by Jill Mansell
“I hate being patient,” he complained. “And I hate being turned down. And more than anything else,” he concluded, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “I hate other people drinking my cup of coffee.”
“Don’t you read the papers?” countered Loulou. “We’re having an affair. We’re secret, passionate lovers. I’m entitled to drink your coffee.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Feeling like some kind of spy, Loulou skulked behind the curtain of potted palms decorating the entrance to the hotel dining room and watched Roz, Sebastian, and Natalie together. It was their very togetherness that was most noticeable, and for a second, she experienced a pang of such envy that it was almost jealousy. All three of them looked so happy that Loulou wanted to cry. Roz, having lost her hard edge, looked more like Natalie’s sister than her mother. Sebastian, laughing at something she had said, seemed relaxed and more carefree than she had ever imagined possible, and Natalie, who was wearing a black Rocky Horror sweatshirt and emerald-green boots, was positively radiating youthful exuberance, her smile as wide as the Cheshire cat’s as her bright gaze darted from one parent to the other.
Lucky them, thought Loulou, her own expression wistful. She then realized that the restaurant manager was watching her.
“Is everything all right, madam?” he inquired, and she gave him a haughty stare.
“Perfectly all right. Why, do I look as though I can’t afford to eat here?”
Stiffly, he replied, “Of course not, madam.”
“Well, I can’t,” said Loulou, winking at him. “Thank goodness someone else is paying, eh?”
* * *
“I want you to come on my show,” said Roz.
“Who, me?”
“It was my idea,” put in Natalie, her bracelets jangling in her excitement. “You are famous, after all.”
“For my lousy choice in men,” Loulou said gloomily. “Everyone’s forgotten by now that I ever did anything.”
“Then we remind them,” explained Roz, sipping her white wine. “How you built up Vampires, how you gave it all up—we can give the charity a fresh plug at the same time—and you can tell the nation what a little shit that Martin Stacey-Thompson was. Everyone will hear your side of the story. Trust me, it’ll be great.”
Loulou continued to look doubtful. Watching the butter melt on her asparagus, she remained silent.
“And then there’s the fee,” said Sebastian, reaching across the table to refill her empty glass. “Which is not insubstantial,” he added as an apparent afterthought.
“Deal,” said Loulou promptly, breaking into a smile. “You just said the magic word. Let’s just hope,” she said, turning to Roz, “that it isn’t a complete disaster. Otherwise, you’ll be fired for choosing me.”
“It had better not be a disaster,” said Roz lightly, resting her hand upon Sebastian’s. “It’s my blaze of glory, Lou. I’ve already handed in my resignation. You’re going to be the very last guest to appear on the show.”
* * *
“As soon as Sebastian and I are married, we’re moving back to Zurich. A TV company there has offered me work, and I’ll still be able to do the occasional ‘special’ here as well. We’ve decided to keep the cottage on so we’ll have a base in England as well as Switzerland.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Camilla, wincing slightly as she eased herself into her sweater. “What will Natalie do?”
Helping her, Roz said, “Happily, she listens to her father. Sebastian made her realize that she should go to university and take her degree. She can fly out to us during the holidays, we’ll be able to visit her whenever we’re in England, and some of the time, of course, she’ll be with her adoptive family. I spoke to Christine and Tom on the phone only yesterday, and they’re thrilled that we’ve managed to persuade her to continue with her education. Apparently, when Nat was home with them last week she had her heart set on becoming a singer.”
“There,” said Camilla, striking a pose beside the bed. “It feels weird to be wearing clothes again. God, it’s only been three days, but I’ll be glad to see the back of this room.”
“I’ll help you pack your things. Look, are you quite sure you don’t want me to give you a lift home?”
“Thanks, but I’m being picked up.” There was a trace of awkwardness in Camilla’s voice, and in that moment, Roz realized what she had to say. Placing her hands on Camilla’s shoulders, she pressed her gently down onto the edge of the bed.
