Original Sin (79 page)

‘I’m just trying to convince myself certain things didn’t happen,’ said Brooke quietly. ‘So far it’s working.’

‘So the thing with Matt–’

‘It’s definitely all over,’ said Brooke quietly.

Tess nodded. ‘You made the right decision.’

Brooke looked down at her hands. She hadn’t told Tess why she had no plans to see Matt Palmer ever again. Why not let her assume it had been a decision based on her love of David? Hell, it might even be true.

‘The right decision … yes,’ said Brooke. ‘In fact, I’m off on a date with my fiancé right now. David should be here any minute to take me for a last romantic interlude as a single person.’

‘Ah, well in that case I’d better go.’

‘Back to Sean?’ said Brooke, looking up with a smile.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Tess wryly.

‘I saw that kiss by the rest rooms after Sean’s speech.’

‘You did?’ Tess shook her head laughing. ‘I suppose I should have told you earlier – not that there was anything to tell. We had a little thing in Hawaii but I thought he was trouble.’

Brooke raised her brow.

Tess shrugged. ‘But, even if he is, I like him a lot. One thing this year has taught me is that you can be with someone for the longest time, the person who you think is right for you, but it can still be wrong. And that person that you think is wrong for you can be so, so right.’ Tess giggled. ‘If any of that gibberish made any sense?’

Brooke nodded. ‘Perfect sense.’

Just then, David appeared from the darkness. In a midnight blue suit, his hair cropped close to his head, Tess thought he looked like James Bond.

‘Well, I think I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,’ said Tess, heading back towards the hotel as David took Brooke’s hand. He led her down into the gardens, down a torchlit path, until they reached a dock, where a small boat was waiting for them.

‘Oh honey,’ said Brooke, her eyes sparkling, ‘it’s perfect.’

David climbed on board, helping Brooke in her long dress across the rickety gangplank.

He started the engine and the boat carved through the water, which was still and black with ribbons of silver dancing across its surface. In just a few minutes they had arrived at another small island, just a circle of sand and scrub barely two hundred metres wide. David pulled a torch and a small backpack from behind the wheel and threw them onto the beach then, with an ‘allez–oop!’, he hoisted a laughing Brooke over his shoulder and splashed to the shore. It was deliciously deserted and romantic on the beach, the sand cold beneath their bare feet, the full moon and stars providing a shimmering light. David spread a blanket on the sand, popped a bottle of fizzing champagne and poured out two paper cups.

‘To tomorrow,’ he said, tapping his cup against hers. In the distance they could hear music and laughter drifting from the hotel, and Brooke laughed, hiking up her dress and crossing her legs, thinking that – despite the million–dollars’ worth of jewels she was wearing: long chandelier Harry Winston earrings and a rope of diamonds borrowed from Rose Billington – she still felt like Robinson Crusoe.

‘Oh, why don’t we do this more often, honey?’ she asked happily.

‘Trespass on a deserted key with a backpack full of alcohol?’ he smiled.

She leant across and kissed him and thought how much she liked this David. Relaxed, playful. It was how he had been the first time she met him all those months ago in Biarritz: that was the man she fell in love with. It was never about the money, the position in New York society, or the guaranteed lifetime of luxury and privilege. It was about a man who cared for her deeply and who she cared for back. But they didn’t live on a deserted island where they could pretend they were castaways – they lived in New York, where their lives were public property and where they could never truly relax, always knowing that someone was watching or snapping or even simply gossiping about them. She was sure this life wouldn’t get any easier when they moved to Washington, and when David embarked on his political career, the chances were it would only get worse.

Sitting in the silence, surrounded by just sky and sea, a note of sadness invaded her happy mood. Brooke knew of course it was this situation, the feeling of being funnelled into a restricted, narrow life, which had led her to Matt. Yes, he was handsome, yes they had been friends, and yes there was the lure and nostalgia of a less complicated past. But above all, Matt was a liferaft. She hadn’t really wanted to run away to Africa with him, but part of her
did
want to run away. Lying here, away from the circus, she could see that clearly now.

