The Perfect Present

by Karen Swan

  ‘Maybe you should slow down a little,’ he said pointedly.

  Cat shot him a hateful look. ‘I’m going to the ladies’, Laura. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Laura made as if to go with her – she had rapidly become accustomed to doing everything with Cat in the past twenty-four hours – but Cat had already turned and disappeared. Falling back, Laura kept her eyes on the crowd, pretending to celebrity-spot as a waiter appeared from nowhere and refilled both their glasses.

  It was the first time they’d been alone together since their kiss in the lift.

  ‘Having a good time?’ Rob asked her.

  ‘Can you point out Bertie Penryn to me?’ she asked briskly. ‘I need to make myself known to him tonight.’

  Laura noticed how his mouth flattened at the comment. ‘Fine. I’ll introduce you after dinner.’

  ‘No, there’s no need. I’ll introduce myself. I’m perfectly capable.’

  The way his eyebrow lifted fractionally showed he wasn’t so sure she was.

  ‘What?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing. If that’s what you want.’ He pushed a hand casually into his trouser pocket, making no effort to hide his scepticism.

  ‘I don’t need your help,’ she reiterated.

  ‘No? You’re sure? Because it’s just that I’m seeing you in this room on my wife’s ticket, wearing my wife’s dress, with your hair and make-up exactly the same as hers . . .’ His intimation was clear.

  ‘Cat has invited me here tonight to make a valuable new business contact. And that’s precisely what I intend to do.’

  They were quiet for a minute, staring at the people laughing and talking all around them. Laura watched the way the jewels on the women’s necks, wrists and ears sparkled beneath the lights, how the men expressed one-upmanship with back slaps and power handshakes.

  ‘Did you get my email?’ he asked in a quieter voice, looking straight ahead.

  Laura sniffed in affirmation, and he turned to face her.

  ‘I was wrong to do what I did.’

  She turned the other cheek to him, not wanting to have this conversation, to meet his eyes. ‘I know.’

  Her answer wasn’t what he’d been expecting and they fell quiet again.

  ‘Should we talk about it?’ he asked after a moment.

  She gave a humourless laugh. ‘No.’

  He stepped into her line of vision, apparently irritated by her response. ‘Have you even thought about it?’

  Laura felt her heart pound wildly, suddenly, within her ribs. Nought to sixty in an instant. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  She looked away, worried he would see the lie. ‘I’ve had other stuff going on.’

  His eyes narrowed as he remembered the way Cat had shepherded her into the helicopter, loaned her the sunglasses. ‘You mean whatever you and Cat were talking about this morning?’

  She said nothing.

  ‘You seemed upset.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Is it Jack?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘But it is Cat’s?’

  ‘She’s a friend.’

  ‘And I’m not?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she said sharply. ‘From the moment we’ve met, you have – in chronological order – tried to bully me to get your way, been rude, abrupt and aggressive, jumped on me, and for the past twenty-four hours you’ve been blanking me. I wouldn’t say we’re close, no.’

  He watched her quietly as she studied Keira Knightley wafting past in Chanel.

  ‘I was angry at you for the way you treated Kitty yesterday.’

  ‘And how did I treat Kitty?’ she retorted.

  ‘You abandoned her the second Cat clicked her fingers.’

  ‘That is not true. Cat offered me the opportunity of my career coming here tonight. Bertie Penryn could transform my business. Kitty totally understands that.’

  His expression showed he disagreed, but he didn’t bother to argue further. Laura turned back to studying Keira. Kitty did understand, didn’t she?

  ‘As for the rest of it – well, you frustrate the hell out of me,’ he went on. ‘I thought you were – I don’t know, a kindred spirit or something on Combin. I thought you felt the same escape, exhilaration, freedom . . . But now I think you probably just liked riding in a helicopter.’

  ‘That is not true!’

  ‘I know!’ he said, pouncing on her indignation. ‘I saw it in your eyes then, and I can see it now. I get flashes of this wild spirit with you, and then just as quickly you revert to creeping around like—’

  ‘I don’t creep!’ she hissed.

