by Lucy Lord
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ sighs Sammi-Jo. ‘I just thought phwoargh as soon as I saw him.’
‘I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual,’ I laugh. Without the make-up, she is even prettier, and very young looking apart from the bust. Mark must be unable to believe his luck, dirty bugger.
‘Well, Sammi-Jo—’
‘Oh Sam, please. My agent insisted on Sammi-Jo – I was christened Samantha Josephine – but all my mates call me Sam.’
‘I prefer Sam too.’ I smile at her. ‘I’m going to the bar for a top-up. Do you want to come with me or are you happy here on your own?’
‘I could sit here and watch Mark for days, but thanks for asking me. You’re nice.’
‘Bella! Congratulations darling, it’s gone like a dream!’
Simon, resplendent in trunks that look as if they date from 1950s Hollywood – high waisted and belted, in a lurid green and yellow check – is standing at the bar with his arms outstretched in greeting.
‘Thanks darling,’ I say, trying not to laugh. ‘I’m assuming the shorts are vintage?’
‘Of course,’ he says. I’m not particularly bothered by the unsavoury implications. ‘I was considering giving a striped Twenties all-in-one a go, but I feared folk might not get it. People can be so unadventurous when it comes to fashion.’ He sniffs and I laugh.
‘Anyway sweetheart, I have a proposition for you,’ he says. ‘Can I get you a drink first?’
‘Yes please. I’ll have another one of whatever these are,’ I say to Ellie with the eye-patch.
Simon hands over some cash and we sit down on a couple of orange upholstered bar stools.
‘So what’s this proposition?’ I ask, intrigued now.
‘Weeelll,’ Simon drawls, drawing it out. ‘Seeing as you’re now an acclaimed artiste …’
‘Oh come on, hardly,’ I say, embarrassed.
‘Take it from me, darling, I know how these things work,’ says Simon. ‘You’ll get rave reviews and soon you’ll be a household name among the chattering classes.’
‘Really?’ I ask, excited but scared. ‘I’m not sure I could handle that …’
‘Don’t be wet, sweetheart,’ Simon drawls. He’s right.
‘OK, I won’t,’ I laugh. ‘So what’s your proposition?’
‘How would you like to earn some regular dosh as Stadium’s in-house illustrator? It would probably only be about a day’s work a week, or a week a month at the most, as we mainly use very high-end photos, of course …’ I nod, thinking about the endless glossy nudes created by people like my father and Mark. ‘… so you’d still have plenty of time for your painting.’
I am silent, trying to take it all in. Simon clearly takes my silence as a bargaining tool and says,
‘Now you’re a household name, of course, we’ll be able to pay you a far higher rate than we did before. And you can work from home, so you won’t have to run the gamut of the fashion department.’
I start to smile, thinking how easily things fall into your lap once you’ve had a bit of success. I enjoyed doing the illustrations before and decide to put him out of his misery.
‘Thanks Si, I’d love to.’
An hour or so later, Max and Dave are propping up the bar. They are holding hands and looking very happy. Alison and Charlie are sitting next to them, laughing and joking about something. They all seem quite pissed and very jolly indeed.
‘Here she comes! The art world’s Next Big Thing!’ cries Max as I approach. They give me a little round of applause and I feel all warm and pleased with myself, and, frankly, invincible.
‘I couldn’t have done any of it without Ali,’ I say, raising my glass and smiling at her. She smiles back, eyes glittering, cheeks more flushed than ever.
‘Hear hear!’ hollers Charlie. He gives her a big squeeze. ‘Well done old thing.’
She kisses him and says, ‘Thanks, old thing yourself.’
‘To Ali!’
‘To Ali!’ We all shout.
Alison starts a new toast, raising her glass in my direction:
‘To Bella and her beautiful paintings! To Belle’s colours!’
‘To Belle’s colours!’
‘I think we can safely say we work well together,’ says Ali, putting down her drink briefly to give me a hug. I hug her back. She is soft and warm and comfortable.
‘To continued success!’
‘Continued success!’
And the drink and mutual congratulations flow on.
