Bad Twins

by Rebecca Chance

  Gradually, the church emptied out. Bella and Santino, hand in hand, wandered down the aisle, smiling at each other with the dizzy delight of lovers at a wedding who see their way, perhaps, to the prospect of their own. Charlotte and Paul marshalled Posy and Quant, keeping them separate, as the children were now squabbling, and bustled them out, their faces tired and strained. Bella looked back, hearing the scuffle, and impulsively asked Santino to go on ahead with Paul and the kids so that she could have a word with her sister.

  ‘You look awful,’ she said frankly to Charlotte, pulling her aside.

  ‘I know. And you’ve got a lot blunter since you became CEO,’ Charlotte said with a skewed attempt at a wry smile.

  ‘I suppose I have,’ Bella said, guiding her sister out of the church and down a side path. Just a few steps into the small garden, but enough distance so that no one could hear what they were saying.

  ‘You’re right to be like that,’ Charlotte observed. ‘It was time to get serious, make sure that no one can take advantage of you.’

  She gave that awful half-smile again.

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘Lottie, that’s exactly what I wanted to say to you. It’s time to leave the past behind us,’ Bella said. ‘We should be drinking champagne and toasting the bride and groom. Having good thoughts and good memories.’

  How often had Bella repeated those words of Mrs Rootare’s to herself! How often had they helped her! Charlotte looked truly taken aback, not only by the familiar sisterly shortening of her name, but at Bella’s words, the philosophy of a tough Eastern European matriarch with no illusions about the shortness of life and the need to plough through it as well as possible.

  ‘Do you actually mean that?’ she asked, with more uncertainty than Bella had ever heard from her sister before.

  ‘Yes,’ Bella said simply. ‘I can’t forget what you did, but I can put it behind me.’

  ‘I never thought you’d say that,’ Charlotte muttered. ‘After everything I did . . .’

  ‘Lottie, look at me. I’m happier than I’ve ever been,’ Bella said. ‘Really happy, not the fake trance I was in with . . . him.’

  Charlotte nodded very swiftly. Neither sister wanted to say his name.

  ‘And I wouldn’t have this if you hadn’t . . . done what you did,’ Bella continued. ‘I would still be with Thomas. That wasn’t living. It was just existence. What you did broke me free.’

  Charlotte looked dumbstruck. Underneath the pale-orange blusher, her cheeks flushed with a healthier colour.

  ‘You’re not just saying that?’ she asked. ‘To make me feel better?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ Bella said, and the words came out sardonically, because that was how she had meant them.

  Charlotte’s eyes went wide and she nodded slowly.

  ‘Well, yes, good point,’ she acknowledged. ‘Why would you do that?’

  She drew in a long breath.

  ‘You need to pull yourself together now,’ Bella said, channelling Mrs Rootare with everything she had. ‘Your husband looks like shit and your kids are acting up really badly. You can’t afford to lose Paul. He’s an amazing man and he looks like you’ve been putting him through the wars. You need to get on with your life and leave the past behind.’

  ‘You really have changed,’ Charlotte said, with considerable respect.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Bella agreed. ‘And it’s partly thanks to you. In the worst way possible, you did me a weird kind of favour. So you can at least stop feeling guilty about me, okay? I wouldn’t be with Santino if it weren’t for . . . what you did. And I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my life.’

  It was no more than the truth, and it seemed, to some degree, to have set Charlotte free. Her eyes were brighter; she pulled back her shoulders, standing up straighter.

  ‘Will you come round sometime?’ she asked, almost shyly. ‘We could have a dinner for you and Santino. It would be nice to get to know him.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Bella said. ‘Probably. Let’s see how we go.’

  She had not been planning to do it, but she found herself reaching out and hugging her twin. Charlotte was as stiff as a board for a moment, and then everything yielded, and she fell against Bella, collapsing into her arms. Bella winced at how bony her sister had become.

