Hartley felt his blood run cold. Bridget.
But she’d been so nice about Lucy for weeks. She’d been so attentive and caring, a million miles from the Bridget he had remembered. His friends had warned him not to be taken in by her but he had told them that people change; everyone is allowed a second chance.
Why hadn’t he applied that logic to Lucy and given her the benefit of the doubt?
Jesus, please, no. Bridget couldn’t be behind this.
For weeks after they started spending time together, nothing had happened between him and Bridget. Hartley didn’t want her; he wanted Lucy. All those times he had picked up his phone and thought about calling her, before bottling it… Why hadn’t he grown a pair of balls?
And God, he’d had sex with Bridget the other night. The thought of her being behind the photographer in Scotland was almost too much to take.
Marj was talking but his head was so crammed with horror he was struggling to listen.
‘Max linked Bridget to the photographer in Scotland. Armed with the proof that Lucy had no part in what had happened, Max wanted to come to you, to make you see. Lucy told her to forget it. She made Max promise not to contact you. Why should she have to justify herself to you?’
Oh God, Hartley thought, what have I done?
‘I am so sorry,’ he said, looking Marj straight in the eye, his eyes filled with remorse. He hurt so badly he thought he might crumple there in front of her and wail for days. How bloody stupid he had been.
‘How… I mean, Bridget – she wasn’t even there.’ Hartley said the words as they came into his head.
‘That’s not my business. I came only to make you see that Lucy is the girl you got to know. I couldn’t stand for you not to know the truth.’
‘I should never have doubted her,’ he said quietly.
Marj felt sorry for Hartley. She wasn’t angry with him. Of course Marj wanted her girls to find someone who could take care of them, to protect them and love them. She couldn’t give a stuff for Hartley’s money or title. It would bring a certain comfort no doubt and that was a huge bonus, but what mattered was the man. Fergal had taught her that. She liked what she saw in Hartley. But there was no getting away from the fact he had not stood by Lucy.
‘From what I heard, you jumped to an obvious conclusion. We all make mistakes. Perhaps it’s a mistake me coming here. After all, I am doing this behind Lucy’s back. It’s not easy, you know, being a parent, loving your children so much you never want them to hurt. Of course they will – no one can control that. But it’s not fair that you think the worst of my daughter when she did nothing wrong.’
Hartley looked forlornly out of the window, at the cold, dark winter sky, and wondered how this could have happened. How had he managed to lose the woman who made him feel like he would burst with joy every time he thought of her?
Marj was speaking again, her voice still soft. ‘As for that other article – the one about our family. We have nothing to hide, Hartley. I fell pregnant when I was twenty to a man I loved. I discovered he was married. He wanted to leave his wife but I said I wouldn’t be the one to split a family. It was tough – the stigma of being a single mum three decades ago was huge. I fell in love with another man, Fergal, the best man I have ever met, and he is Max’s father. His own father abandoned him when he was young and that made him doubly determined to make sure he was always there for his girls – that’s how he sees them both. It turned out Lucy’s dad was a wealthy man and he offered to pay for her to go to boarding school. There you have it – the big mystery about Lucy’s accent is solved. Hardly qualifies for an episode of CSI, does it?’
Hartley didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Had it mattered to him when he saw the article? He remembered being hurt by it – assuming she had lied. But she had never misled him in any way.
Marj stood and picked up her handbag from the floor.
‘I must go,’ she said lightly. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming here.’
‘Oh God, not at all. I can’t thank you enough. Is there… I mean to say, do you think there’s anything I can do?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Marj admitted. ‘That’s not my business either.’
Marj held out her hand and shook Hartley’s with real warmth. She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
Reaching the door, she turned back suddenly. ‘Oh Hartley?’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you see the story about Lucy and Kirk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nonsense. Well, ninety per cent of it. Max found out that Kirk’s mum placed the story in the paper – doing her son’s PR, if you like, trying to get him away from the reputation he has with glamour girls. It was Kirk who chased Lucy and things went no further than a goodnight kiss. You know why?’
