Prima Donna (38 page)

She strode happily out of the gallery, the sound of her heels echoing through the near-deserted halls, her long legs flashing like scissors below her coat. Security, not so much recognizing
her
, as recognizing the authority that came from a sophisticated woman in full march, threw open the backstage doors for her. She walked unhesitatingly through the labyrinth towards
Ava’s dressing room.

‘Hey, Sophie, looking good!’ Pete, the lighting prop, called out, walking backwards to have a good look at her. ‘Coming for a drink?’

‘Yeah, later maybe,’ she called back, not breaking stride.

The door was ajar, but she didn’t bother to knock. She burst in excitedly, keen to offer her congratulations at last, and was instantly overpowered by the scent of a hundred bouquets
covering every surface. She looked around but it was like hacking through a jungle. Where was she?

Ava’s tutu was lying frothily in the middle of the floor, as though she’d just stepped out of it. She couldn’t be far. Adam’s dressing room, probably.

She went to leave the room again when she heard a sound behind the antique embroidered dressing screen. She
was
getting changed.

‘Ava!’ she said, walking over. ‘You’ll never guess! It’s been a sell-out! The entire exhibition. Can you believe it? And as for you guys! You were
amazing
!
A dream-team!’

She rounded the corner and found herself face to face with her friend. Ava met her eyes and smiled – just as Adam came deep inside her.

Tanner creaked down the stairs, a disgusted snarl on his lips and feeling hungover to hell. The last guests hadn’t left till five and there were bodies everywhere,
crashed out on sofas and under the tables. Looking out in the garden, he saw some people had even pitched tents in the garden, Glasto-style.

He wanted them gone, the lot of them. His head hurt, and not just because of the bottle of whisky he’d polished off, as eager for its amnesiac effect as its deterrence to Violet’s
overtures. His mind had raced for all of the two hours he’d tried to sleep, the vision of Lulie, bare-breasted and legs spread, swimming in front of him every time he closed his eyes. He felt
guilty that it had excited him so much; enraged that this had happened to his brother.

He clattered about angrily in the stables, knocking over feed buckets and upsetting the horses, who instinctively picked up on his mood. He didn’t care. He wanted to rage and kick the hell
out of things. In the absence of actually having Harry Hunter to beat to a pulp, it was the best he was going to get for the time being.

He tossed the hay furiously, throwing it three feet into the air, moving from one stall to the next, until he came across Jessy and Rob, half naked and snoring, wrapped around each other and
clearly sleeping where they had fallen. He stared at them both, still resolutely unconscious and as yet untroubled by their hangovers.

He walked outside and saddled up Conker. He couldn’t risk waking them. He couldn’t speak to anyone yet. And certainly not Jonty. He had to get out of here.

He hoisted himself unsteadily into the saddle, pulling back on the reins as Conker took a few steps back. He looked up at Jonty and Lulie’s bedroom window. The curtains were firmly
drawn.

He shook his head in despair, then dug his heels hard into Conker’s sides. The hunter immediately took off in an all-out gallop, Tanner holding on grimly as his adrenalin levels fought to
override the alcohol in his bloodstream. He knew it was dangerous to ride in this condition, but it was the only thing he knew for clearing his head.

The smell of bacon and sausages being fried was wafting from the stable door in the kitchen by the time he got back to the yard. It was one in the afternoon, and although all
the stragglers had gone, the residents of the house were only just beginning to come to.

He walked sombrely into the kitchen. He knew now what he had to do.

Jonty was standing in his pyjamas, cooking an entire twelve-pack of eggs directly on the simmering plate of the Aga. Tanner raised an eyebrow at his brother’s appetite.

‘That bad, huh?’

Jonty grinned and poked them with the spoon. ‘Munchies like you wouldn’t believe. Have one.’

‘Oh, one? Really? That’s generous.’

Jonty chuckled and poured him a cup of tea from the pot. ‘Here, have that. It might put you in a better mood.’

‘Nothing’s going to improve my mood today,’ Tanner said quietly, turning his back. ‘Where’s Lulie? Still sleeping?’

‘No. She’s gone off for a walk.’

‘A walk? Where?’ Tanner asked, instantly suspicious.

Jonty shrugged. ‘I dunno. She’d already gone by the time I woke up. You know what a poor sleeper she is.’

Tanner rolled his eyes at that. Lulie’s sleepwalking had become the stuff of legend in the Ludgrove household, but he said nothing. At least it meant she wouldn’t overhear them.

