Thank God the classic An Affair to Remember was on – she really didn't think she was up to a double bill of Tarkosvky. She relaxed for the first time that day as she sank into one of the seats and the lights dimmed. Here at least she didn't feel as if she was being judged; she could even nip out for a box of popcorn or a Green and Black's ice-cream and no one would notice. In fact she restricted herself to popcorn (salted, fewer calories) and a glass of red wine – a large glass and admittedly calorific, but red wine was good for you, wasn't it? And as she wasn't going to be able to drink it at home, she'd have to make up for it when she was out. Valentine had expected the film to be a bit of froth – all lovely nineteen fifties outfits and quips between Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant. There were indeed lovely fifties outfits, but what she hadn't bargained for was quite what a tearjerker it was. It was so tragic! She didn't know which was worse – the part where Terry, Deborah Kerr's character, gets hit by a car on her way to meet Nickie (Cary Grant's character) at the top of the Empire State building and he thinks she doesn't love him anymore and that's why she hasn't turned up; or the scene at the ballet when they meet by chance and he doesn't realise that she is paralysed from the accident as she is sitting down.
Valentine left the cinema feeling an emotional wreck, her state of mind accessorised by streaks of mascara. More wine was needed. She went into an off-licence on Hampstead High Street. There she had another pang of homesickness – there were no boys to fool around with, only a rather haughty-looking man. Nor were there any three-for-two offers. Valentine didn't recognise any of the wines and ended up buying a couple of bottles at around the six-pound mark. The haughty-looking man looked even haughtier; evidently Valentine had just purchased the wine equivalent of Diamond White.
Back at the apartment, Valentine opened one of the bottles of wine. In spite of the popcorn and the latte she was starving again. It was fortunate then that she had also bought a packet of pistachio nuts from the off-licence. She wandered aimlessly round the living room, not knowing what to do with herself. It was so quiet here. She was used to hearing the sound of traffic and people walking by. She felt sealed off from the world. Now come on, where's your backbone? She tried telling herself. This is the perfect opportunity to get to know Piers and get in shape at the same time. She walked over to the cabinet with the DVDs and looked through the titles. There were many that she had seen and many others that she knew she should – Citizen Kane for example. But she was so emotionally drained from An Affair to Remember, she really didn't feel up to watching anything else. She set up her laptop on the elegant glass table in the living room and let out a shriek of horror as she shifted it into position and managed to make a large scratch on the glass. Oh my God, could you French polish glass? Why did rich people always have such wildly impractical furniture? Was it just another way of flaunting their wealth? She took a large slug of wine to steady her nerves, hoping Ivana wouldn't notice the scratch, and switched on the computer. It was Google Jack time. She found an article detailing his relationship with Tamara, full of quotes from her about how Jack was her rock, her soulmate, how he completed her, blah blah blah. The celeb mag was in raptures over Jack's physique – phwoar just about covered it – and they'd printed a picture of him as Edmund, looking particularly manly, stripped to the waist. Even the celeb mag, which usually drooled over waxed chests, was quite taken with the hair.
She put her head in her hands; she couldn't bear to look anymore. She picked up her phone. Maybe she could text him, say well done again, open up some kind of communication with him, tell him about her worries over Lily and Frank. She got as far as selecting his name and then put the phone down again. In the end there was nothing for it but to go to bed. She couldn't face the power shower, even though the air-con was making her feel cold. She curled up in bed in her PJs and socks, holding on to Jack's T-shirt as if it were a talisman that could bring him back, but it was losing its scent; soon there would be nothing left.
She woke suddenly at one a.m. and for a few disorientated seconds couldn't work out where she was. It was so dark in the apartment and she was used to the comforting orange glow of the street light filtering through her curtains back home. The only sound was the monotonous click and hum of the air-con. She needed fresh air. Forgetting all about Ivana's warning, she padded into the lounge and opened the French doors and stepped outside. It was a beautiful night, a full moon holding court in the sky. She breathed in the air, relishing its sweetness and freshness after the recycled air of the apartment. This was what she needed – maybe she could ask Piers to let her have the air-con off.
