by Fiona Walker
‘What the Christ?’ He spun around, his cool eyes taking in the yellow peril behind him and narrowing.
‘I might have guessed,’ he sighed. ‘Really, Tash, if you want to attract my attention, you can just say my name.’
The rapacious blonde found this extremely funny. Tash failed to muster a glint of a smile.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she said as sincerely as she could, even though she was secretly rather pleased with her gaffe. ‘Send me the dry cleaning bill.’
‘Sure.’ He made to turn away, but Tash – spurred by Henrietta’s gallant nerve – decided that now was her chance to perform at least one of her duties, however reluctantly.
‘I hear you and Zoe have been seeing quite a lot of one another?’ she asked without subtlety, wanting to get her promise over and done with.
‘Have we?’ Hugo turned back unwillingly. ‘No more than usual.’ He shrugged carelessly.
‘Oh.’ Tash was rather taken aback. Perhaps he was being cagey. She decided to test the ground.
‘She’s lovely, isn’t she?’ she asked, just as Hugo stretched his empty glass towards a very hairy member of Bea Meredith’s staff who was dispensing freshly squeezed orange juice from a jug.
Studying the fluffy-chinned woman, Hugo raised an eyebrow as his glass was filled. ‘If you say so, Tash,’ he said condescendingly.
Tash ploughed on. ‘Yes – I mean, she has two teenage kids and a hell of a workload, and yet she still looks so glamorous all the time, and is tirelessly patient and friendly.’ She held out her two glasses to the withered, hirsute hag in the white pinny who looked as though she should have been pensioned off at around the time of decimalisation.
Hugo, glasses refilled, lingered on, fascinated by the conversation. Behind him, the blonde had melted away, shooting Tash dirty looks. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Of course.’ Tash regarded him in mild astonishment, wondering if he saw another, less amiable side to Zoe – perhaps she was a secret sex siren. ‘She’s also wildly attractive, and she has that cool, blonde charm I’d just kill for,’ Tash said ardently. ‘I mean, I’m sure a lot of men would just die to be with her.’
His forehead creased, Hugo regarded the hairy waitress again, his face a study of attempted concentration. ‘Well, she looks as though she’s out-lived a fair few, yes.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say!’ Tash gasped. ‘She looks incredibly young for her age. She’s only two years older than Kirsty,’ she pointed out indiscreetly.
‘Now that is bitchy,’ he murmured, his eyes dancing with sudden malice. ‘I’d almost say you were trying to set me up here, Tash.’
She flushed, realising that she had been as utterly indiscreet as ever – blunderingly steering him to exactly where she had her feet glued into the deepest, stickiest of holes.
She shrugged as coolly as she could and scratched her nose. ‘You could do a lot worse.’
Hugo laughed, still staring at her as though she was mad. ‘Like what? A positively ancient Scottish event rider?’
Tash squirmed inside her yellow PVC, realising she was nosing far too far into his personal life. But, remembering her promise, she decided to go for broke. For some crazy reason her heart was going ten-fold to the baker’s dozen in her chest and her cheeks were starting to flame with colour now. She realised to her amazement that she actually wanted to carry out India’s ludicrous instructions.
‘I know it’s none of my business—’
‘Quite,’ he snapped.
‘—but Kirsty is engaged,’ Tash gabbled.
‘I know that.’ He took a slurp of his drink too quickly, showing a very pink tongue as he licked a drop of juice from his lip. His blue eyes were lapping hers up, one moment icily angry, the next conceitedly amused. Suddenly, he looked at her very worriedly, his head tipping forward so that his voice could drop to a breath and still be heard. ‘Do you think I should give her up?’
Tash was slightly disturbed by the gravity of his question, but felt that it was a distinct moment of breakthrough on India’s behalf.
‘Well, I think it would be best for her sake,’ she replied carefully. ‘I mean, she stands to get really hurt if this goes on much longer. Richie is coming over to stay next month, after all.’
‘Right – yes, so true.’ He nodded earnestly, seeming to absorb this. ‘I can see that. You really do have her best interests at heart, don’t you, Tash?’