Jonty grabbed the serving plate of sausages, bacon, tomatoes, black pudding and mushrooms that were keeping warm in the warming oven. ‘Here,’ he said, putting it on the table.
‘Tuck in.’

Both brothers speared the food onto their plates and covered it with hefty doses of brown sauce. They ate in noisy silence for a few minutes, both grateful for the starch that would ease their
cravings.

‘So,’ Jonty said finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaning back in the chair. ‘Kicking party, huh?’

Tanner smiled. ‘It was a big one, all right. Just as well you don’t get married too often. The house couldn’t take it.’

‘
I
’m only ever getting married once,’ Jonty grinned. ‘You don’t let a girl like Lulie slip through your fingers.’

The smile slid off Tanner’s face and he stared at his hands. He knew he had to say it. He couldn’t let his brother labour under the illusion that his marriage was a good one.
She’d cheated on him at their wedding reception. He had to know.

‘Look, Jonty,’ he said, fiddling with his mug of tea. ‘There’s something I really have—’

‘Morning,’ Violet groaned, stumbling into the kitchen in a T-shirt. She still had the large peony – now very crushed – in her hair, and her mascara had migrated to her
cheeks. She ruffled Jonty’s hair like a child’s as she passed, and checked the teapot.

Tanner looked up at her as she bent down to kiss him but he forgot to purse his lips, and she pulled away, baffled. ‘Do you feel as rough as you look?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Yes,’ Tanner muttered. ‘Here, have some tucker,’ Jonty said, putting a plate together for her. ‘It’s still warm.’

‘Oh good, ’cos I’m not,’ Violet said, shivering. ‘It’s bloody freezing in here. Why’ve you left the door open?’ She walked over to the door and
shut it.

‘Needed to blow out the cobwebs, Vi. Best thing for getting rid of a hangover,’ Jonty grinned. ‘I reckon we should all go for a big ride this afternoon. Whaddya say?’

‘I say I want to go back to bed,’ Violet groaned, shivering still. ‘Where’s my cashmere jumper that I saw Lulie walking around in? I want it back.’

‘It’s in the wardrobe. You can go in and get it. Lulie’s not sleeping. She’s gone off on one of her walks.’

‘Collecting things for the nature table, is she?’ Violet quipped, smiling as she disappeared up the back stairs.

Biscuit came and sat by Tanner’s knees, and he pulled her ears gently.

‘Hey, did you get a chance to talk to Felix last night?’ Jonty asked, one eyebrow cocked, as he settled himself into the armchair by the Aga. ‘Did you hear he’s gone and
landed himself a record contract?’

‘Felix? What, Felix Shepham? Really?’ Tanner raked his mind back through the years, frowning. ‘I thought he played the recorder.’

Jonty chuckled. ‘Well, yes – aged seven, you tool! He’s on drums now with that band he set up with Matt Ashley.’

Tanner put on a look of concentration, trying to pretend he cared about Felix’s band. He didn’t. He wanted to talk about Lulie, but Violet would be coming back down any moment.

‘Look, why don’t we go for the ride later – just you and me? The girls aren’t going to be up for it,’ he said casually. ‘You can take Kermit. It’s been
ages since we went for a hack together and, besides, I need to check on some hedging in Long Field.’

‘Okay,’ Jonty shrugged. ‘Lulie will probably be working anyway. She’s got another sackload of scripts to get through.’

Violet appeared at the foot of the stairs. She looked pale.

‘Uh-oh! You okay, Violet?’ Jonty asked, taking in her pallor. ‘Gravity catching up with last night?’

Violet shook her head and walked slowly back into the kitchen. She looked like she was choosing her words. ‘Where did you say Lulie had gone?’ she asked quietly.

Jonty shrugged. ‘Just off on one of her walks. Why?’

Violet looked at Tanner, and then back at him. ‘Because she’s taken all of her clothes.’

Jonty raced through the house, ransacking the wardrobes like he expected to find his wife hiding behind the shirts at the back. He turned the bedroom upside down but every
trace of her had gone. Her laptop, her lingerie, her hairbrush. Only her wedding ring remained on the dressing table, sitting on a crushed receipt that had the single word ‘Sorry’
scrawled on it.

Tanner stood down below in the kitchen, incandescent with rage as he heard his brother – as broken as if he’d been kneecapped – sobbing through the floorboards. For hours, he
listened to Violet talking to him through the locked door.