  But he was unrepentant. ‘You creep around like you’re apologizing for the very space you take up in a room. You put less food on your plate than anybody else. When we sat on the sofa at Kitty’s, you tucked yourself into a tiny ball because God forbid we should actually touch!’ His eyes burned into hers. ‘It’s like you feel guilty for breathing. You want to be invisible.’

  Laura stared at him defiantly. ‘I don’t care what you think.’

  ‘You’re hiding something.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head.

  ‘Yes! But my mistake was thinking that it made you interesting. I got it into my head that there was something about you that was different from everyone else. You intrigued me. I thought you were only trying to be ordinary. I thought it was all an act. But maybe I was wrong. I was obviously trying to see something that isn’t there.’ He was goading her, daring her to prove him wrong – she could see it in his eyes. But she wouldn’t play this game.

  ‘Th-that’s right. You were.’ She stared back at him, refusing to back down, aware that her breath was coming fast and shallow.

  ‘Why is it that every time I try to apologize, we end up arguing more?’ he asked, taking in her upset.

  ‘You’re the one with an agenda. I just want to be left alone to do my job. You asked me to interview Cat’s friends and family, and I’ve done that.’

  ‘Except that you’ve done more than that, haven’t you?’ he pressed. ‘They’ve become your friends too – Kitty, Orlando, Cat. Even Alex – you’ve kissed her first love too. It’s like you want to be her.’ He leaned in fractionally towards her. ‘But what are you going to do next week when the necklace is finished, Laura? Are you going to just disappear back to Suffolk and leave them behind you? Go back to Jack?’

  She stared at him, devastated. He had unwittingly stumbled across her Achilles heel.

  He stepped closer again. ‘Or are you going to stay in our spare room? Live with me and Cat? Is that how it’s going to be? I commission a necklace from you and end up with a lodger in return?’ His words were hard and angry.

  ‘She’s become a friend. What’s so wrong with that? I can keep out of your way if that’s what you want.’

  ‘How would you know what I want?’

  Laura stared back at him, determined not to cry. ‘I don’t know why you’re attacking me like this. I didn’t ask for any of this to happen – I didn’t ask you to walk into my studio. I didn’t ask you to take me to Verbier. I didn’t ask you to kiss me—’

  ‘I didn’t ask to kiss you either, but it still fucking happened.’ He inhaled sharply, his hands on his hips, and he wheeled away from her, grabbing a brandy from the tray of a passing waiter. He downed it in one, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You have to go, Laura. As soon as the necklace is handed in, you have to cut ties with everyone. Not just Cat, but Kitty and the others too.’

  ‘But why?’ she asked, aghast. ‘What does it matter to you who I’m friends with?’

  ‘I don’t want you around us.’

  His words cut her to ribbons but she could see the same high emotion in her face reflected in his. ‘You don’t want me around Cat? Or around you?’

  ‘Laura? It is you!’

  Laura looked to her left. A tall man with short cropped hair and a shaving rash was peering at her.

  ‘Timothy?’


  ‘My God, it’s been so long!’

  He swept her up in an exuberant hug.

  ‘How are you? Wowzers, you look sensational! And who’s this lucky chap?’ Timothy asked, reaching out a friendly hand. ‘Don’t tell me you’re married now?’

  ‘God, no!’ Laura replied quickly, prompting a look from Rob. ‘This is Rob Blake, a clie—’ She had been about to introduce him as a client when Cat reappeared, fresher and more glowing than ever.

  ‘I’m afraid he’s my husband, poor soul,’ Cat smiled, proffering a hand. ‘Although I’m quite sure he’d have asked Laura instead if he’d met her first. I am the world’s worst wife: can’t cook, won’t iron, never been inside a Waitrose.’

  ‘Well, th-that’s what staff’s for . . .’ Timothy mumbled, dazzled by her radiance.

  ‘What do you do – Timothy, was it?’ Her eyes were bright and interested; she was clearly restored to her vital self.

  ‘Yes. Yes. Timothy Gresham,’ he said eagerly. ‘My company has donated one of the lots for tonight.’

  ‘Oh, which one?’ Cat asked excitedly. ‘There are so many excellent things up for grabs. Such a worthy cause.’

  ‘Paragliding off Scafell in the Lake District.’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘Oh,’ Cat said, looking at Laura and giggling. ‘That’s the one you were going to bid for, wasn’t it, Laura?’