She walked further into the garden, down some stone steps and on to the perfectly kept lawn – silvery green in the moonlight. Suddenly a spotlight was shone directly into her eyes, while a male voice shouted from behind her: 'Armed Response guard. Put your hands in the air and do not move!'
Fuck! 'But I live here,' Valentine protested, praying there weren't any Dobermanns lurking nearby. She'd never trusted them after seeing The Omen. She heard an ominous growl. She wondered if she could outrun the dog. She had been working really hard at her running. Any plans for escape went out of her head as the guard came into view, struggling to control a large and ferocious-looking Dobermann, which was straining at the leash and salivating at the prospect of sinking its teeth into Valentine.
'I don't know anything about that,' the guard replied. 'Stay standing right where you are.' The dog gave a backup growl and glared at Valentine with its devil eyes. The guard spoke into a walkie talkie: 'Black Knight to Queen of Diamonds, I have apprehended the intruder.'
'I'm not an intruder!' Valentine interjected, but Black Knight gave her such a look that she shut up. As he had a gun and a dog, it was probably better not to say anything to annoy him.
'The subject claims that she lives in the house; can you verify that?'
Scratchy, crackling sounds from walkie talkie, then a female voice, sounding suspiciously like Ivana: 'Does subject have wild curly auburn hair, green eyes, around five foot seven, a hundred and thirty-three pounds?'
'Excuse me!' Valentine forgot about the dog and the gun in her outrage. 'I did weigh a hundred and thirty-three pounds but now I weigh a hundred and twenty-six.' Though in all honesty after the latte, wine and nut combo of the day she was most likely back up to a hundred and thirty-three.
Black Knight took his time looking Valentine up and down, in a way she did not like one little bit.
'Roger that, Queen of Diamonds.' Nor did she like the way he emphasised the word 'Roger'.
More crackling, then, 'It is Miss Fleming; please escort her back to her apartment immediately. I will meet her there.'
Valentine had thought there could be no more fearsome sight than Ivana in her black and white uniform, topped off with her sucking-on-lemons expression, but it seemed there was – Ivana in a baby doll hot pink satin robe, matching slip and marabou-trim slippers. She obviously liked to feel off-duty when out of uniform. Valentine averted her eyes from the expanse of thigh. 'I do apologise, Ivana. I didn't know that would happen. I just needed some fresh air; the air-con was bothering me.'
Ivana ignored her – she had eyes only for Black Knight, her usual expression replaced by a coy, girlish look. 'Thank you Black Knight, excellent work,' she simpered.
Black Knight simply bowed his head. He was no looker, with a straggly moustache and slightly bucked teeth, but he clearly rang Ivana's bell. 'I live to serve Queen of Diamonds.' And then he left. Valentine had an unpleasant thought – the pair of them were probably swingers. Uggh, it didn't bear thinking about.
Ivana turned her attention to Valentine and the sucking-on-lemons expression returned. 'Please do not open the door again.'
She paused as she walked out of the lounge and Valentine had a horrible feeling what was coming next. 'I will send the table away to be repaired. It is Lalique. I will get you another more suitable for your requirements. I won't say anything about the table if you do not say anything about these.' She point
ed at the marabou-trim slippers.
Valentine nodded. She didn't know much about Lalique's work, she just knew it was expensive, very expensive. What a great start she had made living at Piers's house.
The following day didn't go any better. She overslept for the appointment with Kelly, the personal trainer. She had hoped for someone she could talk to honestly about her body and what she wanted to achieve – i.e. I am never going to be a supermodel – I just want to tone and tighten; starving myself does not make me happy. But she was presented with Kelly, a vision of athletic loveliness in hot pink Lycra shorts and a white vest. Her long shiny blonde hair was pulled back in ponytail and she had slim fake-tanned limbs, the pertest bum Valentine had ever seen, and abs of iron. Terminator Body, Valentine privately named her.
