by Karen Swan
Chandos lunged forwards, catching her in his arms easily. But he didn’t put her down. He bundled her on to the back of his Vespa and bombed through the back streets to somewhere safe, away from Harry Hunter.
Cress reached her car and looked back at the cluster on the steps. No one was interested in her any more. The truth was out. It was like seeing a bomb explode in slow motion – Harry’s arms held up defensively in front of his face, Kate at his side clutching her red Kelly bag protectively to her stomach, just like Princess Grace fifty years before. The two of them frozen in time as the bulbs flashed, and the late edition of the Evening Standard was waved like a flag, and one question was repeated over and over like a Buddhist mantra: ‘When’s the baby due, Harry? When’s the baby due?’
Chapter Thirty-nine
Emily felt the kisses on her neck, and she stretched languorously, her body waking up in the most heavenly way.
‘Mmmmmmm,’ she said, rolling off her tummy, her arms above her head.
‘Good morning, lover,’ said an unfamiliar voice.
She opened her eyes in alarm and found herself reflected – again – in those black pools.
‘Chandos!’ She sat bolt upright and looked around at the student room. Where the hell was she? What had happened? She brought her hands to her temples. ‘Oh my God. What’s happened to my head?’
Chandos picked up the empty bottle of Absolut. ‘This?’
‘What – did you hit me with it?’ she groaned. ‘Owwww.’
He laughed and she heard a kettle come to the boil. ‘Some hair of the dog will sort you out,’ he smiled, the smile fading as Emily visibly paled at the thought, her hands flying to her mouth. ‘The bathroom’s that way!’ he said, pointing to a flimsy door.
She ran across the room, her trim little figure an absolute delight to watch. She managed to slam the door behind her and he chuckled to himself as he heard a chorus of approval in the hallway. It was ten minutes before she came back in, a hand towel held in front of her.
‘You didn’t tell me it was a communal bathroom,’ she said glumly, too hungover to be mortified, her skin deathly white, her eyes sunken and black-rimmed. Even the goth look suited her, he thought to himself. God, he’d missed her.
‘There wasn’t really time,’ he shrugged. ‘And just think – you’ve made their day, and made me look like the biggest stud since – well, Harry Hunter! Here, this’ll make you feel better,’ he said, handing her a cup of builder’s.
He walked over to the back of the door and handed her a navy piped dressing-gown. ‘Put this on. You’ll catch your death if you carry on parading naked – not to mention I might die of overexcitement.’
She put it on, her mind beginning to wake up, a flash of images playing like a cine film in her mind – silent, jerky, a bit too fast.
‘How are you feeling?’ Chandos asked quietly.
She raised her eyes to his.
‘Idiotic; humiliated; like my head’s going to fall off.’
Chandos nodded.
‘Are those today’s papers?’ she said, nodding towards a pile on the coffee table.
‘Oh no, no,’ he said jumping up and tidying them away. ‘They’re old.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said, getting up and taking them off him. ‘It really is. I can take it.’
She looked down at the front cover of The Times. It had been like walking into an ambush. Cress was nowhere to be seen, but then she didn’t need to be. She was exonerated, yesterday’s news. The picture showed the real love story – Kate in tears, her arm across her belly; Harry’s jaw set – already sore from the intellectual thrashing he’d just received – as he looked hatefully into the white ether.
At the corner of the picture, barely visible, was Chandos, holding Emily in his arms. He had saved her from national humiliation, peeling her away from the crowd as Kate and Harry bundled forwards into the Range Rover, plonking her on the back of his moped and whizzing her around the tiny amber lanes to his digs.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For everything. You saved me countless times last night.’
‘Anything for the beautiful lady,’ he said, in a dreadful Italian accent. ‘Besides, I owed you some chivalry. After behaving like such a dick before . . . What are you going to do?’ he asked.
Emily sighed deeply and closed her eyes. The press knew who she was now – Harry had been pictured with Emily on the way in; Kate on the way out. They weren’t going to leave her alone until they’d got what they wanted – a picture, a soundbite, an interview.