“Look, I’ve been a terrible bitch in the past,” she said seriously. “And I know I’ve told you that before, but this time you’re going to hear everything. I owe you that, at least.”
“You don’t—”
“Oh yes I do,” contradicted Roz swiftly. “And now I want to set the record straight. There are a couple of things you really have to know. For a start, I was horribly jealous of you and Nico. Nicolette wasn’t his daughter, you know. He was right not to believe me when I insisted she was.”
Camilla frowned. “But why?”
“I thought I could keep him that way,” said Roz, her eyes downcast. “At the time, I was desperate. And of course it didn’t work. Nicolette’s father was just a one-night stand whom I had no intention of ever seeing again, and never did. When she died, I thought it must be some kind of punishment for having deceived everyone.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” said Camilla with compassion. “And you didn’t have to tell me that anyway.”
Raising her chin, Roz said, “I’m telling you everything. I want you to know. And Nico didn’t chase after me when he was married either. I chased him. He wasn’t interested. It’s particularly important that you know that.”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” protested Camilla, turning pink.
Roz shook her head. “He’s crazy about you. I clung on to the memory of Nico for a long time because I couldn’t cope with the fact that he’d rejected me. It was more an obsession than real emotion, but it wasn’t until Sebastian reappeared that I understood that. I’m truly happy now, and I want you and Nico to be happy too. Together.”
The door swung shut behind them.
“So do I,” said Nico, idly swinging his car keys. Then he winked at Roz and said, “Camilla! Don’t you look different with clothes on. Is that really you inside them?”
“Don’t start,” warned Camilla, her toes curling with embarrassment. How on earth was she supposed to react when Nico challenged her like this, in front of an audience? His unexpected flashes of humor had always formed a large part of her attraction toward him, but just at the moment, she found it disconcerting. And how could she fully trust him anyway, when he treated the entire matter with such flippancy?
* * *
The prison on the outskirts of Bristol looked pretty much as Camilla had imagined it; grayish low buildings were bordered by high wire fences, their stark dreariness enhanced by the clear, cobalt-blue sky above and the surrounding greenness. A bright sun shone, and as their car approached the security-guarded entrance, they passed a field of black-and-white cows lazily grazing and enjoying the warmth of the day.
“It’s still not too late to change your mind.” Nico, who had volunteered to drive her down from London, seriously doubted the wisdom of Camilla’s decision. “You don’t have to do this. Christ, it’s a depressing place.”
“We’ve come this far; I’m not backing out now,” said Camilla, desperately unsettled but doing her best to sound calm. “Besides, I had to come. Nico, do I look OK?”
Bringing the car to a halt in the parking lot, he turned to look at her, affection vying with exasperation when he realized how much it mattered to her. As far as he was concerned, she looked beautiful anyway, with or without the makeup she had taken so much care to apply before they’d left. But then he only ever saw the sweet curve of her mouth, the laughter and compassion in her wide eyes, the sensual tilt
of her eyebrows when she was puzzled or concerned about something, and the soft, lush curves of her body beneath her high-necked, pale-pink cotton dress.
“So very OK,” he pronounced lightly, “that I’m considering taking this car somewhere a bit more secluded. Did you know that these seats go right back? Camilla, have you ever made love in a Lotus before?”
“Oh, hundreds of times.” Waving her hand dismissively, she took a powder compact from the bag on her lap. Carefully tilting the rearview mirror, she dusted her nose with powder and redid her lipstick.
“Too OK, if you ask me,” continued Nico as she sprayed the flowery scent he loved on her wrists. “Why not let her see what she did to you?”
Camilla surveyed herself in the mirror. The concealing foundation was extremely effective, and the scars that remained were barely noticeable beneath it. “She knows what she did to me. That’s why she’s here,” she said, nodding toward the gray buildings. “Besides, the scars aren’t why she asked to see me.”
