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The effects of the vodka were telling her she needed another drink and something carb-laden for dinner.
‘Table for one,’ she said to the girl behind the desk, ignoring the man on duty. For all her outward sexuality, Suki Richardson had spent a lot of her life being wary of men.
At her table, she put on her glasses, took out a novel, a notepad and her pen – men were less likely to bother women when they had a pen and notebook – and set about trying to think her way out of trouble.
Through pasta starter, a steak so bloody that a good vet could have brought it back to life, and the hideous yet delicious concoction that was chocolate and banana caramel pie, she did her best to plan an escape clause.
She could throw herself on the mercy of Suarez: Don’t write about me, I was so young, I didn’t know what I was doing. I can tell you everything else about the Richardsons …
No, unlikely to work. She’d read his Jackie Kennedy book, his Nancy Reagan book and the Bush series. He’d have too many insiders telling him everything there was to know about Suki Power. And if she spilled on the Richardsons, they’d find out and her name would be mud.
Meet him and tell him the truth … ? Well, some of it. God forbid that she should tell the whole truth. Only Tess knew …
Tess. In that instant, Suki realized that all the damage limitation in the world wouldn’t fix it if Suarez got to Tess.
Not that her sister would say anything. Loyal to the end, that was Tess. No, Tess wouldn’t talk. But she was an innocent. If someone like Suarez turned up in Avalon, he’d ferret out the truth all right.
Suki’s lovely dinner began to churn inside her. There was nothing for it: she’d have to go home. Back to Avalon.
Not yet, though.
She didn’t have the money, and Mick was so down about the band having nowhere to play that she couldn’t go off and leave him, much as she wanted to escape sometimes. His sadness sapped her energy, made the house feel full of misery and apathy.
No, she’d phone Tess and talk to her. Tess would understand. They might be like chalk and cheese, but they were on the same wavelength.
She’d talk to her sister, figure out what this damn Suarez guy knew, and then take it from there. She couldn’t cope with her life going into freefall again. She simply couldn’t.
Chapter Three (#ulink_69b1f0f5-dc95-52f4-842a-827a0e31c01e)
She shouldn’t have come. Why had she come?
In the ballroom of a small, pretty castle outside Kildare, Mara Wilson stood behind a pillar and wondered if it wasn’t too late to sneak off. To pretend a migraine. Sudden onset of shellfish poisoning. A suppurating leg sore that could be fatal …
‘Mara, sweetheart! You came!’
Jack’s mother grabbed her in a hug and Mara knew the moment to escape the love of her life’s wedding was lost.
Resplendent in mother-of-the-groom cerise pink with what looked like half a flamingo’s plumage pinned on to her head, Jack’s mother, Sissy, was half crying, half laughing as she heaped affection on Mara.
‘It’s been so long since we saw you and we miss you. Oh, remember the fun we had, that Christmas. You’re fabulous to come today, one in a million – that’s what I told Jack: Mara is one in a million.’
Unfortunately, Mara thought, smiling back grittily, Jack Taylor had decided that he didn’t want to marry one in a million. He’d chosen someone else. Tawhnee, of the long, long legs, long black hair and olive skin that looked fabulous in virginal white. Mara had stayed discreetly at the back of the church for the ceremony, on the inner pew so she wouldn’t be in the bridal couple’s eyeline when they made their triumphant walk down the aisle. But even from inside, with a woman in a cartwheel of a hat outside her, she’d still been able to see her rival and the man Mara had loved.
Jack looked like … well, Jack. Handsome, louche, a man’s man with a naughty smile on his face and his fair hair chopped to show off the clean jaw. And Tawhnee resembled a model from a bridal catalogue. Gleaming café au lait skin, courtesy of her Brazilian mother, long black hair and a smile on her beautiful face. She was the perfect bride and as Mara stared at her she finally realized it was over: Jack had married Tawhnee. Tall, elegant Tawhnee, as opposed to short, curvy Mara. He’d never be with Mara again. It was all too late.
When Tawhnee had arrived in Kearney Property Partners straight out of college, she’d been assigned to Mara.
‘I can’t hand her over to any of the men,’ Jack had confided to Mara at breakfast one day when she’d stayed over at his place and they were having coffee and toast before rushing to the office.
‘Why not?’ Mara had demanded.
‘She’s too good looking. And young, very young,’ Jack had added quickly when Mara had poked him with one of her bare feet. ‘She’s just a kid, right? Twenty-three or -four. I need a woman to take care of her. I need lovely you to do it.’
‘Lovely me?’ Mara got off her seat and slid on to Jack’s lap.