‘I’ve got you a present,’ said David.

She looked up at him with surprise and alarm. ‘I thought we weren’t bothering.’

David smiled. ‘Well, this present will make me happy if it makes you happy.’

He pulled out a small suede pouch and handed it to her. She tipped the contents into the palm of her hand and looked down to see a set of keys.

‘What are these for?’ she asked, thinking back to a few weeks earlier when she had seen a cherry–red vintage Mercedes parked on a street in SoHo and had drooled over it.

‘Look David, it’s a
Hart to Hart
car,’ she had laughed, reminded of the cheesy Eighties detective series she loved watching on cable. It would be typical of David’s thoughtful extravagance to track down the owner and buy it.

‘Is it a car?’ she asked.

David chuckled. ‘No, it’s for the apartment on Riverside Drive, that triplex you loved.’

Brooke gasped out loud. ‘But how can we … ?’ she began, but he put up a hand to silence her.

‘Honey, I know you’ve never been keen on a permanent move to Washington, so I’ve been thinking over and over how we can work this out,’ he said. ‘I’ve spoken to Edward at Yellow Door and he says you can work three days a week. I could fly back from Washington to New York on Fridays and stay until Tuesday. My meeting yesterday was about taping the show one day a week from the studio in Manhattan, and the producer isn’t totally against the idea, so splitting our time between DC and New York shouldn’t be that difficult.’

She closed her eyes, clasping her fist around the cold metal.
He was so sweet. He was so lovely. Surely love didn’t have to be this complicated.

The words came tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Something happened between me and Matt Palmer,’ she said, unable to keep the truth from her loving, honorable man any longer.

He stared at her for a few moments, his expression one of incomprehension, then cold, bitter knowing. ‘What happened exactly?’ he said with such icy composure it frightened her.

She nodded, the shame filling her up, sitting on her heart like marble. ‘We kissed. We fooled around … ’

‘You had sex with him,’ he stated coolly.

‘No. I stopped. I couldn’t do it.’

‘How loyal of you,’ he spat bitterly. ‘When was this?’

‘When you were in Vegas,’ she said, not daring to breathe.

David stood up, grabbed the bottle of champagne and hurled it into the sea.

‘Fuck!’ he roared. Brooke reflected that it was the only time she’d ever heard him swear.

‘David, I’m so sorry,’ she said scrambling to her feet, her hand outstretched, but he moved away from her.

‘What a laugh you two must have been having behind my back,’ he said, his mouth turned sourly downward. ‘‘Oh David, come to Matt’s dinner party,’ he mimicked, ‘he’s such a good friend.’’

‘We
were
friends,’ pleaded Brooke. ‘It was only once. I was scared about the wedding and confused about our future.’

‘Well, I’m sorry that a future with me is so disturbing,’ he deadpanned.

She tried to hold his arms, but he shook her off and turned his face away.

‘David, you know I love you.’

He looked at her and all she could see in his eyes was pain. ‘Do I?’

He was right. What could he possibly know about her feelings when, here she was, hours away from their wedding, completely unsure of what she felt, of what she really wanted? Thousands of happy memories flashed through her mind: those first dates, their trips to the Hamptons, the Bahamas, even just sharing breakfast in bed on a Saturday, lazily swapping snippets from the morning papers. But was he the one? Her one true love? Was it unrealistic to think that – out of all the billions of people in the world – you could find the one person that was a perfect fit?

Brooke certainly knew that she had compromised with David. He was handsome, clever, kind, and she
adored
him, there was no question about that; but neither was there any question that signing up to a life with David was a life of standing two steps behind him, a curious mixture of living both in the public eye and yet in the shadows. Maybe that was what she might have wanted once, when she and her Brown friends went walking along the cliff–path below David’s home, but now it felt as if she were cheating herself, cheating herself out of a happier life. Brooke knew she could lie to him, she could back–pedal, fudge the facts, tell him it all meant nothing. But it did, it had. Whatever and whoever Matt had turned out to be, it had been more than a silly fling; it had been her own heart telling her something.

