Valentine (23 page)

She walked further into the garden, down some stone
steps and on to the perfectly kept lawn – silvery green in
the moonlight. Suddenly a spotlight was shone directly
into her eyes, while a male voice shouted from behind
her: 'Armed Response guard. Put your hands in the air
and do not move!'

Fuck!
'But I live here,' Valentine protested, praying there
weren't any Dobermanns lurking nearby. She'd never
trusted them after seeing
The Omen.
She heard an ominous
growl. She wondered if she could outrun the dog. She
had been working really hard at her running. Any plans
for escape went out of her head as the guard came into
view, struggling to control a large and ferocious-looking
Dobermann, which was straining at the leash and salivating
at the prospect of sinking its teeth into Valentine.

'I don't know anything about that,' the guard replied.
'Stay standing right where you are.' The dog gave a backup
growl and glared at Valentine with its devil eyes. The
guard spoke into a walkie talkie: 'Black Knight to Queen
of Diamonds, I have apprehended the intruder.'

'I'm not an intruder!' Valentine interjected, but Black
Knight gave her such a look that she shut up. As he had
a gun and a dog, it was probably better not to say anything
to annoy him.

'The subject claims that she lives in the house; can you
verify that?'

Scratchy, crackling sounds from walkie talkie, then a
female voice, sounding suspiciously like Ivana: 'Does
subject have wild curly auburn hair, green eyes, around
five foot seven, a hundred and thirty-three pounds?'

'Excuse me!' Valentine forgot about the dog and the
gun in her outrage. 'I did weigh a hundred and thirty-three
pounds but now I weigh a hundred and twenty-six.'
Though in all honesty after the latte, wine and nut combo
of the day she was most likely back up to a hundred and
thirty-three.

Black Knight took his time looking Valentine up and
down, in a way she did not like one little bit.

'Roger that, Queen of Diamonds.' Nor did she like
the way he emphasised the word 'Roger'.

More crackling, then, 'It is Miss Fleming; please escort
her back to her apartment immediately. I will meet her
there.'

Valentine had thought there could be no more fearsome
sight than Ivana in her black and white uniform,
topped off with her sucking-on-lemons expression, but it
seemed there was – Ivana in a baby doll hot pink satin
robe, matching slip and marabou-trim slippers. She obviously
liked to feel off-duty when out of uniform. Valentine
averted her eyes from the expanse of thigh. 'I do apologise,
Ivana. I didn't know that would happen. I just needed
some fresh air; the air-con was bothering me.'

Ivana ignored her – she had eyes only for Black Knight,
her usual expression replaced by a coy, girlish look. 'Thank
you Black Knight, excellent work,' she simpered.

Black Knight simply bowed his head. He was no looker,
with a straggly moustache and slightly bucked teeth, but
he clearly rang Ivana's bell. 'I live to serve Queen of
Diamonds.' And then he left. Valentine had an unpleasant
thought – the pair of them were probably swingers. Uggh,
it didn't bear thinking about.

Ivana turned her attention to Valentine and the
sucking-on-lemons expression returned. 'Please do not
open the door again.'

She paused as she walked out of the lounge and
Valentine had a horrible feeling what was coming
next. 'I will send the table away to be repaired. It is
Lalique. I will get you another more suitable for your
requirements. I won't say anything about the table if you
do not say anything about these.' She pointed at the
marabou-trim slippers.

Valentine nodded. She didn't know much about
Lalique's work, she just knew it was expensive, very expensive.
What a great start she had made living at Piers's
house.

The following day didn't go any better. She overslept for
the appointment with Kelly, the personal trainer. She had
hoped for someone she could talk to honestly about her
body and what she wanted to achieve – i.e. I am never
going to be a supermodel – I just want to tone and tighten;
starving myself does not make me happy. But she was
presented with Kelly, a vision of athletic loveliness in hot
pink Lycra shorts and a white vest. Her long shiny blonde
hair was pulled back in ponytail and she had slim fake-tanned
limbs, the pertest bum Valentine had ever seen,
and abs of iron. Terminator Body, Valentine privately
named her.

'So Olivia tells me you want to get down to an eight,'
Kelly said, making notes on a clipboard as she looked at
Valentine. They were standing on the lawn and Valentine
was feeling highly self-conscious. She could have sworn
that she saw Ivana watching her out of the window, clearly
channelling Mrs Danvers from
Rebecca
.

