Original Sin (59 page)

‘Something’s come up,’ said Tess quickly, moving back towards the house. ‘She wants me back in New York as soon as possible. I need to look into flights back to JFK tomorrow.’

He groaned. ‘Duty calls,’ he said flatly. ‘How about we head back to bed and worry about Brooke in the morning?’

Tess felt her body stiffen. ‘No I want to get on the Net and see if I can sort the flights.’

She sat down at the desk and opened her laptop, but he crept up behind her, peeled off the strap of her slip dress and kissed her shoulder. She flinched.

‘Don’t you ever stop?’ she said, swatting his hand away as playfully as she could.

‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

She turned to face him. ‘I was just wondering if this is such a good idea?’ she said slowly. ‘I’m mean you’re just out of a relationship … ’

She met his gaze directly, wanting to test him.

‘Tess, I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. This is very simple. I like you, I hope you like me. And if that’s the case, then I think this is a very good idea.’

‘Okay,’ she nodded. ‘Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.’

Tess stared at the screen, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to think. Had Sean deliberately misled her? Or did Meredith suspect something – perhaps she was trying to throw a spanner in the works? No, that was just wishful thinking, wasn’t it? She crept back into bed, hoping Sean was already asleep. He wasn’t.

‘Are you sure you’re that tired?’ he smiled playfully, nuzzling his lips into her neck.

‘Let’s pick this up again tomorrow morning, huh?’

Sean seemed content at that response and rolled away. Lying back into the soft mountain of pillows, Tess waited, watching the dark ceiling until Sean’s breathing became a soft snore and she was certain that he was fast asleep. Carefully, she removed his arm from around her and slid off the mattress, creeping into the dressing room. Sean’s bag was unzipped but still packed. She stuck her hand in and rifled through, pulling out shorts and sweaters and shoes, silently praying that she would not find what she was looking for. Finally, her searching fingers felt a zip compartment at the bottom of the case. Opening it, her heart sinking, she pulled out a navy velvet box. Holding her breath, she opened it to see an enormous sapphire ringed by twinkling diamonds. It was a little old–fashioned, yes, but it was a big, bold expression of something.
Love? Devotion? Commitment?
she thought with a sickening feeling. Angrily, she snapped the box shut, then froze, the sound cold and hard in the still air. There was no sign of movement from the bedroom, so she sank back to the floor, holding her head in her hands.
She had been so stupid.
What made her think for a second that she could turn Sean Asgill’s head, let alone tame him? She made a quick decision.

Creeping through the bedroom, checking Sean was still asleep, she padded to the other side of the house and picked up the phone. By the time her taxi arrived, she was already packed and dressed. She returned to the bedroom and, for a moment, watched Sean sleeping, the white sheet rising lightly with each breath. He looked so peaceful.
Dammit! What am I doing?
she scolded herself angrily.
That man betrayed you, cheated you!
What she really should do was slap him awake, throw the ring in his face, and tell him exactly what she thought of him. But then, what would that achieve? She could picture his apologetic yet slightly smug face as he explained that his relationship with Annabel wasn’t
exactly
over.

Well, she had no intention of letting him have that little satisfaction. She was going to keep her dignity. She tore a page out of a notebook by the phone and scribbled a message.

Sorry. This is a bad idea. See you at the wedding.

Leaving it on the bedside table, she tiptoed out into the waiting taxi, closed the door quietly, and turned to the driver.

‘Airport,’ she said. ‘And step on it.’

CHAPTER FORTY–SIX

Brooke jumped into David’s car and kissed him wildly on the lips.

‘Hey, hey!’ he laughed, gently pushing her back. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘
Portico
is number seven, David!’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s number
seven
on the
New York Times’
best–seller list!’

‘Honey, that’s amazing. Does Eileen know?’ he said with genuine delight, giving her another kiss before gunning the engine and setting off along Lexington.

‘Yes, of course. She screamed down the phone for about three minutes and then begged me to come shopping with her for a Chanel handbag.’

David chuckled. ‘What is it with women and handbags?’

Brooke reached over and squeezed his knee. ‘Please, you’ll have to understand that before you even think about marrying me,’ she teased him.

While David called his assistant on his hands–free phone to make a reservation for dinner at Raoul’s that evening, Brooke gazed out of the window, thinking about the excitement of the last hour. Yellow Door’s managing director Edward had come into her office to tell her the news privately, and had to quickly shush her when Brooke had squealed. That had been swiftly followed by an impromptu champagne toast in the boardroom when everyone had told her what a visionary she had been to rescue
Portico
from the slush pile. For once, Brooke hadn’t contradicted them; everyone needed a few moments of glory, didn’t they? In truth, Brooke hadn’t exactly been surprised about
Portico
’s high chart position – not after Eileen’s brilliant, modest, and funny appearance on
Ellen
the previous week. The next day Brooke had spent her lunchtime loitering in her local Barnes and Noble, just watching as the books disappeared before her eyes.

And now, as a perfect end to a perfect day, she and David were off to see an apartment that Brooke had been dreaming about all week. She had been aware of the building on Riverside Drive long before the realtor had called her to say ‘a very special apartment’ was coming on the market. She had once been to a party in the building many years ago and had always fantasized about one day being able to live there.

‘Hang a left and go across the park,’ said Brooke excitedly.

‘
West
side?’ said her fiancé, raising a brow.

‘Just trust me okay?’ she smiled.

The car traversed Manhattan and wound up Riverside Drive, the most westerly point of the island.

