The Liberation of Alice Love (13 page)

“Anyway.” Cassie eyed her reflection in the shiny lift interior, smoothing down her already-glossy hair as they came to a halt. “Come say hi to everyone and start drinking. You’re way behind.”

Everyone turned out to be lounging on the far side of the slim, rooftop pool, balancing cocktails precariously on padded recliners as they laughed and chatted and otherwise eyed the rest of the fashionable crowd. Cassie led them over, carefully picking her way across the damp tiles and throwing a wave and a careless smile to people as she went.

“Look,” Flora hissed, jerking her head at the man who was, for some inexplicable reason, swimming laps after dark in tight-fitting white trunks.

“Modest,” Alice laughed, before they were swept up in enthusiastic greetings.

“Darling!” Flavia pressed a glass of wine into her hand. Teetering on thick wedge sandals, her curves were barely constrained by a skin-tight red dress stretched over a lacy black bra. “Mwah, mwah. You look fabulous!”

“Happy birthday.” Alice hugged her affectionately. A six-foot, Brazilian ex-model with wild, curly hair, Flavia could get away with acting like an
Ab Fab
character, a cigarette dangling from her left hand and lips smeared with red. “You don’t look any older, I promise.”

“Oh, hush.” Flavia giggled. “I’m booked in for Botox tomorrow morning.”

Alice gasped, “No!”

“Yes!” Tossing back her hair, Flavia struck a pose; one hip jutted out and her breasts thrust forward. “You think I’m letting anything sag? Darling, this ass is all I have in the world!”

“A toast!” Vitolio cried out. Alice had hardly recognized him fully clothed. “To Flavia’s fantastic arse!”

“Hear, hear!”

***

With a group as extroverted as Flavia and her friends, Alice wasn’t required to do anything more than sip her champagne and appreciate their ever-more-outrageous stories. She and Flora settled back on the loungers and for the next hour bore witness to the increasingly drunken antics of European cool hunters, South American fashion designers, and, of course, the London creative elite. But by the time the fifth bottle of champagne arrived at their table, and Cassie once again began to describe the perilous working conditions in Poland, Alice was beginning to feel restless.

Unfolding herself, she slipped her shoes back on and turned to nudge Flora. “Do you want anything from the bar?”

“Maybe some water?” Flora suggested. A chivalrous member of their group had draped his jacket over her as protection from the faint chill, and she was curled up, happily watching the crowd with a dreamy expression on her face.

“I’ll be right back.”

Carefully navigating her way around the pool, Alice slipped inside. The bar was loud with laughter and noise, packed with ultra-stylish young things in bright-print playsuits, leggings, and skinny jeans. Some kind of product launch was going on, with dark bottles of whiskey stacked in precarious pyramids along the back wall and flat screens set up at strategic angles playing advertisements on mute. Thanks to the issues of
Heat
Saskia left piling up around the office, Alice could count at least three minor reality “stars” and a clutch of former boy-band pinups as she made her way to the bar and ordered two mineral waters.

“That’s not getting into the spirit of things.”

Alice looked back from the clique of D-listers. A man was standing next to her, in a designer-looking suit. “The spirit, get it?” He flashed her a grin. “Because of the whiskey?”

Alice groaned. “That’s a terrible pun.”

“I know,” he admitted, reaching up with one hand to tousle his already-artful mess of choppy blond hair. “What’s worse is I’ve been waiting all night to use it.”

She laughed, despite herself, just as the barman delivered Alice’s drinks. She rummaged in her purse for change.

“I’ve got this,” he stopped her, sliding a note to the barman.

“Thank you,” Alice said politely. Ordinarily, she would have left it at that and returned to her group, but she’d been restless for a while. Watching him, Alice gave a small grin. “What would you have done if I’d ordered champagne?”

“Gone and hit on the girl drinking cranberry juice,” he replied, nodding farther down the bar. Alice laughed.

“You’re honest, at least.”

“An underrated virtue.” He flashed that smile again. “I’m Johan.”

