Claire didn’t want to let Max speak yet. She wanted to sell this to her as the career opportunity of a lifetime.
‘You know what it’s like, Max. There are always people willing to sell stories, so why shouldn’t you benefit? More front pages, more salary increases. It’s not like I’m going to be in charge of the column for ever. I’ll be handing over the reins within a year, I’d guess. This is a job for someone with a younger liver, after all.’
Max laughed. It was strange, this hard sell. When she had started out under Claire, she’d hoped they could be friends. She’d liked her boss’s dry sense of humour and admired her ability to nail a great story.
But this only proved to her that for Claire the job came first, second and third. She was painting it like Max would be doing not only herself but Lucy and Hartley a favour by bringing Claire a daily list of their movements. Of course Max’s career would benefit, but so would Claire’s. She was the one who would walk into conference every morning with a great exclusive. Sure, she’d give Max credit, but she would also make everyone aware that she had been responsible for talking Max round.
‘And I think you could be my natural replacement.’ Claire’s tone had softened. But it was forced, intended.
Max wasn’t so sure her boss wanted to relinquish her title just yet for an executive role on the paper, in the land of soft carpets.
That would involve a pay rise and more clout over the internal running of things but it would also mean giving up being recognized at every London party she attended.
Claire, like the others whose air-brushed pictures were published every day, was paid to write about celebrities and in doing so had become a minor star herself, courted on a nightly basis by PRs and music bigwigs at the Ivy, Momo, Cipriani. She had to hand over the baton sometime, but Max was pretty sure that talk of doing so soon was only a ploy to keep her hungry and keen.
‘You’re a great journalist, Max. I’ve been so impressed with your work. But, well, this could just be the thing that sets you head and shoulders above the rest. You never know, Lucy and Hartley might welcome having someone who can place positive stories about them. Or, if you wanted to keep it a secret that you were giving the stories, you could always change your byline – use a fictitious name on top of the stories you write about them. But the people who mattered at the newspaper would know it was down to you. You’d get full credit.’
Like a barrister who’d just made the closing speech of her life to a jury, Claire leaned back in her chair, relieved and spent from making an argument she was certain would be accepted.
If only Claire knew how much Lucy meant to her, she would never even have thought of asking Max to do this. If only she knew their background, their story.
Max and Lucy’s mother, Marjory, had fallen pregnant with Lucy when she was twenty. She hadn’t realized the handsome man in his late thirties she’d fallen for was married, or that he already had two children. Peter Stirling told Marj he was a wealthy man and would look after their child. He offered to leave his wife and children for Marjory. She refused, telling him to go back home. Her heart had been broken but she would not be responsible for breaking up his family.
Peter had felt wretched about the situation and he came clean to his wife. Although she was devastated she didn’t want a divorce and the stigma of being a single mother, which was undeniably still present in the late seventies. Patricia grudgingly agreed he should offer Marjory some maintenance money for the child and play a part in its life, though their family must always come first. When Lucy was thirteen, and as his sons already boarded in Kent, he suggested paying for Lucy to go to the nearby girls’ school.
Peter’s parents had left their estate to their only child, with money put aside in a trust specifically to pay for the education of any children he might have. Whether his wife liked it or not, Lucy qualified. On top of the school fees he secretly wrote Marj a cheque for £10,000 every year. Patricia never saw his accounts from his parents’ estate and as a family they had more than enough money of their own.
Marj wanted the best education for her little girl but felt terrible packing her off when she was so young, although it was the age many girls started at the particular school earmarked by her father. She therefore left it up to Lucy to decide if she wanted to leave home. Marj explained to her daughter that the school would offer a world of trips, opportunities and new friends but that she could stay at home if she would rather. Mummy would miss her terribly but if she decided to go they would make up for lost time during holidays.
