Valentine thought about saying no, she had no particular desire to go to bed with Finn, but then she thought of Jack lying to her about Tamara. She stood up. 'What are you waiting for?'
'Oh God V, I'm close, yes, yes,' Finn was thrusting energetically into her and in the past she would have been right there with him. It wasn't as if he'd done anything different, in fact he'd actually gone out of his way to please her before himself (a first for Finn). But as he lay with his head between her legs she kept having flashbacks to him sucking at the oysters, which really wasn't going to hit the spot, so she put an end to that activity. And now she felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience, completely unmoved by his exertions. In fact, all she could think about was that she wished he'd bloody hurry up and get it over with. This had never happened before. She had always loved sex with Finn.
'Do that thing, babe,' he panted.
Fuck! Because she was feeling so angry with him she really didn't feel like doing that thing, not one little bit. Then again, if she did that thing it might speed it up. She slid her hands over his buttocks and, well, there was no other way of dressing this up – put her finger up his arse. Finn quivered at her touch and the thrusts got more intense, the groans deeper.
'Oh God, I'm coming . . .' One final pant and then he collapsed on top of her.
Halle-fucking-lujah, it was over.
'That was so good, V! You see, we do belong together.'
Valentine couldn't bring herself to answer. All she could think about was Jack shouting that she and Finn deserved each other.
It was a relief when he left the following morning. Ironically during the night he had been the one who had put his arm round her as they slept. All those times she had longed to be held by him and now she felt suffocated by his embrace. She managed to get out of seeing him that night, instead watching Breakfast at Tiffany's with Lily. Frank was out with his some of his musician friends, something that Valentine knew made Lily tense. Frank had been dry for five years, but it hadn't been easy and the people he was seeing tonight were all hard drinkers. The film was to distract Lily from worrying, but Valentine had forgotten how emotional the ending was – what with Holly Golightly abandoning her cat, which made Valentine cry and she didn't even like cats, then leaving Paul Varjak, the writer she was in love with, then the scene of them being reconciled in the pouring rain in Manhattan. But as Valentine cried, Lily remained resolutely dry-eyed. As the credits rolled to the haunting strains of 'Moon River' (the tune that had already made Valentine cry earlier on in the film) she turned to Lily and exclaimed, 'I can't believe you didn't cry.'
'Real life is so much more upsetting,' Lily replied. 'And anyway I prefer the book, which doesn't have a happy ending. So much more realistic.'
This wasn't like Lily; she was usually a hopeless romantic. Valentine hadn't wanted to upset Lily by telling her about Finn's revelation about Jack. But as she appeared to be in a cynical frame of mind, Valentine thought she may as well.
'Jack was seeing Tamara before we broke up.'
Lily frowned. 'I don't believe it. Why do you say that?'
'Finn told me.'
'And he would have no vested interest in you thinking badly of Jack?' She sighed and said more gently, 'The last thing Finn would want is for you to be obsessing over Jack. V, sometimes you're very naïve.'
'Oh.' Suddenly Valentine wanted to end the conversation. It was too painful. She offered to make some tea.
Lily smiled and shook her head. 'Actually I think I'll have a small brandy while I wait for Frank. But you go to bed; you look exhausted.'
Valentine stifled a yawn. 'I'll stay up if you want me to.' The nights spent obsessing about Jack had taken their toll.
'No, no, I'll be fine. Frank said he would be back around midnight.'
Upstairs Valentine looked yet again at the production website of King Lear, which carried several photos of Jack. Googling Jack had become her new guilty and torturous pleasure – more pain than pleasure it had to be said. She read his reviews, which were just glowing. Jack was clearly destined to go far. But not even the less-than-glowing reviews of Tamara could cheer her up. She was on the rack.
She was just about to go to bed when she heard Frank banging on Lily's door and shouting. He sounded drunk. Oh God, poor Lily. Valentine padded downstairs, but as she opened the front door and looked down to the second-floor landing she froze, transfixed by the scene in front of her. A very drunk Frank was slumped against the wall with Lily beside him. Tears were coursing down his face. 'Don't leave me, Lily,' he kept saying over and over again. 'Please don't. I can't go on without you. We waited all this time to be together; don't leave me now.' Valentine didn't know whether to go to the couple or stay out of it. Was Frank saying these things because he felt guilty for getting drunk, or for some other reason? Lily didn't seem angry, more resigned. She caught sight of Valentine and mouthed, 'It's OK.' It didn't seem OK, but Valentine quietly shut the door and tiptoed upstairs, wondering what had triggered Frank's drinking. Then she reached for her phone and read through all the messages Jack had ever sent her. Was Lily right? Were happy endings unrealistic?
