Original Sin (54 page)

‘Hey, what are you doing in here?’ he said, taking a long swig of his claret. ‘Go and get back to your adoring audience.’

He gave her a big, wide smile. He seemed happier, more relaxed than usual. Then again, he’d clearly had quite a bit to drink. Matt had always liked his liquor.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said with a playful tap. ‘They’re here for your birthday, remember?’

‘Don’t kid yourself,’ smiled Matt. ‘I can’t believe how everyone has dressed up in your honour. You should see what they look like on a normal day, it’s like Halloween. Honestly, when Courtney knocked on the door, I wasn’t sure if it was my guests arriving or the early delivery of my Christmas tree.’

Her gaze tracked across the room to where a large chocolate gateau was defrosting on a shelf on top of the radiator. ‘You should have said you were doing food. I know a couple of really great chefs that do private catering.’

‘Like I’m a private chef kinda guy,’ he laughed.

‘ I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Brooke, a little embarrassed.

‘Money isn’t the issue, Brooke,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘Anyway, shame David couldn’t make it.’

‘He’s working late. Again. I counted up the nights I see him per month and I’m lucky if I get to double digits.’

‘Maybe it was just as well he didn’t come. He’d have made us men feel inferior.’

‘I’m not marrying Bruce Wayne,’ she said, nudging his arm playfully.

He grinned and lifted the wooden spoon to her lips. ‘How does that taste?’

She licked her lips. It wasn’t half bad. ‘And a good cook too,’ she said. ‘You
are
a catch. Oh, I think I’d better warn you,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘I think I put my foot in it. I asked if Ed and Peter’s medical exchange programme was the one you wanted to do. Susie seemed a bit surprised.’

He shrugged, turning back to the stove. ‘She knows about it. I haven’t made a decision yet, but she isn’t going to influence that decision anyway.’

Brooke found herself feeling oddly relieved. ‘I forgot,’ she said, producing a small package wrapped in shiny red paper. ‘Your birthday present.’

‘I thought that was the Château Pétrus you brought. I am a lucky boy.’ He wiped his hands on a tea towel and tore the paper off. Inside was a slim box. He opened it and his eyes widened with pleasure.

‘Tickets for the Guns N’ Roses reunion gig?’ he cried. ‘No way! These are impossible to get hold of. I can’t believe you remembered I like them.’

‘How could I forget all that posing in front of the mirror?’ she grinned.

He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. A stillness descended between them. Brooke stepped back, brushing a trace of sauce from her cheek just as Susie burst through the Wild West doors.

‘We’re already out of red wine,’ she announced, squeezing into the small space. ‘You should have reminded me what big drinkers you doctors are.’

She paused and then examined Matt and Brooke, who both carried slightly guilty faces.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘More than okay,’ said Matt enthusiastically, showing her the tickets. ‘Look what Brooke gave me. Guns N’ Roses, man!’

‘Great,’ said Susie flatly. ‘I didn’t know you were into rock.’

‘You should have seen him in college,’ smiled Brooke. ‘He wanted to grow his hair like Slash, but it just hung there like two curtains.’

‘Hey!’ he protested. ‘And you call me indiscreet!’

Susie eyed them warily. She pushed past Matt and began to stir the stew furiously.

‘Go on, get back in there,’ she said. ‘I’ll take over. Dinner will be just a couple of minutes.’

Sitting down at the dinner table, wedged in between Ed and Courtney, Brooke quickly found herself much more at ease. Matt’s friends were fun and intelligent and conversation bounced between the serious, such as universal health–care schemes, to the more frivolous, such as the latest exposés in the
New York Post
. The casserole was actually excellent, although the gateau was still semi–frozen – but by then Brooke didn’t care; she was relaxed and having fun. It was so unlike the birthday celebrations she usually went to these days: they were more like exercises in social competitiveness. They were held in restaurants that hadn’t yet officially opened or had the guest list managed by the hottest PR agencies in town. When they
were
held at people’s homes they were grand affairs: dinner–parties catered by Mario Batali or cocktail parties for one hundred to demonstrate the size of their duplex. Brooke had also found that once she started talking about David, in particular recounting the Florida drama for the benefit of an open–mouthed Courtney, Susie relaxed a little and seemed actually quite sweet. She was clearly besotted with Matthew, at any rate.
And isn’t that a good thing?
she asked herself. Of course it was.

