Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  She discussed the situation with Cecil.

  ‘It’s only likely to be a problem if there are things you want to push through to which she might be opposed,’ he said. ‘A bit like the situation with your sister. But it’s early days; I expect she’ll want to find her feet before getting involved in anything strategic. Might pay to keep a close eye, though. Who are our spies in that department?’

  ‘Cecil!’ said Eliza, laughing.

  ‘My attempt at a joke. But I’d suggest making sure the editors are aware of her position, just in case.’

  Terri asked Eliza if she wanted to move forward with the #MeToo interview, but Eliza felt it was too soon after Amy’s death. Terri suggested they postpone until next year, when it would be the five-year anniversary of the movement.

  Rob and Leigh were forging ahead in the US, and in his video calls Rob was upbeat, looking relaxed, cracking jokes, regaling her with tales of Hollywood’s insanity. He messaged photos of places and people, things he knew would make her laugh. His selfies showed a deepening tan. He, at least, was getting his sparkle back. It looked like the time away was working. For him.

  But Eliza was lonely, especially in the evenings. There were plenty of invitations to functions, dinners, premieres, but she didn’t want to be out and about in London society by herself. Too many eyes. She started to hang out more with Will and Kit.

  Most Human of Saints was in post-production and would be broadcast simultaneously in the US and UK after Christmas. Rob was orchestrating the marketing campaign, and the buzz was building fast.

  The boys were now focusing on their next TV series, My Dark Soul, which centred round a Catholic priest battling the Devil on his shoulder. Kit had written the script – a tale of salacious secrets, temptation, corruption and debauchery.

  Eliza recognized its brilliance, but found it too disturbing, as the protagonist descended into a hell of his own making. All the vices were there.

  ‘It’s incredible, Kit,’ she said, as they sat at the bar of The George. ‘Please tell me it’s not based on your own dark soul.’

  ‘Dark-ish.’

  ‘It’s a great story, for sure. But how can you keep the audience on side when the main character basically becomes a degenerate monster?’

  ‘According to whose values?’ said Kit. ‘Take away the religion and he does nothing wrong.’

  ‘But there’s absolutely nothing to redeem the guy.’

  ‘It isn’t always about redemption. If it was, who’d be the judge? There is no god. So who are we redeeming ourselves to? Our fellow human beings? What the fuck do they know? Most of them are stupid.’ He sipped his beer, his eyes glittering.

  ‘I love him when he’s like this,’ said Will.

  So did Eliza. Kit defending his creative corner was . . . compelling. Dangerous. Deliciously so.

  ‘The people we love? Ourselves?’ she said, thinking of Harry battling his guilt over Ana and Caitlyn, wanting redemption in his family’s eyes. And of herself and Rob, trying to deal with what had happened to Amy. ‘Surely it’s about inner peace; coming to terms with our past actions, understanding what drives us, making things right with the people who truly love us.’

  ‘If love even exists,’ said Kit. ‘Which is questionable.’

  ‘God, Kit. It must be hard to be you,’ said Eliza. Then she smiled at him. ‘Well, I love you. That exists.’ She hopped off her stool, put her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek and nuzzled his hair.

  ‘Ahem,’ said Will.

  ‘Love you too, Will,’ she said.

  ‘To know ourselves,’ said Kit, slipping an arm round her waist, ‘we have to look into the abyss.’ He kissed her quickly on the lips. ‘You, my beautiful Eliza, shine a light into my abyss.’

  ‘Well well,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Looks like someone takes after her daddy.’ The accent was Australian.

  Eliza whirled round to see Stu, swaying slightly. His eyes were bloodshot, and cold.

  Mac was with him. She looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Oh! Hello, you two!’ Eliza said, regaining her composure. She realized – Kit and Will didn’t know about Stu. No one outside the family did.

  ‘Who the hell’s this?’ said Kit, registering Stu’s hostility – and perhaps his resemblance to Harry.

  She took a breath. ‘Stu, this is Kit Marley, from work. And Will Bardington. Guys, this is my half-brother Stu, and I think you’ve met my cousin Mac.’