  ‘You need to eat something,’ she said into Charlotte’s hair. ‘You need to sit down at this big wedding lunch and eat everything they put in front of you.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Charlotte said, sounding as if she were on the verge of tears. ‘I’ll try, Bell. I know I need to.’

  ‘And don’t cry! Don’t you dare cry! Get it together! Good thoughts and good memories!’

  Bella pulled back, looking sternly into her sister’s face. Charlotte swallowed hard, putting a finger to each eye in the classic gesture with which women dab away moisture without ruining their make-up.

  ‘Bella? Cara, the carriages are waiting!’ Santino called from the lychgate.

  ‘We’re coming!’

  Bella took her twin’s arm and they walked down the path to the waiting group. Posy and Quant were by a gravestone, taking turns to kick it: clearly they were malevolently, deliberately scuffing their polished shoes.

  ‘Posy! Quant! What are you doing?’ their mother shouted, and they both jumped in the air with shock, turning round to see her bearing down on them. ‘Someone’s buried there! Have some respect, both of you! Your behaviour today has been appalling. Pull yourselves together right now, or I’m taking you straight home and you won’t get any wedding cake!’

  Posy looked stunned: Quant burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘Cut the waterworks, they don’t impress me. And listen to your father! He’s been trying to keep you two in line all day and you’ve been completely ignoring him.’

  Paul, who had been talking to Santino by the gate, turned on hearing these words, looking as taken aback as the children. Charlotte grabbed her daughter and son and frogmarched them down the rest of the path, taking no notice of Quant’s snivelling.

  ‘You have a rest,’ she said to her husband. ‘I’ll take over from here. Sorry I’ve been a bit MIA, but I’m back now.’

  She bustled the children through the gate and to their assigned carriage. Paul’s astonished eyes met Bella’s, and he mouthed ‘Thank you!’ at his sister-in-law, correctly associating her with his wife’s return to the no-nonsense mother she had been until recently. Bella smiled at him. She had given Charlotte some much-needed relief, but at no cost to herself; all Bella had done was tell the truth, something that had been in short supply in their family.

  Bella hadn’t made any concessions. She hadn’t promised forgiveness she wasn’t sure she could give; she had been honest about the fact that she could never forget. Trust would never be taken for granted between the twin sisters. But the air was clear now, and they could both breathe much better.

  Mrs Rootare really should teach self-help seminars, Bella thought as she strolled down the church path. She’d make an absolute fortune.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Adrianna and Bart were the last to leave the church, Adrianna hanging back by the altar, watching the congregants leave with the quiet satisfaction of someone who has organized a wedding which has gone off without a single hitch so far. She was completely aware of Bart, however. She knew when he came up behind her, not quite touching her but close enough that she could feel first the heat of his body and then his breath on her neck.

  ‘We need to do this too,’ he said.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said, still looking ahead. ‘We have to wait at least a year. At least a year.’

  He sighed gloomily.

  ‘I know. But as soon as we can, decently.’

  ‘Decently,’ she agreed. ‘It’s much sooner than we could have hoped.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Poor old Pa. It was hard watching him at the end. I felt bad, because of course I wanted to be with you, so my motives were messy, but he w
ent downhill very fast. He never got over . . . you know. Couldn’t see either one of the girls without looking as if he was going to have a heart attack.’

  Adrianna nodded. She had been curious as to whether Ronaldo was mentioned in Jeffrey’s will; he hadn’t been, though a generous sum had been settled on Maria, who had promptly retired, much to Adrianna’s relief. Adrianna had made discreet enquiries of the solicitor and discovered that the trust fund Jeffrey had drawn up for Ronaldo would continue for life. Normally she would have considered it her duty to do something more for her husband’s illegitimate and unacknowledged son – the solicitor had suggested a lump sum payment in return for a confidentiality agreement – but under the circumstances, it had been an easy decision to let that one go.

  ‘It was a release for Jeffrey, I agree,’ she said. ‘But we still have to be respectful, for the family’s sake. For the reputation of the business, too.’

