Valentine (22 page)

The following day she knocked on Lily's door before going
swimming, but there was no reply – she was probably
exhausted after her late night. As she walked back from
the Porchester Centre after a mile of front crawl, Greta
called. Piers had an unexpected window; could she meet
him for a coffee? After establishing it was just going to
be with Piers – she really didn't think she could face seeing
Olivia and Saul – Valentine agreed to meet him at The
Connaught in Mayfair. Its timeless elegance and air of
wealth suited Piers – anywhere luxurious suited Piers,
whereas Valentine felt like an imposter. This time, to her
surprise, Piers hugged her in place of the usual hand-shake.
He seemed less in control and less sure of himself
than usual.

'Valentine, I do hope that Manchester wasn't too upsetting
for you. I thought it about it afterwards and it must
have been difficult seeing Jack with Tamara. I wanted to
say that I'm really sorry that we put you in that position.'

'It wasn't a barrel of laughs,' Valentine replied, reluctant
to divulge any more details.

Piers sighed. 'I think Olivia is finding the whole
father/daughter thing very challenging. I know she hasn't
been quite as welcoming as she might have been.'

Valentine was in no mood to contradict him.

'You've probably gathered that we couldn't have children.
We tried every possible treatment.' He shook his
head sadly. 'It took its toll, especially on Olivia. That's
where her obsession with hygiene started.' Valentine had
never seen this side of Piers; he was really opening up to
her. His expression brightened. 'Which is why, for me,
finding out about you has been so wonderful. Though I
am mindful of all the wasted years. I keep looking at that
photograph album you gave me. I so wish I'd known
about you earlier.'

'Mum did write to you,' Valentine said gently.

'So you said; I just don't understand why I never
received the letters. Anyway, I suppose it's pointless to
dwell on the past; I want to think about our future.' He
paused. 'I wondered if you might consider moving into
the flat at my Hampstead house for a while. At the
moment my schedule is so manic and I feel I've hardly
seen you.'

Valentine hadn't been expecting this. 'Won't Olivia
mind?'

'I don't think so. I've taken things slowly and respected
her feelings, but right now I'm more concerned about
you and me.' He paused again. 'I would like to help you
further your career and I know Olivia agrees with me on
this. You'll have everything you need at your disposal –
a personal shopper, a chef, a personal trainer.' He looked
slightly awkward. Was this about establishing a relationship
or getting Valentine to lose weight?

'Do you think I'm too fat to get on then?' she asked,
feeling hurt. God! Wasn't it enough that her heart was
broken? Now her own father thought she was fat.

'Not at all! I just want to help you. You know how
ruthless the film industry is about size.'

'So you're offering me a place at Fat Camp?' Valentine
retorted, still smarting from her interpretation of Piers's
offer.

'Please, Valentine, I'm sorry if it sounded like that. I
asked because I would like to see more of you.'

'Don't you mean you want to see less of me?'

Piers shook his head. 'It was Olivia who suggested the
personal trainer. I think she was just trying to be helpful.'

Valentine doubted it, but even with the fat-camp angle,
it was still quite a tempting offer. The flat was horribly
empty without Lauren and maybe (though she didn't hold
out much hope on this score) a change of scene would
help her get over Jack, or at least distract her from thinking
about him quite so obsessively. 'Can I think about it?'

'Of course,' Piers replied. 'Take as long as you want.'

Back home she knocked on Lily's door and this time she
answered. She was still dressed in her pyjamas and not
wearing a scrap of make-up, which was most unlike Lily,
who usually was in full make-up from the moment she
woke up. 'How's Frank?' Valentine asked.

'He's sleeping it off. He's just been to AA.' She sighed.
'It's going to take him a while to get back on track.'

'Why did he do it?' Valentine asked.

Lily shrugged. 'It just happens, but he'll be all right.'

'And what about you?' Valentine persisted. 'Are you all
right?'

'Of course I am.' And before Valentine could press
her further she changed the subject. 'Now tell me what
you've been up to today. I haven't been out because of
Frank and feel as if I've got cabin fever.'

Valentine quickly filled her in on Piers's offer, thinking
that Lily was bound to tell her not to do it.

'What a fabulous idea! And Hampstead, how lovely
to be by the heath in the summer. And it will give
you more time to get to know Piers. I definitely think you
should go.'

