London Belongs to Me
Page 14
Alex itched her puffy eyes and reminded herself not to shout. “I’ve already told you. He’s a friend—nothing more. We never kissed. We never slept together. Why are you fixated on Harry and me?”
“Of course you’d deny it. That’s human nature,” said Olivia. “Give the girl a gold star for predictability.”
Unsure of how to reply, Alex rested her forehead in her clammy hands—anything to avoid Olivia’s shark-like eyes. She just wasn’t getting it. What’s wrong with her?
“I don’t blame you.” Olivia shook her head. “Every girl wants Harry. He’s gorgeous, kindhearted, sees the best in everyone—usually to his own detriment.”
She tapped her cigarette, nudging a long ash from its tip into a small glass plate. “He works too hard at Bespoke, and he doesn’t need to. The Manville family is old money, and they’re successful at keeping it. They’re also quite adept at weeding out people who don’t belong in their circle. You may see Harry as a friend, but to him you’re nothing more than a charity case; a girl who needed temporary shelter, that’s all. Funnily enough, his family does have a charitable fund for the homeless…”
Olivia’s lips continued to sneer and flap, her words fading in importance as jagged breaths escaped from Alex’s mouth. The room began to swing slightly in time with the maddening tick-tick-tick…
No! Not in front of her—not again. Alex concentrated on her breathing, clawing her way back.
“…and let’s face it. He’s a typical bloke. You may have had your fun, but it didn’t mean anything to him. He and I are in it for the long run. He knows what side his bread is buttered. He’d be a fool to let me slip away.”
“If you’re so convinced Harry and I slept together, why don’t you just ask him?” Alex struck back like a cornered animal.
“You really don’t know how it works in our world, do you? The secret is to keep the upper hand, not to let your man discover what you know. Cracks appear in a relationship when you start asking questions. My goal, next to becoming a successful playwright, is to protect what’s rightfully mine at all costs. I’m going to marry Harry, and no one—certainly not some piece of trash from the Florida swamps—will stop that from happening.”
Olivia crossed her long legs and reclined comfortably in her chair. “I’m prepared to make a deal with you…It’s Harry’s big night. We’ve got dinner and Bespoke’s official launch in a few hours. You keep your mouth shut about this silly play, and I’ll let you stay here until you find somewhere else to live. But you have to find something soon. I think that’s fair, especially when you ponder the alternative—tell Harry, and you’ll be tossed to the curb this afternoon. It’s that simple.”
She inhaled on her cigarette slowly, then allowed an elegant swirl of smoke to escape from her tight lips.
Alex stared at the ceiling. Her toes tapped against the chair leg like a determined woodpecker. Last night, Lucy had called it. Harry would take his girlfriend’s side, and there was no way she could triumph over Olivia’s reputation or wealth.
Giving in, surrendering…she had no choice. “Fine.”
Olivia squinted. “I’m sorry?”
“FINE,” Alex repeated, a little too loudly. “I won’t say anything, and I’ll look for somewhere else to live. I’ve never felt welcome here anyway.”
“Good girl,” said Olivia. “If you move soon, you’ll be doing Harry a favour. You were only staying here as a token of his good will. It wasn’t meant to be permanent. And that room— well, it’s hardly even a room, it’s a scandal.”
The floorboards behind Alex creaked. Her eyes darted over her left shoulder. “I thought I heard voices,” said Tom, scratching the sprouting whiskers on his chin. “What are you two whispering about? Girls and their gossip.”
Alex let out a deep breath while Olivia’s face brightened with a fake smile. “We were just talking about dinner tonight and Harry’s official unveiling of Bespoke.”
“Argh, the dinner. Can I skip it?” He rolled a prescription bottle around in his hands. “Mummy and Daddy dearest are gonna give me an earache.”
Olivia scowled. “No! You can’t. If you stopped your Tinder shagging spree and went to an audition or two, you’d earn a reprieve.”