  ‘I’m just sick of all the sneaking around,’ Bart said, sounding as sulky as a ten-year-old. ‘It was fun at first, but it got boring much faster than I thought it would.’

  ‘Listen to you!’ she said, a smile in her voice. ‘Always keen on something when you can’t have it!’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Bart said reproachfully. ‘I have you a lot, and I still want you.’

  She allowed herself a little laugh. There was no one left in the small village church but them; it had quickly emptied out. Charming as it was, it had no pretensions to grandeur. The carriages and a small fleet of cars were waiting to take the inner circle of guests to Vanbrugh Manor for a lunchtime reception, then back to their hotels to rest and change clothes. After a break of a few hours, several hundred guests would descend on Vanbrugh for early evening drinks, dinner and dancing till dawn.

  The house, like the church, would not accommodate such a large party. But Adrianna had hired, not a marquee, which for the truly rich was now passé, but a giant glass greenhouse at a six-figure cost. It had been installed on the Great Lawn yesterday, and was entirely weatherproof, with blossoming trees in enormous pots wheeled in to give the interior the appearance of an orchard in full flower. Even the rented portaloos were so top-of-the-range that they had carpeted floors and their own dressing rooms, with porcelain sinks, full-length mirrors and oak fittings.

  ‘It’s going to be a wonderful party,’ Bart said, his hand lightly touching the back of his stepmother’s waist, where no one could see. ‘You’ve done a superb job.’

  ‘Ugh! If I get married again. If,’ she said to the open doors, ‘I don’t want any fuss and I don’t want to waste any more money. The toilets alone are costing me nearly seven thousand pounds! I want to elope to a beach somewhere in a bikini, with a flower in my hair.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ Bart said. ‘A warm beach, right? I mean, not Iceland. Bit cold for the bikini. You’d have to wear it with wellies.’

  ‘Maybe we could hire the Blue Lagoon,’ she said. ‘Have it to ourselves, and then send the priest and the witnesses away and have a lovely swim afterwards.’

  ‘Sounds fantastic,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll get my team right on it.’

  ‘Your team?’ she said as derisively as he had known she would. ‘You don’t have a team! You don’t have anyone, not since I sacked those models of yours who used to do their nails all day!’

  ‘Only when they weren’t blowing me,’ Bart said. ‘Which, to be fair, was an essential part of their job. I made that very clear during the initial round of interviews.’

  She snorted.

  ‘Oh well,’ she said. ‘Now I do it for you for free. Just one of my many cost-efficient savings for the company.’

  She started to walk towards the doors, and he came up beside her, side by side, his shoulder brushing hers.

  ‘I like walking next to you,’ he said casually. ‘In step, like proper partners. Shoulder to shoulder against the world. Spartan warriors in pairs.’

  ‘You’re ridiculous,’ she said. ‘And we’re not partners. You will have to sign a huge prenup before we get married, promising not to get a penny from me if things go wrong.’

  ‘Please!’ Bart held up his hands. ‘You run things! I’m very happy for you to wear the trousers! But you know that.’

  They emerged into the sunshine, blinking at the bright light. Bart reached for the sunglasses tucked into his jacket pocket. Liilia was arranging Sirje’s train in the first carriage; Posy and Quant were being shepherded into the second one by their mother. Adrianna, who noticed everything, raised her eyebrows. So finally Charlotte was bothering with her own children, rather than leaving everything to Paul. Posy and Quant looked considerably more subdued than they had been earlier, while Paul was actually laughing as he joined his wife.

  Something had clearly altered for the better. Adrianna determined to find out what it had been; she liked to know everything that went on around her. Meanwhile, Bella, being helped chivalrously into the third carriage by Santino, gestured to Adrianna to take her assigned place with them.

  ‘How do you feel about walking back to the house with me?’ Bart proposed. ‘Lovely day for a stroll down the village lanes, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder . . . you’re fine in those shoes, right?’