Valentine was taken aback; she hadn't expected this
reaction, but if Lily thought she should, maybe she
should. After all, she had nothing to lose. Right now
the flat felt so full of memories, it would be good to go
somewhere new. Her mum had the same reaction
when she told her, as did Finn. In fact, Valentine could
practically see him rubbing his hands in glee at the
prospect of a luxury pad and a chance to network.
Valentine still wasn't convinced. But then on her late-night
Google she found a picture of Tamara and Jack
leaving a restaurant in Manchester arm in arm. Maybe
it was time to move on.

As Valentine waited at the ferociously spiky gates of Piers's
mansion for Ivana to buzz her in she wondered if she
was doing the right thing. True, it would be good to spend
more time with Piers and to get to know him better. He
still seemed so different from her. If she hadn't had the
results of the DNA test herself she doubted she could
have believed that they were related. But there was also
Olivia to contend with, and whatever Piers may have said,
somehow Valentine doubted that she wanted her there.
The gates slid open and Valentine picked up her case and
walked towards the front door. Ivana opened it, as
unsmiling as ever – maybe she hadn't forgiven Valentine
for the deep clean.

'Good afternoon, Miss Fleming. Mr Hunter has asked
me to show you to your new apartment.' She handed
Valentine the regulation white cotton slippers. 'Now if
you'll please follow me.' Valentine reached for her suitcase,
but Ivana stopped her. 'Please leave. Sergei will do
that.'

'Isn't Piers here?' Valentine asked, surprised that he
wasn't there to meet her on her first day as she trailed
after Ivana, who was marching briskly across the marble
floor, quite a feat in the cotton slippers. No wonder Ivana
had such over-developed calf muscles.

'Mr Hunter was called away unexpectedly with
Mrs Hunter. They will be back in five days.'

'Oh.' Surprise turned to disappointment.

At the far end of the hallway a door led to the basement
flat. 'You will also be able to access the flat from
outside. I will show you later,' Ivana said as they went
down the stairs and into a huge living room. It was
furnished in a similar minimalist style to the upstairs living
room, with far too much white for Valentine's liking, and
it was just as chilly. She walked over to the heavily barred
French doors that led out to the garden, intending to open
them and let in some warmth. There was a sharp intake
of breath from Ivana. 'Miss Fleming, none of these
windows or doors must be opened; Mrs Hunter insists on
it. There is air-conditioning and the temperature is strictly
regulated. Also the air is filtered. And we had a break-in
last year, so security is of the upmost importance.'

Suddenly Valentine felt extremely claustrophobic; she
was an open-window kind of girl.

'Now please see this,' Ivana went on, sliding a panel
on a white fitted cupboard to reveal row upon row of
DVDs. 'These are all films that Mr Hunter recommends
you should see.'

'Not all tonight,' Valentine joked, while Ivana stared
at her blankly; she clearly didn't do humour.

'Of course not. It would take at least a month to see
all of them.'

Ivana then led her to the bedroom, another vision in
white, which reminded Valentine of a hotel room.
Everything looked incredibly expensive and brand new,
as if no one had ever lived here. It made Valentine feel
profoundly ill at ease, as if she was in a show flat. Ivana
showed her the kitchen next.

'These must be a bugger to keep clean,' Valentine joked,
pointing at the shiny white units.

Ivana frowned. 'No, it is easy.' Though possibly no one
had ever even boiled a kettle, never mind cooked in the
cutting-edge but decidedly uncosy kitchen. Valentine had
a sudden pang for her ramshackle Westbourne Park
kitchen, yellow walls and all. The bathroom turned out
to be a wet room with no bath – just a massive shower
head in the middle of the room and floor-to-ceiling black
marble tiles. There was no window. Valentine had a horror
of bathrooms with no window. She also preferred baths.
A long bath with a glass of red wine at the end of the
day was one of her most favourite things. Showers just
said 'morning' to her; they were too wash-and-go for her
liking.

'Is there a bath?' Valentine asked hopefully.

'No bath. Mrs Hunter thinks they are unhygienic. And
it is true.' Ivana suddenly sounded impassioned. 'All that
wallowing in your own dirt and dead skin, like swine.
Disgusting! Vile! Filthy!'

Valentine looked at her. Oh. My. God. The woman
was deranged. Possibly she'd been breathing in too many
chemicals from all the cleaning products she had to use
to keep the house up to Olivia's exacting standards.

Ivana seemed to collect herself. 'I apologise, that was
extreme. I just don't like baths.'

'Why not?' Valentine couldn't resist asking.

