Scandalous

by Martel Maxwell

  The blonde girl with her back to Max turned round. As her face came into view Max saw it was… her sister.

  ‘No, Luke, that’s my sister Lucy.’ Max looked bewildered, suddenly unsteady on her feet as she looked uncomprehendingly from Lucy to Luke.

  Peter and Ben had stood up and were kissing Max on the cheek. She returned the gesture as if on autopilot but her mind seemed frozen.

  Finally, after what seemed a baffling eternity, Lucy spoke.

  ‘Max, this is my brother Luke. You remember him from my photos? He’s just been telling me how you met the other day. He recognized you from my pictures.’

  Taking the situation in, Max made a strange noise – half sharp intake of breath and half laugh. Lucy’s brother? Oh Christ, she had thought he might have fancied her when all along he must have wanted to ask if she was his half-sister’s sister.

  Max’s voice was thin and robotic, strangled in her throat. ‘Yes, I’ve met Luke a couple of times.’

  It was all too much for Max to take in. The impossibly gorgeous Luke, with his sapphire eyes, his broad shoulders and charm, was Lucy’s half-brother.

  Max realized with a jolt that this was the boy she had seen in family snaps over the years, skiing, diving and riding with Lucy. He looked so different to the chubby-faced teenager hiding behind his long dark blond hair. He had grown into his features, his face now handsome and strong, his body manly and firm, his shoulders broad. But those beautiful smiling eyes, they were the same.

  ‘Oh Max, what a shock for you. I’m sorry. Luke was always a bit grungy as a teenager, a real surf dude. Ben’s hardly changed, I guess, but Luke’s so different…’

  Luke was staring at Max, his eyes wide with concern.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘It dawned on me the first time I saw you – climbing over the wall at the premiere. Lucy’s always talking about your exploits at the paper and she’s shown me pictures. I tried to explain when I saw you again… but, well, Jenni…’

  ‘Oh yes, please don’t worry. It’s fine. Funny, I suppose.’ Max tried to force out a laugh but it caught in her throat. This bloody hangover was reaching an almighty crescendo as she took in the situation – there was so much to compute it hurt her head.

  Max wondered what must be going through Luke’s head. How could one sister be so trashy, the other so elegant?

  This was beyond weird. She made herself smile as she took in Lucy’s dad and Ben. It was as if the old photos her sister had shown her were staring at her. Peter’s hair was greyer, Ben’s face had filled out a little, but they hadn’t changed much. She could see the undeniable resemblance between Peter and Lucy – the bright blue eyes and strong cheekbones. Was there any way of turning this fiasco round so that she looked dignified? God, this was not the first impression she’d imagined making should she ever get round to meeting Lucy’s family.

  Taking a deep breath, Max composed herself. The sooner she spoke, the sooner she could get out.

  ‘Finally we meet,’ she addressed Peter and Ben, who were still standing, looking at her kindly yet expectantly, ‘I’m Max.’

  Without warning Peter opened his arms and put them around Max, squeezing her tightly.

  Fuck, she must smell like an unwashed beer mat.

  ‘Isn’t it just ridiculous we’ve never met?’ he asked as he pulled away. ‘We’ve heard so much about you I feel like I know you already.’

  Max laughed, turning her head slightly so as not to knock him out with the vodka fumes. ‘Oh, you too. I think I’ve seen pictures of every family holiday you’ve ever had,’ she said, meeting Peter’s eyes, hoping he would laugh, relieved when he did.

  Ben leaned in and gave her a warm hug. ‘It’s a travesty we’ve never before encountered the magnificent Max.’ He beamed.

  ‘Oh I don’t know about magnificent,’ Max replied, shifting from foot to foot.

  ‘Please, you must join us for a coffee. You have time before your flight, don’t you, Lucy?’

  Before her sister could answer, Max cut in.

  ‘That’s so kind, thank you. I’d love to, really, but I’m in a bit of a rush.’

  Rush where? Shit. Think. Why would she be dressed for clubbing before midday?

  ‘I’m on my way to an audition.’ Max wasn’t exactly sure what would come out of her mouth but she was forming an idea as she said the words. ‘I have to audition for the new Britain’s Got Talent – you know the talent show with Simon Cowell? It’s for a feature for my paper… hence the get-up.’