‘Open the door, Jonty, and let me in,’ she said softly. ‘I can help.’

But the door remained locked. Biscuit whined from her bed, made anxious by all the unusual frenzy and high drama in the house. Tanner dragged his hands through his hair, conflicted. He was still
the only one who knew she must be with Hunter. But what was worse: the fact that she’d left him, or the fact that she’d left him for Hunter?

He paced up and down restlessly, kicking the chairs and slamming shots of whisky. He was desperate for something to do, for someone to blame. Harry fucking Hunter. He hadn’t needed to know
of his reputation to know, the second he lay eyes on him, that the guy was trouble. Seducing her at her own wedding reception? It was a sick joke. It was . . .

Tanner stood bolt upright and Biscuit’s ears pricked up, on full alert.

He suddenly knew exactly who to blame.

Pia was sitting at her dressing table, staring at the card, a thick coffee-coloured card nestled in a cream satin-lined box, with the words engraved in gold leaf:
‘Boathouse, 10 p.m.’

She read the words over and over, knowing full well what they implied. This was it. Her summons. Her boat was finally being called in.

She put the tablet down and looked at herself in the mirror. The image that greeted her was the one she’d dreamt of seeing as a child – the dramatic sweep of kohl, the rouged cheeks,
her hair oiled back and glistening with a ruby-studded coronet. But she didn’t see a classical ballerina reflected back. She saw a chorus girl – gaudy, tacky, cheap, for sale.

Her time was up. He wanted her, and how could she refuse him after all he’d done? He’d been true to his word and played the perfect gentleman at all times, but now he’d done
what he’d said he would – he’d put her back together again – and he clearly wanted to pick up where they’d left off.

She shook her head. He didn’t get it. He didn’t get
her
– he didn’t know her any better now than he had when they’d met in the gym in St Moritz. He just
didn’t understand that the accident had changed the rules. It had enabled him to rescue and trap her and had put everything on his terms, which had been exactly what he’d wanted the
very first night they’d met: she may have won that battle, but he’d won the war. Her loss had been his gain and the more time, money and kindness he invested in her, the more beholden
to him she became.

But Pia Soto didn’t
do
debt. Her independence was her lifeblood and she just couldn’t reconcile her obligation to him with her ferocious need for self-determination.
Something had to give. They couldn’t both win.

Outside, the ambient noise level was ratcheting up the decibels and the orchestra was tunelessly tuning up. She automatically flexed and pointed her foot slowly. It moved beautifully. But she
knew it was too soon.

There was a knock and Evie popped her head around the door.

‘How you doing, sweetie?’ she drawled, throwing a limp posy of carnations onto the dressing table. ‘Not the greatest selection in the village,’ she apologized, rolling
her eyes.

Pia tried to smile, but Evie clocked one look at her and saw her energy was off.

‘Ah, like that, is it?’ she said, her stomach sinking as she saw the newspapers rolled up on the sofa. ‘Oh don’t tell me you read the reviews!’ she said sharply.
They had been evangelical in their praise of Adam and Ava’s performance.

Pia shook her head. She hadn’t needed to. She’d heard quite enough on the radio as she was having her make-up done.

Evie looked at her star. She was looking far from starry at the moment. ‘You’re ready for this, Pia.’

Pia cocked an eyebrow disdainfully.

‘Yes, you are,’ Evie said firmly. ‘I wouldn’t let you go up on that stage tonight if I didn’t think you were. My reputation’s on the line here too,
don’t forget.’

Pia squished her lips together. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

‘And you and Rudie? You’re a much better fit together. That rehearsal this morning was a dream to watch. I have no concerns. Adam Bridges was always too limp, following you around
the stage like a lost puppy. It was embarrassing to watch, frankly.’ Evie flicked her hands dismissively ‘Rudie’s perfect. He’s a better height, for a start; you look
beautiful together and he’s as gay as a lord. He’ll show you off beautifully.’

Pia allowed a small smile to break through.

‘You need to master technique and then forget about it and be natural. Who said that?’

‘You did,’ Pia quipped.

Evie narrowed her eyes. ‘Who said that, lady?’

Pia sighed. ‘Anna Pavlova.’

‘That’s right. And she knew what she was talking about. You’ve got the technique, you’ve got the fitness, you’ve got the strength and you’ve got the team.
Forget about Ava. Forget about Chicago. This is
your
ballet, Pia. Ava was miming up there. You don’t need to think about this. You just need to feel it.’