She got up – the dressing-gown falling open as she did so, causing Chandos’s pulse to skyrocket – and checked her mobile. The voicemail was full. It had already begun.
She turned to face Chandos. ‘I’m going to face the music,’ she said finally.
‘Promise me you won’t do anything rash,’ he said.
‘Trust me. There’ll be nothing rash about it. It’s all very well thought out,’ she replied cryptically.
Chandos frowned – what did she mean? – as he watched her shrug off the dressing-gown unselfconsciously and slip her dress over her head. He admired how she went from sex-bomb to sweet gawky ingénue with just one movement. He knew she was leaving him.
‘What’s the time, do you know?’ she said, smoothing up her tights.
‘Nearly ten. Why?’
‘I need to catch a train back to London. I’ve got an appointment.’
‘Well, the next train is at 10.45.’ He paused, his brain in overdrive. ‘But I need to go into town too. Let me drive you.’
Her chin dipped in amusement.
‘Chandos, I am not being driven down the M40 on a moped!’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to be. The Vespa’s just for lectures. I use this for mileage.’ And he clicked his keys. She heard the beep outside and went to the window. A shiny gunmetal grey Vantage was parked beneath.
‘That’ll do, I guess,’ she said, smiling, slipping her feet into her Cinderella shoes. ‘Come on then. “Home, James! And don’t spare the horsepower!”’
He didn’t. They were in Battersea and lunching by the river by noon.
‘So what now?’ Chandos asked ambiguously.
‘Well, I’ve got to see my solicitor,’ she said, draining her prosecco.
‘Sounds fun,’ he said, disappointed she hadn’t taken the hint and pursued a conversation about ‘them’.
Emily checked her watch. ‘I’ve got forty minutes before my appointment,’ she said. ‘Do you think . . .’
‘There’s time for a quickie?’ he winked. ‘Always.’
She smacked his hand playfully. Last night had just been drunkenness and shock and old times’ sake. He knew that, right?
‘Do you think you could drop me round to the apartment? It’s just round the corner and I want to pick up my things.’
‘Won’t Hunter be there?’
She shook her head. ‘No. He’s probably left the country for a bit. One of the perks of having your own jet,’ she added carelessly.
‘It’ll be besieged with reporters.’
‘I know. But I’ve already been outed. And anyway, I’ve done nothing wrong.’ She smiled defiantly.
‘Let’s go then.’
They hopped back into the car and purred around the corner. Sure enough, there were nearly a hundred people standing on the pavement opposite, cameras set up on tripods, Dictaphones held at the ready.
‘Shit! Where should I park?’ Chandos asked, suddenly worried about his car’s bodywork being used for crowd control.
‘It’s OK,’ Emily said calmly. ‘There’s an underground car park. Just bear left.’
He steered towards the dip and there was a sudden frenzy of activity as they were spotted in the not-so-inconspicuous motor. Emily felt acutely aware she was still in last night’s clothes, and she grabbed Chandos’s jacket and held it over her head, dipping down in her seat below the window line.
She heard the wh
irr-click of the cameras above the mushroom-silk lining – and smelled Chandos’s sandalwood scent beneath it – but she’d denied them a clean shot, and they were on to private property and out of reach in a few moments. She was determined she wasn’t going to be the victim in this. Harry had confused her, distracted her from her real purpose, but she was back on track now. She was going to do it her way.
They travelled up in the penthouse’s private lift, and her heart stammered as she put her key in the lock. Would Jeremy be here? Would he be under orders to throw her out? Would Harry have changed the locks already?
But her fears were unfounded. The apartment was pristine and untouched, ready for the next stream of blondes to fall through the door.
Chandos tried not to be impressed by the cinema screen, and really hard not to be jealous of the view. Most of all, he tried hard not to imagine Emily in here, naked, with Harry on that big round bed.
