What the hell was he going to do? Sasha wasn’t the type to just let it lie. She was bound to use it to her own end. She was a potential bunny-boiler if ever he’d met one. He imagined her sitting in her room, laughing her head off, planning the next twist to the plot.
Barney thought he might be sick. He’d been worried enough about smoothing things over with Kitty, who was a reasonable girl. But Sasha – Sasha was a maniac!
Jesus. Just when he’d got everything sorted with Suzanna.
Tuesdays were Kelly’s day off. They tended to be quiet, and she needed one day to sort through the salon’s paperwork, do her ordering and have a bit of time to herself. All she needed to do was pop into the salon and make sure Eloise and Pam were coping and she had the rest of the day to do what she wanted.
Rick had phoned her the night before. He’d got there safely; he was sharing a room with a mate in Croyde until he found his own place and was starting work the next day. She thought about what he said just before he hung up. He’d told her to give Damien a call. He reckoned he needed some company. Kelly was unsure. She was only his babysitter, after all.
She supposed she could drive over to Ross-on-Wye to see her parents, but that wasn’t the sort of company she wanted. She weighed things up in her mind for a few moments, then picked up the phone.
Damien answered almost immediately. He sounded wary; strained.
‘Damien? It’s Kelly.’
The relief in his voice was palpable. ‘Kelly.’
She wasn’t sure what to say next, but she carried on regardless. Like Rick had said, she had nothing to lose.
‘I was just phoning… I’ve got the day off… I wondered… Do you want to do something?’
‘Can you come over?’ Kelly was surprised at the speed of his reply. ‘There’s something I need you to do for me.’
Barney was in agony when Suzanna refused to stay in bed and recuperate from the traumas of the day before. The doctor had been quite concerned about her, as Barney had discreetly indicated that she was in a fragile emotional state as it was. He’d muttered about counselling and victim support and post-traumatic stress disorder, and had told Barney to get straight back in touch if he thought she needed anything to help her sleep.
But Suzanna seemed to be in an extraordinarily robust and cheerful mood, and insisted she was well enough to do lunch. Barney swore to himself. He’d relied on her being incapacitated for at least the rest of the afternoon while he sorted out the mess that was his life.
He didn’t know what to do. Whether to find Sasha and confront her. Or go to Suzanna and confess. Put his hands up and make a clean breast of it.
Barney groaned in despair. It wasn’t as if there was anyone he could turn to for advice.
When Damien answered the door to Kelly he was as white as a sheet. Anastasia was watching The Borrowers on DVD. Kelly wondered if she was poorly: why wasn’t she at school?
He was holding an envelope in his hand. He ushered her into the kitchen, out of Anastasia’s earshot.
‘That woman who was here the other night. It was my wife. My ex-wife. Nicole.’
Kelly nodded. She’d guessed as much.
‘She told me… Anastasia wasn’t mine. I’ve had a test done.’
He held up the envelope.
‘A paternity test. The answer’s in here. They’ve just sent it by bike.’ His face crumpled. His hands were shaking. ‘I can’t bear to open it.’
Kelly was horrified.
‘Of course she’s yours. Anyone can see that.’
‘But she looks so like Nicole…’
Kelly shook her head emphatically. ‘I know she’s dark, and you’re fair. But there’s lots of you in her. I can see it. There’s no way she’s not yours.’
Damien thrust the envelope at her.
‘Just open it, will you? Tell me what it says.’
Without even thinking about the consequences of the information she might have to impart, Kelly tore open the envelope and pulled out a headed letter. She scanned the contents, a frown appearing between her perfectly plucked brows.
‘I think…’
She had to make sure. The letter was made up of so much legal jargon, so much on-the-fence beating about the bush, as well as a number of statistics and percentages, that she couldn’t be sure what it was saying. She read through it again.
Damien thought his heart was going to stop. Kelly looked up at him.
‘I think it says she’s yours.’
She handed him the letter. The words danced before his eyes as he tried to decipher them.
Eventually he crushed the paper in his hands. He pulled Kelly towards him and folded her tightly in his arms. He was going to break down and cry, but he didn’t care.
Anastasia was his. The letter said it was 99.9 per cent certain, which was good enough for him. Hot tears fell on to Kelly’s curls, but she didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact, she’d put her arm around his neck and was hugging him tightly, reassuring him. Eventually, his sobs subsided.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s OK. I just can’t believe your wife did that to you. What a bitch.’
‘You don’t know Nicole,’ said Damien ruefully. He realized he’d never known her either. He could never have dreamed of the depths to which she’d stooped. He was going to have to be a lot more careful second time around, especially as he had Anastasia to think about. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake.
Though he didn’t think Kelly was going to be a mistake. Unless she was an even better actress than Nicole had been. He didn’t think you could fake the affection she seemed to have for Anastasia. And Rick had told him a lot about his sister over the past few weeks, enough for Damien to know she was a perfectionist and house-proud, that she never bore a grudge for long, that she never forgot birthdays or to take videos back to the video shop, that she didn’t drink much but it didn’t matter because she knew how to have a laugh without getting pissed, and that she was a dutiful daughter and a doting sister. All ticks in the right boxes as far as he was concerned.