‘So, Brooke, will you be having frozen cake at your wedding?’ asked Greg, crunching his fork into icy chocolate. Matt threw a napkin at his friend.

‘Hey, you’re a guest,’ he laughed, ‘but any more cheek from you and you’ll be washing up.’

Ed and Pete cheered raucously at the suggestion, drumming their hands on the table.

Courtney leant forward, resting her small breasts on top of the table. ‘Is it all right if Matt tells us every detail of the wedding after it’s happened?’

Matt looked up. Although Courtney was at the other end of the table, his ears seemed to be tuned into any conversation directed at Brooke.

‘Oh I’m not going,’ he said quickly.

‘Why not?’ asked Courtney.

‘Nah, quite right, I wouldn’t invite this reprobate either,’ said Greg, winking over to Brooke.

‘No, no, of course you’re invited,’ said Brooke, fixing her gaze on the birthday boy.

Matt smiled and then looked down at his empty plate. ‘So who’s for coffee?’ he said, quickly getting to his feet. ‘I think we need something to defrost that cake.’

Brooke glanced her watch. It was gone eleven and she was feeling more drunk than she had done in ages. ‘No, I think I have to run,’ she said, beginning to rise, then sitting down again. ‘Actually, stagger is more like it. I think I’ve had one too many of Greg’s cocktails.’

‘If you need any help with the bar at your wedding, you know where to find me,’ winked Greg. Susie went to get Brooke’s cashmere coat from the bedroom and helped her on with it.

‘Good luck with everything,’ said Courtney, grabbing Brooke and clasping her to her sequinned bosom. ‘I wish I was you.’

‘I’ll come out and get a taxi with you,’ said Matt, guiding her out into the dark hallway. He pressed the button and they waited for the elevator.

‘That was fun,’ smiled Brooke, buttoning up her coat. ‘And Susie is lovely.’

‘Brooke. Don’t make this bigger than it is,’ he replied. He was standing so close to her that she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

‘Listen, Matt. I know you’re still thinking about Kate, and that’s really sweet, but you don’t have to feel guilty for dating again.’

They both turned as they heard Matt’s front door creak open. ‘Matt. Do you want me to make the coffee?’

Susie had a slightly hopeless, insecure look on her face that made Brooke’s heart go out to her. She was just an ordinary girl doing her best to defend her new man – a doctor no less, a real catch in most circles – from a threat she saw as impossibly glamorous. Brooke felt awful for all the uncharitable things she had thought about Susie throughout the night.
In the end, like all of us,
she thought,
she’s just looking for someone to love.
Brooke tapped Matt’s arm in the most platonic way she could.

‘I forgot,’ she said, looking over at Susie, ‘it’s the launch party for one of my books on Friday. It would be great if you could both come along.’

Susie’s worried face broke out into a relieved smile. ‘That would be great,’ she beamed, walking over to Matt and hooking her arm through his. The lift arrived and the doors swished open.

‘Well, goodnight,’ said Brooke, hurriedly air–kissing them both like the good politician’s wife, then jumped inside, watching the floors click past, suddenly glad to be out of there.

CHAPTER FORTY–THREE

‘Mr Billington,’ she gasped. ‘That was … absolutely … spectacular.’

Liz slid off Wendell’s cock and collapsed onto the mattress, her flushed face mashing into the pillow. Liz and Wendell had been meeting three times a week since their first encounter in the Hamptons, and the sex just seemed to get better and better every time. The convenience of Wendell’s permanent suite at the Pierre certainly helped. They had been known to slip out of their respective offices for lunch and be back, invigorated and alert, for a meeting an hour later. Far from interfering with work, Liz felt there was nothing like a quick, hard, lunchtime fuck to sharpen you up for the day ahead.