‘Pull up just over there,’ she pointed. David looked increasingly uncertain as they walked towards a grey stone Beaux Arts apartment block, but she linked her arm through his and pulled him in tight. She had anticipated that he’d be surprised about where she’d brought him, especially as so far they’d been looking in the ‘best buildings’ on Fifth Avenue and Sutton Place South and at houses around West Tenth and Eleventh streets. The west side of the island was a part of town that they rarely came to, but something about it had become more appealing of late. Perhaps it was the disconnection from where they worked and where their friends and family lived. Perhaps it was the views over the river, a reminder that they were on an island, and the fact that there was a whole wide world beyond it. Perhaps because fewer celebrities lived here than in the smart streets of the West Village – not to mention fewer paparazzi. Or maybe it was because the air smelled slightly less of overt social snobbery. Whatever it was, Brooke felt more at home here than any of the areas they’d looked at so far, and she was hoping David would feel the same.

The agent was waiting for them at the elevator and they rode up to the triplex on the top floor in silence. The apartment’s front door opened into a hallway, then a sunken living room surrounded by a wraparound balcony, the lights of New Jersey twinkling beyond the dark river ahead.

‘I think this place speaks for itself,’ smiled the realtor, clearly giddy with anticipation of a fat commission cheque. ‘I’ll leave you two alone to explore.’

‘I love it,’ whispered Brooke, squeezing David’s hand as they walked up a wide staircase into the master bedroom.

‘Yeah, it’s a find.’

He was trying to please her, but Brooke could detect the forced enthusiasm in his voice.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ said David, not looking her in the eye.

‘David what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all week when I’ve mentioned stepping up the apartment search.’

‘I just don’t think we’re going to be needing another apartment in New York,’ he said, opening a closet door with little interest.

‘Honey, I know you love the loft, but you know I want to start afresh.’

‘Maybe we should talk about this over dinner?’ he said, walking back to her. ‘In fact, maybe we shouldn’t. Tonight we’re supposed to be celebrating
Portico
, aren’t we?’

‘Well, I was rather hoping to end the biggest day of my working life finding our new home as well,’ she replied, turning towards the window, her arms folded.

‘Let’s not be greedy.’

She couldn’t understand his attitude. ‘David, what
is
the problem? I thought you’d love this place too.’

He paused, then looked at her seriously.

‘I’ve kinda had a big day at work too.’

She suddenly felt guilty; she’d been so excited by her own news, she hadn’t bothered asking about his day. And, from his expression, this was serious.

‘Oh wow, I’m sorry,’ she said, stepping forward and touching his hand. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve been offered my own talk show,’ he said simply.

‘What? Like David Letterman?’

‘Kind of,’ he smiled. ‘A little more political.’

Brooke threw her arms around him and squealed. ‘Honey that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh that’s brilliant – and of course you deserve it, you’re so good.’

‘The problem is … ’ he said slowly, ‘it’s based in DC.’

‘A five–night–a–week gig, ten p.m. slot on NBS, very serious,’ he said excitedly. ‘It’s a brand–new show replacing that tired old political debate format. They’re really getting behind it and the exposure will be incredible.’

Brooke wanted to share David’s excitement, but instead she felt cold. Of course she’d been to Washington before, and each time she’d tried to make herself enjoy its European majesty, see it was the centre of the nation, feel the energy of change all around her. But she couldn’t. She found it a sterile, pompous, one–industry town where people seemed to grow old and cynical before their time.

‘Are you sure this is the right thing for you?’ she asked.

‘How could it not be right?’ said David, holding out his hands.

Brooke lifted her shoulders. ‘I mean, you certainly don’t need the exposure. You have media requests coming out of your ears and you turn ninety–nine per cent of them down. And anyway, won’t your father think that sort of exposure is vulgar?’

‘My father has mixed feelings,’ said David. ‘He knows it would be a heavyweight show interviewing heads of state and so on – that he likes. What he doesn’t like is the fact that it would mean putting the Congress run on the back burner.’

‘You spoke to your father about this before me?’ said Brooke, unable to hide her disappointment.

‘I was with him when I got the call, Brooke,’ he replied impatiently. ‘I wanted to wait until I saw you in person to tell you.’

The agent was hovering at the door. David flashed her a look and then closed the oak door behind her with a thump. He looked back at Brooke and his expression softened.

‘Honey, I don’t want to be doing the news forever. And this is a move away from it, a new avenue to explore.’

Brooke was aware that her arms were crossed again. ‘I thought you loved doing news,’ she said.

‘Hey, I thought you said you hated me running off to Beirut at the drop of a hat.’

‘I do.’

‘Well then. This is an honour, Brooke, can’t you see?’ he said, his dark blue eyes pleading with her. ‘Ever since that human trafficking report I did, they’ve been lining me up for something really big. You say I’m travelling all the time; well, here’s my opportunity to stay in one place. ‘

‘A different place to our home, our friends, our family – and, let’s not forget,
my
job.’

‘Well that’s something we’ve got to talk about … ’

‘You’re damn right we do,’ she said hotly. ‘Last time I looked there were no major children’s publishing houses in Washington.’

‘Come on, Brooke, you could easily do something else. In fact, you don’t have to do
anything
.’

She curled her hands into fists. ‘And that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?’

She thought of Robert Billington in the gardens of Cliffpoint, telling her how David just wanted a good wife. Well, screw them, she thought angrily.