Valentine shook her head. 'No, I don't think I can get
to an eight; I'd like to be a very toned ten.'

'Now come on Valentine, of course you can get there!'
Kelly was speaking like some kind of cheerleader; any minute
she'd say
Go Valentine
and start kicking her legs up in the air
and waving pom poms. 'It's all about setting goals.'

'OK,' Valentine said, deciding the best option was to
humour Kelly.

'Great!' Kelly beamed at her. 'See, didn't it feel good
saying that?'

No I lied, you pert-bummed moron.

'So this is the programme I suggest. We'll run eight
kilometres today and build up to twelve by the end of the
week. Next week we'll go from twelve to fifteen. After
running we'll do weights and core training for a couple
of hours.'

'Is that including or excluding the running?' Valentine
asked with some trepidation.

'That's on top of the run.' Another beam from Kelly.
'So let's go inside to the gym and do a quick warm-up
on the bike, then we can get going!'

Frankly Valentine felt knackered after the three-minute
warm-up. She hadn't had breakfast and was
feeling almost dizzy with hunger as they set off for the
heath with Kelly talking all the way. After the first two
kilometres Valentine stopped replying, and tried to tune
Kelly out. It was just white noise in the background,
Kelly droning on and on about how Valentine should
visualise herself running on the beach in her ideal body
shape, her ponytail swishing from side to side like a well-groomed
horse's tail.
Yeah right,
thought Valentine,
like
I'm going to be running on a beach! If I'm on a beach I want
to be lying there drinking a beer!.

'Piers runs ten k every other day,' Kelly informed her,
just as Valentine thought she might have to stop; Kelly
had made her run at a much faster pace than she did
usually. 'So does Olivia, and then we do pilates for two
hours. She has incredible stamina. She could be a good
role model for you, Valentine.'

'She must be able to shoot cannon balls out of her
vag after so much pilates work,' she couldn't resist saying
and was rewarded with a completely baffled look from
Kelly and then merciful silence.

Finally, hallelujah praise Jesus, the spiky gates came
into view. Nearly there, Valentine urged herself on, nearly
there. As soon as they got inside the gates she jogged to
the lawn and collapsed in a heap. 'No no no! Don't let
your heart rate slacken,' shouted Kelly, sprinting over to
her. 'We'll just have some water and then on to the gym.
Keep visualising that body, Valentine. It can be yours, but
you've got to work for it!'

Someone else can have it, if this is what it takes,
Valentine
thought bitterly as Kelly had her doing squats, followed
by an hour of weights and core exercises.

The morning of unmitigated pain at least had one
benefit – it stopped her thinking about Jack. It had stopped
her thinking about pretty much anything. Her mind was
a blank, except for one thing – she was starving. The
moment her session with Kelly finished she headed to her
apartment to see what delicious lunch the chef had
prepared. Sushi would be good; didn't lots of the stars
eat that? She opened the fridge and pulled out a dish
containing two jumbo prawns on a bed of wilted spinach.
That didn't seem like nearly enough, especially since she
had skipped breakfast. Then she noticed a note on the
pristine marble work surface. 'Miss Fleming, as you will
see lunch is less than it should be, owing to the pistachio
nuts consumed last night. I'm sure you will be back on
track by tonight. Regards, Ivana.' How did she know
about the nuts? Valentine was aghast. She looked around
the apartment. Was there CCTV in it? Or had Ivana
gone through the bin? Valentine felt outraged by the invasion
of her privacy and it wasn't just down to her low
blood sugar levels. This was not reasonable behaviour.
Don't push me Ivana,
she thought.
Remember I know about the
marabou-trim slippers
. Then again Ivana was staff – she was
probably simply following orders from Olivia, who clearly
thought she had a porker for a step-daughter. And was
this the reason Piers hadn't told anyone about her? He
was ashamed of owning up to being her father because
he thought she was fat? She stomped into the wet room
and took a shower. Yes, the water was hot and powerful,
she gave it that, but it wasn't a pleasant experience. The
black tiles made her feel as if she was in a coffin.

Piers no doubt expected her to be watching one of his
recommended movies that afternoon; instead she met her
aunt in Regents Park. As usual Lottie wasn't hard to spot
– today wearing a turquoise satin prom dress, which was
fighting a heroic battle to contain Lottie's full figure, purple
footless tights and gold pumps. Lottie had come prepared
with a picnic: a French stick, squishy brie and a bottle of
red wine. She and her new boyfriend were about to go
camping in the South of France and Lottie was getting
into the spirit.

