The Sun Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘So, how does it feel to be invisible again?’ Mariam asked me after I’d ordered half a carafe of house wine.

  ‘I’m not sure. Weird, definitely.’

  ‘But freeing?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean, I enjoyed walking down the street unnoticed, but there are pros and cons to everything, aren’t there?’

  ‘There are, yes, but I imagine that even before you became famous, you used to get stared at.’

  ‘I suppose I did, yeah, but I could never work out whether it was friendly staring or more because, well, I resemble a black giraffe!’

  ‘I’d guess it was because you are very beautiful, Electra. Whereas for me, especially since 9/11, I get treated with a degree of suspicion everywhere I go. Every Muslim is a terrorist, you know.’ She smiled sadly as she sipped her water.

  ‘Of course, it must be difficult for you.’

  ‘It is. In any political or religious regime, all the real people on the streets just want to live in peace. Sadly, I’m often judged before I’ve even opened my mouth because of my style of dress.’

  ‘Do you ever go out without it?’

  ‘No, although my father said I should remove my hijab when I was looking for work. He thought it might hinder my chances.’

  ‘Maybe you should try it, become someone else for a few hours, just like I have tonight. It might be freeing for you too.’

  ‘It might, but I’m happy as I am. Now, shall we order?’

  Mariam proceeded to do so in French.

  ‘So many hidden skills,’ I teased her. ‘Where did you learn to speak French so well?’

  ‘I learnt it at school, then picked up more when I was working for Bardin – I find it is a necessity in the high-fashion world. And I suppose I have an ear for languages. I noticed that you sound quite different in French than you do in English, almost like another person.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I bristled.

  ‘Not in a bad way,’ she continued hurriedly. ‘You’re more casual in English – perhaps because your accent has an American tone to it. You sound more . . . serious in French somehow.’

  ‘My sisters would laugh so hard if they heard you say that,’ I said with a grin.

  Over moules marinières and fresh crisp bread that only the French know how to bake, I encouraged Mariam to talk about her family. She obviously adored her brothers and sisters and I felt jealous of the love that shone out of her eyes.

  ‘I can hardly believe that my little sister is getting married next year. My parents keep calling me an old maid,’ she smiled as we both tucked into tarte Tatin for dessert. I’d already agreed with myself that I’d run off the extra calories in the hotel gym tomorrow morning.

  ‘Do you think you will ever get married?’ I asked her.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m certainly not ready to settle down yet. Or maybe I just haven’t found “the one”. If you don’t mind me asking, what about you? Have you ever been in love?’

  For a change, I didn’t mind someone asking. Tonight, we were just two young women out for supper and a gossip.

  ‘Yup, and I don’t think I ever want to be again.’

  ‘It ended badly?’

  ‘It sure did,’ I breathed. ‘He broke my heart. It messed me up, but hey, shit happens, doesn’t it?’

  ‘There will be someone else for you, Electra, I know there will.’

  ‘You sound like my sister Tiggy. She’s very spiritual and always saying things like that.’

  ‘Well, maybe she is right, and so am I. There is someone for everyone, I truly believe that.’

  ‘But the question is, will we ever find them? The world’s a big place, you know.’

  ‘True,’ Mariam agreed then stifled a yawn. ‘Excuse me, I did not sleep well last night. I am not good with jet lag.’

  ‘I’ll get the check.’ I waved an arm to signal for the waiter to come over. He totally ignored me.

  ‘How rude can you get?’ I said angrily as five minutes later he was still ignoring us.

  ‘He is busy, Electra, he will come to us when he has time. Patience is a virtue, you know.’

  ‘And one that I’ve never had,’ I muttered, trying to keep my anger under control.

  ‘Well,’ she said as we finally left the restaurant after the waiter had decided to grace us with his presence, ‘tonight I have learnt that you don’t like being ignored.’

  ‘Too right. In a family of six girls, you had to shout the loudest to be heard. And I did,’ I chuckled.