“I still think,” grumbled Nico, “that she should see them. Sometimes, Camilla, you’re too damn nice for your own good. And if you dare forgive her for what she did…”
* * *
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” said Juliet steadily, her hands folding and unfolding in her lap. “But I am sorry.”
“I don’t forgive you,” Camilla replied, thinking that at least Nico would be happy now. She looked the woman straight in the eye. “I’ve tried to, and I can’t. The scarring will never completely disappear. But I do understand why you did it.”
Juliet shook her head. Her hair, less shiny now, swung around her plump shoulders. “You said that before, but it still isn’t true. We do read newspapers in here—I know everything about you now. Married to Matt Lewis. Long-running affair with Nico Coletto. Now he’s divorcing his wife for you. How can you possibly have any idea,” she burst out suddenly, “what it’s like being me?”
Glancing across at the prison officer standing with her back to the door of the visitors’ room, Camilla opened her handbag and withdrew a brown envelope. Emptying the contents onto the table between them, she pushed them toward Juliet.
“This one,” she said slowly, pointing to the photograph closest to her, “was taken roughly six weeks before I discovered that my first husband was having an affair with an old school friend of mine. That one is me about a year before that. The other two were taken at around the same time. And I can promise you that they were the best of the bunch. I threw all the less flattering photos away.”
Her face devoid of expression, although her hands were shaking, Juliet examined the photographs in silence. Camilla listened to the distant footsteps and occasional shouts echoing from other parts of the building and stared at the peeling, yellowed walls. The decor of the place was as dismal as the faint but permeating prison smell. Somewhere, a door slammed. Through the barred visiting room window, the sun continued to shine.
Finally, Juliet looked up. “What did you do when you found out your husband was having an affair?”
“I emptied a bowl of chrysanthemums over his head,” said Camilla steadily. “We were in the middle of a dinner party at the time.”
The faintest of smiles touched Juliet’s pale lips. Ruefully, she said, “That’s what I should have done to Piers, I suppose. Then what happened?”
“I left him.” Camilla began to relax. She had been right to come after all. Somehow, she’d known that the photographs would be the key. “A dear friend of mine took me to live with her. She cooked me such terrible food that even when I did feel like eating, I couldn’t. She threw away all my terrible clothes and did her fairy godmother act on me. She made me realize that this was the only life we had, that this was it, and that I’d better make the best of it. With Loulou bullying me, I didn’t really have any choice, but it proves that it can be done. Anyone can do anything, if it’s what they really want.”
“Can I keep these?” asked Juliet tentatively, prodding the photographs on the table.
“No.” Camilla picked them up, slid them back into the envelope, and replaced them in her bag. “I need them to remind myself…and I don’t regret having looked like that,” she added forcefully, “because it was part of my life. And I wasn’t unhappy then. I’m just a lot happier now.”
She rose to leave, and Juliet, on the verge of tears, held out her hand. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low. “And I really am sorry, Mrs. Lewis.”
“Yes,” said Camilla with relief. This woman might have killed her if it hadn’t been for Marty. She wasn’t going to forgive her. She wasn’t as perfect as Nico thought she was.
Very briefly, they shook hands.
“And I’m sorry I said what I did about the disabled boy,” put in Juliet hurriedly, as Camilla turned toward the door.
“Don’t call him that,” said Camilla, and for the first time, her tone was distinctly cool. “He is not disabled. He has Down syndrome. And his name is Marty.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Roz’s last show was being broadcast live at seven thirty in the evening on the second Friday in September. Diligent work by her young researcher, Sadie, had ensured that the first five rows of the studio audience would be filled with the boisterous, attention-seeking old regulars of Vampires. To further enhance the relaxed, end-of-term atmosphere of the evening, the lone chair normally occupied by the featured guest was being replaced by a squashy, four-seater sofa. Lili would be making her television debut, Laszlo de Lazzari was going to relay the story of how Vampires had so dramatically changed hands, and, at Loulou’s request, the president of the foundation for research into sudden infant death syndrome was putting in a brief appearance to update the public on the work they were doing and to remind them how necessary further fund-raising still was.
