Valentine (17 page)

'My flatmate,' Valentine lied. 'Would I be able to have
a quick shower before we talk?'

'Of course,' Greta said graciously, sitting down on the
sofa and letting out a yelp of pain before Valentine had
a chance to warn her about the dodgy springs.

'Sorry! It's best to sit the other end.'

'I realise that now,' Greta replied sarcastically.

Valentine hit the shower in record time, got dressed
and slapped on some make-up to stop her looking quite
so much like one of the undead. 'Hi again,' she said to
Greta, who was busy tapping away at her BlackBerry,
probably telling Piers right now what a loser he had as a
daughter. 'I'm usually up earlier than this, running.'

Greta looked sceptical.

'Can I get you a tea or coffee?'

'Do you have any herbal tea?' Greta asked. She
pronounced it 'erbal,' which always gave Valentine and
Lauren the giggles. Valentine didn't feel like giggling right
now.

'We might have some ancient camomile tea, but to be
honest I wouldn't risk it.'

Greta sniffed. 'OK I'll just have a cup of hot water
and lemon.'

'Sorry, can you do without the lemon?' Honestly, where
did she think she was, bloody Champneys?

Five minutes, two paracetamol and a black coffee later,
Valentine was all ears as Greta explained the reason for
her visit.

'Piers was most surprised to get your letter, Valentine.
He had absolutely no idea that he had a daughter. In fact
his first reaction was to imagine that it couldn't possibly
be true.'

Valentine was determined to play it cool, but she found
herself bursting out, 'Why would I want to lie about something
like that!'

'You'd be surprised how many people would when
there is the potential of making money.'

'Hold on a minute, are you accusing me of being some
gold digger?' Jesus, where did she dredge up an expression
like 'gold digger'? The alcohol must be destroying
her brain cells faster than she'd realised.

'Valentine, no one is accusing you of anything, but you
must consider Piers's position.'

Valentine made a big effort to calm down.

Greta paused to take a sip of her hot water. She pulled
a face. 'Is this filtered?'

Valentine shook her head. 'London's finest.' Greta put
down the cup with an expression of disgust.

'But Piers must know about me – my mum's written
to him several times.'

Greta's perfectly made-up face and botoxed forehead
gave nothing away. She ignored Valentine's comment
and resumed her speech. 'Rather than make this a long
drawn-out affair, Piers wants the matter resolved as soon
as possible one way or the other. With that end in mind
he would like you to take a DNA test. Then if you are
his daughter, we can plan the next stage.' She handed
Valentine a card. 'Here are the contact details of the
clinic; if you give them a ring, they will arrange an appointment
for you.' It seemed reasonable, if a little cold to
Valentine's sensibilities. But maybe Piers had lots of long-lost
children claiming to be his.

As soon as Greta left Valentine called Jack, desperate
to tell him her news. They had both come to the conclusion
that Piers didn't want to know, and now this! She
got his voicemail. She tried Lauren but her phone was
off – she was probably doing something tantric with
Nathan; her mum was also on voicemail. She went downstairs
and knocked first on Lily's door, to no reply, and
then on Frank's – no reply either. It was so frustrating.
She really needed to talk to someone.

While she was in the middle of buying a Red Bull and
a packet of salt and vinegar crisps from the off-licence –
surely she could not be expected to run at a time like this
– her phone beeped with a text message.
Really need to see
you. Fx.
She had ignored Finn's
want you
text of a few days
earlier, so she could ignore this one as well. She marched
back to the flat, phoned the clinic to arrange her DNA
appointment for the following day, tidied up (i.e. picked
up mugs and wine glasses and dumped them in the sink),
put on a little more make-up, fiddled with her hair, lay
on her futon reading Pinter's
The Homecoming
, then had
to switch to
Grazia
as her head was hurting too much and
all the while the siren call of Finn's message was in her
head. What did he need to talk to her about? Was the
engagement off ? Was he phoning to declare his
undying love for her? He could declare away; she wasn't
interested.

It was pathetic, weak and showed no backbone whatsoever
– she knew all of that – but an hour later when she
had read the same page on this summer's must-have
beauty products about five times without taking in a single
word (her make-up was going to be
so
last season), when
she had called Jack yet again and left another message,
she called Finn.

'V! Thanks for calling me back.' He sounded so pleased
to hear from her, and in spite of her best intentions
Valentine was pleasantly surprised. 'Any chance we can
meet today? I really need to see you. Can I take you out
for lunch?'

'What about Eva?'

'Oh, she's filming in Edinburgh. Please V, we don't
need to talk about her or Jack. It'll be just about us.'

Finn had fed her the perfect line. 'There is no us, Finn,'
Valentine retorted, then added, 'I can see you briefly, but
I can't stay long. I've got so much to do.' She was impressed
by how assertive and kick-ass she sounded.