He rolled his eyes. “And if you got a play commissioned, maybe I’d finally understand why you’re the Chadwick-Smythe golden child…”
When Olivia didn’t bite, he carried on. “I’m going to hit Bespoke hard. Can’t wait to get totally trolleyed. Drinks always taste better when they’re on someone else’s tab.” He rifled through the kitchen cupboards, clinking mugs and glassware.
“Well, that someone else will be up soon.” Olivia stubbed out her cigarette. “Sooner if you keep banging about.”
Tom blanked his sister, pulled an Evian from the fridge, and swallowed a tablet. He tossed the small prescription bottle on the table; the pills rattled as the container rolled across the wood.
“What happened to you, Alex?” He snatched a packet of cigarettes off the counter. “I didn’t see you last night.”
“I was there but had to rush home. Upset tummy.”
Tom’s pill bottle stopped, label up in front of her—Azithromycin.
“Gross.” His hand scratched his crotch. “Listen, I’m headed to Broadway Market to wander the stalls, maybe grab a bacon butty. Care to join me?”
Olivia hopped to her feet. “I will. I’d like to get something yummy for Harry’s lunch, and I fancy a walk through the park. Let me get dressed.” She tiptoed towards her bedroom.
“Ooh, lucky me. Spending the morning with Jekyll and Hyde.” Tom straightened his jacket over his t-shirt. “Coming, Alex?”
She scrunched up her eyes, desperate for a pee. “No, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
After a quick loo break, Alex retreated to the safety of her room. After jousting with Olivia, she needed some alone time to smooth her feathers. She didn’t know what to say to Harry when she saw him anyway. If she kept to herself, perhaps she could avoid him until dinner and have time to figure out what lie to spin about last night’s disastrous exit. She collapsed on her futon and dashed off a text to Lucy:
‘I’m fine. No getaway car required. Spoke to Olivia. You’re right. She’s certifiable. Won’t speak to Harry. Don’t worry. I’ll fill in the deets later. Have fun with Freddie today. A x’
She hit send and stared at her laptop…but wait a minute…where was the play? Did Olivia take the actual hardcopy?
Alex dived to the floor, checking the small stack that held her thesaurus, dictionary and a few other reference books. The last time she referred to the hardcopy and the professor’s notes handwritten in its margins was Wednesday before she switched to the bridge play. She swore that she had left it on top of the thesaurus but in all the craziness of the week, maybe her memory was playing tricks?
She shuffled through the pile of books, then another. Nothing.
Maybe it got shoved in her laptop bag? She tore it open, tossing notebooks on her futon. She fluttered through their pages—just in case. Nope.
Her heart upped its pace, tripping in her chest. She looked around her room, her legs like jelly. Her trembling hands rummaged through her wardrobe, under her futon…
The water pipes in the shower groaned; Harry’s up.
She dabbed the sweat on her forehead. Even if she could summon the nerve to ignore Olivia’s threats and tell Harry—the rich bitch had left no trace of her heist.
Sixteen
In the limo ride from Hackney, no one spoke about last night’s fundraiser. Nothing about Alex’s hasty escape, Isabella’s reaction or how much cash Olivia raised. Harry didn’t even ask her how she felt today. Just call her The Invisible Girl.
Instead, the conversation swirled around Olivia’s organization of tonight’s celebratory feast. She chose the restaurant—Winston’s in Mayfair, just a few blocks from Bespoke—the guest list and menu. She even dictated the flowers and the exact brand of candles decorating the tables.
Never mind playwriting or party planning, thought Alex—Olivia would make a brilliant actress—cold and biting one moment, loving and charitable the next. Spin the roulette wheel; get a different emotion every time.
She stared at the cutout hem of her navy blue sheath dress. The sting of the last twenty-four hours gnawed at her. Her worry over the missing copy of her play intensified the unshakable ache.
The restaurant staff whisked them through their VIP entrance, checked their coats, and led the way into the private dining room at the back of the venue. Alex lagged behind, her feet already throbbing from her heels. Luxurious carved wood fittings, gleaming antique Art Deco mirrors, pristine white tablecloths, and buttery leather chairs competed for her awe. She had never seen such an opulent restaurant or been treated like a VIP. How long would it take for someone to twig that she didn’t belong here?