  ‘Let us try to find a cab back to the hotel . . .’

  I hardly caught what she was saying, for my attention had fallen on a man sitting alone at one of the outside tables, drinking a cognac.

  ‘Oh my God . . .’ I whispered.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s that guy there. I know him. He works for my family.’ I walked towards the table and was virtually on top of him before he looked up at me.

  ‘Christian?’

  He stared at me and I read the confusion on his face. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, do I know you?’ he asked me in French.

  I bent down to whisper in his ear. ‘Of course you do, you idiot! It’s me, Electra!’

  ‘Mon dieu! Of course it is you, Electra! My—’

  ‘Shh! I’m in disguise!’

  ‘Well, it is a most excellent one, but now of course I can see that it is you.’

  I realised Mariam was hovering behind me.

  ‘Mariam, this is Christian, and he is . . . well, family, I suppose,’ I smiled down at him. ‘Would we be disturbing you if we sat down and had a drink? It is such a coincidence to see you here.’

  ‘If you will excuse me, I will go back to the hotel,’ said Mariam. ‘Otherwise I will fall asleep where I stand. It is a pleasure to meet you, Christian. Bonne soirée,’ she nodded before turning and fading into the mass walking along the busy Montmartre street.

  ‘Can I join you?’ I said.

  ‘Of course, please, sit down. I will order you a cognac.’

  I watched Christian as he signalled to the young waitress on duty for the outside tables. I’d had a huge crush on him as a young girl – after all, he was the only guy under the age of thirty that I’d come into contact with at Atlantis. Ten years on, he didn’t seem to have changed and it struck me that I had absolutely no idea how old he actually was. Or, I realised guiltily, who he was.

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘what are you doing here?’

  ‘I . . . well, I was visiting an old friend of mine.’

  ‘Right,’ I nodded, getting the strongest vibe that he was lying. ‘You know, it was Ma who found me a place to stay just a few doors down from here when I first came to Paris. I used to work at this very café. It seems a long time ago now.’

  ‘It is, Electra, almost ten years. Ah, here is the cognac. Santé.’

  ‘Santé.’ I toasted with him and we both took a large gulp.

  ‘And may I ask what you are doing in disguise out on the streets of Montmartre?’

  ‘Mariam – the girl you just met – is my PA and I was complaining that I couldn’t go anywhere without being recognised. So she dressed me up and we came out for dinner together.’

  ‘And did you enjoy not being you?’

  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. I mean, it certainly has its advantages – you and I couldn’t be sitting here chatting without being disturbed if I wasn’t in disguise, but equally it’s irritating to be ignored.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it must be. So’ – Christian took another sip of his cognac – ‘how are you?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ I shrugged. ‘How is Ma? And Claudia?’

  ‘They are well, yes. They are both in good health.’

  ‘I often wonder what they do with themselves these days, now that we’re gone and so is Pa.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Electra. They keep very busy.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘There is always a lot to do on the estate and it is rare for a month to go by without
a visit from one or more of your sisters. Ally is at Atlantis now with her beautiful son, Bear.’

  ‘Ma must be in heaven.’

  ‘I think she is, yes.’ Christian gave me a rare smile. ‘He is the first of the next generation. Marina feels needed again and it is good to see her happy.’

  ‘How is Bear? My nephew,’ I added, surprised by the word.

  ‘He is as perfect as all newborn babies are.’

  ‘Does he cry, scream sometimes?’ I probed. Christian was another person whom I, along with my sisters, technically employed, yet tonight his deference irked me.

  ‘Oh, he does sometimes, yes, but what baby does not?’

  ‘Do you remember when I was at home?’

  ‘Of course I do, yes.’

  ‘I mean, when I was a baby?’

  ‘When you were a baby, I was only nine, Electra.’

  Ah! So Christian must be about thirty-five . . .

  ‘But I’m sure I remember you driving the boat when I was very young.’