'Have you got an audition?' Finn said, impressed. 'That
was quick work.'

And then because Valentine really was so desperate to
tell someone her news she blurted out the whole Piers
Hunter long-lost-father story. Finn was suitably impressed.

'V, that is amazing news! This could seriously change
everything for you. It could be your big break – no more
fringe plays, but movies, V!'

'What do you mean?' Valentine asked.

'If he's your dad, just think of the film roles he can
give you!'

'I hadn't thought of it like that,' Valentine replied. 'I
don't know if I'd want to be in one of his films on those
terms.'

Finn laughed. 'Oh don't give me that "I want to make
it off my own back" shit! Our world isn't like that. If
you've got connections you need to use them! Everyone
else does.'

Valentine didn't like how calculating Finn was
sounding. She was saved from having to answer by her
phone alerting her to another call. 'Finn, I'm going to
have to go. And actually I can't make lunch.' Finn
protested but Valentine cut him off and took the other
call. It was Jack. It was a relief telling him. In contrast
to Finn his only concern was how she felt – no mention
of film roles. But it was only a quick call and ended
with Valentine hearing Tamara in the background
saying that they had to go.

'Are you out somewhere with NTM?' Valentine asked,
suddenly wary.

'Just a quick coffee.' He lowered his voice. 'She's having
a hard time fitting in. I feel sorry for her. And the stuff
she's told me about how her mother treated her – Jesus,
that woman sounds like a witch. Did you know she put
Tamara on a diet when she was seven?' Valentine was all
set to give him the many reasons why he should absolutely
not feel sorry for NTM when Jack said, 'I'm sorry, I've
really got to go. I'll call you later.'

Valentine was left feeling decidedly unsettled and
slightly jealous. She rather wished she had gone out for
lunch with Finn after all.

A week later Valentine was standing outside a huge
wrought-iron gate topped with vicious-looking spikes to
deter any would-be burglars, while a CCTV camera
clicked and whirred above her. She pressed the intercom
and a woman with an East European accent asked her
who she was, then buzzed her in. The iron gates smoothly
opened and Valentine walked along the drive towards the
imposing black front door. Piers Hunter's front door. Her
father's front door; the front door to his enormous four-storey
Victorian mansion, complete with several wings
and turrets. The results of the DNA test had come back
last week. It was official. She was Piers's daughter. She
had expected Piers would want to see her straight away
but Greta had informed her that he was away filming for
a week and not even a long-lost daughter could distract
him. The film was already way over budget.

As she drew closer to the house she noticed that every
single window had bars across it, marring the beauty of
the house. The front door was opened by a middle-aged
woman, looking very upstairs downstairs in a black dress
and brilliant white apron and rather eccentric white cotton
slippers. 'Good afternoon, Miss Fleming. Do come in. I
am the housekeeper,' and the owner of the East European
accent. 'Mr Hunter has been detained in a meeting but
says he will be with you within the hour.'

'Oh, hi.' Valentine stretched out her hand in welcome,
which appeared to startle the housekeeper, who cautiously
put her hand out to shake Valentine's. She was in her
forties and had a serious, unsmiling face.

'I am Ivana. Now before you go any further can I ask
you to please put these on?' Ivana held up a pair of white
cotton slippers identical to her own. 'Mrs Hunter is most
particular that all visitors should wear these.'

'Can't I just go barefoot?' Valentine asked, thinking
that the slippers would ruin the elegant and sophisticated
look she was aiming for in her purple silk dress and gold
sandals.

Ivana shook her head disapprovingly. 'No, barefoot is
not hygienic. There will be germs.'

Valentine tried not to be insulted by the comment and
reluctantly unfastened her sandals and put on the slippers.
She followed Ivana across the black and white marble hall
floor – easily bigger than her entire flat – into the vast
living room. The first thought Valentine had when she
walked in was that it was like the Snow Queen's palace –
everything was either white or silver. The effect was stark.
Valentine was no fan of such a look, preferring cosy clutter.
The sofas were white leather, the fireplace white marble,
the floor white marble – which felt decidedly chilly through
her cotton slippers; the curtains and cushions were all silver
silk; even the flatscreen TV that occupied an entire wall
was silver. Valentine suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious
in her vivid purple silk dress. And cold. The air-con seemed
excessively powerful.

'Is it me or is it cold in here?' she asked, shivering.

'I will turn air-conditioning down,' Ivana replied.
'Drink while you wait? There are also magazines.' She
walked over to a sleek white table and slid out a drawer
revealing a selection worthy of a newsagent. 'And films
you can watch.' She pressed a button and a section of
white wood panelling slid back, revealing floor-to-ceiling
shelves of DVDs.