Crib death. If Nicolette had lived, she would be two years old now. Whenever Roz looked at Lili, she was reminded of her own beloved lost daughter.
But Lili was bright, beautiful, and lively. Roz realized that Nicolette at that same age would have been unable to speak, unable to comprehend, maybe even unable to crawl, and that made her sad. And although she had lost one daughter, she had been rewarded with another. Because of Natalie, her life had been so drastically altered that even now she still occasionally woke up at night in a panic, thinking that the events of the past few months had not ever really happened.
That it had was something she felt she scarcely deserved. All she could do now was try to help her friends.
* * *
It had been Camilla’s idea to hold the after-show party at her home. Sebastian had suggested a hotel and Laszlo had offered Vampires, but Camilla had persuaded them that the house was easily large enough, and with the added advantage that the children could crash out upstairs without interrupting the celebrations. As a special concession, she allowed Sebastian to hire a team of caterers. Natalie begged to be allowed to dye her hair pink for the occasion. Rocky, hopelessly overexcited by all the frantic activity in his home, had needed to be forcibly restrained from entering the kitchen and terrifying the caterers out of their wits. When Charlotte ventured into the back garden, she discovered Marty and Rocky sitting side by side on the terrace, devouring an entire tray of prawn vol-au-vents between them and making equally heavy inroads into a vat of chocolate mousse.
“My grandmother’s coming to the party!” shrieked Natalie, bursting into the bedroom where Camilla, Roz, and Loulou were choosing Loulou’s outfit for the show. “She’s just phoned and said she’ll be here by six.”
Marguerite, meeting Sebastian and Natalie for the first time three weeks earlier, had handled the situation with her usual aplomb. Sebastian, who had dreaded the initial encounter, was soothed by Natalie’s confidence.
“Don’t worry, let me handle this. I’m getting really quite expert at introducing myself to my relatives.”
And Marguerite, happily, h
ad been charmed.
“If you want to live until six thirty,” remarked Roz drily, “you won’t call her ‘grandmother.’”
Natalie landed unrepentantly in the center of the bed. “I just caught Zoë kissing Laszlo in the hall,” she announced proudly, running her fingers through her dark hair until it stood spikily upward away from her face. “Isn’t it great, the way a redhead’s blush clashes with their hair?”
“Bitch, bitch,” scolded Roz lightly, eyeing with horror the green-and-blue cotton sweater that ended just below her daughter’s young breasts and the scarlet-and-silver stretch miniskirt that scarcely covered her pelvis. “I hope you aren’t thinking of wearing this little getup tonight.”
“Nico thinks I look great,” Natalie declared, as if that settled it. She adored Nico.
“Of course he does,” countered Roz. “He’s Italian. And I’m telling you that you look like a hooker. Go change into something decent.”
“Zoë and Laszlo,” said Camilla with a low whistle when Natalie had flounced out of the room. “I didn’t know about that.”
“This place is like Noah’s ark,” grumbled Loulou, balancing on one leg as she struggled into a pair of Roz’s black leather Nicole Farhi trousers. “And I’m the old spinster left on her own. These are too small for me, you skinny old witch. Where’s my robe? I’ll wear that.”
“How about my sequined dress?” suggested Camilla nobly. She had been planning to wear it herself.
“Too flashy for the cameras,” advised Roz. “And everyone will expect you to sing like Shirley Bassey. Keep it simple and steer clear of stripes.”
“I told you. My robe.”
Roz raised her eyebrows. “Now she thinks she’s Hugh Hefner. You want something plain and stylish, Lou.”
“I want something strong, like a double gin,” said Loulou, her silver-gray eyes reflecting growing panic. “This stage fright is a terrible thing, Roz. Next time your daughter has a brilliant idea, can we please just ignore her?”