Alice took his outstretched hand. “I’m…” She paused, the words dissolving in her mouth. She could tell him anything, she realized suddenly: any name, any story. Why would he doubt her? She could create whatever fiction she desired. Alice felt a spark of power rush through her. For one night, she could be the successful agent or jet-setting actress or nationally best-selling artist. Anything.

But just as quickly, Alice swallowed back the temptation. What was she thinking? “I have to get back,” she said, nodding in the direction of the pool. “But thank you for the drinks.”

Johan shrugged. “No problem.” His eyes drifted past her, already seeking out his next target. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Alice hurried back outside. Flora was boxed into a corner, Cassie’s sleazy designer friend leaning ever closer, so Alice deftly inserted herself between them. “Here you go.” She brightly passed Flora the water, turning away from the man and pushing back a few steps so he was forced to retreat.

“Thanks,” Flora whispered gratefully. “He started insisting I come by his studio for some private fittings!”

“Lovely.” Alice took a sip and looked around. The lone swimmer had long since abandoned the pool, but the water looked even more appealing now in the dark: glowing an ethereal turquoise as it rippled and shifted in the breeze.

“Are you doing OK?” Alice checked with Flora. “They can be a little overwhelming, I know.” Her own years with Vivienne and Cassie had inured her somewhat to the adventures of her more high-maintenance acquaintances. Flora, however, looked pale and faintly exhausted.

“No, I’m great!” she insisted, smiling back at Alice. “Everyone’s so interesting and well travelled. It’s wonderful.”

“But you’ll let me know if…” She trailed off, catching a glimpse of a new arrival emerging from the lift. “Oh crap.”

“What?” Flora followed her gaze.

“The ex.”

He was strolling out onto the roof, a messy cravat knotted at his neck and an arm draped around a rake-thin girl. Petros had been crude but correct in his description, Alice noted: her hair was a long, sweeping mess of blond curls, but her torso was completely flat. Alice looked quickly over at Cassie. Perched in Vitolio’s lap, laughing loudly, it seemed as if she hadn’t noticed him yet, but Alice detected a wild, determined look in her eyes. She knew exactly what was happening.

Alice sighed. The last time they’d had a run-in with Dakota in person, Cassie had spent the rest of the night downing tequila shots and weeping in the women’s bathroom. Alice practically had to carry her back to the Tube, passing tissues as she bawled all the way home, hiccuping over how they were meant to be together, and how it didn’t matter what a bastard he seemed, because they had so much history. Alice had heard it all too many times.

“Do you want to get going?” she asked Flora, suddenly determined. Just because Cassie ran like clockwork, it didn’t mean Alice had to play her part this time too. They were surrounded by people who could hold Cassie’s hair back as she wretched, miserable, and murmur sympathetic encouragement that she would only ignore.

“Sure, if you want to.” Flora seemed reluctant, but she reached for her purse.

“Good,” Alice exhaled. Cassie was already gulping from the nearest bottle of wine, but this time, at least, Alice wouldn’t have to suffer through the carnage. Quickly, they said their good-byes and headed back toward the lift, but Cassie chased after her.

“Wait, Alice.” Cassie grabbed her arm. “You’re not going, are you? You can’t!”

“I know, hon.” Alice carefully detached herself. “But Flora has a terrible headache, I need to get her home.” She was surprised at just how easily the lie fell from her lips.

Cassie stared at her, uncomprehending. “But…he’s here!”

“And you’ll be fine.” Alice patted her reassuringly. “You’ve got Vitolio now, remember? You’ve moved on.”

“I know, but—”

“It was lovely to see you.” Alice followed Flora into the lift. Although she usually would have stayed, comforting Cassie until dawn, tonight she was unmoved. Pressing the lift button, she sent Cassie a supportive smile through the closing doors: “Take care!”

