Original Sin (75 page)

Tess looked over to the mantelpiece where she and Jemma had lined up their Christmas cards. This was the first year she hadn’t had a card from her mother, she realized. In the years after her father’s death, her mother had kept sending her birthday and Christmas cards, usually to Tess’s work address. She wasn’t sure how her mother kept tabs on where she worked, but for years the cards kept coming, always containing her mother’s contact details.
You could call her
, said a little voice in Tess’s head.
What a stupid idea
, she scolded herself, grabbing a copy of the nearest book to distract herself.
Simply Divine
:
Charles Devine – the whole story.
Stretching out on the sofa she began flicking through the pages of Charles’s memoirs. She had to admit he had a wonderful narrative voice, camp and witty, and couldn’t understand why a publisher hadn’t picked up his manuscript. Perhaps that’s what happened when you were out of favour. Too tired to read any more, she turned to the photographs in the middle of the book. Charles as a toddler, running around a country garden. Charles as a teenager. How handsome he was! Charles with Truman Capote, Pamela Harriman, Babe Paley, Gregory Peck. Just as he said, they were all there. Charles looked so glamorous and chic in every one.
What a life he’s led,
marvelled Tess. Suddenly she stopped, one particular face catching her eye. Yes, it was definitely her: much younger; much happier, it seemed. Tess read the caption: ‘On the high seas with Olivia Martin and Meredith Carter. Catalina Island. July 1963’. She examined the picture more carefully. The three of them were on a yacht, Olivia and Meredith were dressed in bathing suits, laughing and clinking two flutes of champagne together. It was a happy, relaxed photograph, but something about the image just didn’t fit. She reread the caption: Catalina Island, July 1963. Tess frowned. She remembered back to one of her first conversations with Meredith, at Brooke and David’s engagement party at Belcourt. Yes, that was it! She distinctly remembered Meredith saying that she barely knew Olivia. Tess grabbed her mobile and phoned Charles.

‘Darling Tess! Yuletide greetings to you,’ said Charles with evident pleasure. ‘How are you? I thought I was never going to hear from you again.’

‘I was just reading your memoirs.’

‘Aren’t they splendid?’

‘Yes, yes they’re wonderful.’

She paused. ‘Charles, are you at home? I need to talk to you.’

She could hear him clapping his hands.

‘I knew it! You smell best–seller, don’t you?’ he trilled.

‘Just put the kettle on,’ said Tess. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can find a cab.’

*

Charles answered the door in a blue velvet smoking jacket and matching slippers, his initials embroidered in gold on both.

‘Single malt,’ he smiled, pushing a tumbler of amber liquid into her hand. ‘It is Christmas, after all.’

One delicate silver star propped up on the fireplace was the only sign of Christmas.

‘I find holiday decorations so vulgar,’ he said airily.

‘I have to say I’ve hardly bothered myself this year,’ said Tess, sitting on the chair opposite Charles.

‘Well you do have the wedding,’ he sighed. ‘My invitation never did show.’

‘It’s a fairly small affair, Charles,’ said Tess sympathetically.

He snorted. ‘More likely the Asgills have got too big for their own boots.’

Tess smiled politely. ‘Actually, it was the Asgills I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘What about my memoirs?’ he said, frowning.

‘That too.’

Tess took the book out of the bag and turned to the photograph of Meredith.

‘What was this event?’ asked Tess, moving over to sit next to him on the sofa.

Charles’s face softened. ‘Ah, Bunny Bartlett’s twenty–first,’ he said warmly. ‘The yacht belonged to her father, somebody terribly important in Hollywood, I believe. New money, but a wonderful party nevertheless. A six–tier coconut birthday cake, and Daddy had parked a brand–new Porsche for her at the harbour when we docked. Ah, happy days,’ he smiled sipping his Scotch.

‘So were Meredith and Olivia Martin friends?’

‘I assume so, although I only met them both for the first time that day. Talking of Meredith … ’

Charles put down his glass and looked at Tess mischievously. ‘You know I heard a delicious little rumour the other day about your employer.’

Tess felt a twitch of anticipation.

‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this,’ he continued, ‘but since I haven’t been invited to the wedding, I don’t see why it’s my place to be discreet any longer.’

‘What was it?’

‘I was talking to Tony Scalino, a fabulous chef who does private catering for Gillian Pope.’

Tess looked at him blankly. ‘You must know Gillian. Filthy rich Upper East Side
grande dame
, excellent face–lift, friends with Meredith. Anyway, apparently Meredith and Gillian aren’t just friends. They’re
companions
.’ Charles framed the last word with bunny–ear quotation marks, his voice in a theatrical whisper.

‘Companions?’ asked Tess.

‘
Lovers
,’ said Charles.

‘Lovers?’ coughed Tess, choking on her whiskey. ‘Meredith has a lover? A
female
lover?’

Charles laughed, clapping his hands with glee. ‘Darling, you’d be amazed how many people in New York society swing both ways, although it’s the women who always keep it the most secret, particularly the very rich, powerful ones. The
clitorati
, as I like to call them.’

Tess thought back to what Leonard had told her many months before, how Meredith had never taken another lover after Howard. If Charles’s rumour was correct, it seemed that she had, but she had chosen to keep it secret.

‘It actually makes sense,’ smiled Charles languorously. ‘Howard had so many damn affairs you have to assume he wasn’t getting too much action at home. I’m amazed Meredith’s little secret hasn’t got out before now, though. According to Tony, a grubby journalist was sniffing around at one point. Asked him a few questions about Meredith and Gillian but he never heard any more about it. Reckoned Meredith must have paid them off to stop digging.’