  ‘I saw you in the paper, Eliza,’ said Stu. ‘Shame about your boyfriend’s wife. Like I said, seems you take after our dear father – leaving a trail of dead bodies and broken hearts.’ He looked at Kit. ‘And screwing around behind people’s backs.’

  Eliza sucked in a breath.

  ‘Stop it, Stu,’ said Mac. ‘I’m so sorry, Eliza. I’m afraid he’s had too much to drink.’ She took his arm. ‘Come on, Stu, we should go.’

  He shrugged her off. ‘Nah, that’s what she wants. To forget I bloody exist. I’m an uncomfortable reminder of her precious daddy’s sordid past. She’s ignored me since the day we met. Prefers to hang out with her fag friends.’

  Will rolled his eyes. ‘Beware, my lord, of jealousy. It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.’

  ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ.’

  Kit was quiet. She sensed him working out the dynamics. He tightened his arm round her waist.

  ‘You should leave,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, the pretty one speaks,’ said Stu. ‘So, do you swing both ways? With your pretty-boy and your pretty-girl?’

  Eliza looked at Mac. ‘Please, get him out of here.’

  ‘You don’t tell her what to do,’ slurred Stu. ‘Doesn’t she own more of Rose than you?’

  Kit slid off his stool. ‘Time to fuck off, Stu.’ He grabbed his arm and marched him towards the door. Stu struggled, but Kit was stronger.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Eliza,’ said Mac. ‘I’ll take him home. Can I come and see you at the office tomorrow?’

  ‘Phone for an appointment,’ said Eliza, her voice cold.

  Kit shoved Stu out of the door; Stu shouted something unintelligible, then Mac followed him and they were gone.

  ‘Well,’ said Will. ‘That was . . . unexpected. And rather thrilling. A half-brother, Eliza? Why have you not shared this morsel with us before?’

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know. Surely we’re past the days of being ashamed of our parents’ bastard children.’

  Kit returned and put his arm back round Eliza’s waist.

  ‘Put her down, Kit,’ said Will. ‘She’s not yours.’

  Chapter 37

  Eliza

  ‘His flatmate threw him out,’ said Mac. ‘He trashed the kitchen in a drunken rage after an argument over rent. He had nowhere else to go, so he’s staying with me until he sorts himself out.’

  Eliza pulled a face. ‘You’ll need to padlock the drinks cupboard.’

  ‘Och, I didn’t realize at first – his problem.’

  ‘Is he an alcoholic?’

  ‘He attempted to give up when he arrived here, but was back on it pretty quick. I’ve been trying to help him, but . . . ’ Mac shook her head and stared out of Eliza’s office window. ‘You have to want to be helped.’

  As Mac shared her worries about Stu, Eliza couldn’t bring herself to care. Yes, he was family. But his spiteful homophobia, plus a chip the size of Australia on his shoulder . . .

  ‘That’s very good of you, but if it were me, I’d encourage him to move on,’ she said. ‘You don’t need him on your plate, when you’ve only just come down here yourself. He’s not your responsibility.’

  Mac looked her in the eye. ‘Maybe not, but he’s had no joy with his father. His real one. He wants a job at Rose. Thinks he’s entitled. He’s been hassling Harry.’

  ‘Dad’s said nothing to me about that.’

  Mac sighed. ‘Stu was such good company, at first. We were the outsiders, from the “outposts” as Harry calls it. We really connected.’
>
  ‘I’d say cut him loose,’ said Eliza. ‘Maybe he’ll go back to Australia if he runs out of money.’

  ‘He’s been asking Harry for “loans”, too. Guilt-tripping him, basically.’

  ‘I’m not going to get involved in that. Dad can sort out his own mess.’

  Eliza didn’t want to dwell on this further. ‘What about you? How are you getting on, workwise?’

  Mac sat up straighter. ‘Good. Very good. I’m actually thinking about my next step at Rose.’

  Eliza’s heart sank. Sheesh, these problem relatives.

  ‘RoseGold is where it’s at right now,’ said Mac. ‘Could we talk about a role for me there, perhaps in a few months, when I’ve got to know the company a wee bit better?’

  I think not.

  ‘Hm. As I’m sure you know, RoseGold has a small core staff. The production teams are on short-term contracts.’