Tash didn’t like the way he said that. And a flicker in his eyes startled her – they were like the flint sparks of a gas hob waiting for ignition. She had seen just that look before and knew for certain that it preceded an explosion of such velocity that she’d lose her eyebrows.
‘I just thought—’ she bleated, desperate to back-track and explain.
‘And may I say how flattered I am that you take such a keen interest in my love life,’ Hugo continued, his voice as icy as Sophia’s champagne. ‘To the point of trying to involve yourself in it directly by sending me a Valentine’s card plastered with semi-nude pictures of yourself.’
‘But that was a mistake—’ Tash felt herself burning under an instant blush of mortification as she realised what he was saying and how loudly he was saying it. Niall was just yards away.
‘Which I have to thank you for, incidentally,’ he stormed on, ‘as it’s caused great amusement amongst my staff who’ve pinned it to the tack-room wall.’
‘Oh, God!’ Tash covered her eyes in shame. ‘It wasn’t—’
‘But as I haven’t the slightest interest in you sexually, darling,’ he hissed, his voice again dropping to a snarl that only she could hear, ‘I suggest you butt out and leave me alone before I ask Niall to prise you off.’ He grinned maliciously. ‘And I shouldn’t imagine he’d be too pleased to hear how your affections wander so rampantly while he’s away filming his little pics, would he?’
With that, he turned on his heel and left her mouthing at thin air like a trumpeter who’s suddenly found his instrument whipped away.
‘Tash darling!’ Alexandra raced in from the left, bangles jangling. ‘Henrietta and I have just been planning everything down to the last T. I think the reception flowers should be all white and buckets of rustic corn-structure things to represent your vocation, don’t you? Have you been having a nice chat with Hugo? I heard Niall asked him to be an usher earlier today.’
‘He did?’ Tash asked weakly.
‘Yes – Hugo seemed delighted. Said he’d always wanted to tell your family exactly where to go.’
Eleven
* * *
IN VERY HIGH DUDGEON, Matty was not talking to Sally at all. He was horrified that she had even met up with Lisette again, let alone taken a job with her behind his back. Within minutes of the revelation, he had packed all the children into the car and was waiting sulkily in it, listening to Any Questions on the radio at full blast.
Sally had two more drinks and did another circuit of the room to irritate him.
James had been hitting the red wine more often than he should have done because Emily was driving them all back to Berkshire later (she liked driving the Jag to these occasions because her step-father always got so pissed that he fell asleep and failed to notice the fact she was doing over a ton in the fast lane for most of the return journey).
He was also drinking too much because he found the family that his older daughter had married into intimidating. A Calvinist corporate achiever who had worked eighty-hour weeks throughout his thirties and forties to enjoy the benefits of an affluent life, he was continually aware of his own inadequacies – particularly his failure to be knighted, which always irked him. He was immensely proud of Sophia’s progress, of her position and standing, yet found himself increasingly in her shadow nowadays. She was a gossip-column regular, whilst he very occasionally made it into the business pages. As the sternest of father figures, this unsettled him. He was aware of her continuing respect, her uncompromising love of him, but her aristocratic marriage and title tainted thi
s. And her stuffy, stand-offish in-laws – particularly Ben’s terrifying mother, Bea, and deaf, barking father, Henry – made him feel about twelve. They were amazed and ‘charmed’ that he still had to work for a living. James, who ran one of the most successful venture capital institutions in the City, didn’t want to charm people, he wanted to frighten them. This haughty, haw-haw world, although alluring and in many ways enviable, was not his own. He could sneer all he liked when he was away from it, but when he was confronted with it, as now, it made him feel left out.
He was therefore rather staggered that they all appeared to take to Niall so easily – his big-hearted charm and loud, riotous humour delighting them, his star-status exciting them. James was continually astonished that everything was so easy for this Irish braggart, just because he was good-looking, way out and gilded with that elixir of popularity – fame. They even seemed more willing to accept Tash by association. James had once been ashamed of his younger daughter; now he was appalled and angered to find himself jealous of her too. Her recent snub about not being given away by him – a topic he himself was aware of bringing up in a fit of petty spite – served to compound his niggling irritation with her. He was itching to air his animosity. And he was now very drunk.