  ‘No, no, no, I wasn’t actually going to bid,’ she replied hurriedly, placing an apologetic hand on Timothy’s arm. ‘I think the bids in this room are going to be somewhat out of my league, you understand.’

  ‘Yes, but it was your favourite,’ Cat insisted.

  ‘Well, pipe dreams and all that.’

  ‘Laura, you know that you don’t need to bid tonight to take to the air.’ Timothy smiled down at her. ‘You’ve done more than enough hours to just turn up at ours.’

  ‘You paraglide too, then, Laura? Why am I not surprised?’ Rob asked, with sarcasm posing as interest.

  ‘Tell me, how’s Caroline? Is she here?’ Laura asked quickly. ‘I’d love to see her.’

  ‘Uh, yes, yes – she’s over there somewhere.’

  ‘Would you mind? I’d love to catch up with her.’ Laura grabbed his arm as she smiled at Cat. ‘I’ll come and find you in a bit. Must just say hello.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Cat nodded, thoroughly bemused by the sudden exit. ‘You go mingle. We’ll see you later at the table.’

  Laura let Timothy lead her into the heart of the crowd, away from Rob’s cold words and watchful eyes. Her friendship with Cat wouldn’t survive if he was opposed to it. He wanted her gone and – she remembered Sam’s words, slurry and indistinct, in the bedroom in Verbier – what Rob Blake wanted, Rob Blake got.

  Laura rested a rosy cheek in her hand as she leant against the table, watching the goings-on as the chairman of Sotheby’s expertly wooed the crowd into shelling out small fortunes with every £25,000 increment. The bidding had been furious and ostentatious for over an hour now, and the atmosphere in the room was giddy with excitement and testosterone.

  The woman on her right, Simone Cappell, Rob’s COO, was knocking back Cîroc vodka shots, having already lost out twice in the bids: once for the week in Donna Karan’s villa, which went for almost as much as a trip to the moon, and again for backstage passes for a Black Eyed Peas concert at O2. The man to her left, Garth Kesswick, Rob’s CEO, was far more interested in trying to find out why, at the grand old age of thirty-two, she still hadn’t been ‘snapped up’.

  ‘To be honest, I’m not convinced that I’ll ever marry,’ Laura said provocatively, knowing just how combustible this comment would be. As a waitress moved between them, removing the dinner plates, she took another sip of wine – one of hundreds this evening – feeling increasingly defiant and angry. Who the hell did Rob think he was? Ordering her to drop her friendship? Laura didn’t answer to him, and from what she’d seen, neither did Cat.

  ‘What?Apretty thing like you?’ Garth flirted, clearly under the impression that he was much more of a catch than his ruddy cheeks and subtly highlighted hair would suggest. ‘You might find you don’t have much say about it. Some lucky chap will just march you off to the nearest registry office and, hey presto – trouble and strife, you’re a wife. If I wasn’t already shackled, I’d do the job myself.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Laura said archly, which only seemed to excite Garth further.

  Rob, who was seated opposite her, and who was entertaining Garth’s wife, Camilla, so much that her mascara was running, glanced over at them.

  The auctioneer broke up their conversation for the fifteenth time.

  ‘And now for Lot fifteen, ladies and gentlemen: an original oil by a man who has already, in his short but illustrious career, been hailed as one of Britain’s greatest living artists – Ben Jackson. Measuring two point six metres by two point three, and entitled Wind IV, it is the final oil in a celebrated series that achieved record sales in Manhattan last month. I have with me here a starting bid of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Who’ll give me one seven five?’

  Laura settled back in her chair and rested her eyes on Ben Jackson, three tables away. He was leaning forward with his elbows on the table, his chin down modestly, listening to something the man next to him was whispering in his ear. He was as striking as his paintings to look at, and Laura wondered how much of the untamed wildness of his work was inspired not only by nature, but his own character. Many of the women in the room were far more interested in scrutinizing him than the painting on the easel as the biddings rapidly topped the half-million mark, but Cat wasn’t one of them. Her eyes caught Laura’s.

  ‘Loo?’ she mouthed.

  ‘Now?’ Laura mouthed back. Etiquette demanded the room was quiet and still to allow the easy observation of bids placed. Getting up now would be like leaving Wimbledon in the middle of a final.