Chapter Thirteen

With the London weather providing a rare stretch of hot, sunny days, Alice watched as the Grayson Wells Agency slipped into a leisurely holiday pace. Half the agents disappeared on their official vacations while the other half lolled around the office, returning from three-hour lunches with faint sunburn and half-empty bottles of Pimm’s. She enjoyed no such break. After all her time spent untangling Ella’s movements, Alice’s backlog of paperwork had grown to unprecedented proportions, until even Vivienne remarked that contracts seemed to be moving remarkably slow.

Guilty, Alice pledged to put her extracurricular interests aside and focus on her real job, but the debt-collecting agencies clearly didn’t pause for warmer weather. Despite every effort of Stefan’s solicitor, they were back, pursuing their monies with renewed threats.

“I’m sorry, but I—” Alice tried to get a word in, but the man on the other end of her line wouldn’t let up.

“If you don’t pay up now, this will go to court.” His voice was loud and menacing. “Do you really want criminal charges? Because that’s what’ll happen. I’m warning you. We’ll send the bailiffs in too.”

Despite the sweltering heat, Alice shivered. “My solicitor has been in touch,” she tried again, when at last he paused—presumably for breath. “He’s sent the relevant papers, and police reports. You need to stop harassing me like this.”

“The payment is due now,” he repeated, as if she hadn’t said a word. “We’ll take you to court and start criminal proceedings.”

Alice hung up.

They were all the same. It didn’t matter what she said or what papers were sent; they just kept calling. Alice had changed her mobile number and moved several times; this was the only place they could reach her, but still, she couldn’t screen every call.

“These just got sent over.” Saskia heaved into the room and dropped a new pile of papers into her already-overflowing inbox. “Vivienne says they need to be double-checked and messengered out by the end of the day.” She pushed strands of red hair from her face, flushed and sweaty in the heat.

“Mmm-hmm.” Alice looked up from her computer. As if she needed any additional work. Fanning herself with a file, she remembered to add, “Thank you. Who’s is it?”

“Nick Savage.” Saskia beamed.

“I’ll have them back downstairs this afternoon.”

When she’d departed, and Alice had dispatched another three overdue contracts in swift succession, she settled in to see what role their new golden boy had won himself now. Flipping through the contract, she finally found the details: the lead role in an upcoming BBC miniseries, playing an enigmatic yet dashing Victorian inventor. Alice paused. That was the role Rupert had been called back for, the one Vivienne had declared would be his return to form. They’d said the part was as good as his, Alice remembered; in fact, the last time Rupert had dropped by the office, he’d told her with no small relief that it would save his career—and shown her Keisha’s ultrasound pictures. But now it was Nick who was signed on for (and at this, Alice had to blink at the small print) a good twenty percent less than scale. He might as well be working for free.

She shouldn’t interfere—it wasn’t her place—but Alice couldn’t stop herself from hurrying down the staircase and knocking firmly on Vivienne’s door.

“Come in!” The cry was impatient, which never bode well. Alice wavered for a moment, wondering if she should pick a better time. No.

“I was just looking at Nick’s latest contract,” she began, striding into the room. Vivienne had the drapes drawn, all the window thrown wide, and was reclining on her chaise longue with a damp towel draped over her face. Alice stopped. “Are you…feeling all right?”

Vivienne made a wafting gesture. “What is it, Alice?”

“This contract, for
The Magnificent Mappin Brothers
. I just wanted to check with you.”

“Yes?” she sighed, lifting the towel as if it weighed ten pounds.

“Nick’s pay…” Alice hesitated. “It’s less than I’d expect. For a project like this, I mean.”

Vivienne gave her a dismissive wave. “Oh, no, that’s all arranged.” She began to recline again, but Alice took a few steps forward.

“I don’t understand. Why isn’t he being paid the full amount? And how did he end up with the contract at all? I didn’t see him down for any of the auditions, and I thought that Rupert…” She trailed off, awkward. “I thought Rupert had won the role.”

“Nothing was in writing. You know how quickly these things change.” Vivienne gave Alice a patronizing smile. “And Nick taking reduced pay is all part of the plan. He’s been getting plenty of interest, but no actual offers so far. So, we thought this would kick-start things.”