Caught up reading teen fiction that followed the adventures of a girl at boarding school, Lucy had jumped at the chance to go – what fun it sounded. And so Lucy’s life took a turn that saw her mixing with privileged girls from all over the world. Her Scottish accent had quickly faded after her first year. Without intending to, she picked up the cut-glass English of the girls around her. Of course, Max had teased her for sounding posh when she came home for holidays. By the time Lucy returned to school she sounded a little Scottish again, then gradually this would fade once more. Lucy hadn’t lived in Scotland since her schooldays, studying at Oxford then working in London, and, regrettably, she no longer had the soft Scots accent she loved.
The schooling arrangement suited her father, who visited her at school three or four weekends a year. Occasionally, she stayed at his five-bedroom house in Greenwich, in south-east London. Once a year, over a long weekend in winter or spring, she skied with the family, and in summer she joined them for a week at their villa in the quaint village of Lagrasse, in the south of France.
Lucy loved her dad and adored her two half-brothers, Ben and Luke, but never felt like she truly belonged, in no small part because of the frosty Patricia, who often barely hid her irritation that her husband’s love child was joining their family unit.
Ben was five years older than Lucy. He was studious and for as long as she could remember he had had an air of gravity. He was darker than the rest of the family, with brown hair and eyes. The casual observer might have judged him a little stiff but Ben had always allowed Lucy to see his softer side. He shared with her his dry sense of humour and always let her know he was there for her.
Luke was completely different; as a teen he had looked like an extra from The O.C. He loved to find places to surf with friends – from Cornwall to Indonesia – and was permanently bronzed, his floppy blond hair streaked white from the sun. He was three years Lucy’s senior but she often felt protective of him. He was so fun-loving and trusting, open and charming. He reminded her of Max.
Lucy had tried to arrange a time when Max could meet her father and brothers but it had never happened. Max had moved to London only a few years ago and was always so busy. Lucy had invited her brothers to join them for lunch at their flat a year or so ago but it had to be cancelled when Max was sent to Dublin to chase some pop star. They rearranged a few weeks later but Ben had to pull out because of work. It would have made sense to invite Max to their villa one summer but Lucy had no doubt Patricia would be hostile and unwelcoming to Max and Lucy would not have her sister made to feel like an outsider. Nevertheless it was odd that Max hadn’t met them. Now they were both in London, she resolved to arrange a dinner or lunch soon.
Lucy had loved school life, which passed in a whirl of captaining the hockey and lacrosse teams and gaining straight A grades. She was popular and in her final year was named Head Girl. When she was fourteen she had briefly succumbed to a bout of bulimia, just because it seemed to be the thing everyone was doing; her classmates competed to see who could lose the most weight.
But Lucy was quick to see how silly such games were, especially after spending holidays with Max. She never felt totally at home until she was back with her mum and little sister during holidays.
Max had come along a little over two years after Lucy. While carrying Lucy, their mum had met and fallen in love with a dashing Irishman called Fergal Summers. The feeling was mutual and Fergal, who ran his own carpentry b
usiness, said he would rather bring up another man’s child and learn to love it as his own than risk losing Marj. Little did they know they would have another baby so soon.
The Summers Sisters were inseparable whenever together. Max attended the local school, Grove Academy in Broughty Ferry, where she lived with her parents right on the esplanade by the River Tay. She developed a slight local accent – nothing too strong but identifiably Scottish. Lucy loved being with her little sister. She told her she was like a breath of fresh air after a term with the boarders who obsessed over what ski resort they were going to at Easter.
Max smiled as she thought of Lucy, how close they had always been.
‘Max?’
Shit. Max had let her mind wander. She’d glazed over, no doubt aided by the wine.
Max smiled at Claire. God, she was an intimidating woman. Attractive, talented, funny, but bloody scary too. Perhaps it was the wine, but Max wasn’t afraid.
‘Claire, I appreciate you looking out for me. I do. But no matter how much you polish the turd, it’s still something I’d never do.’
Claire sat forward, ready to speak.
Max cut her off. ‘Claire, there’s nothing you can say. I’d leave the job before I ever brought in stories about my sister.’