‘Will you come out for lunch with us?’ he asked, rather abruptly. He wasn’t used to showing his emotions like that.
‘I’d love to. But I’d better go home and get changed.’
Damien looked at her. She was in jeans and a pink off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. She looked adorable. He thought back to Nicole and how she would have been gussied up in Prada and Patrick Cox. How that once would have been important to him.
‘No, don’t,’ he said. ‘You look great.’
24
James parked his car at the front of the Dower House and let himself in through the front door. Bertie never locked the place; it was always open house. People wandered in and out as they liked. It was incredible that the place had never been ransacked.
Something wasn’t quite right. James sniffed as he entered the hallway. It smelled… of polish. And there was a vase of fresh flowers on the hall table. And the usual huge pile of boots and shoes you had to kick to one side wasn’t there. He ventured through into the kitchen and realized that the strains of Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’ were wafting through from the drawing room. Very strange. Bertie hated classical music. Vivaldi was a bit populist for James, who actually listened to Radio 3 a lot of the time, only turning to Classic FM if things got too heavy and Wagnerian. But Bertie always retuned his radio to Virgin if they went anywhere in the car together. His usual taste was firmly planted in either Oasis, the Rolling Stones or Crowded House. Something was definitely up.
Perhaps he’d rented the place out. Got in some agency to clean the place out and decided to go for holiday lets. James was hurt. He knew Bertie did things on impulse, but that was a big decision. If he’d decided to decamp back to Fulham, he could have told him.
But no – he had to be here. His Audi estate had been parked outside. James looked around the kitchen. It was immaculate. One thing was for sure. He’d either got himself a cleaner, or a woman.
�
�Coffee?’
He turned to see Bertie in the doorway, looking incredibly crisp and clean, in a dusky pink polo shirt and chinos, his hair freshly washed and curling over his collar.
‘Lovely,’ said James, intrigued. He didn’t think Bertie had offered him coffee ever in his life. Vodka, yes. Champagne, yes. A spliff, yes. He watched as he made real coffee and was intrigued to see the china sparkling. Bertie’s cups were usually ringed with stains.
‘What on earth’s going on?’
‘I’m in love,’ said Bertie, simply. ‘I’ve just got to be very patient and wait.’
‘What for?’ said James cynically. ‘For her to leave her husband? Or to leave school?’ Bertie’s track record was littered with married women and schoolgirls.
‘No. For her to realize she’s in love with me.’
‘Oh.’ This was very unusual. Bertie was more often trying to beat off his conquests – he usually came down to the Cotswolds to hide from them until their ardour had died down. ‘Well, come on. Fill me in. What’s so different this time?’
‘She’s made me realize what a complete and utter waste of space I am. She makes me feel – safe. She doesn’t make me feel like running away. Metaphorically, of course.’
‘So who is this angel in disguise?’
‘Ginny Tait.’
James put his coffee cup down slowly.
‘You are joking.’
‘She’s gorgeous. Wonderful.’
‘She’s certainly a bloody miracle worker if she’s made you clean up your act like this. But she’s far too old for you.’
‘A couple of years older, perhaps. But that doesn’t matter. Not at our time of life.’
‘Bertie, you’ve got nothing in common!’
‘How do you know?’
‘Come off it. She’s hardly going to feel comfortable with your coke-fuelled, champagne-swilling, hard-living bachelor-boy lifestyle. Have you taken her on your ritual Saturday night tour of all the bars in Fulham, culminating in a group vomit? Does she want to share a bath with you and a few close personal friends? Does she enjoy a good game of strip billiards?’
Bertie waved away James’s thumbnail sketch of some of his more lurid escapades.
‘OK, so I’ve got a bit of a dodgy past – ’
‘Past?’ James looked dubious. ‘You’re never going to change. The words leopard and spots spring to mind. The novelty of pairing up with some saintly, sweet, clean-living creature will wear off the minute temptation steps into your path. And then what? Mrs Tait ends up as another casualty of Bertie’s quest for gratification. Just like Tor did.’
Bertie looked at him oddly. James carried on.
‘Ginny’s very vulnerable. She’s only just got back on her feet since her husband left her. She’s not a plaything, you know.’
‘You’re very protective of her.’
‘Someone’s got to look out for your victims. You’re like a vampire where women are concerned, Bertie.’
Bertie didn’t retaliate. He walked over to the window and looked outside for a moment. He admired the lawn, which he had cut last night. Immaculate green stripes. It had been immensely therapeutic. He didn’t know why he had never bothered before.
He turned back to James.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
He spoke flatly. James looked blank. He carried on.
‘I’ve spent ten years wondering who was sick enough to send that album to Tor. I always thought it was some girl I’d dumped who’d never got over it.’ Bertie looked at James and sneered. ‘I should have guessed. It should have been obvious, shouldn’t it? My best man. The only one in the stag party sober enough to take photos.’
James didn’t deny it. His expression didn’t flicker. Instead, he reached out for one of Bertie’s cigarettes. He usually only indulged in cigars, but this was heavy. He blew out a heavy plume of smoke and started to explain.
