He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, a restless gesture that caused bits of it to stand up oddly, dislodged from the style into which he had painstakingly combed it.
‘I know that Angel is a very handsome man,’ he said simply. ‘I see that any woman would like him, and I’m not saying that you owe me anything. I was happy to introduce you to Vivienne. There is no obligation, nothing like that. But I would have liked a phone number for you. A chance to see you again, visit you in London, make you laugh some more. Sing you some more songs about Russian sailors.’
Christine had heard enough. ‘You should sing those to your wife!’ she hissed at him, driven to distraction by the way he was pretending to be just a nice guy she’d dumped the second a gorgeous millionaire hove into view. Not only that – he was daring to do this in a public place, surrounded by people, impeding her from screaming insults at him and slapping his face for this brain-fuck mental manipulation he was trying to pull on her.
‘What?’
Tor’s eyes widened, becoming almost circular, white showing all around the irises. It was funny; he looked positively clownlike. Christine would have laughed if she hadn’t been so incensed by what he was trying to get away with – trying to make her feel guilty, when he was the married one.
‘Your wife!’ she said, her voice rising now. ‘Tell it to your wife!’
One big hand closed around her elbow – gently, but firmly enough that when he turned her around and propelled her with him across the room, towards the balcony, it was impossible not to follow. It was weird; if he had been gripping her arm, she would have thrown him off, but being held by the elbow felt somehow as if he were guiding her to a place that she wanted to reach. And she had to admit, she did want to get to that place, the one where he actually had some sort of explanation for what he was trying to sell her . . .
‘Okay, you are right. I am married,’ he said, once they were outside in the cool fresh evening air. The lights of the bridges over the Thames were glittering below them: boats gliding past, dinner cruises, the Thames Clipper, little tugboats, marine police, all lit up like Vivienne’s jewels cast onto the rippled grey velvet of the water. The terrace was cleverly designed, with a high glass windbreak and long narrow tables on which guests could set their drinks and ashtrays. Tor moved along inexorably to the far end, nodding at the glamorous guests smoking and drinking, the TV presenters, the actors who supported the charity, the rent-a-celebs who would turn up anywhere for free drinks and whose famous faces would guarantee coverage of Cut Out Cancer’s event in the papers tomorrow.
‘I am married,’ he repeated as they reached the far end.
Christine wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she stared out through the sheet of glass at the far end, watching Blackfriars Bridge as an overground train stopped at the platform in the centre of the span, tiny people getting on and off. Christine wished she were at the station, heading home. Yes, she’d be alone, her head spinning with misery and anger and confusion, but at least she’d be avoiding this horribly awkward conversation. Tor was clearly about to try to convince her that his being married wasn’t a big deal, that his wife didn’t understand him . . .
‘But we have been separated for a year and a half,’ he added. Christine was staring at her own reflection in the glass, but now her eyes flickered sideways to Tor’s, by her side, his coppery hair glinting in the sunshine like a coronet. She watched his face intently as he continued: ‘My wife has a new boyfriend. She’s pregnant with his baby. So you see, yes, it is the truth that I am married – but things are not so simple as that sounds.’
Christine was still not ready to look at him directly.
‘Eva lives in Halmstad,’ he said. ‘It’s where we come from. She’s a small-town girl – she never wanted to travel much or see the world. We were together from school, and though my father and mother tried to tell me it was too early, we loved each other and wanted to get married young.
‘We were very happy for a while, but then I started to be away more and more. I got a job with a sportswear company, I built up their promotions with all sorts of crazy stunts – jumping off cliffs, things you do in your twenties when you’re young and stupid – and then I was asked to go on expeditions to promote the company. Soon, this turned into a job planning and leading them. I was away more and more, and Eva hated that. Neither of us would change for the other, and that was okay, you know? We’re the people we were supposed to be. But we were scared to admit it . . . until one day I came back from a trip after a couple of months and she told me she was in love with a guy she worked with, and I thought: “Yes, that’s right. That’s what should happen. She should be with Bo. He’s a nice guy and he’ll be better for her than I am.”’