The following day she knocked on Lily's door before going swimming, but there was no reply – she was probably exhausted after her late night. As she walked back from the Porchester Centre after a mile of front crawl, Greta called. Piers had an unexpected window; could she meet him for a coffee? After establishing it was just going to be with Piers – she really didn't think she could face seeing Olivia and Saul – Valentine agreed to meet him at The Connaught in Mayfair. Its timeless elegance and air of wealth suited Piers – anywhere luxurious suited Piers, whereas Valentine felt like an imposter. This time, to her surprise, Piers hugged her in place of the usual hand-shake. He seemed less in control and less sure of himself than usual.
'Valentine, I do hope that Manchester wasn't too upsetting for you. I thought it about it afterwards and it must have been difficult seeing Jack with Tamara. I wanted to say that I'm really sorry that we put you in that position.'
'It wasn't a barrel of laughs,' Valentine replied, reluctant to divulge any more details.
Piers sighed. 'I think Olivia is finding the whole father/daughter thing very challenging. I know she hasn't been quite as welcoming as she might have been.'
Valentine was in no mood to contradict him.
'You've probably gathered that we couldn't have children. We tried every possible treatment.' He shook his head sadly. 'It took its toll, especially on Olivia. That's where her obsession with hygiene started.' Valentine had never seen this side of Piers; he was really opening up to her. His expression brightened. 'Which is why, for me, finding out about you has been so wonderful. Though I am mindful of all the wasted years. I keep looking at that photograph album you gave me. I so wish I'd known about you earlier.'
'Mum did write to you,' Valentine said gently.
'So you said; I just don't understand why I never received the letters. Anyway, I suppose it's pointless to dwell on the past; I want to think about our future.' He paused. 'I wondered if you might consider moving into the flat at my Hampstead house for a while. At the moment my schedule is so manic and I feel I've hardly seen you.'
Valentine hadn't been expecting this. 'Won't Olivia mind?'
'I don't think so. I've taken things slowly and respected her feelings, but right now I'm more concerned about you and me.' He paused again. 'I would like to help you further your career and I know Olivia agrees with me on this. You'll have everything you need at your disposal – a personal shopper, a chef, a personal trainer.' He looked slightly awkward. Was this about establishing a relationship or getting Valentine to lose weight?
'Do you think I'm too fat to get on then?' she asked, feeling hurt. God! Wasn't it enough that her heart was broken? Now her own father thought she was fat.
'Not at all! I just want to help you. You know how ruthless the film industry is about size.'
'So you're offering me a place at Fat Cam
p?' Valentine retorted, still smarting from her interpretation of Piers's offer.
'Please, Valentine, I'm sorry if it sounded like that. I asked because I would like to see more of you.'
'Don't you mean you want to see less of me?'
Piers shook his head. 'It was Olivia who suggested the personal trainer. I think she was just trying to be helpful.'
Valentine doubted it, but even with the fat-camp angle, it was still quite a tempting offer. The flat was horribly empty without Lauren and maybe (though she didn't hold out much hope on this score) a change of scene would help her get over Jack, or at least distract her from thinking about him quite so obsessively. 'Can I think about it?'
'Of course,' Piers replied. 'Take as long as you want.'
Back home she knocked on Lily's door and this time she answered. She was still dressed in her pyjamas and not wearing a scrap of make-up, which was most unlike Lily, who usually was in full make-up from the moment she woke up. 'How's Frank?' Valentine asked.
'He's sleeping it off. He's just been to AA.' She sighed. 'It's going to take him a while to get back on track.'
'Why did he do it?' Valentine asked.
Lily shrugged. 'It just happens, but he'll be all right.'
'And what about you?' Valentine persisted. 'Are you all right?'
'Of course I am.' And before Valentine could press her further she changed the subject. 'Now tell me what you've been up to today. I haven't been out because of Frank and feel as if I've got cabin fever.'
Valentine quickly filled her in on Piers's offer, thinking that Lily was bound to tell her not to do it.
'What a fabulous idea! And Hampstead, how lovely to be by the heath in the summer. And it will give you more time to get to know Piers. I definitely think you should go.'