  ‘Yes, but your father was always there to make sure I was proficient before he let me skipper it alone.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I put a hand to my mouth as a memory came flooding back to me. ‘Do you remember when I was about thirteen and ran away from school to Atlantis? And then Pa told me I had to go back and at least try again because I hadn’t given it a chance? And I so didn’t want to go, so I jumped off the boat in the middle of Lake Geneva and tried to swim to the shore.’

  Christian’s warm brown eyes showed me he did. ‘How could I forget? You nearly drowned – you hadn’t thought to take off your coat before you jumped and you’d gone underwater. For a short time I couldn’t find you . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It was one of the worst moments of my life. If I’d have lost you . . .’

  ‘Pa would have been mad, all right,’ I agreed, trying to lighten the atmosphere because Christian looked like he was about to cry.

  ‘I would never have forgiven myself, Electra.’

  ‘Well, at least the stunt partially worked. He didn’t make me go back to school for another few days.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how long are you in Paris for?’

  ‘I leave tomorrow. You?’

  ‘Sunday evening. I just changed my flight this afternoon, but then my date stood me up,’ I shrugged.

  ‘Then you should come back with me to Atlantis and meet your nephew. I have the car here so I could drive you. Everyone would be very happy to see you.’

  ‘You think so?’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Why do you say that? Marina and Claudia are always talking about you. They keep a scrapbook with all your modelling shoots in it.’

  ‘Do they? That’s cute. Well, maybe some other time.’

  ‘If you change your mind, you have my number.’

  ‘I certainly do,’ I smiled. ‘It’s inked onto my brain. When things got bad at school, I knew you’d soon be there to rescue me.’

  ‘I should be heading back. I’m leaving early tomorrow morning.’ Christian signalled for the bill.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ I asked him.

  ‘In the same building where you stayed. Marina’s friend owns it.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know that.’ A fleeting memory of my Parisian landlady – an ancient woman whose face bore the hallmarks of a lifetime of absinthe and cigarettes – floated back to me.

  ‘Anyway.’ Christian stood up. ‘If you change your mind, let me know. I’m leaving at seven a.m. Now, let me find you a taxi.’

  As we walked, I enjoyed the fact that Christian was at least as tall as I was. He was also in crazily good shape, his muscled torso outlined beneath his white shirt. As he flagged down a cab, for some ridiculous reason, I felt like I had each time he’d left me at school and I’d watched him drive off, only wishing that I was in the car with him.

  ‘Where are you staying, Electra?’

  ‘The Ritz,’ I said as I climbed into the back of the cab.

  ‘Well, it’s been good to see you. Take care of yourself, won’t you?’

  ‘I will,’ I called through the window as the taxi sped off.

  As I sank into bed half an hour later, I suddenly realised I hadn’t done a line since that afternoon with Maxime and that made me feel very good indeed.

  Irritatingly, I woke the next morning at five a.m. and even though I took a sleeping pill, my brain refused to switch off. So I lay there contemplating an empty weekend in Paris while scrolling through the contacts list on my cell to find some playmates to keep me occupied. I realised that there was no one I really wanted to see, because I would have to make the effort to be Electra the Supermodel, and I wanted some downtime.

  But not by-myself downtime . . . I reflected as I watched the luminous numbers on the bedside clock move agonisingly slowly towards six a.m.

  Then I thought about Atlantis, with Ma and Claudia, and how I could roam the house and grounds in the old sweatpants that I kept in the bottom drawer in my bedroom, and how I wouldn’t need to make any effort to be anyone other than me . . .

  Before I could change my mind, I dialled Christian’s cell phone number.

  ‘Electra, good morning.’

  ‘Hi, Christian. I was thinking that, actually, I will drive back with you to Atlantis.’

  ‘That is good news! Marina and Claudia will be very happy. Shall I collect you at The Ritz in one hour?’

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  I then texted Mariam.

  Are you awake?

  Yes. What do you need?

  Call me.