He liked her body on his, her curves nestled against his hardness.
They’d woken at six and made lazy, sleepy love. She felt adored and sensual, like a cat bathed in the sun after a hot day. Jack didn’t invite her to stay over often and never mid-week, so it was a real treat.
‘Yes, lovely you,’ Jack said, and kissed her on the lips.
‘I’ll take care of her,’ Mara said, visualizing an innocent young graduate who’d gaze up to her new mentor. In fact, Mara had had to look up to Tawhnee, who was at least five nine in her bare feet. She was an object of sin in a dress and during the five days Mara mentored her, not a single man – from client to colleague – could set eyes on Tawhnee without their jaw dropping open.
‘It’s sex appeal, that’s what it is. Raw bloody sex appeal,’ Mara told Cici, her flatmate.
‘So? You’re not the Hunchback of Notre Dame yourself,’ snapped back Cici. ‘She’s nothing but a kid.’
‘You are not getting the picture,’ Mara said. ‘This girl is Playboy fabulous. I have no idea why she wants to work for us. She could earn a fortune if she headed to a go-go bar.’
‘She might want to make money from her mind,’ Cici pointed out loftily. ‘You’re labelling her. I was reading a thing on the Web about how beautiful women aren’t taken seriously and other women are jealous of them.’ Cici loved the Internet and had to be hauled away from her laptop late at night to get some zeds.
‘True. I’m being a cow,’ Mara said, sighing. ‘I’ll try harder.’
She didn’t have to. Tawhnee was suddenly and mysteriously whisked away to work with Jack.
He was director of operations. It was unusual for such a lowly trainee to be working with Jack, but as he said himself: ‘She needs to get to grips with this side of the business. What film should we go to see tonight? You pick. We’ve gone to loads of films I’ve picked. It’s your choice.’
In retrospect, she’d been very trusting. All the ‘let’s go and see a film’ and ‘shall we have dinner out’ had kept her fears at bay. Her boyfriend was being ultra-attentive, therefore there was no way he could be lusting after Tawhnee, even if every other man in the office was.
Like, hello!
And then it was too late.
Mara was under her desk, trying to find her favourite purple pen when two of the guys came into the office after an auction.
‘Lucky bastard,’ said one. ‘I wouldn’t mind doing the tango with Tawhnee.’
‘Yeah, Jack’s always had a way with the girls. I thought Mara had settled him down, but a leopard—’
‘—doesn’t change his spots,’ agreed the other one.
‘And she’s hot. An über babe.’
‘Mara’s lovely and she’s great fun but not—’
‘Yeah, not in Tawhnee’s league. Who is, right? Don’t get me wrong, Mara’s cute and she can look sexy, it has to be said, but she wears all those mad old clothes and she is short. Basically, compared to Tawhnee, she’s …’
‘Yeah, ordinary. While, Tawhnee, phew! She’s so hot, she’s on fire.’
‘Yeah, spot on. Tawhnee’s a Ferrari, isn’t she, and Mara … Well, she’s not, is she?’
Under the desk, Mara wanted to dig a hole so deep that she came out in another country. Another planet, even. She stayed where she was for a few moments, like an animal frozen in pain. It was hard to know what hurt most. The realization that Jack was indeed cheating on her with Tawhnee, or the knowledge that the men she worked with and lunched with and joked with saw her simply as an ordinary but occasionally sexy girl who liked ‘mad old clothes’. All those times she’d thought she’d pulled it off and camouflaged herself successfully into something different – something chic, elegant, stylish – with her fabulous vintage outfits, she’d been wrong.
Talent, kindness, laughing at their bad jokes … none of it meant anythingcompared to being tall, slim and hot. She was ordinary beside the Ferrari that was Tawhnee.
She waited till the phone rang to crawl out the other side where a handy filing cabinet hid her, and ran from the room to find Jack.
He was in his office alone, eyes focusing on his mobile, texting. At the door, Mara stared at him and wondered if she’d been nothing more than a diverting, wait-till-the-Ferrari-comes-along girl for him too.
He’d said he loved her, loved her shape, her petiteness; he’d called her his pocket Venus, and said he hated skinny women who nibbled on celery.
‘You grab life with both hands,’ he’d murmured when they were lying in bed after the first time they made love.
‘And I eat it!’ said Mara triumphantly, wriggling on top of him to nuzzle his neck. She’d never met anyone who shared her sensuality until she’d found him. They were so well matched in many ways, but none so much as when they were in bed.