'I'd love a coffee,' Valentine replied, trying to stop her
teeth from chattering.

Ivana nodded and left her alone.

To keep warm Valentine paced round the room. She
paused at the DVD collection. There were two rows
devoted to Piers's films – of which she had seen only two,
and even then not all the way through. Maybe she could
start watching one of them; that should make a good
impression, shouldn't it? Piers was renowned for his blockbuster
action movies – usually the very films she steered
away from. She reached up for one in which the hero (an
ex-soldier with issues, naturally) had forty-eight hours to
stop central London being blown up by a terrorist cell.
Well, at least it wasn't twenty-four hours.

Ivana returned with a cafetiere of coffee. 'Mrs Hunter
allows no dairy in the house so we just have soya milk; I
hope that is acceptable.'

Valentine loathed soya milk. 'I'll have it black,' she
replied.

'And the coffee is decaf,' Ivana added.

'Perfect,' Valentine lied.

She had spent the last week in a state of high anticipation
about the meeting; a mix of nervousness,
apprehension, but also excitement. Maybe as soon as she
and Piers set eyes on each other they would experience
a deep connection; it would be some kind of life-changing
moment for both of them. But she also felt sadness – if
she got on well with Piers would she be betraying Chris?
She had the chance for a whole new relationship with
her father, but Chris was the one who had been there
for her and she wondered if she had ever really told him
how much she loved him and appreciated him.

An hour later and Valentine felt as if hypothermia was
about to set in. She imagined slowly freezing to death in
this white room; Piers would return to discover a block
of ice for a daughter. She paused the film, which she
wasn't enjoying at all, and resumed pacing round the
room. There was a large photograph of Piers and Olivia
on the marble fireplace. Olivia had been a very successful
Hollywood actress, a great beauty, the Angelina Jolie of
her day. But since she had hit her late fifties the roles
seemed to have dried up for her. Now she devoted herself
to Piers and raising money for her horse-sanctuary charity.
Valentine wondered why they had never had children or
adopted as so many other celebrity couples had.

She paced some more. Then watched some more of
the film. Another half-hour passed. Any nerves she had
had about meeting Piers had gone; all she could think
about was that she was very very cold and very very
bored.
Maybe if I was a fifteen-year-old boy I would enjoy it
,
she reflected as yet another person was shot, not once
but about fifty times. Now on top of feeling cold she
needed a wee. Knowing her luck the moment she chose
to go to the loo would be the time Piers showed up. But
when you've got to go, you've got to go.

Cautiously she opened the door and stepped out into
the hall. She tried one door and that turned out to be
the dining room, also in white; another door led to a
library. She headed upstairs and thankfully the first door
on the right led to a bathroom – also entirely in white.
As she sat on the loo and looked around she was startled
by the number of antibacterial soaps on the shelf by the
sink. There were at least ten all neatly lined up and facing
the same way. She looked over to the towel rail where
the pristine white towels were arranged in size order. It
instantly reminded her of that Julia Roberts film
Sleeping
with the Enemy
where the evil husband lines up all the tins
and towels in a scarily regimented way. But maybe it was
Ivana, the housekeeper; she looked like she had it in her
to be a neat freak.

Valentine was just making her way back downstairs
when, speak of the devil, Ivana appeared in the hall. 'Miss
Fleming, you haven't just used the upstairs bathroom,
have you?' she asked accusingly.

'I did actually,' Valentine replied, wondering what the
big deal was.

Ivana uttered a series of what could have been Serbian
swear words, then reverted to English, 'That is Mr Hunter's
personal bathroom. Mrs Hunter permits no one else to
use it.' Valentine was about to apologise when Ivana turned
away and called out loudly, 'Sergei! Deep clean Mr Hunter's
bathroom now!'

By the time Valentine had reached the bottom of the
stairs, the summoned Sergei was running into the hall
wearing a white boiler suit and clutching a bucket filled
with an array of cleaning products. Now Valentine was
remembering another film clip –
Silkwood
, when the
heroine has been contaminated with radioactive waste
and has to be scrubbed down. Except in this instance
Sergei and Ivana seemed to believe that Valentine was
the one doing the contaminating. She was now somewhat
offended – just how dirty did they think she was?

Ivana held the door open to the living room. 'Please,
Miss Fleming, wait in here. Mr Hunter will not be long.'

Was it Valentine's imagination or did the room seem
even colder as she walked in. She was about to ask Ivana
to adjust the air-con again, but she had already clicked
the door shut behind her. This was ridiculous! Valentine
began jogging on the spot – no small achievement in the
slippers, which slid against the marble floor making this
a potentially perilous undertaking. If the hypothermia
didn't get her first, a crack to her head from the marble
floor would finish her off.