Chapter 21
I’m lying in the hammock in the shade of the old apple tree at the bottom of Mum’s garden. The rain lasted for three days, cleansing and moisturizing the land, and now the countryside sparkles with freshness in the soft September sun. I’m very comfortable in my old summer pyjama shorts and vest, sipping a long glass of Mum’s delicious homemade lemonade infused with mint. She normally pours in a slosh of vodka, but I don’t want to drink booze right now.
Andy’s copy of Scoop lies open on the grass. Tomorrow he and Alison are getting married, and I just can’t concentrate. I’m forcing myself to go to the wedding, though couldn’t muster my usual enthusiasm when it came to choosing an outfit. What’s the bloody point? I’m hardly likely to meet the man of my dreams when he’s the one up the aisle, and nobody could possibly compare.
Getting some kind of closure, I reckon, is vital. Once I’ve seen him pledge to love and cherish her, till death them do part, I’ll be able to get on with my life with no more pathetic hankerings. I’m going straight from the wedding to Stansted Airport, where I’ve a seat booked on the clubbers’ EasyJet to Ibiza, which lands at midnight. There I’ll be joining Poppy, Damian, my father and Jilly, all of whom Natalia invited to her ‘small villa’ for a couple of weeks to coincide with the closing parties.
‘You should see the place, it’s fucking wicked,’ Poppy whispered over the phone to me yesterday. Our friendship is slowly getting back to how it used to be, although I’m still a little wary. ‘Three pools, one with an island with a bar on it. A recording studio. Full DJ decks outside. Moroccan outdoor chill-out areas. Oh and Belles, you should really see the rainbow chill-out room she wants to put your paintings in! It’s amazing!’ I wonder if her work people know that this is how she’s spending her recuperative sabbatical. Damian has vowed to keep her off the hard stuff, but we shall see.
I pick up the book and lie back in the hammock.
In many ways I couldn’t be happier. Just as Simon predicted, my exhibition received rave reviews, as a result of which I’ve picked up several fairly lucrative commissions. My fee for a few drawings a month for Stadium, which take about three hours, is more than an entire month’s ghastly desktop publishing. And thanks to Natalia, for the first time in my life I have earned myself some proper capital, which is an amazing feeling.
Unless I’m really crap with my money (which isn’t inconceivable), I’ll never have to set foot in an office again, which in itself should be enough to make me sing from the rooftops. Mum is very happy with Bernie, Dad seems pretty happy with Jilly, but more importantly, is not in prison; Poppy is alive. And watching Ben’s humiliation was without doubt one of the best moments of my life. Yet …
Yesterday, masochistically, I called Ali, knowing she was already up at Hambledon Hall, helping with the wedding preparations.
‘So how’s it all going?’ I asked.
‘Surprisingly smoothly.’ She laughed her easy laugh. ‘Al’s even lightened up about my dress and has let me have it altered so I don’t look quite such a sack of shite.’
‘That’s great news,’ I forced myself to sound as if I was smiling. ‘So you won’t still be skulking at the back of all the photos?’
‘Wouldn’t go that far,’ Ali laughed back. ‘Anyway, nobody will notice anyone else in the photos. Al’s dress is totally stunning. She’s going to look amazing.’
‘What’s it like?’ I asked.
Just stop doing this to yourself, you’ll find out soon enough anyway.
<
br /> ‘Bias-cut, slim-fitting, floor-length ivory satin.’ Every word was another knife wound to my heart. ‘It’s totally simple, practically backless with tiny straps made of seed pearls. Of course I’d look gross in something like that, but on Al it’s fabulous. She’s also got a full-length vintage veil, embroidered with the same seed pearls …’ I’d heard enough.
Now I close Scoop and get out of the hammock. Trying to read is pointless. I wander down to the stream and sit with my feet dangling in the water, just staring out at the view, thinking about Andy. I think of his kindness and decency and his bravery in the face of his parents’ death. I remember our sleuthing adventure in the woods, the helpless giggles and our pints in the pretty pub. I remember the way he looked at me when he said my plaits looked cute. I remember the way he looked at me outside Café Boheme. I remember our joy as he showed me and Max what he’d discovered about Kimbo. I remember him kissing me on the South Bank and my gaze mists over.