He watched her move through the space with the casual indifference that comes from familiarity, picking out her clothes from the wardrobes and drawers. He noticed there were no photos of the two of them together. It all seemed to be ‘Harry with . . .’
She pulled out a pair of jeans and a blue marled cashmere sweater and put them on with some boots. Fresh clothes for a fresh day. Her fresh start.
It only took fifteen minutes to pack. She really hadn’t taken up so very much of his space, of his life.
‘Let’s go then,’ she shrugged easily.
‘You’re not upset?’ Chandos asked, expecting her to burst into tears at any moment. Not many women would leave Harry Hunter without a backward glance.
She shook her head. Learning that Harry was going to become a father had changed everything. A baby was involved, and she wasn’t even going to try to fight for him.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to fight. She had another call to make.
It was simply Harry’s tough luck that when she’d woken up in Chandos’s bed this morning, the pain in her head had been worse than the pain in her heart.
Chapter Forty
Greta was stirring a casserole when Cress walked into the kitchen, freshly showered and changed into her favourite khaki cashmere tracksuit. The afternoon’s reunion with the children had been the stuff of her dreams, and for once it seemed her absence really had made their hearts grow fonder.
‘Mmm, smells good,’ Cress said generously, walking over and peering inside the pot. ‘I don’t know how you do it, Greta. I’m such a disaster in the kitchen.’
Greta shrugged. ‘Yes, the children say so.’
Cress smiled to herself. Tact must be lost in translation, she thought.
She took a breath for patience. ‘Anyway, I want to thank you for holding the fort here while I’ve been away. It’s been a tough couple of weeks, and I know it must have been hard on you. We’ll sort out a bonus to reflect the extra workload,’ she said, reaching for a wine glass.
Greta stole a sideways look at Cress. ‘Thank you, Mrs Pelling,’ she said quietly.
‘And by way of saying thanks, you can have an extended Christmas break. Why don’t you go back and see your family in Sweden? We’ll pay for your flights.’
Greta’s face fell. So that was it. She was being booted out. This wasn’t a reward; Cress was making sure she was well out of the way while she cosied back up to Mark.
Greta bit her lip and carried on stirring the casserole. The past eight days had been wonderful. Mark had complimented her on everything – her cooking, her housekeeping, the way she dressed the children, played with them. For the first few nights he’d come home drunk and refused to eat, but she’d quickly managed to get him to come in and eat with her every night instead, polishing off bottles of red or vodka together. They’d found they laughed easily together and there was no doubting the sexual tension. She’d seen him watch her from the window that night – for a fraction of a second, she’d held his gaze – and she knew he thought about it. She still wore his shirt in bed, and one night, when they’d been sitting on the sofa together, he’d dropped his head on to her shoulder, his hand gently stroking her waist, his thumb just an inch from her breast. ‘You’re so lovely,’ he’d mumbled, as he fell asleep.
She knew he couldn’t resist for much longer. His romantic ideals about Cress were falling away. He was realizing Cress wasn’t interested in any of them – just her big-shot career.
But now – now the furore with Harry Hunter had switched to that friend of hers, Kate, and Cress had barged back into their lives.
Greta’s hand gripped the spoon with resentment. Cress didn’t deserve him.
‘In the meantime, take the rest of the evening off,’ Cress continued, oblivious. ‘You’ve done more than enough here.’
Greta nodded and went reluctantly upstairs, but she didn’t go to her room. She sat on the chaise on the landing and waited for Mark’s return. She wanted to hear this. She might be out of sight, but she wasn’t out of her mind.
It was 11.30 p.m. when the lock in the door turned and Mark came in. Cress heard him hang his coat on the stair-post and walk down the hallway to the kitchen, loosening his tie. She was sitting cross-legged on the island, her favourite spot.
‘Hello,’ she said softly, not a hint of ‘where-the-hell-have-you-been’ in her voice.
Mark stared at her – taking in her sparkling complexion and super-blonded LA hair – as she handed him a glass.
‘Care to join me?’ she asked casually, appealingly.
