adventure with you?” “Do you make me happy just by being there?” And the answer was no, so things happened for the best.’

‘It was still brave,’ said Brooke, marvelling at Eileen’s story.

‘Not really, but I guess it’s paid off now. See, the week after I threw his bags on the street, I started writing the book. I used to love writing stories at school, but when I left high school and got married I just didn’t have the time. But this time, I made time. Part of the reason was to keep me busy, to stop me thinking about how he … how he disappointed me. The other reason was to try and make some money. My friends were right about that much. Even three jobs doesn’t stretch very far when you’ve got three kids.’

Brooke felt a sudden stab of shame. Since she could remember she’d always had everything she wanted: a pony, a car, fabulous clothes. She’d even miraculously got into an Ivy League college, despite her standing in the family as the ‘pretty one’ to Liz’s ‘smart one’. Eileen was right, she enjoyed her job at Yellow Door, but it was still just a job, something she did because she wanted to, not because she had to. And she realized with a terrible jolt that her wedding dress alone was going to cost ten times more than Eileen made in a year. Looking across at Eileen, she felt a rush of resolve.

‘Eileen,’ she said, ‘I’m going to make you a star.’

‘You sound like Simon Cowell,’ said Eileen more cheerfully.

‘I mean it!’

‘Really? Well, thanks,’ blushed the author. ‘But why?’

Brooke smiled. She wasn’t exactly sure herself, but she just had an urge to do her very best for Eileen Dunne.

‘Let’s just say I feel it’s something I have to do.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘You’re early.’

Paula greeted William in the long hall of their Park Avenue apartment building with a kiss on the cheek, but her tone was less than warm. William tried to hide his annoyance as he glanced at the decorative striking clock behind him. It was five fifteen. He had made a special effort to get home before six and felt hurt that his wife had not appreciated the gesture.

‘Am I not allowed to come home early every now and then to spend time with my girls?’ he began, but was instantly interrupted.

‘Daddy!’

Casey and Amelia ran to their father, their white Dior socks skidding on the highly polished walnut floors. They grabbed his legs while he kissed them on the top of their heads; then he scooped them up into his arms.

‘Come and tell Daddy all about your new class,’ he laughed.

‘It’s nice,’ said Casey, wriggling free and skipping back down the hall.

‘
Nice?
’

Paula rolled her eyes. She had made the girls read two items in the
New York Times
every morning and discuss them. Amelia could barely read, much preferring the pretty pictures in the fashion reports, but she expected more of Casey than to describe her new class as
nice.

‘No play–date this afternoon?’ William asked, setting Amelia down and walking through into the living room. It was a beautiful space, recently redesigned in the style of a boutique English country hotel. Antlers on the wall hung alongside Diane Arbus pictures on the Colefax and Fowler wallpaper. David Linley had designed the two bookcases that flanked the limestone fireplace and the whole space was softly lit and smelt of Diptyque figuier candles that Paula had shipped over in bulk from the company’s Left Bank store.

‘Mrs Wong is coming round for Mandarin class,’ said Paula, fluttering her hand in the air to summon Louise, their Australian nanny.

‘Louise, can you take the girls? They are still in their uniforms.’

‘How’s Casey been? She seems quieter than usual,’ asked William, sitting down on the velvet George Smith sofa and slipping off his brogues, rubbing his tired feet with his fingers.

‘She’s exhausted poor thing,’ said Paula, perching on the very edge of the chair opposite her husband.

‘I guess having to make a whole new set of friends is going to be taxing when you are six.’

‘Well, there is another new girl just starting too,’ said Paula. ‘So hopefully they’ll bond. You know that Casey is very sociable.’

William crumpled his brow. ‘I just don’t see what was wrong with the girls being in the same class?’

Paula stood up and began smoothing fluff from the back of her chair.

‘Darling, Mrs Wong is due round any minute,’ she said, looking with disapproval at William’s bare feet. ‘If you want to lounge around, why don’t you go into the den?’

‘So we’re doing this Mandarin business,’ said William, ignoring her. ‘
Mandarin.
’

Paula lowered her voice. ‘I’m not sure Amelia is up to it, but Casey has such a way with languages that I thought the sooner the better.’

‘My question is whether they should be doing it at all,’ said William. ‘The homework load from Eton is already quite large.’

Paula opened her eyes in outrage. ‘Are you saying you don’t want to stretch your children?’

‘Paula, I’m saying that the girls are six.’

She looked away from him, angry at his questioning. The girls attending Eton Manor was already a compromise. For some reason, William had got it into his head that the girls might be
happier
attending Steiner schools. And how was
that
going to get them into an Ivy League college, playing with wood and knitting blankets until they were fifteen? She couldn’t understand her husband sometimes. What did happiness have to do with an education? Okay, so she loved Amelia, for all her faults, and she felt that one day she would model and marry well. But Casey, she had the potential to be brilliant. You only had to look at Ivanka Trump. A model, a socialite, and a Wharton Business School graduate to boot. Surely William could see the parallels in his own family? Brooke, of course, was beautiful. People fawned over her for her astonishing doe–eyed looks, yet it was Liz who seemed to generate a quieter, more genuine respect in the
serious
media outlets. You only had to talk to Liz for a few seconds to see her fierce intelligence, her knowledge of books, of literature, wine. Of course, the ideal was to be both smart and beautiful, and Casey had that promise. One day, she might even take over Asgill Cosmetics, make something of it, then marry into the highest circles – possibly royalty. Why not, when Paula was doing her utmost to give her the tools for the job? For a second she felt annoyed that her efforts weren’t appreciated. Unlike most mothers on the circuit, Paula put in time with her children. She only had one nanny for the two girls. She took them to swimming lessons and ballet and art class at the Ninety–Second Street Y herself. Mrs Fortescue, a Julliard–trained piano instructor came by the house and Paula supervised the lesson, and when Paula didn’t have her one–on–one Pilates instruction, she took the girls to school. Once, when she had found Louise their nanny in the kitchen, crying over some boy, she had sat down with her, and Louise had told her that she was the most hands–on mother in all the Upper East Side. As if reading her thoughts, William stood up and came over to his wife, wrapping her in his big arms.

‘I know how much you do for the family, for the girls,’ he said. ‘I just don’t think we have to try quite so hard. If Amelia isn’t fluent in Mandarin by the time she’s ten, what does it matter? If she doesn’t turn out to be academic, what does it matter?’

‘I just want the best for them.’

She looked down at a photograph of the twins on the coffee table. It was beautiful. Shot at Christmas by a photographer who worked for
Vogue Bambini
. She
did
, she only ever thought of them. William felt her tension and held her tighter. At that moment, Paula sensed that he
did
understand and it almost made her shiver. She had never told William the whole truth of her past. He would never know how a ten–year–old Paula, in bed at night, would cover her ears to the sound of her mother having sex with men from the bar and later … well, she had tried to shut that out completely. But William still knew enough. He knew about her childhood in a trailer park. He knew how her mother had died of MS when Paula was barely eighteen and how she had turned to modelling as her way out of poverty. He knew all these things, and yet he still loved her, not less, probably more. It was just one of the reasons she had never left him, never tried to work her way up the social ladder by judicious marriages. Breathing deeply, she allowed herself to settle into his arms, smelling the crispness of the cotton and reminding herself, how, in her own way, she loved him too.