Hartley shook his head.
‘Because she couldn’t stop thinking about you.’
Marj was pleased to see a huge smile light up Hartley’s rosy face.
… AND NOW FOR MAX
Marj had no idea if she had done the right thing visiting Hartley.
Perhaps it was her breast-cancer scare that had made her realize her girls’ happiness meant so much to her.
At least Hartley knew the truth now.
Then there was Max.
During her stay with the girls, Marj knew something was wrong. Max wasn’t her normal carefree self. Marj couldn’t remember ever seeing her daughter so down.
The other night on the phone she had tried once more to speak to Max about the guy she had briefly mentioned, the one who was clearly the cause of her sadness.
‘What’s up, Maxy?’
‘Nothing.’
‘There’s something.’
‘OK, something. Just that guy I liked.’
‘Didn’t he like you back?’
‘He does, but it’s too complicated to be with him.’
‘He’s not married?’
‘No, no.’
‘Engaged?’
‘No.’
‘Because engaged isn’t married, Max. A girl in my yoga class fell for someone when she was engaged, so she left her fiancé for him and is blissfully happy now.’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘You liked him?’
Marj heard her daughter’s voice catch in her throat as she desperately tried not to cry when she said, ‘I think I loved him.’
Marj had wanted to take her sobbing daughter in her arms. She seemed suddenly so young and vulnerable. After a few moments, she heard her daughter the actress, the selfless young woman who didn’t want her mother to worry. ‘Thanks, Mum. Don’t worry. You know me, I’ll be fine.’
Marj could imagine her daughter using every ounce of willpower to paint on that funny smile she’d always worn to reassure her. She didn’t want to push Max. She was sure her daughter knew she would always be there for her, and took comfort from that.
The conversation had played on Marj’s mind, though, and she called Lucy soon after.
‘Lucy, is Max OK?’
‘Sure. Why’d you ask?’
‘She’s terribly down, not like her at all.’
Max down? There must be some mistake. She was fine. For once it was Lucy who was all over the place, splitting up with Hartley, splashed over the papers.
‘She is cut up about a boy.’
Lucy laughed. As if. Her little sister down about a guy? ‘Mum, this is Max. She breaks the hearts – not the other way round.’
‘Not this time.’
There was something in her mother’s tone that made Lucy stop. She put down her work notebook. She had been absent-mindedly chatting to Marj while jotting down questions to ask Alexander McQueen about his summer designs, after Carlos arranged a last-minute meeting with him later that week. It was a huge coup for the magazine, as he wasn’t doing any other interviews, and testament to Carlos’s reputation in the industry.
‘Mum, I know everything about Max’s life. We live together. She tells me everything, you know that.�
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It was true, Max and Lucy had no secrets. That had always been their way.
‘She said there was someone she liked and wanted to be with, but she couldn’t be – the situation was too tricky?’
Lucy was taken aback. She didn’t have a clue. There was whiffy Phil and that PR guy she’d regretted, but no one else. Except Luke.
But that hadn’t been anything; nothing had happened. What was it Max had said? She had agreed there were plenty of people to have a crush on other than Lucy’s brother.
Lucy tried hard to remember how the conversation had come up. It was just after the photographer in Scotland. Lucy hadn’t been herself. She remembered being very angry with Max for suggesting she liked her brother. ‘Luce, I’m in love.’ That’s what she’d said. And that Luke was wonderful.
‘Not Luke?’ Lucy asked her mother as the thought formed in her head.
‘I don’t know, Lucy, but she’s devastated it couldn’t work out… You don’t mean your brother Luke?’
‘Yes.’
Lucy waited for her mother to laugh at how ridiculous the very thought of Luke and Max was.