  Peter, Ben, Luke and Lucy were smiling back at her. Peter was nodding, as if to say, ‘Ah that explains it.’

  So long as he hadn’t smelled the alcohol she was sure must be oozing through every pore, he wouldn’t think she was a raving alcoholic. Situation salvaged?

  ‘Luce, sorry to barge in like this – and me looking like this.’ Max attempted a laugh again but managed only a whimper that caught in the back of her throat. God, this was draining. Maybe that’s what actors meant when they described their last film as a labour of love. Max felt she deserved an Oscar nomination for this little performance. All she really wanted to do was drink a gallon of water, curl up in a ball and sleep in a darkened room.

  Catching her reflection in a huge gold-framed mirror Max saw how awful she looked. Chapped lips, sunken eyes and smudged eyeliner – pathetic.

  Looking around the golf club she felt naked in this quiet, calm room with expensive canvases on the wall and cigar cases behind the bar. Michael wasn’t the only one who looked like he had a coat hanger up his arse – a couple in the corner were sitting opposite each other and leafing through newspapers, their perfect posture matching their pristine outfits, with starched collars and fine-wool V-necked jumpers straight out of a Good Housekeeping feature from the 1950s.

  Clearing her throat she managed: ‘Luce, you left your passport. I thought I’d better get it to you.’

  Handing it over, Max made a brave attempt at the motto that had seen her through so many mortifying situations: chin up, chest out, paint on a smile.

  ‘Right, pleasure meeting you all. Hopefully we can meet again soon. Lunch, maybe? I’m afraid I have to dash now, though.’ With a flash of teeth Max turned round. They seemed like such nice people. She really would like to meet them all again, under different circumstances. But as for Luke… She’d been so attracted to him, Lucy’s brother.

  ‘Hold on, Max. Wait.’ Lucy was on her feet, following Max. ‘Thanks so much. Please. You sure you don’t have time for a coffee?’

  ‘No, Luce,’ Max said in a hushed tone so the others couldn’t hear. ‘I feel as awful as I look. I have to go home. Have a great weekend with Hartley.’

  Concern and love were etched across Lucy’s beautiful face. ‘You sure you’re OK?’

  Max forced a smile to reassure her sister, who looked so effortlessly elegant in her Marc Jacobs khaki trouser suit with cream silk shirt underneath. ‘Yes, anyway my cab is waiting.’

  As Max kissed her sister on the cheek and bid her farewell, she realized Luke was standing beside them.

  ‘Yes?’ Max asked him with a note of impatience, masking her humiliation.

  ‘I’m heading your way. You live in Kensington with Lucy, right?’

  ‘Erm, right.’

  ‘OK. It’s the least I can do – you coming all this way to save the day. Let me pay the driver and I’ll take you home.’

  The sparkling sapphires fixed on her once more – though now they were tinged with concern.

  Before she could answer, Luke had walked out of the club house. Max kissed Lucy once more.

  ‘Sorry, Luce.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being such a fuck-up.’

  ‘Shush. I love you, Max. I think you’re wonderful and they do too.’

  Turning away, Max felt a lone tear roll down her cheek. By the time she was outside, she was crying uncontrollably.

  ‘Hey. Max? What on earth is wrong?’

  Luke, lovely Luke. With the
Stepford Wife at home who would never reek of booze, wake up with a random, pee herself, watch someone else pee as part of her job, or any of the ludicrous things Max had done in the last few weeks alone.

  Wiping away her tears Max tried to sound calm: ‘Luke, can you take me home now?’

  ‘Of course. Let’s go.’

  HERE’S LUKE-ING AT YOU

  Normally, Max would have deflated the situation by making fun of herself and laughing it all off.

  But she was exhausted, drained from the excesses of a life of free bars and celebrity vacuousness. Of people using her to get fame and her using them to keep up her reputation as a story-getter. What the fuck was it all about?

  She sat in silence as Luke drove her home. She pretended to sleep in the passenger seat but her mind was racing.