  ‘I would love to work with Rob. He’s so . . . dynamic.’

  In your dreams.

  ‘Leave it with me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Sorry, Mac, I’ve got a two o’clock.’

  As Mac left, Eliza frowned at her back. She had nothing against her cousin as a person. She was intelligent, calm, interesting. But she was clearly ambitious, and owned a substantial shareholding in the company – now a little smaller than Eliza’s and Harry’s combined, thanks to Maria. Nevertheless, how could she not see Mackenzie James as a threat?

  She buzzed Pippa, then swivelled her chair to look out of the window, brooding on the situation. Low cloud was teasing the tops of the City skyscrapers, and Tower Bridge was opening up to let a ship pass through. It was all grim, grey. The Thames was churning idly, looking like it couldn’t be bothered.

  The door opened behind her, and a few seconds later a pair of hands closed over her eyes.

  ‘Pippa! What—’

  Then she heard his chuckle.

  The hands left her eyes and there stood Rob, in all his beautiful glory, that impish grin on his face, his twinkle writ large.

  She gasped in surprise. ‘Rob!’

  ‘Hello there, Snow White.’

  She flung her arms around him as happiness blew away the gloom like a storm surge on a king tide. He was back – properly back. The old Rob; pre-Amy Rob.

  He squeezed her tight, and she gave herself up to the feelings of joy, relief, love.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘How long—’

  ‘Shh, kiss first.’

  ‘Hey, Rob,’ she said, quite some time later.

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Have you ever done it on a desk?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Heck, Lizzie. What have you been up to while I was away?’

  ‘Just joking. But maybe we could go home early?’

  ‘Sounds good to me. I’m homeless – Mum and Dad leased Leicester Square. Can I stay with you?’

  ‘Well yes, you most certainly can. Just give me half an hour to move the other guy out.’

  He shook his head, smiling. ‘Have you been a good girl?’

  ‘I have, unless you count drinking too much with Will and Kit as being bad.’

  ‘God, you three. It was Kit who told me to get my arse back here, double-quick.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘He didn’t make a lot of sense; just sent me a cryptic message.’

  ‘Stu was causing trouble, but . . . I don’t think that’d be why.’

  ‘So what was his reason?’

  ‘No idea. He’ll have one, doesn’t mean I know what it is.’

  Rob shook his head. ‘You’ve read My Dark Soul? What on earth’s going on in his brain? And what did he take to make it go there?’

  ‘Don’t knock it. Kit’s brain’s a place like no other.’

  ‘Hm. Hey, are you excited about Most Human? The trailer’s epic, and we’ve been feeding teasers to social media. The response has been great.’

  ‘Yes, I’m excited. In many ways.’ She grinned. ‘Let’s go home.’

  As a cab took them across the river, Eliza registered her change in mood. She felt like one of Harry’s supercars, the ones that went from nought to a hundred in six seconds, or whatever it was.

  She sighed in contentment. ‘I think we did the right thing, sending you away. I feel like we’ve got a second chance.’

  ‘Lizzie, you’re snoring,’ said Rob, later. The room was growing dim as their stolen afternoon crept towards evening. The curtains at the bedroom window billowed gently, like benevolent ghosts.

  ‘No, I’m purring,’ she said, sleepily.

  Rob kissed her head. ‘Don’t go back to sleep, I need food. Let’s go out.’

  An exquisite exhaustion had immobilised her arms and legs. ‘Can’t we just stay here? I seem to have lost the ability to move my limbs.’

  ‘Just a little while longer, then. I haven’t eaten since the plane.’

  She made an effort to come out of her stupor. ‘So, Roberto, you’re properly back?’

  ‘Pretty much. I’ll have to go over sometimes, but Leigh’s got everything well under control. She should probably be based there full time now.’

  ‘I miss her. And Frankie. She’s planning to do the Ocean Race next year – she’s already training. RoseGold will probably sponsor her crew.’

  Rob snorted.

  ‘Well yes, I know it’s all a bit nepotistic, but I think it fits the brand. Exploring, taking risks, going global.’