He shrugged.
‘Eva pretty much moved out the day after that. I’m happy for them. We sorted it out fine – no one was in a big hurry to get the divorce papers organized, and I was travelling so much, it was difficult to manage things. But now she’s pregnant, we have to get on with it.’
Christine felt suddenly wobbly, all tension dissolved. She turned round slowly, resting one hand on the table beside her. She realized that she believed every word Tor was saying. Why would he bother to concoct such an elaborate explanation, when it could so easily be disproved? Everything was on the internet nowadays. The only reason he might have for lying to her was if he wanted to get her into bed tonight, before she had a chance to Google him and find out the truth; but he hadn’t tried to rush her in Sweden, and he wasn’t doing it now. If he were, he would be paying her more compliments, maybe putting his arms around her. But Tor was just standing there, telling her his story – no pressure at all.
‘Okay,’ she said, still confused about the ramifications of this information, but wanting to show him that she accepted his story.
‘I understand why you wouldn’t leave me a phone number now,’ Tor said, ‘and why you didn’t return my messages. But what I don’t see is who told you – Oh.’
He cleared his throat.
‘So. Angel told you I was married,’ he said. ‘Well. English people say all’s fair in love and war, but—’
‘No, it wasn’t Angel!’ Christine blurted out. He was her boyfriend, after all, bizarre though this situation was rapidly becoming, and he had never said a bad word about Tor; she felt compelled to defend his reputation.
Tor frowned in confusion.
‘Not Angel? But—’
‘It was Vivienne,’ she admitted.
That was all Christine was going to say. She certainly had no intention of telling Tor that Vivienne had not only misled Christine about the truth of Tor’s marital status, but deliberately informed her that Tor was a playboy who would never be content with just one woman. It wasn’t just that Vivienne was his godmother; Christine was aware that the career opportunity of a lifetime was tangled up in this. If Tor were to confront Vivienne about lying to Christine – because as he stood in front of her, those clear blue eyes fixed on hers, it was impossible for her to credit Vivienne’s description of him as promiscuous by nature – Vivienne might withdraw her insistence that Christine be the person at Berkeley to run the jewellery auction.
Having spent a good portion of the last month and a half by Vivienne’s side, Christine knew that Vivienne was by no means a compulsive liar. Clearly, the reason she had misled Christine about Tor was so that Christine would drop any interest in him and consider going out with Angel, mystifying though it was that Vivienne would care about that. But until the auction was done and dusted, Christine would have to be very careful not to jeopardize her big break.
‘Vivienne? But why would she do that?’ Tor exclaimed, thunderstruck. He showed all his emotions so transparently. It was impossible, in his presence, to believe he was a master manipulator.
‘Please, you can’t say anything to her,’ Christine said hastily. ‘I’m in the middle of the build-up to the auction – we have major buyers in town, and they’ll be meeting Vivienne if everything goe
s well –’
She glanced over at Lil’ Biscuit and Silantra, who were now on the balcony together with Prince Toby and Princess Sophie, who had come outside to smoke. Angel and Nicole were by their side; it was an intimate, cosy little group.
‘No, no, of course not,’ Tor said, frowning deeply. ‘But still – she is my godmother! So she knows very well that Eva and I are divorcing, about the baby she is having with Bo . . .’
He stopped, a thought having struck him.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So.’ His hand went up to ruffle his hair some more. ‘So,’ he repeated. ‘I think that my godmother decided that it was time for Angel to find a girlfriend, and she thought that you would be good for him.’
He nodded, confirming the theory to himself.
‘I am very fond of Vivienne, but I must be honest and say that she is the kind of person who thinks about herself first – and second. And maybe also third. You know that she had an affair with my grandfather, long ago? Well, sometimes she would get bored, and come back to Tylösand, and start things up again. He could never say no to her, and it made my grandmother very unhappy. And then she would leave after a few days, and my grandfather and grandmother would have to pick up the pieces. Of course, it was my grandfather’s fault too. My father would talk to me about it, just a little. He would say that once you have made a choice of a woman, you should not behave as my grandfather did. But, you know, she is Vivienne Winter, and it was difficult to resist. My mother would say there are lots of other men in the world, ones who aren’t married. I agree with her.’