“What do you mean?” Alice didn’t understand. Of course, they negotiated pay all the time, but union rates were the bare minimum; a client never worked for less.

Vivienne sighed, as if it were a vast burden to have to explain these things. “My sources said that the production wants to keep costs low, so I suggested the deal with Nick. He’s fine living off his trust fund for now, so this way, everybody wins.”

Vivienne lay back on the chaise and closed her eyes, clearly finished. But Alice didn’t move. Did Vivienne think her completely naïve? She knew that cutting a few thousand in performer fees would make barely a dent in even the most frugal of costume-drama budgets.

“So what have you planned for Rupert?” She found herself asking, trying not to sound accusatory. “Now that this hasn’t worked out.”

Vivienne didn’t move. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“You mean like you’ve being doing so far?” This time, Alice couldn’t keep the note of challenge from her voice. Ever since Nick sauntered into the agency, Vivienne’s already-minimal interest in Rupert’s career had dwindled to nothing. “He hasn’t worked in, what, three months?”

At this, Vivienne slowly opened her eyes. “Which is all part of our long-term strategy for him.” Sitting up, she fixed Alice with a steely gaze. “We’ve talked it through, and he’s on board with my plans. This part just wasn’t the right step for him.”

“But it was right for Nick.”

“Exactly.” Vivienne’s smile was thin. “Now, was that all?”

Alice swallowed. Vivienne had a vicious temper that could be unleashed at any moment, but in all her years working at the agency, it had never been aimed at Alice. Now, she could tell, the warning signs were there.

“Alice?” Vivienne waited, her expression dangerously calm.

There was silence.

“No, that’s all,” Alice answered quietly.

“Are you sure?” There was an arch of an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Alice felt a small tremor of disappointment as she backed away. “The contract’s fine. I’ll leave it here on your desk.”

“Good.”

Alice felt her eyes follow as she retreated, carefully closing the door on her way out.

She’d failed.

Alice could tell herself she was simply picking her battles and choosing her timing, but as she stood in the middle of her cluttered office, a knot of frustration swelled, sharp and angry in her chest. To Vivienne, it may be just a job, and some strategic client maneuvering, but to Rupert, Alice knew this part meant everything. They were letting him down, and she was complicit now.

Her intercom buzzed.

“Alice?” Vivienne’s voice rang out. “Saskia’s not feeling too well in this heat. I need you to cover her desk for the afternoon.”

Alice didn’t move toward the phone. This was her punishment, it was clear, for questioning Vivienne’s great wisdom. But how was Vivienne to know she was up here, waiting to be summoned? She could have already left for lunch. She could be anywhere.

“Alice?”

Ignoring Vivienne’s cries, Alice reached for her handbag, and her thick, ordered file of Ella’s activities. Quietly, she crept out of her office and tiptoed down the staircase, edging silently past Vivienne’s office. There was no sound from behind the closed door, so Alice hurried down another flight and straight out of the building, emerging on to the pavement with new determination. She may not be able to achieve much at the agency, but she had other work to do.

***

Two Tube changes, one bus, and a ten-minute walk later, Alice found herself standing outside a nondescript, red-brick building in Battersea. She pondered her next move. Discovering this place had been her hardest challenge yet; she’d had to cross-reference Oyster top-ups and cash withdrawals across three different credit cards before discovering a curious pattern. Every Tuesday and Thursday, for two whole months, Ella had come to this area. She bought a handful of glossy magazines, a pint of milk, and some biscuits and then came here. At least Alice assumed it was here, because between ten a.m. and five p.m. on those days, there were never any charges—a complete credit blackout. Aside from one: a lone transaction of fifty pounds charged to CDM Services on that first Tuesday. At this address.