‘A handsome boy,’ Marj said, almost to herself. She had seen hundreds of photos of Luke and Ben over the years. She had invited them to stay in Broughty Ferry but their mother had told them that would happen over her dead body. Such a shame. They were Lucy’s family; they should be part of her life in Scotland. ‘And you always say how wonderful he is.’
‘He is. But he’s my brother.’
‘He’s not Max’s brother.’
Lucy raised a palm to the ceiling in protest. ‘Mum, you can’t be serious.’
‘Why not?’
‘What happens when it all goes wrong and Max decides he holds his fork the wrong way or buttons his shirts too high and dumps him? It’s just all too close, Mum.’
‘I don’t know what happens if, Lucy, not when, that happens.’
‘It becomes as awkward as hell, Mum. Luke gets hurt and I feel awful every time I see him. Neither of us knows what to say and our relationship suffers. He’s my brother. You understand.’
Marj was quiet for a few seconds before replying, her voice calm and considered. ‘And do you think, given the value your sister places on family, she would risk dating him if she didn’t really think there was a chance?’
Lucy’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t thought of it like that.
‘She’s devastated, Lucy.’
‘Really?’ The question came out as a squeak with Lucy’s voice catching in her throat. Had she really been so consumed with her own problems she’d missed how Max felt?
‘She’s not incapable of finding love, Lucy. She wants it as badly as you or I or anyone.’
Lucy felt her cheeks flush. She was overcome by guilt. Of course Max wanted love. Lucy had only ever wanted her sister to be happy and find a great guy. That’s what Luke was. Max had ditched men because they weren’t right – what was wrong for holding out for someone who was? And what if Luke was that person? Marj was right; Max wouldn’t risk dating Luke if she didn’t really like him. God, it had probably taken guts for her even to admit she liked him and Lucy had been so vile, caught up in Hartley and Scotland. Some big sister.
‘Mum, I told her to stay away. I gave her no choice in the matter.’
‘Lucy, you are always there for Max – don’t beat yourself up. That’s probably why she put your feelings before her own happiness. You’ve had quite a time of it – she knows that.’
‘But Mum, I must have been totally wrapped up in myself… I didn’t even realize she was down.’
‘Lucy, Max has been trying to protect you. You know Max – the best actress in the world when she has to be.’
Marj imagined her daughter’s face at the end of the line, those blue eyes full of remorse.
‘Listen, Lady Macbeth was wrong: what’s done can be undone. Talk to Max.’
‘She’s just gone to New York.’
‘When she gets back, then.’
Lucy had a better plan. She would speak to Luke.
BRIDGET PLAYS THE WAITING GAME
Hartley had been in such a state on the night Bridget had ensured he got exceptionally drunk. She had practically dragged him out of the cab and into her house. Her plan had been easier than she had imagined. She had invited bloody Bately and his new girlfriend for supper – she had wanted Hartley to see just how charming she was with the man who had clung to his stupid grudge against her. Philippa had come too, with her boyfriend, and Bridget was careful only to ask her all about her meeting with Lucy when no one was listening.
After supper Bridget had suggested they head to Maddox for a few drinks. She much preferred Annabel’s but Maddox was livelier and she wanted Hartley drunk. Bridget had been a member when it was called Noble Rot, before it was taken over by Fred Moss.
It had been the unofficial social headquarters of London’s blue-blood set and still attracted quite a few in her circle. Bathed in dim red lighting, a table on a Friday night in the minimalist black-and-red Sammy Chams-designed interior cost £1,000 including champagne and a hostess, and was more New York than the old-country-house feel of Annabel’s or glitzy Tramp.
She had ensured Hartley’s glass was constantly topped up over dinner and noticed he was drinking like a fish. Bridget had an inkling as to why he was on such a mission: he had been looking and acting rather vacantly since he saw Lucy on the front page earlier that day. Although it irked Bridget to see how much reading about Lucy and Kirk had bothered him, the timing was perfect. She simply made sure he drowned his sorrows that very night. Lucy, the little tart. Bridget couldn’t have hoped for a better situation. Now he saw how cheap she was, desperate for any man who was famous just weeks after splitting up with him.