  Since Jeffrey’s death, Adrianna had taken to wearing flats. After years of wearing the spike heels without which a certain type of man would not be interested in her, she was relishing being able to run around easily rather than pick her way along while pretending that she loved being handicapped by five-inch stilettos.

  ‘Yes,’ she said with her usual efficiency, waving at Bella to go on without her.

  The first carriage was pulling away, hooves clip-clopping on the cobbled road. Bella waved back and took her seat, watching her brother and stepmother standing together as the driver shook the reins for the horses to start moving. The look in Bella’s eyes had been there for a month or so; it acknowledged her dawning realization that Adrianna and Bart had quietly, discreetly, become a couple. Bella, it was clear, was amused by the fact that Adrianna was entranced by the man she had described a year ago as a charmer not fit to run a public toilet.

  But who cares! Not everyone needs to be able to run things! Adrianna thought. I can do that well enough for both of us! And besides, this way our egos don’t clash.

  ‘You don’t need to rush back, do you?’ Bart was saying.

  ‘Oh no,’ she assured him. ‘Everything’s ready for us at Vanbrugh. They don’t need me to be back there running things. That would be poor management. You wouldn’t know, of course,’ she added with a superior air, ‘but good management is to empower your staff so they can run things on their own. Besides, I’ve been sitting still too much today, getting my hair and make-up done – it would be great to stretch my legs.’

  ‘Please don’t!’ Bart said. ‘They’re quite long enough. I’m glad you’ve stopped wearing heels. They made me feel emasculated.’

  Adrianna burst out laughing, such a full-throated, happy laugh that the rest of the guests looked back to see what the joke was.

  ‘I’d love to see what would actually make you feel emasculated,’ she said, placing one hand on his arm and catching up the hem of her ankle-length dress with the other so that her legs could move freely, her long strides matching Bart’s.

  ‘Oh God,’ Bart said. ‘You’re going to take that as a challenge, aren’t you?’

  It was the first week in June. Rambling roses rioted everywhere, and the honeysuckle trained over trellises on top of the low stone walls bordering the cottages was still rich and fragrant. As they passed through the village, the hedgerows that lined the road back to Vanbrugh Manor were as green as grass, bumblebees swarming in the meadows beyond. The limousines began to slide past them, very slowly, their speed constrained by the horse-drawn carriages leading the procession.

  The road stretched out before the two of them. Summer was on its way, and the skies were blue as the waters off Gozo. The good weather wouldn’t last, of course. It never did. But for stepson and stepmother, almos
t the same height, walking in perfect sync, strolling back to a wonderful party, able to be an acknowledged couple much sooner than they could have imagined, this day felt as if it could last forever. As if they were cloud bursters themselves, and could reach up to every cloud in the sky, exploding them one by one with just the touch of a finger.

  Acknowledgements

  Huge thanks to:

  The amazing double team of my editor Wayne Brookes and Amanda Preston, whom I trust so much that, when thrashing out a very important plot point, I pretty much sat back and let them fight it out – and doing edits, it was so clear they’d reached the right decision! I am so lucky to have them on my side.

  All the lovely people at Pan Macmillan, who are doing such a fantastic job with my books – Jeremy Trevathan, Alex Saunders, Stuart Dwyer and James Annal, thanks so much for everything you do to support me.

  Ed PR did a particularly cracking job with my last book, Killer Affair – really looking forward to working with them on this one!

  Dan Evans at Plan 9 does such a superb job with my website and business cards that you should all use him for yours.

  Darling Matt B, my reading twin, as always, for all his help, support and loans of Eleanor Burford/Philippa Carr/Jean Plaidy/Kathleen Kellow/Anna Percival/Elbur Ford books!

  The gorgeous team of McKenna Jordan and John Kwiatkowski, and everyone at Murder By The Book, for bringing my smut to Texas.

  Cornelia Read, for the best placement ever of one of my books! She knows where! Plus Alafair Burke, McKenna again, and Sarah Weinman for being the best gay piano bar companions I could imagine . . .