Studying the building, Alice wondered what this new development signified. She’d been prepared to find another exotic class or a bespoke designer service, but there was no hint at what lay behind the grimy exterior. The windows were barred and covered inside by gray blinds, and the door was made of some type of reinforced steel, a video phone and single buzzer in the entryway. Alice swallowed, suddenly nervous. This was a long way from the chic Soho streets and buzzing central London bars she’d thought Ella had inhabited. Was this finally the darker side to the fraud she’d been dreading to find?

Alice was wondering how to navigate the security system—and if she should even try—when the door opened from the inside. A gray-haired woman emerged, maneuvering a wheeled shopper. Alice darted forward, catching the door before it closed.

“Thanks.” The woman thought her gesture was kindness, not self-interest, and gave Alice an absent smile before heading toward the bus stop.

Alice steeled herself and stepped inside.

Out of the dim entrance hall, she found a surprisingly bright space: open, like the waiting room in a doctor’s surgery or dentist. Alice paused, disorientated. There was a front reception desk cluttered with leaflets and charity boxes, posters tacked to a notice board and a row of yellow plastic chairs between two potted plants, a box of toys spilling onto the faded blue carpet.

“Can I help?”

Before Alice could decide where she was, or even what approach to use, a woman appeared from a back room. She was large, dressed in a bright orange caftanlike dress and sturdy Birkenstocks, her hair lacquered into a bun.

“I, uh…” Alice stumbled, thinking quickly for a vague excuse, but nothing came. To her relief, the phone rang. “You get that,” she smiled quickly. “I can wait!”

The woman gave her a sharp once-over, but evidently Alice’s sensible office outfit passed some kind of test. “I won’t be a sec.” She reached for the phone. “Safe Haven,” the woman answered in a soothing voice, turning away slightly. “What service do you need?”

Safe Haven. Alice glanced quickly around, looking at the posters and leaflets more closely. Refuge. Child line. Family planning. They were women’s services, she realized, advertising help lines and legal support for victims of abuse or assault. This must be some kind of shelter.

“Yes, we have someone you can talk to,” the woman spoke warmly into the phone, making a scribbled note in an open file. “They’re trained to help, don’t worry. I’ll just transfer you now.”

Alice paused, trying to process this unexpected development. What had Ella been doing here? Had she needed help, or been a victim?”

No. Alice caught herself before she could get swept up in terrible speculation. The data never lied, and her data told her that Ella’s appointments were too regular to be a desperate cry for help. The magazines, the biscuits, the normal hours—she must have been working here. But even that explanation baffled Alice; why would Ella do something like that? She’d spent her days helping the poor and defenseless and then waltzed back home to commit fraud, theft, and deception?

Waiting until the woman had dealt with the call, Alice approached the front desk. “Now, how can I help you?” She gave Alice an encouraging smile.

“I was…thinking about volunteering here.” Alice felt a twist of guilt at her latest lie. She’d become used to giving a false name and probing people for information about Ella, but somehow it seemed even worse to be deceiving this worthy, charitable woman. “I was wondering if you had any information, about what it entailed?”

“Of course.” The woman’s face relaxed. “Although, I have to warn you: it’s a serious commitment. You’ll have to go through training and pay for a criminal check, even to do the most basic admin work.”

A criminal check, that’s what that first payment must have been. And, of course, it had come back clean. Alice Love had no record at all.

Alice nodded. “I understand. I just thought I’d come and find out more.”

“Well, why don’t I give you a quick tour? I’m Hazel, by the way.”

“Ella, nice to meet you.”

The woman led her out of the reception area, down a narrow hallway. The carpet was faded, and posters were peeling from the wall, but it was clean and well kept. “Through here we have our help-line area.” A bald man was set up at one of the desks, talking on the phone in a low voice. He nodded at them, before continuing the conversation. “And here we have the classrooms, for workshops and seminars.” Hazel’s beaded bracelets rattled as she pointed out the different rooms. Alice glanced through a glass partition. A group of women were sitting on a circle of chairs, copying details from a whiteboard. They looked tired, as if they wished they were anywhere but there. “Upstairs, there’s short-term housing facilities for up to five families,” Hazel continued, “with shared dormitories and a kitchen.”