He pulled a face.
‘It was difficult. My grandfather is dead now. My grandmother and he had many happy years at the end, and when Vivienne would come to the hotel, it would just be tea he would be invited to, nothing else. Still, he would go, always. And my grandmother was not so okay about that. Difficult, as I said.’
Christine believed this. It was impossible to spend time with Vivienne without noticing that her wonderful reminiscences were seen entirely through her own lens. Vivienne was superbly entertaining, full of saucy observations, deliciously frank; but the one thing missing from all her anecdotes was empathy for anyone but herself.
‘Vivienne is used to getting what she wants,’ Tor added. ‘If she wanted you for Angel, she would not hesitate to – well, bend the truth.’
‘I was thinking the same thing. But why would she choose me?’ Christine said, genuinely taken aback. ‘I’m just a normal person. I mean, look who Angel hangs out with!’
She gestured over to Princess Sophie, most of her long, slim body exposed by her tiny Pucci minidress, and Nicole in her glossy, chic glory, sleek black hair like a sheet of silk down the back of the peach suede dress, her limbs glowing with gold-flecked dry oil.
‘Why wouldn’t she want him to date one of those girls?’ she questioned. ‘I mean, he’s been out with Princess Sophie!’
‘Oh, I know Sophie a bit,’ Tor said, with a little smile. ‘She is a nice girl under all the silliness. But she is not the kind of girl you want for your grandson, not yet. There is still too much . . . silliness. You – you are a grown-up with a job, not a spoilt rich girl with a trust fund. I could tell that as soon as we started talking about your work. I know those women, and many more like them. They don’t have careers. They marry well, and they do it often. I understand completely that when Vivienne talked to you, and she saw that Angel liked you – because I noticed how he looked at you, it was obvious at once – she would think that here was a woman who would be good for him.’
He searched for a way of summing up, and found it.
‘You are a serious person. Even though you like to dance on beaches.’
‘I wasn’t dancing!’ Christine cringed, even though she couldn’t help giggling at this. ‘I was making shapes!’
‘It did look quite a lot like dancing,’ Tor said.
She giggled again, and it wasn’t because he was teasing her. The energy between them was so intense now that it was making her nervous.
‘Tor,’ she began, and instantly he said: ‘Yes, Christine?’ and took a step towards her, which didn’t help things at all. The breeze had picked up. She could feel it on the back of her neck, cooling her down, and she was hugely grateful for it, as she was sure the blood was rising in her cheeks. Tor’s cheeks were growing redder, too; and above the crisp white shirt collar, his carefully shaved neck was coming out in blotches. She wasn’t the only one here who was nervous.
She shouldn’t have said his name. There was a special power invoked when you called someone by their name, to their face; it intimated that the message you were sending was going to be important. You used it when you were telling someone off, breaking up with them; being – well, as Tor would put it, serious.
And as Christine was aware, this was probably the worst place in the world for this conversation. They might be in a little enclave at the end of the balcony, but they were fully visible to everyone inside the Rumpus Room through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Additionally, Christine’s boyfriend was at the other end of the balcony, not in the kind of compromising tête-à-tête in which she found herself, but in a large and friendly group. Her boyfriend – who also happened to be the beloved grandson of the woman who was responsible for the stratospheric rise in Christine’s career, and who was clearly invested in seeing Christine and Angel as a couple.
She took a step back, her shoulders pressing against the glass behind her.
‘This isn’t the time,’ she said. ‘I can’t. I have to make the auction happen. You know how much it means to me.’
‘Of course,’ he said instantly. ‘Yes, I understand.’
He rubbed his neck with his fingers; the blotches were still growing.