They were gathered by the door as Tash and Niall made to leave – Sophia and Henrietta talking weddings, Alexandra and Ben talking holidays, and Tash and Niall talking cars. All spoke at once in a cacophony of noise – deep, light, husky and sharp voices all fighting for air space like multifarious plane engines at an airshow. Only Emily and Beccy, now bored to oblivion by the whole proceedings, kept silent. Lurching up with a full glass of red wine, James cut across them all.
‘So – you’re getting hitched at last, Tash,’ he said forcefully, fighting not to slur his words. ‘Wondered when we’d finally palm you off on some poor sod.’
Tash, hardened to his scorn, took a while to realise quite how sarcastic he was being; Niall was far too drunk to notice.
‘Still, runt of the litter’s always the last to go,’ he muttered, patting her quite heavily on the back. ‘Shame you’ve landed yourself with a chap who flirts with all the pretty women in the room, but I suppose that’s part of the deal with this celebrity caper. I just hope he plays around a long way from home – these actor types all seem rather indiscreet.’
‘James!’ Alexandra was horrified. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Just saying she won’t keep him faithful, that’s all.’ James shrugged, instantly realising that his hurt and anger had propelled him too far, but equally unwilling to repent and apologise. ‘I mean, the chap’s already been married once. And with all these actress totties around, he’s hardly likely to want to come home to fat little Tash every night.’ His eyes were focused in the middle-distance, still seeing the chubby toddler, superimposed with her adult face.
‘For Christ’s sake, James!’ Alexandra snapped, looking to Henrietta for support. But she was gazing at the floor in shame, unwilling to move for fear of making things worse.
Sophia was still gassing on about the need for a matron of honour, unaware that no one was listening to her. Giggling with repressed delight at their step-father’s drunken ire, Emily and Beccy shot furtive glances at one another. Beside Tash, Niall was looking mildly confused but uncomprehending, his main focus of attention still concentrated on a dud lighter with which he was trying to light the cigarette that dangled from his mouth. Ben, who had been wandering around with a bottle of champagne to refill glasses, cleared his throat noisily and examined a nearby oil painting as though seeing it for the first time.
Tash was mortified. Backing away, she felt a lump the size of a house brick gag her breath as the inevitable tears started to clog her vision. It was as though someone had kneed her hard in the chest; she could barely breathe, her lungs aflame.
‘Don’t take offence, Tash,’ her father said almost amiably, his eyes fighting to focus on her as he swayed to one side. ‘Just stating a few facts.’
‘Is that really what you think of me?’ she croaked, barely able to see him for the scalding well of tears. ‘And of Niall?’ She glanced towards him for support, but he had wandered off to cadge a light now, drunkenly approaching various of Ben’s relatives.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ her father snapped gruffly, trying to muster a laugh to gloss over his explosion. ‘I just think you might have bitten off more than you can chew, poppet.’
‘I see.’ Her voice warbled ludicrously, as though limbering up for a yodel. ‘In that case, I think I should spit something out fast. You are going to give me away after all, Daddy.’ She wiped away her tears furiously as she glared at him. ‘Forget what I said earlier. When Niall and I get hitched you can fulfil a lifetime’s ambition – my lifetime to be precise. Because for every bloody second of it you’ve wanted to give me away and now you’ve got your chance. Sorry that it’s twenty-seven years too late, but it’s the best give-away offer you’ll get all summer!’
Blindly, she tore away from the group and ran slap into Bea Meredith whose glass spun to the floor and shattered into smithereens.
‘For Christ’s sake, you great clumsy girl – that was Waterford!’ she boomed.
Sobbing, Tash sprinted with streaming eyes along a side hall to the huge landing and then threw herself down the vast, ornate marble stairs two at a time.
Coming the other way, Hugo flattened himself against a mahogany banister and watched in alarm. As Tash passed him, she tripped blindly and almost fell down the last ten steps. Hugo grabbed her arm just in time, ripping the cheap yellow fabric to the shoulder where it gaped like a peeled banana.