  ‘Lizzie – are you really OK with me staying here? If not I can find a place, or . . . ’ He looked down at her. ‘I know last time I asked it wasn’t a great success, but now things are . . . different, how about we look for somewhere together? We could try being actual grown-ups, get a proper house with a garden.’

  Eliza was quiet, considering his words. She pictured it: waking up together every day; curling up on the sofa in the evenings. Winter weekends by the fire; summer days lazing in the garden. Somewhere old, with lots of character. Like Will and Kit’s Victorian terrace, all cosy book-lined rooms with original features. Except . . . Rob wasn’t really one for books.

  ‘Gardening? You?’

  ‘Garden-er.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that very much.’

  ‘What a relief.’ He kissed her hair.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Hampstead? Highgate? It’d be good to be near Chess and Gil. Somewhere modern – big open-plan spaces. Minimalist. Lots of light.’

  Oh.

  ‘I’d like to be near the river,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just would.’

  ‘Strange girl. Shall we continue this discussion over dinner?’

  ‘Good plan.’

  Where would they go to eat? Somewhere discreet – it would be their first outing as a couple since Wimbledon. Thanks to smart-phones, everyone was a potential paparazzo these days.

  ‘People won’t make a big deal of it?’ she said. ‘If we’re spotted together?’

  ‘Yesterday’s news.’

  ‘And . . . ’ Eliza searched his eyes. ‘How are you feeling now? About Amy.’

  He looked away, and didn’t answer immediately. ‘Still sad. But time’s doing its thing. I’m getting there.’

  ‘That’s good. Shall we get up then?’

  He rolled on top and kissed her, and everything sprung back to life. ‘How about an appetiser?’

  ‘Hm, perhaps a small entrée.’

  Chapter 38

  Eliza

  The Richmond house always looked wonderful at Christmas. The angel Eliza remembered from her childhood sat atop an enormous Christmas tree in the entrance hall, her halo brushing the ceiling. Harry still called her ‘Katie’. An oversized wreath hung on the front door, the fireplaces were decked with holly and gold candles, and pretty lights twinkled in the ancient leadlight windows.

  Eliza and Rob were enjoying a quiet Christmas Eve with Harry, Clare and Eddie. The only clou
d on the horizon was that Stu and Mac were joining them next day, for Christmas dinner.

  ‘How’s the house-hunting going, you two?’ asked Clare, as they sipped mulled wine by the crackling log fire.

  ‘Eliza’s difficult to please,’ said Rob. ‘She has this strange compulsion to live by the river.’

  ‘What about Chiswick? Or Barnes?’ said Clare.

  ‘Not Barnes. Mac lives there,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Are you two not getting on?’ asked Harry.

  ‘We get on. It’s just . . . ’

  ‘Is it because she’s on the board now? Between you and me, Cecil’s keeping an eye.’

  ‘What? Dad – are you spying on her?’

  ‘Knowledge is power, Lizzie.’

  Eliza shook her head. ‘She told me Stu’s been asking you for a job.’

  ‘He’s proving something of a headache,’ said Harry. ‘You’ll note that news of his paternity hasn’t yet reached the press. I might have had something to do with that. However, the tiresome man is the loosest of cannons, and I have no doubt he’ll be taking aim before too long.’

  ‘I wish they weren’t coming tomorrow,’ said Eliza.

  ‘I felt I should invite them, in the circumstances. I think it’s wise to keep Mac close.’

  ‘As in, keep your enemies close?’ said Eliza.

  ‘On side, at least. Don’t forget she has a political background. She has some . . . interesting contacts. One in particular. But what are we doing, having this discussion on Christmas Eve? Who’s for a top-up? I’ll go fetch.’

  What did he mean, one in particular? Part of her was exasperated that Dad carried on as if he were still in charge, with his behind-the-scenes manoeuvring, his spy network. But a bigger part of her was reassured that he was there in the shadows, steering things her way, watching her back.

  On Christmas morning, before breakfast, Rob suggested a walk round the grounds, just the two of them. As they slipped out of the back door, that indefinable Christmas magic hung in the frosty midwinter air.

  At the bottom of the garden was a high brick wall with a wrought-iron gate leading out to the park.

  ‘I used to climb this,’ said Rob, his breath forming little clouds in front of his face. ‘Remember?’