Valentine was taken aback; she hadn't expected this reaction, but if Lily thought she should, maybe she should. After all, she had nothing to lose. Right now the flat felt so full of memories, it would be good to go somewhere new. Her mum had the same reaction when she told her, as did Finn. In fact, Valentine could practically see him rubbing his hands in glee at the prospect of a luxury pad and a chance to network. Valentine still wasn't convinced. But then on her late-night Google she found a picture of Tamara and Jack leaving a restaurant in Manchester arm in arm. Maybe it was time to move on.
14
Hampstead Hell
As Valentine waited at the ferociously spiky gates of Piers's mansion for Ivana to buzz her in she wondered if she was doing the right thing. True, it would be good to spend more time with Piers and to get to know him better. He still seemed so different from her. If she hadn't had the results of the DNA test herself she doubted she could have believed that they were related. But there was also Olivia to contend with, and whatever Piers may have said, somehow Valentine doubted that she wanted her there. The gates slid open and Valentine picked up her case and walked towards the front door. Ivana opened it, as unsmiling as ever – maybe she hadn't forgiven Valentine for the deep clean.
'Good afternoon, Miss Fleming. Mr Hunter has asked me to show you to your new apartment.' She handed Valentine the regulation white cotton slippers. 'Now if you'll please follow me.' Valentine reached for her suitcase, but Ivana stopped her. 'Please leave. Sergei will do that.'
'Isn't Piers here?' Valentine asked, surprised that he wasn't there to meet her on her first day as she trailed after Ivana, who was marching briskly across the marble floor, quite a feat in the cotton slippers. No wonder Ivana had such over-developed calf muscles.
'Mr Hunter was called away unexpectedly with Mrs Hunter. They will be back in five days.'
'Oh.' Surprise turned to disappointment.
At the far end of the hallway a door led to the basement flat. 'You will also be able to access the flat from outside. I will show you later,' Ivana said as they went down the stairs and into a huge living room. It was furnished in a similar minimalist style to the upstairs living room, with far too much white for Valentine's liking, and it was just as chilly. She walked over to the heavily barred French doors that led out to the garden, intending to open them and let in some warmth. There was a sharp intake of breath from Ivana. 'Miss Fleming, none of these windows or doors must be opened; Mrs Hunter insists on it. There is air-conditioning and the temperature is strictly regulated. Also the air is filtered. And we had a break-in last year, so security is of the upmost importance.'
Suddenly Valentine felt extremely claustrophobic; she was an open-window kind of girl.
'Now please see this,' Ivana went on, sliding a panel on a white fitted cupboard to reveal row upon row of DVDs. 'These are all films that Mr Hunter recommends you should see.'
'Not all tonight,' Valentine joked, while Ivana stared at her blankly; she clearly didn't do humour.
'Of course not. It would take at least a month to see all of them.'
Ivana then led her to the bedroom, another vision in white, which reminded Valentine of a hotel room. Everything looked incredibly expensive and brand new, as if no one had ever lived here. It made Valentine feel profoundly ill at ease, as if she was in a show flat. Ivana showed her the kitchen next.
'These must be a bugger to keep clean,' Valentine joked, pointing at the shiny white units.
Ivana frowned. 'No, it is easy.' Though possibly no one had ever even boiled a kettle, never mind cooked in the cutting-edge but decidedly uncosy kitchen. Valentine had a sudden pang for her ramshackle Westbourne Park kitchen, yellow walls and all. The bathroom turned out to be a wet room with no bath – just a massive shower head in the middle of the room and floor-to-ceiling black marble tiles. There was no window. Valentine had a horror of bathrooms with no window. She also preferred baths. A long bath with a glass of red wine at the end of the day was one of her most favourite things. Showers just said 'morning' to her; they were too wash-and-go for her liking.
'Is there a bath?' Valentine asked hopefully.
'No bath. Mrs Hunter thinks they are unhygienic. And it is true.' Ivana suddenly sounded impassioned. 'All that wallowing in your own dirt and dead skin, like swine. Disgusting! Vile! Filthy!'
Valentine looked at her. Oh. My. God. The woman was deranged. Possibly she'd been breathing in too many chemicals from all the cleaning products she had to use to keep the house up to Olivia's exacting standards.
Ivana seemed to collect herself. 'I apologise, that was extreme. I just don't like baths.'