'So Jack hasn't called?' Lottie asked. She knew the
whole story of the break-up and if she thought Valentine
was a fool for what she did, she hadn't said so, for which
Valentine was grateful.

She shook her head. 'He won't. I think he must hate
me, Lottie. You should have seen how he was with me in
Manchester.'

'Well in fairness you broke his heart. He was totally in
love with you; we all thought that, even your mum, and
you know she rarely comments on matters of the heart.'

Valentine groaned. 'Don't say that! I can't believe I
did what I did, but I was so convinced that he must be
seeing Tamara.'

'Not all men are like that gutless bastard Finn,' Lottie
replied, who knew that whole story now.

'I know that
now
,' Valentine replied. 'I'm supposed to
be seeing Finn tonight; he's coming round to the flat. And
in the past that's all I would have been thinking about all
day. And now I'm not bothered and I don't even want
to have sex with him. And that's all we ever used to do.
In fact last time, and I'm sorry if this is an over-share, I
had to fake it.'

'Well there's a saying – the fanny never lies,' Lottie
replied, completely deadpan.

'What!' Valentine choked on her red wine.

'It's obvious. You don't fancy him anymore, and probably
don't love him; that's why you don't want to have
sex with him. The fanny never lies.'

'OK OK, you didn't need to say it again. Though
maybe if I drink enough wine I won't care and it will be
able to lie its way through.'

Lottie shrugged. 'Why would you want to?'

Valentine sighed and picked at the bread. 'I keep thinking
of Jack saying that Finn and I deserved each other.'

'He only said it because he was so hurt. You don't
deserve Finn – yes you made a mistake, but is Finn really
the best you can do? He's all over you now, but I bet in
a few months or maybe even a few weeks he'll revert to
his gutless bastard behaviour.'

'Oh God, it's so depressing. Let's change the subject.
Tell me about your holiday.'

As Lottie chatted Valentine tried to push thoughts of
Jack and Finn away and just enjoy being with her aunt.
But it was hard. Every time Lottie mentioned her new
boyfriend her face lit up. Finn did not make Valentine
feel like that anymore. By the time she met up with him
that evening, she was feeling as unlit up as it was possible
to be.

Finn was in a state of high excitement when she let
him into the flat, though some of that diminished when
he discovered Piers wasn't there. 'Can I have a tour of
the house then?' he demanded.

'I think it would be weird without Piers here,' Valentine
replied.

'Really?' Finn's lip curled petulantly. 'I'm sure he
wouldn't mind; you are his daughter.'

'It's not him I'm worried about,' and Valentine quickly
filled him in on Ivana and how she was sure she was
snooping on her.

Finn had very little imagination, so his immediate reaction
was that Valentine was being absurd. 'And anyway,
V, isn't it a good thing that you're losing weight? You can
have too much of a good thing.' He reached out and
pinched her bottom.

'Thanks Finn,' Valentine said sarcastically. 'You always
know exactly how to make me feel good about myself.'

'Oh come on, V! Don't be such a baby. So if you're
not going to give me a tour of the house, what are we
going to do?' He stretched back on the sofa, his T-shirt
riding up and revealing an expanse of brown perfect skin,
a line of hairs running from his naval into his Armanis
– a sight that usually she found such a turn on. Now she
just thought,
Put it away!
He looked at her meaningfully.
He obviously knew what he wanted to do. It was the last
thing Valentine wanted to do. A chasm seemed to have
opened up between her and Finn. Was Lottie right? Did
the fanny never lie?

'I need a drink,' she mumbled, getting up from the
sofa. She wandered into the kitchen and grabbed the
bottle of champagne. She didn't particularly want it but
neither did she think she was up to sex with Finn sober.
But as she walked back into the living room, she
suddenly thought,
Why am I doing this? Why am I going to
have sex with him if I don't want to?
It was like a lightbulb
turning on in her head:
I don't want to have sex with him,
and so I am not going to have sex with him. And Lottie is right,
the reason I don't want to have sex with him is
– now the
lightbulb had turned into an enormous flashing neon
sign, worthy of Las Vegas –
because I DON'T LOVE HIM
ANYMORE!