  But Cat scraped her chair back and rose like a goddess. Laura followed suit, aware of the eyes swivelling as they passed. They walked together, conspicuously, through the seated room, and the auctioneer broke off from the escalating bids to call them back.

  ‘Ladies, please – was it something I said?’ he cried jocularly, prompting a rumble of titters.

  Cat turned as if she was on wheels and smiled. ‘On the contrary, we’ll return when the real bidding begins.’

  A chorus of laughter rippled through the crowd.

  ‘Surely Ben Jackson is enough to tempt you to stay?’ the auctioneer asked, delighted by this unexpected repartee with the beautiful stranger.

  ‘He’s sweet, but sadly not . . .’ Cat replied loftily.

  Sweet? Ben Jackson? He was as sweet as a wildcat.

  Even in a room full of celebrities and the super-rich, Cat commanded attention. Laura stood next to her, mute and stricken with panic that the auctioneer was going to turn his attentions to her next.

  ‘I already have him hanging in our drawing room, you see. I’m after someone new.’

  ‘Ooooh!’ rumbled the audience, absorbing the veiled insult in her words. Ben Jackson was motionless in his seat.

  ‘Mrs . . . ?’

  ‘Blake. Cat Blake.’

  ‘Mrs Blake. And your sister?’

  Cat squeezed her arm tightly. ‘Laura.’

  Laura looked at her in surprise. Cat hadn’t corrected him? She felt her heart quicken. So Cat saw it too, then, their similarity? Maybe that was why they’d been so drawn to each other – maybe that was why she’d helped with her hair and shared her clothes. In a way she’d lost her sister too; after all, Olive had made it very plain their relationship was beyond repair.

  ‘Mrs Laura . . . ?’

  ‘Oh no. Laura’s not married,’ Cat purred, eliciting a roar of anonymous wolf whistles and cheers that made Laura blush furiously. ‘She’s deliciously single.’

  ‘Not for long, apparently,’ the auctioneer joked. ‘Well, you set a high bar, Mrs Blake, if Ben Jackson can’t whet your appet
ite. I’m not sure whether your husband is one of the luckiest or bravest men in this room. Where is the great man?’

  Garth stood up instantly and pointed eagerly at his boss. ‘Here!’

  Rob, leaning one cheek against a fist and looking thunderous, gave a reluctant nod as the room erupted into laughter and cheers.

  ‘Mr Blake, so good to make your acquaintance. I have a feeling we’re going to be getting to know each other better tonight.’

  The crowd roared with laughter, and Rob could only roll his eyes as Cat – playing to the crowd – blew a kiss and sashayed out of the room, pulling Laura after her.

  ‘How are you able to do that?’ Laura asked as they strode down to the loos. ‘I’d have died if he’d spoken to me in front of the entire room. I mean, all those celebrities . . .’

  ‘Follow me,’ Cat smiled, opening the door to the marbled bathrooms.

  She disappeared into a cubicle, and Laura went to go into another, but Cat called her back. ‘In here.’

  Laura threw a look at the toilet attendant, who was wiping down the immaculate basins, and tiptoed over to where Cat was standing. ‘What is it?’

  Cat closed the door behind her and locked it. She opened her bag. ‘This is the secret,’ she smiled, pulling out a tiny plastic bag and compact.

  ‘Cat, I . . .’ Laura stared at her, agape, as she carefully sliced some white lines on the mirror. ‘Look, thanks but it’s not really my thing.’

  Cat looked up at her with knowing eyes. ‘Have you ever done it before?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘No, but—’

  ‘So then how do you know you won’t like it?’ She pressed a soft hand against Laura’s bare arm. ‘It’s just a little fun, Laura, and it’ll give you some confidence. You’ve had a shitty week and this will just give you a lift. Tonight’s supposed to be fun!’

  Laura looked away nervously.

  ‘Laura, it would be easier to count the number of people in that room who aren’t on this. You trust me, don’t you? Would I ever steer you wrong?’

  Laura looked at Cat, so like her that they could be sisters – wasn’t that what the auctioneer had assumed? And Cat had encouraged him to think it; she felt the same way as Laura.

  She nodded.