  Perhaps she had liked Luke from the moment she saw him because he looked somehow familiar. And now she knew why that was – he was Lucy’s half-brother. Max was still in shock at the revelation. He didn’t look like Lucy exactly, but there was something about him – in his sparkling eyes – that calmed Max, made her feel that she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  How incestuous that she had fancied her sister’s brother. It even sounded odd. Although Max and Luke were in no way related, so maybe it was OK. What was OK? That she fancied the pants off him? There was certainly no possibility in this little fantasy scenario that he even remotely liked her. At best he thought she was funny, at worst tragic. Not like Jen, waiting at home with a freshly baked low-carb pie or whatever the hell it was she ate that kept her skinny with big boobs.

  Anyway, Miss Gap At The Top Of Her Legs was Luke’s type – not Max the loose cannon, whom he’d only noticed because she was nearly naked on all three occasions they’d met. That and the fact he recognized her as Lucy’s sister. No wonder he hadn’t mentioned it in front of Jenni – he must have been mortified to have a family connection with her.

  Max decided it was only polite to make a little conversation now they were nearly home.

  ‘So,’ she chirped, chewing three bits of gum in a bid to get rid of her booze breath. ‘How are the wedding plans going?’

  Luke, wearing baggy jeans and a crisp, close-fitting white shirt, managed to look smart and cool at once. The remnants of his rebellious surfing days were faintly present, yet he was so handsome and grown-up. His accent wasn’t strong, but it was subtly from London. Whatever it was, it was sexy. He changed gear studiously before saying, ‘I’m afraid there isn’t going to be a wedding.’

  Luke glanced over and caught Max’s eye, almost shyly.

  In spite of herself Max felt her stomach flip. God, he was handsome. Rugged yet beautiful, charming and cheeky.

  ‘Really?’ Max hoped she was veiling her excited curiosity with a deep concern.

  ‘Yeah. I called it off,’ Luke continued, turning down his David Bowie CD.

  ‘You did? Why?’

  ‘Well –’ Luke let out a slow sigh – ‘I’d had doubts for a while, but Jenni wanted so badly to get married. I guess I just went along with things.’ Luke caught Max’s eye again. She wondered if the palpitations she felt might be nothing to do with him – and simply down to the fact that she’d downed her recommended weekly number of units in one session the night before.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Things came to a head when Jenni banned me going out with the boys last week. I was only allowed one night out – and I’d already used my quota.’

  ‘She didn’t?’

  ‘I’m afraid she did, Max. It’s not that I’m some wild party animal. I’m just not ready to be told what to do. It’s not like we have kids. We aren’t even married. I guess I was scared of what was to come.’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’ Max looked out of the window, recognizing the pretty tree-lined street as one close to her own. Town houses with window baskets of brightly coloured flowers whizzed by like a scene out of Mary Poppins.

  ‘Do you think it’s just a tiff? You think you might get back together?’

  Luke didn’t hesitate. ‘No, Max. I know we won’t. Jenni was a great girl but not for me. I’d rather hold out and be alone than settle, you know?’

  Max laughed, her eyes dancing with his. ‘Oh yes, I know what you mean.’

  Pulling up at her flat, Luke jumped out of the car to open the passenger door.

  ‘Thank you, Luke.’

  Luke hugged her with a warmth that surprised her.

  Pulling away he lifted Max’s chin with his hand so her gaze met his.

  ‘Max?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would you mind if I called you?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Looking up at him, Max realized the sight of Luke took her breath away. But she must be misreading the signs. ‘Now we’re family we should keep in touch.’

  ‘Max?’

  ‘Yes, Luke?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  As Luke stared into her big brown eyes, Max forgot to speak. Or maybe she was speaking to him with no words. She couldn’t tell.

  Slowly, he placed his hand at the nape of her neck and pulled her to him. His soft lips cushioned Max’s. She felt like she was falling and falling yet was safe and warm.

  His tongue sought hers with real need, yet its touch was gentle.

  Pulling away Max felt giddy. She wanted more.

  Fishing out a business card from her bag, Max handed it to Luke, whose sandy hair shone around him like a halo in the September sun.

  Kissing her on the forehead Luke said: ‘I can’t wait.’