She was just doing star jumps when the door swung
open and Piers walked in. He looked just as handsome
and distinguished as in his photographs.

'Wow! An exercise freak! You'll get on well with my wife!'

Why oh why did she have to be doing star jumps when
her father saw her for the first time? This was supposed
to be an emotionally charged meeting; now it felt more
like a comedy.

Piers strode over to her. 'I'm so sorry to have kept you
waiting.' He stuck out his hand, which Valentine took. It
all felt very formal, as if she was in a business meeting.
But then Piers smiled and said, 'This is weird, right?' his
voice had a slight LA twang – Valentine remembered
reading that he spent half the year in the States.

'Yes,' she replied, smiling back.

'Come on, let's get to my study. I never sit in here; it's
way too minimalist and cold for me. My wife, Olivia, has
got a bit of a thing about air-con and filtered air.'

Valentine followed him as he strode out of the living
room, up the stairs and into a snug little room filled with
books and magazines. Piers sat down behind the desk and
Valentine sat opposite him in a comfortable, battered
brown leather armchair.

'Ever since the results came in, I've been dying to meet
you.' Piers didn't exactly look like a man who was dying
to meet anyone, and seemed cool and detached. But then
Valentine knew she wasn't giving much away either. It
was clearly a tense time for both of them. What followed
resembled a job interview as Piers fired a succession of
questions at her.

Where did she live? What plays had she been in? Did
she know such and such a director? 'I just want to know
everything about you, Valentine,' he said at one point
during the interrogation. 'By the way, you do know that's
a boy's name, don't you? Maybe that's why the roles have
been a little slow coming in for you.'

Valentine shrugged; it was all very well her thinking
that her career wasn't going well, and quite another for
someone else to say it, even if that person was her father.
And where was the emotional connection she had hoped
for? She remembered with a sudden pang one of the last
times she'd seen Chris. It had been Halloween. As usual
Chris had gone to town, throwing a huge fancy-dress
party. He'd spent ages festooning the house in fake
cobwebs and skeletons, and put carved pumpkins on the
doorstep to welcome trick or treaters. Chris had dressed
up as a witch and took great delight in opening the door
to trick or treating children and making them choose
between two bowls – one full of sweets and one full of
jelly – though of course he ended up giving sweets to
everyone. He was so exuberant and so full of life. She
couldn't imagine Piers behaving like that.

She was pulled back to the present by his next comment.
'I've just realised that I know someone you were at drama
school with. Tamara Moore – such a delightful girl and
doing brilliantly now.'

Valentine checked his face for signs of irony. There
were none. This probably wouldn't be a good time to say
that she loathed Tamara.

'Oh yes,' she replied. 'In fact she's in
King Lear
at the
moment with my boyfriend, Jack Hart.'

'Would I have seen him in anything?'

She shook her head. 'He's just starting out, but he's
hugely talented.'

'Well, Tamara's mother is an old friend, so maybe we
should go see Tamara and Jack in
Lear
.' He paused. 'That's
the kind of high-profile play it would be good for you to
be in.'

This was not exactly turning into her dream meeting
with her new-found father. After a further twenty minutes
of questions, another vile decaf coffee and no offers of
lunch, even though it was after one p.m., Piers's Blackberry
beeped.

'There's the alert for my next meeting. I'm going to
have to go. It was lovely to meet you, Valentine. I'm sorry
if it sounded like I was firing so many questions at you –
I just really want to know as much as I can about you.
Greta will be in touch to arrange another meeting. I'm
sure you'll agree that we need to take things slowly. Olivia,
my wife, has been very unsettled by your arrival in my life
and I need to be sensitive to her feelings. Also I must ask
that you tell no one yet that we are related. I feel we need
time to get to know each other and we can't do that if
there is some God-awful media feeding frenzy. You know
what the press are like. You haven't told anyone, have you?'

'Well, my mum obviously, and my boyfriend,' Valentine
admitted, thinking she'd better be economical with the truth.

'If we could just keep it to those two just now, that
would be good.' He stood up to show Valentine out and
at the front door he shook her hand again.

Valentine felt incredibly deflated and disappointed by
the lack of emotional connection. She wasn't sure what
she had expected, but something more than the sense of
anti-climax she was experiencing now. Piers's comment
about Tamara hadn't helped. Valentine couldn't help
thinking that he would have preferred to have discovered
a successful daughter. Maybe he even regretted getting in
touch with Valentine. She hardly matched up to Piers's
A-list life. As soon as she was safely out of sight of the
CCTV cameras she called Jack. He was reassuring, telling
her that it was bound to be strange and that she and Piers
needed time to get to know each other. In fact he said
all the right things until yet again in the background she
heard the unmistakably annoying tinkly laugh that could
only belong to Tamara.