'I have my reasons,' Ivana replied mysteriously.
'Anyway, you like the apartment?'

'Yes, it's lovely,' Valentine lied, thinking that she must
be the most ungrateful person in the world.

'There are just a few things you need to know. The
apartment will be cleaned every day, with a complete
change of linen and towels.'

Valentine interrupted her. 'Oh no, there's no need to
do that! It's so environmentally unfriendly.'

Another frown from Ivana, who probably thought she
was a filthy beast. 'Every other day if you prefer. You will
be able to order food and drink from this list.' She handed
a small booklet to Valentine. 'For tonight the chef has
prepared you a salad. It is in the fridge. I understand that
you are on a special diet, no?'

'Well, yes, I am trying to lose a little weight,' Valentine
replied, slightly put out as she flicked through the menus.

Ivana nodded. 'Just so you know, we have been asked
not to supply you with any items of unhealthy food.'

'Oh my God!' Valentine couldn't help exclaiming. 'So
I
have
been sent to fat camp!' At size ten she was now the
slimmest she had ever been. Did Olivia and Piers really
believe that she had further to go?

Ivana frowned. 'Is not fat farm, is Mr Hunter's house.
Mrs Hunter simply feels it is best to take temptation away.
It is the regime she herself follows. Also Kelly, your
personal trainer, is arriving at eight tomorrow morning.
If that is all I will leave you to get settled in.'

Valentine nodded, too stunned to speak. As Ivana
padded silently to the door she turned and said, 'There
is just one more thing. Mrs Hunter asks that you do not
have red wine in the apartment. And of course no
smoking.' Valentine had a sudden and powerful craving
for a large glass of red wine and a cigarette.

It took less than ten minutes to unpack all her belongings.
There didn't seem to be any bookshelves, so she had
to stack her books on the white dressing table and almost
immediately she felt comforted by seeing the familiar titles.
Then she wandered into the kitchen and checked out the
fridge. All it contained were rows of bottled water, wheatgrass,
a bottle of champagne (now that looked promising)
and the salad.
The tiny salad
, Valentine thought as she took
it out of the fridge. She had often fantasised about having
a personal chef to make her meals, but frankly if this was
the best they could come up with, they could stick it. It
was some kind of tuna salad, consisting mainly of a variety
of leaves and fresh seared tuna. There didn't appear to
be any dressing. Valentine only really liked tuna when it
was smothered in mayonnaise and even though she was
hungry she just picked at it. How very A-list of her.

She checked out the other cupboards, which contained
a variety of healthy food and drink; miso, tofu, brown
rice, green tea and aduki beans, absolutely nothing that
she felt like eating. God, she needed a drink, but it was
only four o'clock and it didn't seem appropriate to open
the bottle of champagne, though if she and Lauren ever
had any booze in the house they always drank it. Lauren
declared that deferred gratification was for wimps.
Valentine had imagined having a leisurely lunch with Piers
and then going for a walk on Hampstead Heath for some
more daughter/father bonding time. She sighed; she didn't
feel comfortable enough in the apartment yet to curl up
and read the Sunday papers and if she was honest the
lack of fresh air was already bugging her. She was
developing the itchy nose and scratchy-eyed feeling that
air-con always gave her. She'd go out, have a coffee, get
to know Hampstead – maybe go to the Everyman and
see a film on her own. How very grown up.

But Hampstead on a Sunday afternoon did not improve
her mood. Everyone was out with friends or family and
as she strolled down the High Street she suddenly felt overwhelmed
with loneliness. She reached for her phone and
was about to call Lauren but realised it was eight in the
morning in San Francisco and Lauren did not do mornings.
She then tried Kitty, but her phone was switched off.
Her mum was at work and Lottie was rehearsing a student
production. So even though she was trying to break her
dependency on Finn she called him, but got his voicemail
too. She wandered into Caffè Nero and without thinking
ordered a frappe latte. She was halfway through her
favourite drink when she remembered she wasn't supposed
to be drinking such calorific things. Bollocks! She really
should leave half of it, but no, it was her favourite drink,
and the salad really hadn't hit the spot – she'd work out
extra hard with the personal trainer. She carried on
drinking and just hoped that Olivia hadn't sent Ivana to
spy on her. She could just imagine Ivana stalking her with
a long-lensed camera, her thin lips pursing in disapproval
as she saw Valentine sipping her drink. Or maybe it was
the lack of food making her hallucinate. She finished the
latte, then walked up to the Everyman cinema.