  LIKE A BRIDGET OVER NASTY WATERS

  ‘Do I sound like I give a flying fuck how hard it is to get in or how cold it is? I could not care less about any of your moronic concerns. I’m paying you five grand for a day’s work to do bugger all. Just take a photo and say what we agreed – how hard can it be? Now get in your car and get that bitch.’

  Bridget took a deep breath and exhaled. That had told the cretinous photographer. Now he would get on and do what she was paying him so handsomely to do – take a picture of Lucy and Hartley and make sure everyone in their cosy little group was in no doubt as to who tipped him off with their location: Little Miss Bimbo herself.

  The only thing Hartley hated more than having his personal life in the press was disloyalty. And this plan should ensure he no longer trusted Lucy as far as he could throw her, which was hopefully all the way back to her working-class roots in Dundee.

  Lucy deserved everything she had coming to her. Not only had she stolen the man everyone knew should be with Bridget, she had put Bridget down at Ascot, an incident still fresh, still rankling in her mind.

  Bridget had been consumed with raw hatred when she saw Lucy that day. She hadn’t been prepared for it at all. It winded her to admit, of course only to herself, that Lucy was indeed pretty, just as some columnists had said. And younger than Bridget. The tart probably had a game plan to snare Hartley and have his children. Bridget had to act now to put a stop to her fantasy before it became a horrible reality.

  Of course, she was no match for Bridget, who outclassed her in every way, not least in standing and title. This tramp was an imposter from a grubby background. Looks and ambition could get you far in life. But it would not get her Hartley.

  How Lucy must have laughed when she saw the newspaper the day after Ascot, with that hideous picture of Bridget pursing her lips next to a perfect image of the bitch. Bridget was sure her own friends had been laughing too. Of course, they called and told her the story had been written terribly unfairly, but Bridget could tell they loved every minute of it. Now it was her turn to publicly humiliate Lucy, and that couldn’t come soon enough.

  A VERY BIG HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY

  The words ‘pile in the country’ didn’t quite do justice to the mansion Lucy found herself in somewhere near a tiny village called Peat. Robert had picked up the four of them – Lucy and Hartley, Charles and Claudia – from Dundee airport and taken them across the Tay River to Fife. Hartle
y had suggested they could fly back from Edinburgh and pop in to see his mum on the way. When he called to make sure she would be there, the housekeeper answered and said she had gone to visit a friend in Inverness and would be away all weekend. But still, the thought had been there and Lucy felt flattered that he wanted to introduce her to his mum. He spoke so fondly of her; she clearly meant a great deal to him.

  ‘Perhaps if we have time we could visit my family,’ Lucy had ventured. ‘Mum lives half an hour from Dundee airport – or she could come to meet us there for coffee in the departure café.’

  Hartley beamed at the suggestion. Lucy could see it meant just as much to him to be asked to meet her mother as it had for her. ‘That would be wonderful, Lucy,’ he had told her.

  Driving through St Andrews, Lucy wondered how Prince William had adapted to such a sleepy town after years of partying in London. Ha! He probably loved the tranquillity, the fresh air, the tiny boutique shops and unaffected locals. What was there not to like? Whizzing past the famous Old Course, Lucy found conversation in Robert’s Range Rover flowed easily. They seemed simply to accept she must be a ‘good egg’, as Hartley would say, because he was with her.

  Lucy’s boss, Genevieve, had practically salivated when she told her she was taking Friday off so she could have a long weekend in Scotland.

  ‘Oh really, who with?’

  ‘Oh Hartley’s friend Robbie has a little place in Fife.’

  ‘Not Robbie as in Robert Mackenzie?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘He split up with a friend of a friend of a friend when he moved to Scotland from London a year or so back.’

  Lucy looked over her shoulder to see if anyone else on the floor had noticed her boss’s voice had moved up several octaves.

  ‘He’s single. Did you know he’s single?’

  Lucy smiled and said no as her boss rabbited on like a raver on acid about how she’d once met him… well, said hello… at some charity thing and thought he was gorgeous. Punching Lucy on the shoulder in a sisterly, jokey, but nothing-funny-about-it kind of way, she made Lucy promise to let him know she had a pretty single friend who would be perfect for him.