Harry and Olivia greeted each arriving guest with laughter, air kisses, and handshakes. Close friends, family members, and business partners made the list. The older women in attendance looked waxy—too many cosmetic procedures, perhaps? —the younger women like they’d stepped out of British Vogue, and the men, regardless of age, oozed wealth and power in their made-to-measure three-piece suits.
Drink in hand, Tom flicked the collar of his navy blue Ted Baker suit and snuck away, presumably outside to torture his lungs with more cigarette smoke. His parents were busy fawning over Olivia, seemingly unaware of his escape.
Alex stood to the side, alone. She accepted a glass of water from a waitress, hoping that the cool liquid would ease the thickness plaguing her throat. Chattering people passed by her without offering a word. Invisible, again.
The wait staff ran ragged during the cocktail hour, refilling champagne glasses, ensuring that every guest stayed lubricated. The private room could easily accommodate about sixty people, but tonight’s exclusive bash held half that number. Three oblong tables of ten provided plenty of elbow room and comfort.
“Hello. Who are you?” A greying blond gentleman wearing a plaid three-piece suit stared down at her. He was the spitting image of Harry albeit thirty years older.
“I’m Alex. I live with Harry, Olivia, and Tom.”
Olivia hovered nearby, monitoring their conversation.
“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Harry Sr. I’ve heard wonderful things about you. My son raved about your kindness while he was in the States. I’m pleased you made it over to England.”
Alex’s smile didn’t linger. She spotted Olivia on the prowl and squeezed her glass.
Harry’s dad pointed over his shoulder. “Are you sitting at our table?”
“No, Budgie, darling. Our table’s for family.” Olivia patted his arm. “Alex is seated…elsewhere.” She waved her hand towards the third table far from Harry’s spot. Banished to social Siberia. No need to guess who created this seating plan.
While Harry Sr. gazed towards Alex’s table, Olivia seized the opportunity to shoot the blonde a smirk. “Come along, Budgie. Mustn’t waste time. I’d like you to meet our dearest friends.” She steered him away without pause.
Alex walked around the room, snooping at the names on the table place cards. She found hers and frowned—her chair sat the furthest from Harry. Any further, she’d be in another room.
A hostess announced dinner would be served shortly. Alex claimed her seat, thankful to kick off her shoes. With luck her tablemates wouldn’t be stuck-up label slaves, looking down their cosmetically sculpted noses at her non-designer dress.
Tom, Olivia, Harry, and their parents were at the far table along with three stern-looking businessmen. A few couples filled out Alex’s table. Two young women sat down on either side of her.
“Hi, I’m Caprice.” A buxom blonde in a plunging orange knee-length dress extended her right hand.
Alex gawped at Caprice’s Rubenesque breasts. She didn’t mean to stare, but her dress barely contained its voluptuous cargo. Alex shook her hand and gulped, her eyes skimming over her own meagre chest. “Alex. Nice to meet you.”
She felt like a thirteen-year-old next to chesty Caprice.
A brunette with a pixie cut sat to Alex’s immediate right. She smiled. “Hello. I’m Rosamund. Quite the night, isn’t it? How do you know Harry?”
“We met in Atlanta when he was on exchange at Emory. Now I’m his flatmate, well…just temporarily…”
Rosamund’s eyes widened. She ran her fingertips over the neckline of her black asymmetrical dress. “Oh, you’re the American. Right. Olivia had mentioned you.”
Alex shifted in her chair, fussing with the A on her necklace. “I’m here to start my career in the theatre, in writing. How do you guys know them?”
“We go way back,” said Caprice. “How long have we been friends with Harry and Olivia, Rosamund?”
“With Olivia, at least ten years, I think. Christ, that makes us sound old, doesn’t it?” Rosamund grinned into her glass of champagne. “We went to school with Olivia at Cheltenham. Harry was a champion tennis player at Eton. In the holidays we shared the same large group of friends. All the girls had crushes on Harry. He was quite the ladies’ man, but once he set eyes on Olivia, all bets were off. No one else mattered.”