A shadow falls over me. God knows how long I’ve been sitting here.
‘Hi Mum.’
‘Erm, it’s not Mum.’ Just his deep, hesitant voice is enough to make my heart leap. I look up. Andy is standing above me, tall and serious in his specs and faded jeans and navy T-shirt, looking – well, just like him. Which is perfect.
‘Is everything all right?’ I try to keep my voice neutral.
‘Well, yes and no. In a way everything’s wrong, but it could all be right, if only—’
‘If only what? You’re talking in riddles.’ I get up and face him. On closer inspection, he is flushed and slightly breathless.
‘How do you feel about me, Bella? Please tell me the truth.’
Oh no, you can’t ask me that, not today of all days.
‘Why?’ I look him steadily in the eye.
‘Because the wedding’s off. I’m not going to marry Alison.’
A great big light switches itself on in my heart and I stare at him some more, my smile spreading across my whole face and body.
‘But w-what? Why?’
Andy puts up a hand and says impatiently, ‘The whats and whys can wait. You still haven’t answered my question.’
Right, this is it. This is my chance to do the right thing, not to fuck it up for once in my idiotic life. Be brave, Bella, and tell him. I hesitate.
‘Would it help if I told you how I feel about you?’ He’s smiling at me now, his eyes like molten dark chocolate. I nod.
‘It was at your exhibition that I realized it wasn’t just a crush I had on you.’ I look up at him, my heart starting to race. This cannot be happening. Despite my bare feet, I stumble a bit on the grass. Andy automatically puts out an arm to steady me.
‘You’re constantly putting yourself down, but you’re not such a bad little thing, you know.’ He laughs. ‘Actually, I doubt there’s a real bad bone in your body.’
I gaze up at him, wondering if he’s got the right person.
‘When I saw how well it was going for you, all I wanted to do was hold you and kiss you and tell you how brilliant and beautiful you are, how much I love you …’
I laugh, very shakily, ‘Did you just say the L word?’
‘Did I? Surely not. Well, I can’t remember saying it, so I’d better say it again. I love you, Bella. Oh God, that was so easy. I LOVE YOU, BELLA!’ Now he is shouting up into the apple tree, skipping around the garden. ‘I LOVE YOU!’ For the first time since I’ve known him, his seriousness has completely disappeared.
‘In that case, don’t you think you’d better kiss me?’ I probably should have waited for him to do it off his own bat, but I’ve waited long enough.
‘Oh I’m so sorry, I’m doing this all the wrong way round. I don’t do this very often you know …’
We both laugh, then stop as he fixes me with that dark intense stare and takes my face in his hands. Mmmm.
After a bit, he pulls away.
‘Don’t stop, please.’ My hands are still clasping the back of his neck. ‘Come back here.’
He comes back for a few more heavenly seconds, then pulls away again.
‘You still haven’t answered my question.’
Through a smile that thinks it will go on forever, I say,
‘I think that should be pretty obvious. And you’re meant to be the clever one. Fool!’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘The romance.’
‘I love everything about you, from the bottom of my heart, and I think I always will.’
‘That’s better.’ And he starts to kiss me again.
We are both sitting, hand-in-hand, with our feet dangling in the stream. Andy has rolled up the legs of his jeans, exposing a fine if hairy pair of ankles.
‘So what are you going to tell Alison?’ I ask. ‘Isn’t she going to be furious?’ He’d risk that? For me?
Andy looks uncomfortable.
‘You know I said we’d leave the whats and whys till later? Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘Alison has been sleeping with Philip Henderson. You know, the …’
It takes a few seconds to register.
‘The distinguished gent who bought my pictures? Yes, of course I know. But Andy, I don’t understand … W-when did you find out?’ I’m starting to feel very small and stupid. Has he just come to me as second choice because he discovered his fiancée was cheating on him?