  She did and I explained that I needed to fly back to the States from Geneva rather than Paris.

  ‘Not a problem, Electra. Do you need me to book you a hotel?’

  ‘No, I’m going home to see my family.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ she replied with such warmth that I could totally imagine her smiling. ‘I will get back to you with all the confirmations.’

  ‘What about you, Mariam?’ I said, suddenly aware that I was leaving her to fend for herself. ‘Will you be okay in Paris? You’re welcome to charge a flight home today on the credit card if you’d prefer?’

  ‘No, Electra, I am quite happy here. I was planning to see Bardin this afternoon, if it was convenient for you, so I will make my arrangements and meet you at the airport in Geneva tomorrow night.’

  I did a line from the packet Maxime had left me, then threw everything into my suitcase and holdall before ordering a selection of French pastries with a side of fruit to make me feel better about the carb overload. After breakfast, I called for the bellhop to take my bags down. Donning my big black sunglasses (CeCe had once said I looked like a bluebottle in them), I followed my bags out to Christian and the comfortable Mercedes saloon. As he greeted me and opened the rear door, I shook my head.

  ‘I’ll ride up front if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Christian said as he moved to open the passenger door for me.

  As I settled myself in the front seat, I smelt that initial comforting aroma of leather, air freshener and Pa’s unmistakeable lemony scent. I’d been climbing into our family’s cars since I was a child, and the smell had never changed, even though Pa was now gone. It indicated home and safety and if I could bottle it, I would.

  ‘Do you have everything you need, Electra?’ Christian asked me as he started the engine.

  ‘I do, thanks.’

  ‘The journey usually takes approximately five hours,’ Christian told me as we glided away from The Ritz.

  ‘Have you told Ma I’m coming?’

  ‘I have, yes. She asked if you had any special dietary requirements?’

  ‘I . . .’

  I realised that last time I was home, I was on a detox, drinking green tea by the bucketful. I’d been with Mitch, who was so clean he’d squeaked, but I’d taken an emergency bottle of vodka with me in case I lapsed. Which I had, but that was understandable because it was Atlantis without Pa for the first time – a wak
e without the funeral.

  ‘Are you okay, Electra?’

  ‘Great, thank you. Christian?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did you drive Pa to many places?’

  ‘Not really, no. Mostly to Geneva airport to board his private jet.’

  ‘Did you ever know where he was going?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes.’

  ‘And where was it?’

  ‘Oh, many destinations around the world.’

  ‘Do you know what he actually did?’

  ‘I have no idea, Electra. He was a very private man.’

  ‘And then some,’ I sighed. ‘Don’t you think it’s weird that none of us knew? Like, most kids are able to say their dad is a shopkeeper or a lawyer, but I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t have a clue.’

  Christian remained silent, keeping his eyes on the road. As the family chauffeur both by car and boat, it was impossible not to imagine that he knew more than he was saying.

  ‘You know what?’

  ‘Not until you tell me, Electra.’ Christian offered me a glimmer of a smile.

  ‘When I was in all that trouble at school, and you’d come and collect me, you and your car became my safe space.’

  ‘And what is a safe space?’

  ‘Oh, it’s therapy-speak for somewhere you can be in your imagination or in a remembered reality that makes you happy. I often dreamt about you arriving outside to take me away.’

  ‘Then I am honoured.’ Christian gave me a genuine smile this time.

  ‘Did you just apply for the job with Pa?’ I probed again.

  ‘Your father knew me from when I was a young boy. I lived . . . locally, and he helped me – and my mother – a lot.’

  ‘You mean he was a father figure to you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Christian agreed after a pause. ‘He was.’

  ‘Then maybe you are the mysterious seventh sister!’ I chuckled.

  ‘Your father was a very kind man and his loss is deep for all of us.’

  Was Pa kind or controlling? Or was he both? I pondered as we hit the outskirts of Paris and joined the autoroute to Geneva. I reclined my seat and closed my eyes.