Wendell got out of bed, put on a bathrobe and moved to the table by the window where lunch had been set out on starched white table linens. He stabbed his fork into his swordfish and picked up the
Financial Times
, neatly folded by his china side plate.

Liz looked over with interest. As one of the world’s most important investors she felt sure that Wendell read every piece of global financial journalism, but the question was: what was he reading about? With his insider knowledge and contacts, she might be able to sniff out some valuable information; in fact Liz had heard a rumour that Wendell was about to buy Vue, a huge British vision–care business, for an estimated billion dollars.

‘Have they reported about Vue yet?’ she asked innocently.

Wendell looked at her with surprise. ‘And how would you know about that?’

She walked over to him and stroked the back of his neck. ‘Knowledge is power, darling,’ she smiled coquettishly.

His eyes trailed across to her bare breasts as he reached out for her, but she nimbly stepped out of his reach, scooping up her knickers and sliding into her dress. She did not want him distracted when they were talking business. She sat opposite Wendell, pouring herself a glass of water and feeling the autumn sun on her face.

‘I want to buy Skin Plus from the family,’ she said without preamble.

A small smile crept onto her lover’s lips. ‘And do Meredith and William know this?’ he asked.

‘Not yet,’ she replied, shaking her freshly highlighted bob.

‘Be careful, Liz. This is family now.’

‘No, Wendell, this is
business
,’ she said firmly. She looked at him, waiting for a reaction. ‘So what do you think?’

Wendell wiped his mouth with a napkin.

‘I think that you should be CEO of Asgill’s because I think that you could turn the company around. And I think you probably will be one day. So I don’t think you should try and buy Skin Plus out of spite simply because your family aren’t giving you the recognition you deserve.’

Liz smiled. ‘Oh, I’m past spite. I’m talking to you as a businesswoman who sees something with enormous potential, who wants to be in total charge of realizing that potential.’

Wendell gave a low, slow laugh. ‘You are very sexy when you’re angry.’

Under the table, Liz curled her hand into a fist. ‘Why don’t you try taking this conversation fucking seriously?’

There was a long, stagnant pause.

‘Why are you mentioning this to me?’ said Wendell finally.

‘Because you are an investor and you know I am a good bet,’ said Liz. ‘Plus you have no interests in the cosmetic industry, but you do have complementary businesses: airport outlets, media, pharmaceuticals. Diversification is always a good idea in tough times.’

Wendell viewed her sceptically. ‘I don’t need to remind you that Meredith and William will soon be my family too. It might not be such a good idea to upset them quite so soon.’

Liz waved a hand dismissively. ‘It won’t be a problem, not if I handle it in the right way. And if you didn’t want to disclose your involvement, I’m sure you have plenty of covert investment vehicles you could use.’

Wendell shook his head, chuckling. ‘You’re persuasive, you know that? And I should know, I hear seventy per cent bullshit most of the day.’

‘So. Are you interested?’

‘Get a business plan over to me by Monday,’ he said coolly. ‘Maybe we’ll talk. No promises.’

‘I’ll courier it round to your office first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘You’re good,’ he said smiling.

‘I know.’

‘Come here.’

She walked to the other side of the table and pulled back his chair. Slipping open his white towelling robe, she ran her hands across his chest hair, sank to her knees, and got to work.

CHAPTER FORTY–FOUR

Book launch parties are traditionally quite low–key affairs – usually a few drinks in a bookstore followed by a short speech to the assembled sales team about ‘distribution channels’ and ‘retail footfall’. The launch for
Portico
, however, was the literary equivalent of a red–carpet premiere. Held at a private club on Fifty–Third Street, Yellow Door had converted the entire top floor into a Victorian magician’s den, complete with scarlet drapes, strange oriental cabinets, and an ornate cage of flapping doves. Outside photographers swamped the street, desperate for shots of Brooke and David together, not to mention the high–profile guest list the party had managed to attract. Half of New York’s A–list seemed to be here with their children for the hottest kids’ book since
Harry Potter
. The atmosphere inside the club–room was just as electric. Even the most hard–to–please critics had been lining up to congratulate Brooke and her MD, Edward Walker, on this ‘startling debut’.