Mark took it, but his face was far from pleased. He looked shattered.
‘You’re back then,’ he said, stating the obvious.
‘Seems so,’ she nodded.
‘When did you get back?’ he asked, taking a deep swill, but keeping his eyes on her.
‘This afternoon.’
‘No, I meant when did you get back into the country?’ A note of irritation punched the words.
‘Yesterday lunchtime.’ Cress swallowed uneasily. His tone was more interrogating than welcoming.
‘But you thought you’d wait till today to come back.’
‘I had to go up to Oxford. To sort things out.’
‘Before seeing us?’
‘If I’d come back yesterday, you wouldn’t have let me through the door. You would have still thought I was with Harry. I had to show you I was innocent first.’ Why was he being so combative? Had he seen the papers?
He shrugged. ‘We haven’t heard from you for days. I had no idea what to tell the children.’
‘What? You didn’t get my messages?’
Mark shrugged as he took off his tie.
‘But I’ve been leaving messages three times a day,’ she said.
‘Not on this answerphone you haven’t.’
Cress looked at him. ‘That doesn’t make sense!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve been –– ’ The penny dropped. ‘Greta!’ she said bitterly. ‘She must have wiped them.’
‘Oh, don’t start on that again,’ Mark said contemptuously. ‘You’ve not been back five minutes and already you’re laying into her. She’s held this family together in your absence. She’s been incredible.’
‘Incredible? Really? That’s high praise,’ Cress said evenly.
‘Praise that’s well deserved. Nothing more.’
‘Why do you always have to defend her?’
‘Because you’re nothing short of a bitch to her, that’s why, and the children happen to adore her. I’m not having you disrupt their lives just because you’re jealous of yet another nanny who does a better job of mothering your children than you.’
He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d slapped her. He could see it written all over her face, as vividly as any handprint. He swallowed and turned away.
‘Anyway, how did you intend to “prove your innocence”?’ he asked sarcastically, leaning against the worktop.
She tried again. ‘With the photos – the ones of Harry and Kate coming out of the baby clinic,’ she said. ‘You must have seen them?’
<
br /> His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I’ve seen them all right. It just didn’t occur to me you were behind them.’
‘Is that a problem? The photos clearly prove that the woman Harry is involved with is Kate, not me.’
‘So you shopped Kate to save yourself.’
Cress laughed. ‘Oh my God, Mark! What exactly is it you want me to do? Let you carry on thinking I’m sleeping with Harry? Or let the two of them get away with their manipulation of the press and using me as their fall guy?’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic. Kate would never do that.’
‘Oh, right, right. It’s just a coincidence that there’s been a resounding silence around her involvement in all this; it’s just a coincidence that she happens to have a huge amount of contacts and clout in this industry.’
Cress heard her voice rise. ‘If you want to talk about betrayal, Mark, why don’t you consider not only why the press came after me and Tor, but also why she let them perform character assassinations on her two supposed best friends. I mean, you want betrayal? Think about poor Tor. She’s a widow only six months and the entire British nation think she’s a gold-digger after Harry’s fortune. I’ll bet she’s coping really well with that!’
Mark turned away from her stream of rhetoric.
‘Make no mistake, Mark,’ she said to his back. ‘Kate pulled the strings! She protected herself, knowing that by doing so she was dropping us in it. She’s not the innocent in this. She has completely lost the plot since finding out about Monty’s boy. I mean, she won’t speak to any of us – not you, me, Tor, Monty. None of us. We’ve all been dropped like hot potatoes. The Kate that’s having Harry’s baby is not the Kate we knew. I owe her nothing!’
Mark walked over to the window, his cheeks flushed with anger. ‘Your arrogance is incredible. You have no idea of the damage you’ve done! I’ve just come from seeing Monty – he’s a bloody mess!’
‘Well, of course he is!’ Cress said, palms outstretched. ‘But you can’t blame that on me? It’s his wife carrying Harry’s baby.’