For the first time in her life, Mara Wilson had met a man who loved her as she was – with the wild, red curls, an even wilder dress sense and an hourglass body, albeit a short one. Jack adored her 1950s clothes fetish. He told her she looked fantastic in fitted angora sweaters and tight skirts worn with red lippie, Betty Boop high shoes and eyeliner applied with a sexy little flick.
And all the while he probably thought she was ordinary too. She was his ordinary fling while he waited for something better to come along.
‘Yes?’ he said now, without looking up from his phone.
Mara said nothing and Jack finally flicked a gaze at the door.
‘Oh, hi, it’s you.’
Swiftly, he pressed a couple of buttons, deleting or getting out of whatever text he’d been writing, Mara realized. He smiled guiltily at her and that’s when she knew for sure. It took one look at his face to know the truth.
‘Is it true?’ she asked. ‘About you and Tawhnee?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said feebly.
‘Sorry? Is that the best you can do, Jack?’ she asked quietly. She wouldn’t shout. Not here. She would leave with dignity.
‘I wanted to tell you for ages,’ he insisted.
‘Why didn’t you?’
He shrugged.
Mara felt curiously numb. This must be shock, she thought.
‘I’ve got a headache. I’m going home now.
‘Of course,’ Jack said. ‘Take tomorrow too. Er, headaches can really get you down …’
She left and grabbed her things from her desk. The guys were chatting.
‘Hi, Mara, what’s up?’ said the one who’d called her ordinary.
She looked at him through the haze of numbness, then stumbled from the room.
Cici had volunteered to go with Mara to the wedding.
‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll look totally sad if I come with you. No offence, but coming with a female friend is like wearing a badge that says I’m a loser who couldn’t get a date. Brad Pitt is about the only man I could bring and not look like a sad cow.’
‘OK then, but promise me you’ll dance like there’s nobody watching,’ Cici added.
‘Isn’t that the advice from a fridge magnet?’ Mara demanded.
‘Fridge magnets can be very clever,’ her friend replied. ‘A clean kitchen is the sign of a boring person, and all that.’
‘True.’
There was a pause.
‘I always danced like there was nobody watching,’ Mara said mournfully. ‘Jack loved that about me. He said I was a free spirit. Although not as free as Tawhnee.’
‘She was obviously free with everything, from her favours to her skirt lengths,’ Cici said caustically.
Mara smiled. That was the thing about a good girlfriend: she’d fight your corner like a caged lioness. If you were injured, she was injured too and she remembered all the hurts and would never forgive anyone for inflicting them on you.
‘She has great legs,’ Mara admitted.
‘All people of twenty-four have great legs. It’s only when you get to thirty that your knees sag and the cellulite hits.’
Cici was thirty-five to Mara’s thirty-three and considered herself an expert on ageing issues. Mara could remember being mildly uninterested when Cici had complained about cellulite spreading over her thighs like an invasion of sponges. Then one day, it had happened to her and she’d understood. Was that to be her fate for ever – understanding when it was too late?
The wedding band were murdering ‘I Only Have Eyes for You’ when Jack appeared beside her, urbane in his dinner jacket.
‘Mara, you look wonderful.’
Mara had maxed out her credit card on a designer number from an expensive shop that catered for petite women. She’d been going to wear one of her vintage specials, but she hadn’t the heart for it: she’d show Jack and everyone else that she could do ‘normal’ clothes too. So at great expense, she’d bought a bosom-defying turquoise prom dress worn with very high, open-toed shoes. She’d curled her hair with rollers and clipped it up on one side with a turquoise-and-pink flower brooch. Her lips were MAC’s iconic scarlet Ruby Woo, her seamed stockings were in a straight line, and she knew she looked as good as she could. Not mainstream, no, but good. Not ordinary, she hoped.
‘Would you like to dance?’
Dance with Jack?
It must be a dream. A very strange dream, she decided. Soon, a big white rabbit would appear, along with a deranged woman screeching ‘Off with their heads!’ and possibly Johnny Depp wearing contact lenses and a lot of make-up.
Still, even if it was a dream, she’d go along. Nobody could think she was a bad loser if they saw her dancing with her former lover.
‘Of course,’ she said, beaming at him.
Smile all the time, had been Cici’s other advice. If you stop smiling, even for a minute, they’ll all be sure you’re going to cry, so smile like you are having the time of your life.
Amazingly, Jack seemed to be buying the fake grin and grinned right back at her.
Mara steeled herself for a speedy and guilty whisk round the dance floor. Tawhnee was sure to be watching, narrow-eyed. She might be young and beautiful, but she wasn’t stupid.