'So Olivia tells me you want to get down to an eight,' Kelly said, making notes on a clipboard as she looked at Valentine. They were standing on the lawn and Valentine was feeling highly self-conscious. She could have sworn that she saw Ivana watching her out of the window, clearly channelling Mrs Danvers from Rebecca.
Valentine shook her head. 'No, I don't think I can get to an eight; I'd like to be a very toned ten.'
'Now come on Valentine, of course you can get there!' Kelly was speaking like some kind of cheerleader; any minute she'd say Go Valentine and start kicking her legs up in the air and waving pom poms. 'It's all about setting goals.'
'OK,' Valentine said, deciding the best option was to humour Kelly.
'Great!' Kelly beamed at her. 'See, didn't it feel good saying that?'
No I lied, you pert-bummed moron.
'So this is the programme I suggest. We'll run eight kilometres today and build up to twelve by the end of the week. Next week we'll go from twelve to fifteen. After running we'll do weights and core training for a couple of hours.'
'Is that including or excluding the running?' Valentine asked with some trepidation.
'That's on top of the run.' Another beam from Kelly. 'So let's go inside to the gym and do a quick warm-up on the bike, then we can get going!'
Frankly Valentine felt knackered after the three-minute warm-up. She hadn't had breakfast and was feeling almost dizzy with hunger as they set off for the heath with Kelly talking all the way. After the first two kilometres Valentine stopped replying, and tried to tune Kelly out. It was just white noise in the background, Kelly droning on and on about how Valentine should visualise herself running on the beach in her ideal body shape, her ponytail swishing from side to side like a well-groomed horse's tail. Yeah right, thought Valentine, like I'm going to be running on a beach! If I'm on a beach I want to be lying there drinking a beer!.
'Piers runs ten k every other day,' Kelly informed her, just as Valentine thought she might have to stop; Kelly had made her run at a much faster pace than she did usually. 'So does Olivia, and then we do pilates for two hours. She has incredible stamina. She could be a good role model for you, Valentine.'
'She must be able to shoot cannon balls out of her vag after so much pilates work,' she couldn't resist saying and was rewarded with a completely baffled look from Kelly and then merciful silence.
Finally, hallelujah praise Jesus, the spiky gates came into view. Nearly there, Valentine urged herself on, nearly there. As soon as they got inside the gates she jogged to the lawn and collapsed in a heap. 'No no no! Don't let your heart rate slacken,' shouted Kelly, sprinting over to her. 'We'll just have some water and then on to the gym. Keep visualising that body, Valentine. It can be yours, but you've got to work for it!'
Someone else can have it, if this is what it takes, Valentine thought bitterly as Kelly had her doing squats, followed by an hour of weights and core exercises.
The morning of unmitigated pain at least had one benefit – it stopped her thinking about Jack. It had stopped her thinking about pretty much anything. Her mind was a blank, except for one thing – she was starving. The moment her session with Kelly finished she headed to her apartment to see what delicious lunch the chef had prepared. Sushi would be good; didn't lots of the stars eat that? She opened the fridge and pulled out a dish containing two jumbo prawns on a bed of wilted spinach. That didn't seem like nearly enough, especially since she had skipped breakfast. Then she noticed a note on the pristine marble work surface. 'Miss Fleming, as you will see lunch is less than it should be, owing to the pistachio nuts consumed last night. I'm sure you will be back on track by tonight. Regards, Ivana.' How did she know about the nuts? Valentine was aghast. She looked around the apartment. Was there CCTV in it? Or had Ivana gone through the bin? Valentine felt outraged by the invasion of her privacy and it wasn't just down to her low blood sugar levels. This was not reasonable behaviour. Don't push me Ivana, she thought. Remember I know about the marabou-trim slippers. Then again Ivana was staff – she was probably simply following orders from Olivia, who clearly thought she had a porker for a step-daughter. And was this the reason Piers hadn't told anyone about her? He was ashamed of owning up to being her father because he thought she was fat? She stomped into the wet room and took a shower. Yes, the water was hot and powerful, she gave it that, but it wasn't a pleasant experience. The black tiles made her feel as if she was in a coffin.