‘I had this very same conversation with you ten years ago, before your wedding day, but you didn’t listen then. The whole thing was like watching some bloody awful soap opera, waiting for the predictable ending. I was doing you a favour. I certainly did Tor a favour. I couldn’t sit there and watch you destroy her; marry her and then go off with the first bit of skirt that took your fancy. Because you would have – ’
Bertie opened his mouth to protest, but James put up a hand to stop him.
‘What about the pictures that didn’t go in the album? The tequila girl. Or should I say girls? That was a record, even for you.’
‘You’re telling me you’ve never fucked anyone you shouldn’t have?’
‘Not the week before my wedding. And generally speaking, not someone whose name I didn’t know. And her best friend.’
‘It meant nothing. They meant nothing!’
‘That’s precisely my point, Bertie.’ James’s voice was patient, calm. ‘It’s the very fact that you don’t see anything wrong in it. I’m afraid that’s not how other people see it. And until you understand that…’
Bertie knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. And that James was right. And that he’d done the right thing all those years ago. Bertie had always blamed the sender of the album for destroying what he and Tor had. But, in fact, he only had himself to blame.
‘You can’t think very much of me.’
‘On the contrary, I think a great deal of you. A great deal.’
Bertie looked puzzled. James grinned.
‘I don’t think you’re very good husband material. But as a mate, you’re all right.’ He stubbed out the cigarette. ‘Actually, I came to ask if you’d be Henry’s godfather.’
Bertie couldn’t have been more shocked if James had proposed marriage.
‘What? After everything you’ve just said – you want me to be responsible for Henry’s spiritual and moral welfare?’
‘Oh no. I’ve got Patrick doing that. You’re to be the naughty godfather. The one who teaches him about gambling, how to double-declutch, how to tell Burgundy from Beaujolais…’
Bertie’s face broke into a wreath of smiles.
‘The one who gets him his first Parisian hooker?’
James shuddered slightly, but managed a nod.
‘Something like that.’
‘So what do I do about Ginny?’
James tried to sound as kind as he could.
‘For God’s sake, Bertie. Just find someone that can cope with your lifestyle. Whatever your romantic notions about turning over a new leaf, you’re not going to change. Not now.’
Damien took Kelly and Anastasia to the Petit Blanc in Cheltenham. He’d overheard Coral in the post office confiding to anyone who would listen that Patrick was going to be all right, so now he felt high on relief. He was fairly certain the police weren’t going to get anywhere with their enquiries. He ordered champagne, and cursed Rick for going off just when he really needed a driver.
They had a wonderful lunch. The bubbles put sparkles in Kelly’s eyes as she described her life to him. How she wanted to expand the salon and find herself a proper flat.
‘And you? What are your plans?’
He thought about his murky past. The hideous scheming of the past few weeks, which – unbeknownst to her – had involved her brother. Somehow, miraculously, he’d got away with it. Now he had a chance to atone, build a new life on clean bricks. Put greed to one side and concentrate on…
Love, he decided. Love of his daughter, the daughter he now knew was his. And maybe…
‘I don’t want to rush into anything just yet,’ he said softly.
It seemed an interminable wait for Sasha until Barney eventually went to the gents. She emerged from her hiding place and slipped in behind him, locking the door, praying that none of the other customers would want to use the toilet for the next five minutes.
He looked up, startled, mid pee.
‘Jesus! What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I had to talk to you.’
He zipped himself up as hastily as he coul
d. As soon as she met his gaze, she knew this wasn’t confession time. She was going to be lucky to get out of here alive. He bore down on her with a cold rage.
‘For God’s sake, Sasha – why? It was an evil thing to do.’
She put the heels of her hands in her eyes to stop herself crying.
‘I know. I know. It’s just – I’ve had a shit time. Dad’s run off with the redhead from hell – he doesn’t care about me any more. Mum’s being pursued by every eligible bachelor in Gloucestershire and hasn’t got time. Everyone thinks Kitty’s so fucking wonderful and sings like an angel. Jonty doesn’t care about me – he just wants to get his end away because his wife’s up the duff and won’t have sex – ’
She put a guilty hand to her mouth.
‘Oops. You’re not supposed to know about that. Just erase that bit from your mind, will you?’
Barney brushed the remark away.
‘None of that gives you the right to do what you did.’
‘I know.’ A little spark of Sasha’s spirit flared up. ‘But it’s the only perk you get when you’re a twin. All your life you spend being compared or mistaken. It’s bloody tedious. So when you turned up and thought I was Kitty, I couldn’t resist…’
Barney shook his head in incredulity. Sasha put her hands on her hips.
‘And hang on a minute. I’m not the only guilty party here. You’re the one that went ahead and shagged my supposed sister. And you’re married. I’m a free agent. I might have screwed you under false pretences, but I wasn’t being unfaithful.’
Barney panicked. She had more than a point. He thought he’d better get off her case. He’d got a lot more to lose than she had.
‘OK. Listen. Let’s have a deal. Neither of us are going to look too good if this gets out. So it never happened.’
Sasha put her head to one side, considering. She grinned.
‘Only if you admit that you enjoyed it.’
Making Hay Page 40