'Why not?' Valentine couldn't resist asking.
'I have my reasons,' Ivana replied mysteriously. 'Anyway, you like the apartment?'
'Yes, it's lovely,' Valentine lied, thinking that she must be the most ungrateful person in the world.
'There are just a few things you need to know. The apartment will be cleaned every day, with a complete change of linen and towels.'
Valentine interrupted her. 'Oh no, there's no need to do that! It's so environmentally unfriendly.'
Another frown from Ivana, who probably thought she was a filthy beast. 'Every other day if you prefer. You will be able to order food and drink from this list.' She handed a small booklet to Valentine. 'For tonight the chef has prepared you a salad. It is in the fridge. I understand that you are on a special diet, no?'
'Well, yes, I am trying to lose a little weight,' Valentine replied, slightly put out as she flicked through the menus.
Ivana nodded. 'Just so you know, we have been asked not to supply you with any items of unhealthy food.'
'Oh my God!' Valentine couldn't help exclaiming. 'So I have been sent to fat camp!' At size ten she was now the slimmest she had ever been. Did Olivia and Piers really believe that she had further to go?
Ivana frowned. 'Is not fat farm, is Mr Hunter's house. Mrs Hunter simply feels it is best to take temptation away. It is the regime she herself follows. Also Kelly, your personal trainer, is arriving at eight tomorrow morning. If that is all I will leave you to get settled in.'
Valentine nodded, too stunned to speak. As Ivana padded silently to the door she
turned and said, 'There is just one more thing. Mrs Hunter asks that you do not have red wine in the apartment. And of course no smoking.' Valentine had a sudden and powerful craving for a large glass of red wine and a cigarette.
It took less than ten minutes to unpack all her belongings. There didn't seem to be any bookshelves, so she had to stack her books on the white dressing table and almost immediately she felt comforted by seeing the familiar titles. Then she wandered into the kitchen and checked out the fridge. All it contained were rows of bottled water, wheatgrass, a bottle of champagne (now that looked promising) and the salad. The tiny salad, Valentine thought as she took it out of the fridge. She had often fantasised about having a personal chef to make her meals, but frankly if this was the best they could come up with, they could stick it. It was some kind of tuna salad, consisting mainly of a variety of leaves and fresh seared tuna. There didn't appear to be any dressing. Valentine only really liked tuna when it was smothered in mayonnaise and even though she was hungry she just picked at it. How very A-list of her.
She checked out the other cupboards, which contained a variety of healthy food and drink; miso, tofu, brown rice, green tea and aduki beans, absolutely nothing that she felt like eating. God, she needed a drink, but it was only four o'clock and it didn't seem appropriate to open the bottle of champagne, though if she and Lauren ever had any booze in the house they always drank it. Lauren declared that deferred gratification was for wimps. Valentine had imagined having a leisurely lunch with Piers and then going for a walk on Hampstead Heath for some more daughter/father bonding time. She sighed; she didn't feel comfortable enough in the apartment yet to curl up and read the Sunday papers and if she was honest the lack of fresh air was already bugging her. She was developing the itchy nose and scratchy-eyed feeling that air-con always gave her. She'd go out, have a coffee, get to know Hampstead – maybe go to the Everyman and see a film on her own. How very grown up.
But Hampstead on a Sunday afternoon did not improve her mood. Everyone was out with friends or family and as she strolled down the High Street she suddenly felt overwhelmed with loneliness. She reached for her phone and was about to call Lauren but realised it was eight in the morning in San Francisco and Lauren did not do mornings. She then tried Kitty, but her phone was switched off. Her mum was at work and Lottie was rehearsing a student production. So even though she was trying to break her dependency on Finn she called him, but got his voicemail too. She wandered into Caffè Nero and without thinking ordered a frappe latte. She was halfway through her favourite drink when she remembered she wasn't supposed to be drinking such calorific things. Bollocks! She really should leave half of it, but no, it was her favourite drink, and the salad really hadn't hit the spot – she'd work out extra hard with the personal trainer. She carried on drinking and just hoped that Olivia hadn't sent Ivana to spy on her. She could just imagine Ivana stalking her with a long-lensed camera, her thin lips pursing in disapproval as she saw Valentine sipping her drink. Or maybe it was the lack of food making her hallucinate. She finished the latte, then walked up to the Everyman cinema.
Valentine Page 20