Brooke’s eyes stared back to the photograph of Meredith and Olivia. One thing she had learned working with the paparazzi was that it was very difficult to fake intimacy. Certain things could not be staged convincingly. Those carefully stage–managed long–lens photographs of TV starlets ‘working out’ on a beach in very little looked real enough, but those ‘fake’ Hollywood couples, put together by their agents to promote a film or hide their sexuality, they never looked convincing. But Meredith and Olivia, now that looked real. Tess realized that that was what had jumped out at her when she had first seen the photograph. Intimacy; the way Meredith’s head was resting on her friend’s shoulder as Olivia laughed with carefree abandon.

‘You don’t think Meredith and Olivia were together?’ said Tess.

Charles shrugged and glanced at the picture. ‘I suppose it’s possible. Everybody was jumping in and out of bed with everyone that summer. Now tell me, what did think about chapter seven?’

*

Although the bed in her old room had been turned down and fresh flowers left on the nightstand in a Chinese vase, Brooke just couldn’t face sleeping at her mother’s. She couldn’t put her finger on why, it just didn’t feel right. She had managed to get through the day there, trying her best to enjoy all the traditional Christmas celebrations with the rest of the family, but now she felt hemmed in, trapped. She waited until Meredith went up to her bedroom and followed her up, leaving William, Sean, Liz, and Leonard in the media room watching
Casablanca
.

‘I have to go,’ said Brooke, standing at the doorway of her mother’s pale blue bedroom.

‘It’s Christmas Day,’ said Meredith, putting down the lipstick she had freshly applied. ‘You can’t be alone on Christmas Day.’

‘Mother, we’re leaving for Florida in thirty–six hours,’ said Brooke. ‘There’s so much to do and I’ve still not properly packed.’

Not bothering to hide her displeasure, Meredith sighed. ‘Very well. Is David coming round?’

‘No, he’s still at Belcourt. I won’t see him until we get to the Keys.’

Meredith’s shrewd eyes narrowed. ‘Everything is all right, isn’t it?’ she asked, walking over to Brooke.

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?’

Meredith’s watery–blue eyes searched hers. ‘You know you had a lucky escape.’

Brooke froze.
Did her mother know about Matt?
She had a sudden sick feeling that someone had taken a photograph of them together on Brooklyn Promenade.

‘Lucky?’ she stammered.

Her mother nodded gravely. ‘Once that story about Olivia Martin was published in the
Spy
I thought Wendell might put pressure on David to
reconsider
.’

Relief washed over Brooke. ‘Wendell knows as well as we do that there’s no hidden scandal behind that story,’ she said, looking away. Meredith put a hand up to Brooke’s face.

‘You do know you can tell me anything, don’t you?’ she asked, searching Brooke’s face.

Brooke forced a smile. ‘I know, I just have such a lot on my mind at the moment.’

Meredith looked at her for a moment, then leant forward and kissed her. ‘Well, Happy Christmas, darling.’

‘Happy Christmas,’ said Brooke.
Happy,
she thought.
If only that were true
.

*

She was home for nine p.m., changing into her cream silk dressing gown before phoning David. Mostly she just let him talk; he was telling her about the Christmas gifts he had given and received, and snippets of Billington family gossip; horses they had recently bought; the new sailing boat Robert had on order; the pregnancy of his cousin Laura. The ordinariness of their conversation soothed her, and helped her blank out the turmoil that she had gone through over the past few days. When they had hung up, Brooke laid out her silk ivory shoes and Sabbia Rose underwear next to her Louis Vuitton cases, then put Guillaume’s wedding gown on the bed.

‘I’m going to wear it,’ she whispered to herself. She turned to look at Nicholas’s beautiful white gown, then quickly zipped it back in its dress bag, putting it away in the furthest part of her closet, trying to block out any memories she associated with it. She squashed the remaining items into her cases and snapped them shut. Just then her cell phone rang.

‘Have you made a decision?’

Her mouth went dry as she recognized Matt’s voice. ‘Decision?’ she croaked, feeling sick.

‘Are you at home?’ he asked, his voice sounded anxious.

‘Yes,’ she said, closing her eyes.
Not now
, she thought.
Not now
.

‘I’ve just finished my shift. Can I see you?’ said Matt. ‘I can’t stand not to see you on Christmas Day, not when I’ve been thinking about you for every minute since I last saw you.’

Brooke’s heart felt as if it were tearing apart. He sounded so sincere, so loving.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, Matt,’ she said.

‘Oh.’

The silence was like a siren.

‘Matt, I’m getting married in three days.’

‘But what about the other night?’ His voice was hurt, pleading.

‘Matt, don’t. It’s better this way.’

‘NO!’ he shouted. ‘Listen, I’m coming round. We should at least talk about it.’

‘No,’ she said, feeling irrational butterflies of fear.

‘Please. Just give me five minutes.’

He is not a monster
, she told herself.
You at least owe him that
.

‘Five minutes,’ she said.

*

He walked into her apartment silently, his green eyes heavy and sad. Brooke stood in the centre of her living room, arms folded defensively in front of her.

‘What changed, Brooke?’ he said quietly. ‘I thought we had something that night. I
know
we did.’

She forced herself to look at him. She had spent the last twenty–four hours demonizing him, convincing herself that he was a violent, snarling beast, but she didn’t see any of that in the man standing in front of her. She saw a flawed man, a man who had made mistakes. The fact that she could see him suffering – the red rings of tiredness around his handsome eyes, the furrowed brow – only made her more sad. She had never wanted to lie to Matt; for the last nine months he had been a good friend, her little oasis of sanity. Okay, so perhaps he was not the man she thought he once was, but she still felt she owed him the truth.

‘You hit Katie,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice flat and composed. ‘You hit Susie too.’