‘This isn’t about you, David,’ she said finally. ‘I love you. I know it doesn’t sound like it right now, but I do, I honestly do. This is about our lives, it’s about the life we would have together.’

‘But if you’re unhappy with the way I–’ he began, but she cut him off.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s not that I’m unhappy with you, honey. Don’t ever think that. I’m just unhappy with our lives.’

The relief she felt in finally admitting it out loud was almost physical. Her back straightened and her ears sang. It was as if she was finally taking a step towards freedom, but she realized with a terrible sinking feeling that that freedom could mean giving up David.

‘What’s
happened
to you, Brooke?’ he asked, unable to disguise his pain. ‘There’s a million girls who’d want to swap places with you.’

‘Maybe,’ she said slowly, ‘maybe you’re right.’

Her stomach clenched with fear, but then out of nowhere she thought of Eileen Dunne and their first lunch together at the London hotel.

‘Someone told me once that marriage isn’t just about love,’ said Brooke, finding strength and courage in the words. ‘It’s about wanting to go on life’s adventure with your chosen partner.’

‘So you don’t want to do that with me?’ His tone was desperate and woeful.

She reached up and touched his face tenderly. ‘More than anything, David. But I just don’t think we want to go on the same adventure.’

He blinked at her, as if she had said something unfathomable.

‘So that’s it,’ he said flatly.

Suddenly Brooke felt overcome with an unfamiliar emotion: anger. Anger at the situation, anger at him, anger for him. He had been bred for this life; he had never chosen it himself. This kind, sensitive man was being pushed into something he’d never asked for.

‘Is this really the life
you
want, David?’ she asked. ‘The politics, the ambition? Is this really all you’ve ever wanted?’

‘Of course, I … ’

‘Okay, so if you wanted to be president one day so badly, why aren’t you running for Congress next year? Why are you putting it off for the Washington show? I know you love working in television, but that’s not just it, is it?’

‘You know this, Brooke,’ he said with irritation. ‘The Washington show is a positioning tool; it raises my profile and sets me up as a serious political player.’

‘Oh bullshit!’ spat Brooke, surprised at herself. ‘You’re just postponing the inevitable.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Taking up a life someone else chose for you.’

Indecision flickered across his face and then it was gone. ‘This life might have been chosen for me, Brooke, but it’s what I want.’

‘It’s not,’ she said, grabbing both his shoulders. ‘You’re too honest; you’re too decent for the life they want for you. Why are you doing it? Why?’

‘It’s what I want,’ he repeated, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.

‘Well it’s
you
I want, David. Not your life, not your family – you. If you still want me, then maybe it doesn’t have to end like this,’ she said desperately, tears beginning to roll down her face. ‘We can have another life, David. We can start again somewhere else. London, LA; anywhere where you’re not being crushed by the weight of expectation.’

‘I have ambitions too, Brooke,’ he said softly. ‘It’s not just my family; I want to succeed for myself. Yes, they have certain expectations of me, I’m aware of that – no, I
respect
that, because I happen to think family is important. But I’m not a robot, I can make my own choices.’

Brooke listened to the slow laps of water rolling towards them and thought about the cruel irony of the setting. This was how their relationship had begun eighteen months ago, a first kiss on a beach in bright moonlight. Now their relationship seemed destined to finish in exactly the same way. Perhaps it was the pressure his family had brought to bear on him over a lifetime of conditioning, or perhaps it was genuinely David’s own choice to pursue politics. Either way, he was unwilling to compromise those ambitions for her. And, for her part, she was unwilling to compromise herself. She was unwilling to become part of the Billington machine, but, more than that, she was unwilling to become a part of David. And that was the saddest thing of all. Finally, Brooke began to sob.