‘You okay?’ he asked gruffly, then, taking in her tear-stained face, he looked genuinely worried. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’m fine,’ Tash croaked in a strangled wail. ‘Just throwing myself at you as ever, Hugo – and trying to get you to rip my clothes off me. Looks like it worked, huh?’
With that, she bolted off, sobbing even more loudly, her humiliation never more complete.
Racing outside for refuge, she found herself in the dusty Renault in embarrassingly close vicinity to her brother, who was still sulking in the Audi parked alongside, waiting for the errant Sally to join him, Any Answers blaring loudly. Thankfully he was buried in Umberto Eco and didn’t look up, only moving when Jonathan Dimbleby started asking for comments on divorce statistics, when he cranked up the volume even more.
Smoking two cigarettes on the trot and feeling sick as a result, Tash waited ten minutes by which time she could see again, although her eyes were as puffy and raw as two fresh scalds from an iron.
She craned around to look for signs of Niall, but he was nowhere. Far from leaping to her defence, he appeared to be still partying with the enemy. She scrutinised the grand stone steps up to Holdham’s gaping entrance for movement.
For a moment, her heart leaped with relief as she saw a tall, dark man swooping out in true romantic hero style, and then it plummeted towards the rubber floor mats as she realised who it was.
She shrank down in her seat as Hugo stomped outside, protected from the cold by a vast coat he appeared to have borrowed, banging his hands together for warmth and breathing out in great gusts. It lent him the wildly romantic look of a bygone Russian prince, hair flopping over his straighter than straight nose, collar turned up to his ears against the chill. Tash longed for a revolutionary Bolshevik to pop out from behind a bay tub and cosh him. Instead he strode towards his car unchecked, his breath clouding in front of him like a ghost indulging in a secret kiss.
For a moment she thought that he was going to drive home, but he merely unlocked his car with an electronic tweet, took out some fags and wandered back into the house again. Tash let out her trapped breath, relieved that he hadn’t spotted her.
Niall had now failed to come in search of her for over quarter of an hour. Tash started to snivel again. Perhaps her father was right – he was probably glad to be rid of her and flirting like mad with some o
f Sophia’s glamorous modelling cronies. Starting the engine with an elongated, throaty rattle, she reversed sharply out of her parking space, nearly ploughing down Ben’s great-aunt who furiously tried to scrape the side of the Renault with her Zimmer frame. Tash accelerated down the long, shadowy drive in a flurry of gravel, forgetting to put on her headlights and consequently flattening two pheasants and a rat.
The air between Matty and Sally had no time to clear.
When he discovered that Tash had left without him, Niall begged a lift as far as London, planning to take the train on to Marlbury from there. Sally was booted into the back with the kids who sprawled loose-limbed and exhausted across her, unaware of the adults being childish overhead. Matty wanted to listen to Radio 4, Niall demanded Radio 1 and Sally put in a bid for Radio 2 just to be churlish. Matty wanted the windows closed, Niall open; he wanted to chain-smoke, Matty protested as a recent non-smoker; Matty thought the motorways would be the fastest way home, Niall preferred the scenic route. Sally suggested that they all get out and walk to save time. At least the children slept throughout, which eased her tension. And by the time they had passed Banbury on the M40, Niall was asleep too, his head flopping back between the seat and the passenger window so that Sally had a lapful of his hair and a bird’s-eye view of his nose quivering under each breath.
‘Poor sod’s knackered.’ Matty broke his silence momentarily as he looked across at Niall. ‘Should we really drop him off at Paddington, d’you think, or bring him back with us for a sleep and a clean up?’
‘Paddington,’ Sally muttered, staring out at the strobe-like flashes of passing street-lights. ‘He and Tash have so little time together as it is.’
‘Would have had a damn sight more if she’d driven him home,’ Matty hissed, before resuming his stony silence for the remainder of the journey.
Sally pressed her face to her daughter’s sleeping head and wished that she had told Matty about going to Hugo’s party earlier. She’d have to lie now. There was no way he’d forgive her for a wild night out with Lisette.