Bridget had put up with the terminally dull Bately and his new girlfriend, who looked like a horse. A slim horse, but a horse nonetheless.
She smiled sweetly at their stories and jokes. This time she would get it right. She would be nothing other than charming to all his friends. Well, for the time being. She could think of better things to be doing than feigning interest in Bately’s latest mountain climb for charity, but she would be rewarded for all her hard work.
Hartley maintained his thirst throughout the evening. Come one o’clock in the morning he was struggling to stay awake so Bridget asked a waiter to call her a cab.
It wasn’t easy getting him to bed – he kept muttering incoherently about nonsense, mentioning Lucy a few times. He was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow and somehow Bridget got his shirt and chinos off as he lay snoring. She pulled the duvet over his body, took her clothes off and slipped in beside him.
Bridget set the alarm on her mobile phone for 4 a.m. – on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear. She placed it under her pillow so she would feel it buzz. When it did, she pulled at one of Hartley’s sideburns, remembering it was a particularly sensitive area. He stirred and opened his eyes.
‘Darling, you were coughing in your sleep, almost choking. Are you OK?’
‘Oh sorry…’ Hartley’s eyes had a thick glaze of drunkenness still covering them. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Bridget smiled and kissed his cheek before climbing on top of him.
‘Don’t worry. I’m on the pill,’ she whispered in his ear while making him hard. He was too confused to object. Bridget was certain he had wanted to anyway, but he was shy and needed her to make the first move.
The best bit was that Bridget had timed it to perfection. She had read up on the best times to have sex when trying to conceive and she slept with Hartley bang in the middle of the optimum days, thereby increasing her chances spectacularly.
Bridget had wondered every day since then whether she could be pregnant. She was sure she had waited long enough and resolved to buy a pregnancy test.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
Max felt the surging thrill of New York as her cab pulled up at her hotel on 54th and Seventh. She soaked up the atmosphere, the
cacophony of car horns, yellow cabs everywhere, people of all nationalities striding confidently, walking tall. Somehow, folk seemed more assured in New York. They looked up to the sky-scraping buildings with wonder while Londoners kept their heads low, cloaking themselves in anonymity. Max thought of the Sex and the City episode where Carrie considered that perhaps the great love of her life wasn’t a man, but NYC. Did people feel like that about London, with such passion and longing? But then London had its own breathtaking beauty. Who could fail to be moved by the dazzling sight of the architecture, the history and romance of the place?
There wasn’t a city in the world that could compete with the views from the London Eye, when you were 135 yards above the River Thames in a capsule with a 360-degree panorama. You could see the Houses of Parliament, St Paul’s and Hampstead Heath. Even Windsor Castle on a perfect day. Twenty-five miles of streets, churches and palaces grown from Roman times.
Max loved the cab journeys that took her over the Thames bridges, relishing the landmarks so many people walked past every day, immune to their beauty: Westminster, so ominous and eerie against a charcoal winter sky; the familiar shape of the Oxo Tower, lit up and inviting.
And now she was in the Big Apple it was time for her own fresh start. What to do first? Order pancakes with maple syrup and corned-beef hash in a diner? Shop on Fifth Avenue? Armani Exchange always offered cheaper stock than back home. Max needed some casual clothes – maybe Abercrombie & Fitch opposite Trump Towers for a tracksuit… mind you, everyone seemed to be plastered in A&F these days. She liked the look of the new Ed Hardy range. Or maybe going back to old school Nike or Adidas for a trackie and T-shirts was called for. Must get bloody fit, she thought as she pondered the last time she’d had a cigarette. Fuck, that made her want one, what with the adrenaline of being here. A beer and Marlboro Light would be perfect. Then another thought crossed her mind: she hadn’t thought about Luke for at least half an hour.
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