Claire lowered her head before looking at Max. She frowned and nodded slowly.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I understand.’
‘You do?’
‘Of course. I don’t have a heart of stone, you know. Loyalty’s important. Maybe not as important as exclusives, but then, hell, if we all agreed it would be fucking dull.’
Max laughed. She realized how much she liked Claire, how much she had learned from her. A woman in her position had to be a little tough.
‘Just one thing, though.’
‘Uh-huh?’ Max asked.
‘You’d better bring some kick-ass stories to the table on other celebs.’
Max clinked glasses with her boss, making a toast: ‘To kick-ass stories.’
As they ordered a third bottle, Max felt a sense of relief wash over her, tempered only by the realization that Claire was deadly serious.
GIRLS’ GUIDE TO A NIGHT OUT
Lucy smiled as she rubbed L’Occitane cocoa butter into her long legs.
She laughed out loud as she realized she was in fact grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Kneading the gooey lotion into her smooth skin she reflected on the last six weeks – that was how long she had been dating Hartley. She felt as excited as a schoolgirl with her first crush whenever she thought of him. She found herself daydreaming more and more of a future with Hartley. She couldn’t believe how much she had fallen for him in such a short time. Most of the time it made her dizzy with happiness but sometimes she was terrified. She thought he had the same feelings, but could she be sure?
He was due to pick her up in an hour to take her to Clarissa’s for dinner.
And soon they would have a long weekend away with his friends in Scotland.
She felt the fine hairs on her body prickle in excitement at the thought of spending the weekend with him in the remote castle. She longed for him to make love to her. Such a setting would be perfect.
Carlos had cornered her at work and demanded to take her for a coffee straight away so they could be out of earshot of Genevieve.
Safely in a booth at the local Starbucks he waved his hands in the air. ‘My God, girl, I’ve had to read about your new boyfriend and you in the bloody magazines. He’s so eligible I’d go straight to date him.’
Lucy laughed. ‘So I hear, Carlos.’
‘But he’s not as beautiful as you, baby.’
Lucy blushed.
‘But tell me –’ Carlos looked serious suddenly as he tightened his lemon-coloured tie then clasped together his perfectly manicured hands as if in prayer – ‘do you like him?’
‘I do, Carlos, I really do,’ Lucy told him, catching his eye.
‘And is he good to you?’
‘So nice. I’m almost waiting for something to go wrong. It’s all so… perfect.’
‘Honey, enjoy it while it lasts. And Lucy?’
‘Yes?’
‘For God’s sake, get a friggin’ diamond-encrusted Cartier before you break up.’
Carlos erupted into laughter at his own joke before reaching for Lucy’s hand and squeezing it.
‘I’m messing with you, of course, baby.’
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Lucy should just enjoy how good it felt being with Hartley and stop hoping it wasn’t too good to be true.
For the first time she felt like she was in a real relationship that was going somewhere, with someone she respected and who respected her.
She was inspired by Hartley’s passion and offered to help in any way she could. His eyes had lit up and he suggested she take over planning his Hogmanay Ball for the Foundation.
‘I’ve got a frightfully busy few months ahead, Lucy Lu. Mother needs some help running the estate. Since Father died I try to spend as much time with her as I can,’ he had explained. ‘You’d be doing me such a favour, darling.’
Lucy hadn’t hesitated and started at once to plan for the occasion. What with auction prizes, music, themes, speeches and so much more, her mind was jam-packed with lists of things to do… and she was loving every minute.
How wonderful, she thought, picking out her favourite baby-pink-satin camisole and matching panties from her bedside drawer, to feel wanted, appreciated, loved, respected.
An improvement on her last boyfriend, John.
She’d only realized her loyalty to John might be going unrewarded when she found a cheap red-silk nightgown under their bed. It definitely did not belong to her.