‘I found out a few hours ago. I needed to email cab numbers to some of the guests, and was looking them up on Al’s laptop. While I was there an instant message flashed up, from Philip.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Despite myself, I get a weird thrill at the intrigue. There’s more than one bad bone in my body. But my heart is sinking. I should have known it was too good to be true.
‘What did it say?’
‘I’ll spare you the gory details, but suffice to say, it made reference to Al gritting her teeth and bearing it on the wedding night, which didn’t exactly do wonders for the old ego.’
He laughs and I don’t join in. I get up and start to walk away from him.
‘Bella? What’s the matter? I don’t understand!’
He runs after me and forces me to turn round and look at him. Tears are streaming down my face.
‘So you’ve only decided you’re not going through with the wedding because you’ve found out Alison has been unfaithful, and your male ego can’t take it? Nothing at all to do with me. How do you think that makes my female ego feel?’ My voice is choked. ‘I’ll just go and see if Bella will have me instead, faithful little lapdog, waiting on the sidelines …’ I am gulping, waving my arms around, pushing him away.
‘It’s not like that at all!’ he shouts angrily. ‘Bloody hell, why do women always have to overcomplicate things?’ He pushes his hand through his dark hair, in the gesture I’ve come to know and love, making it go all spiky.
He takes me by the shoulders and shakes them slightly.
‘You must understand that I couldn’t just jilt Alison at the altar, thinking she’d done nothing wrong? After thirteen years? Because of some feelings I thought I had for you? What kind of a man could do that? What kind of man would that make me? Would you want to be with a man who was capable of that?’
I look at him, slowly starting to understand. No, of course I couldn’t be with a man who was capable of that. And there’s a certain noble honour about him marrying the wrong woman, out of duty, but always hankering after me, I think, cheering up again. Andy takes my hand.
‘Don’t you think we should just be really happy that we’ve been given this chance, that I was lucky enough to find out in time?’
Once he has finished kissing me again, I ask,
‘So how did Alison react?’
Andy laughs. ‘She made it an awful lot easier for me, actually. First of all she was horrified at being caught out, and pretended to be sorry. Then when she realized that wasn’t working, she started begging me to still go through with the wedding, just to save face. She seemed to care about the wedding an
awful lot more than the rest of our lives together. She promised we could have an open marriage. She even promised a divorce, after a respectable time …’
‘What did she consider a respectable time?’ I ask, kissing him again. He kisses me back.
‘Six months. As I say, it made it a whole lot easier.’
‘Bloody hell. And all of that … That big wedding … All those guests …’ I gesture vaguely in the direction of Hambledon Hall. ‘Who’s going to deal with the fallout?’
‘Al can do it,’ says Andy harshly. ‘I went through hell, thinking I couldn’t have you, and all along she was building up to our wedding by fucking around on me.’
I think for a second. ‘Shit, Andy, that must be a hell of a lot of money down the drain …?’
‘Yes.’ Andy looks bleak for a minute. Then he laughs, ‘But worth every penny to be here with you now.’ And he kisses me again.
Andy drives me back to London, back to my flat. We listen to Concierto de Aranjuez, chatting all the while. I’ve never known anybody I can talk to so easily without the prop of a glass and a fag in my hand. Everything he says is well thought out, intelligent and sincere. And the way he looks at me with his intense dark gaze simply melts me. It’s different to the Ben lust, or the Mark lust, or even that one time of Damian lust. He just looks at me as if I am his every dream come true.
When we get to Portobello Road, I am suddenly overcome with an attack of nerves, and start babbling.
‘Well, we’re nearly home. Thanks for the lift. What do you have lined up for the rest of the day?’
Andy pulls into a side road and stops the car. He turns to stare at me. ‘Please don’t play with me, Bella. I’ve wanted you from the first moment I set eyes on you, nearly fifteen years ago when you came up to Cambridge to see Max. I felt like such a dirty old man. What kind of pervert did I think I was? Fixated on my mate’s little sister, who was doing her A levels. In fact, you were the reason I hooked up with Alison – I was desperate to get the gorgeous, big-eyed seventeen-year-old out of my head.’
Bloody hell. No wonder Alison’s always hated me so much, I think. Women tend to pick up on these things.