‘And you have the expedition – with Angel –’
‘Yes, with Angel,’ Tor agreed, and there was a certain light in his eyes that made Christine feel that Tor was thinking that when they were both up a mountain in the Andes, he would know, at least, that Angel was not in bed with Christine.
‘Well, hello, you two! Should I be jealous?’ came Angel’s light tenor voice, and his gold curls gleamed in the light of the setting sun as he appeared at Tor’s side – taller, more slender, and even more blindingly beautiful by contrast with the craggy-jawed Tor.
‘What have you two been gossiping about all this time?’ he asked. ‘Let me guess – me? Tor thinks I’m going to be a terrible liability to him on this expedition!’
He flashed his most charming smile as he lightly took hold of Tor’s shoulders, turned him to one side, and slid past to wind his arm around Christine’s waist.
‘No need to worry about me, though, Tor,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I’ve been training like a positive Olympian this last month, haven’t I?’
‘You have.’ Tor nodded. ‘I’ve been impressed.’
‘I know you only agreed to take me on because Granny Viv made an enormous donation,’ Angel said airily. ‘But I’m going to be a tremendous asset to the team, I promise. I won’t try to do more than I realistically can. I’m sure there’ll be some days when you and Toby will be all gung-ho – you’re all so very fit after going to the North Pole, or was it the South? – and I’ll have to go off for training walks by myself rather than make the rest of you hoick me up mountains and down crevasses . .
Angel’s desire to join Tor’s expedition, which he had announced a month ago, had taken everyone aback. Angel’s explanation was that a friend of his had been diagnosed with cancer, gone through treatment and been declared in remission, and that Angel was so relieved by the news that he had spontaneously decided to participate in the Climb Against Cancer, bought in by a large donation from Vivienne.
It had not been easy for him to convince Vivienne to help with this; she would much rather have had him safely at home, recuperating from the after-effects of his ‘radiation treatments’. But Angel had begged her for the contribution to the charity, saying that he felt morally obliged to help out after his i
llness, and promised her that his doctor had not only cleared him to be active, but commented that exercise, plus the clean mountain air, might be very beneficial to his recovery. He’d be careful, he promised his worried grandmother. He would not engage in any of the more extreme challenges. But he genuinely felt that being a part of the big fundraising expedition would be such a positive act that it would kick-start his recovery, psychologically as well as physically. Angel was sure, he told Vivienne, that he would return healthier than he had ever been, ready to start a family with his waiting girlfriend, and he had been so persuasive that Vivienne had reluctantly conceded.
Christine had been very moved by Angel’s story, which she had naturally accepted at face value, as had Tor; Angel was certainly gung-ho about heading off with the expedition. It had made her deeply impressed with Angel, that he would throw himself into such exhaustive training with very short notice to pay some kind of debt to the universe on his friend’s behalf.
Angel had been nothing but enthusiastic and positive about the challenge ahead of him. He had been working out with a personal trainer and with Tor. When he wasn’t in the gym, or eating the five carefully planned, high-protein, slow-release-carbohydrate daily meals designed for him by the expedition nutritionist, he was sleeping.
He couldn’t drink, and he had hardly any energy left over for sex – a first, he had told her. They talked on the phone, but spent very little time together. Christine had been surprised by how disappointed that had made her. Angel’s company was nothing short of dazzling: constantly entertaining, constantly stimulating, always taking her by surprise.
And although Christine was perpetually wary about what was, as it were, coming next sexually, dating Angel was such a thrill ride that she craved him when he was absent. He was the risky, dangerous bad boy that you knew you shouldn’t get serious about, because he would never stay; he’d tie you up, do all sorts of shocking things to you, make you beg and plead for more, and then disappear. But the twist in the tale was that Angel was staying. He called her his girlfriend. Christine had been mentioned in the gossip columns, the Evening Standard, the Mail, the Tatler, as his latest conquest. It was as official as it could possibly be; Vivienne had already mentioned Christine spending Christmas with them in Geneva.
Killer Diamonds Page 26