Thank God the classic
An Affair to Remember
was on –
she really didn't think she was up to a double bill of
Tarkosvky. She relaxed for the first time that day as she
sank into one of the seats and the lights dimmed. Here at
least she didn't feel as if she was being judged; she could
even nip out for a box of popcorn or a Green and Black's
ice-cream and no one would notice. In fact she restricted
herself to popcorn (salted, fewer calories) and a glass of
red wine – a large glass and admittedly calorific, but red
wine was good for you, wasn't it? And as she wasn't going
to be able to drink it at home, she'd have to make up for
it when she was out. Valentine had expected the film to
be a bit of froth – all lovely nineteen fifties outfits and quips
between Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant. There were indeed
lovely fifties outfits, but what she hadn't bargained for was
quite what a tearjerker it was. It was so tragic! She didn't
know which was worse – the part where Terry, Deborah
Kerr's character, gets hit by a car on her way to meet Nickie
(Cary Grant's character) at the top of the Empire State
building and he thinks she doesn't love him anymore and
that's why she hasn't turned up; or the scene at the ballet
when they meet by chance and he doesn't realise that she
is paralysed from the accident as she is sitting down.

Valentine left the cinema feeling an emotional wreck,
her state of mind accessorised by streaks of mascara.
More wine was needed. She went into an off-licence on
Hampstead High Street. There she had another pang of
homesickness – there were no boys to fool around with,
only a rather haughty-looking man. Nor were there any
three-for-two offers. Valentine didn't recognise any of the
wines and ended up buying a couple of bottles at around
the six-pound mark. The haughty-looking man looked
even haughtier; evidently Valentine had just purchased
the wine equivalent of Diamond White.

Back at the apartment, Valentine opened one of the
bottles of wine. In spite of the popcorn and the latte she
was starving again. It was fortunate then that she had
also bought a packet of pistachio nuts from the off-licence.
She wandered aimlessly round the living room, not
knowing what to do with herself. It was so quiet here.
She was used to hearing the sound of traffic and people
walking by. She felt sealed off from the world.
Now come
on, where's your backbone?
She tried telling herself.
This is the
perfect opportunity to get to know Piers and get in shape at the same
time
. She walked over to the cabinet with the DVDs and
looked through the titles. There were many that she had
seen and many others that she knew she should –
Citizen
Kane
for example. But she was so emotionally drained
from
An Affair to Remember
, she really didn't feel up to
watching anything else. She set up her laptop on the
elegant glass table in the living room and let out a shriek
of horror as she shifted it into position and managed to
make a large scratch on the glass. Oh my God, could you
French polish glass? Why did rich people always have
such wildly impractical furniture? Was it just another way
of flaunting their wealth? She took a large slug of wine
to steady her nerves, hoping Ivana wouldn't notice the
scratch, and switched on the computer. It was Google
Jack time. She found an article detailing his relationship
with Tamara, full of quotes from her about how Jack
was her rock, her soulmate, how he completed her, blah
blah blah. The celeb mag was in raptures over Jack's
physique –
phwoar
just about covered it – and they'd printed
a picture of him as Edmund, looking particularly manly,
stripped to the waist. Even the celeb mag, which usually
drooled over waxed chests, was quite taken with the hair.

She put her head in her hands; she couldn't bear to
look anymore. She picked up her phone. Maybe she could
text him, say well done again, open up some kind of
communication with him, tell him about her worries over
Lily and Frank. She got as far as selecting his name and
then put the phone down again. In the end there was
nothing for it but to go to bed. She couldn't face the
power shower, even though the air-con was making her
feel cold. She curled up in bed in her PJs and socks,
holding on to Jack's T-shirt as if it were a talisman that
could bring him back, but it was losing its scent; soon
there would be nothing left.

She woke suddenly at one a.m. and for a few disorientated
seconds couldn't work out where she was. It was so
dark in the apartment and she was used to the comforting
orange glow of the street light filtering through her
curtains back home. The only sound was the monotonous
click and hum of the air-con. She needed fresh air.
Forgetting all about Ivana's warning, she padded into the
lounge and opened the French doors and stepped outside.
It was a beautiful night, a full moon holding court in the
sky. She breathed in the air, relishing its sweetness and
freshness after the recycled air of the apartment. This
was what she needed – maybe she could ask Piers to let
her have the air-con off.