Rosamund smiled in Harry’s direction. “He was infatuated, and Olivia was, too; she just didn’t let him know it. My God, the hoops she made him jump through! It took him the best part of a year before she agreed to go on a date. That girl played a blinder.”
“Love-Forty, then game, set and match. Bitch!” Caprice laughed, finding herself hilarious.
“Olivia could write the book on playing hard-to-get. She’s brilliant,” said Rosamund.
Caprice looked wistfully at Harry and Olivia’s table. “I wish they’d hurry up and get hitched. Now that will be wedding of the year. I’m already eyeing up a Dior gown for my bridesmaid’s dress.”
Alex didn’t know what else to talk about. Since Caprice mentioned dresses, it seemed like a safe bet.
“I love the colour of your dress. It’s so vibrant. Perfect for spring.”
“Thanks. It’s Roland Mouret. I saw Reese Witherspoon wearing it in Hello!, and had to buy it.” Caprice’s eyes swept down Alex’s dress with nary a compliment. “I would’ve loved to wear the Victoria Beckham, but Rosamund called dibs.”
Rosamund shrugged. “It’s Olivia’s, actually. She lent it to me last year.” She played with a weighty chandelier of diamonds dangling from her left ear. Just one of her earrings would likely have paid for Alex’s entire college education. “When I walked in tonight, she told me to keep it. Love that girl.”
A waiter interrupted the banter, handing elegant menus to Caprice, Rosamund, and Alex. She looked up to thank him and gasped.
“Oh my God, Mark! You work here?”
“Alex. Hi!” He glanced at the other guests. “What are you doing here?” Mark seemed just as surprised as Alex to see a friendly face. The black trousers, white shirt, and purple tie looked familiar; he’d worn the same thing at the Castle pub last weekend. A lock of black hair fell mischievously over his forehead. She desperately wanted to sweep it back in place.
So giddy, seeing him unexpectedly, Alex’s cheekiness ran away with her tongue. “Pleased to see me then?”
He stifled a laugh, and leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Alex couldn’t stop smiling. “Actually, my flatmate Harry, his club’s officially opening tonight, so we’re celebrating.”
Caprice and Rosamund stared silently at their menus, obviously eavesdropping on the conversation.
“He picked quite the place. The food�
��s extravagant and beautifully presented.” Mark ignored her tablemates, hesitant to take his eyes off her. He leaned in and whispered. “You look amazing, by the way.”
Alex’s toes curled. She pinched her hand under the tablecloth as a reminder to breathe. “How long have you worked here?”
“A year. A struggling actor has to pay the bills somehow.” He continued down the table and beamed back at her while discretely handing menus to the guests. Alex gave his butt a good stare, but she wasn’t the only one.
“Ooh, he’s yummy. I know what I want for my main course.” Caprice couldn’t peel her eyes away. “He’d make a nice change from my monthly pity bonk with Tom.” She redistributed her chesty arsenal, like a courtesan preparing to seduce a reluctant prince.
“Stop flashing your assets, Caprice. Can’t take you anywhere.” Rosamund glared at her friend, then looked back at Alex. “How do you know the Irish hottie?”
She winced at their interest. “He’s a friend.”
“Just a friend? That sparkle in your eye tells me you fancy him,” said Rosamund.
Alex fiddled with the cutout hem of her dress. Shoot, too obvious.
Rosamund licked her lips and excused herself from the table. “I need to reapply my lipstick. I’ll be…right back.”
She pranced away in her Louboutin heels, stopping briefly at the far table to whisper in Olivia’s ear. They both laughed, and she toddled off. Olivia glanced over, smiled, and raised her glass to Alex.
“I’d like to propose a toast.” Harry’s voice commanded his guests’ attention in the private dining room. “As you know, Bespoke has been a passion of mine for some time. Creating a refined, upscale private members club for my friends, family, and business associates is a dream come true. A place to unwind, enjoy fine beverages and food, and network without the intrusion of the general public—Bespoke is for all of you.”
All of us? Alex squinted at her water glass.
“It’s taken plenty of blood, sweat, and tears to reach this point. Bespoke is officially open tonight. And I’m thrilled to be able to share this moment with you.”