Piers no doubt expected her to be watching one of his recommended movies that afternoon; instead she met her aunt in Regents Park. As usual Lottie wasn't hard to spot – today wearing a turquoise satin prom dress, which was fighting a heroic battle to contain Lottie's full figure, purple footless tights and gold pumps. Lottie had come prepared with a picnic: a French stick, squishy brie and a bottle of red wine. She and her new boyfriend were about to go camping in the South of France and Lottie was getting into the spirit.
'So Jack hasn't called?' Lottie asked. She knew the whole story of the break-up and if she thought Valentine was a fool for what she did, she hadn't said so, for which Valentine was grateful.
She shook her head. 'He won't. I think he must hate me, Lottie. You should have seen how he was with me in Manchester.'
'Well in fairness you broke his heart. He was totally in love with you; we all thought that, even your mum, and you know she rarely comments on matters of the heart.'
Valentine groaned. 'Don't say that! I can't believe I did what I did, but I was so convinced that he must be seeing Tamara.'
'Not all men are like that gutless bastard Finn,' Lottie replied, who knew that whole story now.
'I know that now,' Valentine replied. 'I'm supposed to be seeing Finn tonight; he's coming round to the flat. And in the past that's all I would have been thinking about all day. And now I'm not bothered and I don't even want to have sex with him. And that's all we ever used to do. In fact last time, and I'm sorry if this is an over-share, I had to fake it.'
'Well there's a saying – the fanny never lies,' Lottie replied, completely deadpan.
'What!' Valentine choked on her red wine.
'It's obvious. You don't fancy him anymore, and probably don't love him; that's why you don't want to have sex with him. The fanny never lies.'
'OK OK, you didn't need to say it again. Though maybe if I drink enough wine I won't care and it will be able to lie its way through.'
Lottie shrugged. 'Why would you want to?'
Valentine sighed and picked at the bread. 'I keep thinking of Jack saying that Finn and I deserved each other.'
'He only said it because he was so hurt. You don't deserve Finn – yes you made a mistake, but is Finn really the best you can do? He's all over you now, but I bet in a few months or maybe even a few weeks he'll revert to his gutless bastard behaviour.'
'Oh God, it's so depressing. Let's change the subject. Tell me about your holiday.'
As Lottie chatted Valentine tried to push thoughts of Jack and Finn away and just enjoy being with her aunt. But it was hard. Every time Lottie mentioned her new boyfriend her face lit up. Finn did not make Valentine feel like that anymore. By the time she met up with him that evening, she was feeling as unlit up as it was possible to be.
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Finn was in a state of high excitement when she let him into the flat, though some of that diminished when he discovered Piers wasn't there. 'Can I have a tour of the house then?' he demanded.
'I think it would be weird without Piers here,' Valentine replied.
'Really?' Finn's lip curled petulantly. 'I'm sure he wouldn't mind; you are his daughter.'
'It's not him I'm worried about,' and Valentine quickly filled him in on Ivana and how she was sure she was snooping on her.
Finn had very little imagination, so his immediate reaction was that Valentine was being absurd. 'And anyway, V, isn't it a good thing that you're losing weight? You can have too much of a good thing.' He reached out and pinched her bottom.
'Thanks Finn,' Valentine said sarcastically. 'You always know exactly how to make me feel good about myself.'
'Oh come on, V! Don't be such a baby. So if you're not going to give me a tour of the house, what are we going to do?' He stretched back on the sofa, his T-shirt riding up and revealing an expanse of brown perfect skin, a line of hairs running from his naval into his Armanis – a sight that usually she found such a turn on. Now she just thought, Put it away! He looked at her meaningfully. He obviously knew what he wanted to do. It was the last thing Valentine wanted to do. A chasm seemed to have opened up between her and Finn. Was Lottie right? Did the fanny never lie?
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