He had tried to laugh it off, telling her he was an athlete full of testosterone and had succumbed to temptation. He promised to be faithful in future. He told her she was the one he wanted on his arm. The most beautiful, sexy girl he had ever met, the most caring and loyal.
That night, Lucy had opened a bottle of Chardonnay then drank the whole lot before starting on a second. When Max came home from work she found her sister, for the first time in her life, wasted.
After explaining through a cacophony of slurs what had happened with the nightgown and John’s reaction, Max was resolute.
‘Lucy, that man’s idea of foreplay is beating his chest and yelling, “Are you ready for the big boy, little lady?” He’s a pig. How fucking dare he do this!’
With that, Max had stormed through to the bedroom her sister shared with John – who rarely contributed to any outgoings in the flat – and, armed with scissors, cut up his new rowing gear. Then she cut all three of his Armani suits into small pieces.
‘There,’ Max had announced, throwing all the bits of material into one of John’s large Mulberry cases. She placed it outside the door with a note she dictated to Lucy so that it was in her handwriting.
Dear John,
Sleeping with you is like having a front door fall on top of me, with the key still in the door.
You’re not worth it.
Find a new flat and get a life.
Lucy
Afterwards, Lucy had dissolved into a fit of giggles.
‘I love you, Max.’
‘I know, Luce. Come on, let’s get you to bed. Tomorrow you get to experience the joy of your first major hangover.’
John had bombarded Lucy with flowers, offers of dinner, holidays, the opera, everything. But she had remained resolute, with Max’s help. As her little sister said, everyone needs a bad relationship to make them appreciate when a good one comes along.
She smiled as she thought of lovely Hartley, with his mouth full of marbles, floppy hair and rosy cheeks. She wouldn’t have him any other way.
Lucy had laid out her outfit for the evening at Clarissa’s on her pristine white Egyptian-cotton duvet. Summer was almost over but it was a gorgeously warm September evening, perfect for her lilac-chiffon Chloé shift dress. Letting it fall over her head s
he felt the soft fabric settle on her skin. Beneath her breasts the tightly gathered fabric flowed freely and loosely to just below her knees. Dusting some Benefit body shimmer over her legs she completed the look with matching lilac Miu Miu court shoes – a perfect combination to make her look young, fresh and sophisticated.
After blasting her hair dry she smoothed it with a little serum to highlight the wispy ends, which had turned almost white in the sun.
She patted a thin layer of Laura Mercier primer then tinted moisturizer over her face. A little cream blusher and a lick of Dior mascara – a freebie sample at the magazine – and finally a dab of Crème de la Mer mint lip balm and she was ready.
Lucy felt the familiar fluttering in her stomach as she heard the buzzer from the street-level entry to her flat.
Her heart jumped as she heard Hartley’s trademark ‘Hello, Lucy Lu’ over the intercom.
Hartley was a little early – Clarissa had invited them for seven-thirty and it was only just after six.
Excellent, thought Lucy. I’ll open some champagne first and we can cuddle up on the sofa. When Lucy opened the door Hartley stood with his mouth slightly ajar. He couldn’t help it. She looked incredible. Her white-gold hair floated over her shoulders. He wanted to grab her and take in its sweet scent. Her lilac dress set off her bright blue eyes.
Yet again he wondered how such a perfectly respectable outfit with a modest neckline and hemline could look so sexy.
‘Lucy Lu, you look fabulous,’ he said over the long-stemmed white lilies he was holding out.
Taking them from him, Lucy leaned forward and lightly brushed her lips against his. Taking his hand, she led him to the sitting room.
‘Thank you, they’re lovely. I’ll put them in water and open some champagne?’
‘Perfect.’
Since meeting Hartley, Lucy had found herself gradually drinking more – a thimbleful compared to Max’s trough – and often had a few glasses over dinner on school nights, which she had never allowed before. But she was enjoying being less rigid. She laughed as she remembered Max’s description: ‘You’re less anal these days, sis.’ Lucy was sure it had everything to do with being happy.
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