Perfect Timing (28 page)

Claudia wasn't in any hurry to get back. If her father was so set on humoring Dina—and he was famous for his patience with members of the public when they took the liberty of introducing themselves—she didn't want to be around to witness it. Serve the silly old fool right.

She had just finished pouring Hugo a quadruple Scotch when Angie materialized at her side.

‘Darling, you forgot to send me an invite! If Hugo hadn't mentioned it this afternoon I'd have missed the party altogether.' Ostentatiously reaching up on tiptoe she kissed her daughter's rigid jaw. ‘And look at you in a pretty new dress. Such a shame about the cigarette burn.'

‘Where? Oh
no
!'

‘Never mind, make a few more holes and pretend it's the latest Vivienne Westwood. Where's Hugo?'

‘Talking to some little tart.'

‘Oh well, what's new?' Angie looked amused. ‘You don't look terribly cheerful, my darling. If there's some kind of problem, tell Mummy.'

Well Mummy, you see the thing is, I'm completely besotted with someone and I don't know if he likes me and I'm way too embarrassed to ask and he's really shy so he might fancy the pants off me but he keeps his feelings so much to himself it's just about impossible to tell.

‘I'd rather die,' Claudia said aloud. ‘Since when were you interested in my problems anyway?'

‘I love hearing about problems! I'd make a wonderful agony aunt,' Angie protested, laughing. ‘If only people would have the nerve to take my advice.'

Nerve was what Angie possessed in abundance. Claudia definitely didn't want to be Angie, but she wished she could have inherited a bit more nerve. It was a handy thing to have around. Especially right now.

Jake was heading almost straight for them. He was wearing the plain dark blue sweater and a pair of the well-cut trousers Poppy had chosen for him. His dark hair, freshly washed, was flopping onto his forehead. Behind the tinted gold-rimmed spectacles his dark eyes searched the room. He looked so smart and so quietly handsome Claudia felt her heart leap into her throat like a fish. And he had come in search of
her
.

‘Jake,' she said, because he was in danger of veering off to the left.

‘Oh. Hi.' He stopped dead and the look on his face told Claudia he hadn't been searching for her at all. ‘Um… I thought Marlene would be in here. How… how are you?'

‘Oh, I'm fine. Yes, fine.'

Jake hesitated then said, ‘Fallen off any good windowsills lately?'

It was meant to be a light-hearted quip, an ice-breaker, and it was clearly a line he had prepared earlier, like a Nigella Lawson soufflé.

Except Nigella's soufflés never fell this flat.

Angie, her tinted eyebrows up in her hairline, said, ‘Heavens, I
am
intrigued.'

Claudia took a gulp of her drink, clean forgetting it wasn't her drink. She had never been able to get to grips with Scotch.

‘Aaargh.' Spluttering helplessly, unable to swallow the burning liquid, she was forced to spit it back into the tumbler. Her eyelids felt as if they were on fire.

‘You must excuse my daughter,' Angie said smoothly, ‘she has the manners of a warthog. I'm Angie, by the way. And of course I've heard all about you! Now Jake, what an enthralling remark. There must be a story behind this. Do tell.'

‘Mother—'

‘Claudia, throw that Scotch-and-saliva away before someone else drinks it. And go and clean yourself up, you've got dribble on your chin.'

In desperation Jake said, ‘Actually—'

‘No, no, I insist.' Angie lowered her voice a conspiratorial octave. ‘I can't wait to hear what my daughter gets up to on windowsills when I'm not around.' Reaching up, she smoothed a section of hair behind Jake's left ear. ‘There, that's better. It was sticking out. Goodness me, what glossy hair you have, you must take tremendous care of it. And I adore your aftershave.'

‘I'm not wearing any.' Jake looked nervous. ‘It must be deodorant.'

‘Mum, please.'

‘No, it's definitely not Mum. And Claudia, what did I just tell you to do? Chin, darling. Chin.'

‘It's going to seem weird here without you,' said Caspar. Tom, who had barely left Poppy's side all evening, was deep in conversation across the room with one of Caspar's artist friends, who had once been an architect. ‘We'll miss you.'

‘Me too.' Poppy grinned. ‘Listen to us. Anyone would think I was disappearing up the Amazon. We'll still see each other.'

‘Yeah.'

‘We will! Tom's already said we must have you and Babette over for dinner.'

‘Well,' Caspar struggled for something to say, ‘that sounds…'

‘Like your idea of the dinner party from hell,' Poppy suggested dryly. ‘I know. Babette and I haven't exactly hit it off. And you and Tom didn't get off to the greatest of starts. But he did say he liked Babette.' She pulled a face. ‘She's got her act together, apparently. Tom approves of people whose acts are together.'

Now there was a thought. Caspar glanced across the room at Babette, chatting animatedly to a tall antiques dealer. Poppy followed the direction of his gaze.

‘Can I ask?' she said suddenly. ‘Why
did
you marry her?'

But Caspar's expression was unreadable. He raised his glass of Beaujolais to the light, apparently studying the color.

‘Because you told me to.'

‘Really?'

‘I thought it would simplify matters. And I wanted to know what being married would be like.'

‘And has it? Simplified matters?'

‘Of course.' Was Caspar mocking her? It was impossible to tell. ‘Only one notch on my bedpost nowadays. I'm a respectable married man.'

‘You must still get chatted up.' Poppy was disbelieving. ‘That hasn't stopped, it can't have.'

Caspar broke into a grin. ‘Oh, I get my share of offers. But being married is a great excuse for saying no. They don't get offended. Some of them are even impressed.'

‘I'm definitely impressed.'

‘So how about you?' Swiftly Caspar turned the tables on her. ‘Are you happy? Sure you're doing the right thing?'

Poppy gave him a strange look.

‘Of course I'm sure.'

‘Because—'

‘What a bloody stinking awful pig of a party,' howled Claudia, barging up to them. ‘If there wasn't such a queue for the bathroom I'd slash my wrists.'

Caspar said, ‘Don't tell me. Someone else has turned up wearing the same dress as you.'

Claudia commandeered his glass and downed the contents in one.

‘My unspeakable mother is chatting up Jake. My father is being chatted up by your even more unspeakable friend Dina. And some total bastard has burned a sodding hole in my dress.' Gathering up material from the back, Claudia showed them the evidence. ‘If I find out who did it, I'll kill them.' Her eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Does that look like the kind of hole an Embassy Regal would make?'

Poppy left them to it. She had spotted Rita in the doorway.

‘I'm so glad you're here.' She hugged Rita, who was wearing an orange and white polka-dotted frock and matching shoes. ‘I thought you weren't coming.'

‘Said I would, didn't I?' Rita lit a cigarette. ‘Never been one to miss out on a good party. How's it going?'

‘If you don't want to be depressed, steer clear of Claudia.' Poppy took her arm. ‘Come on, let me introduce you to some people.'

‘Don't worry about me, love. I don't need looking after. Just point me in the direction of the drinks. When I see someone I like the look of, I'll introduce myself.'

It was dark outside in the garden, apart from the colored lights Caspar and Poppy had strung up somewhat haphazardly in the trees.

‘Aren't they pretty?' sighed Dina, gesturing dreamily with her cigarette at a ball of lights Caspar hadn't been able to untangle. ‘It's like a fairy tale. Like… Cinderella.'

‘Mind your glass slippers don't get stuck in the mud.'

She looked down at her stiletto heels, ringed with earth and leaves.

‘That's not very romantic. Fine Prince Charming you'd make.'

Hugo smiled. ‘I'm rather afraid my Prince Charming days are over. Far too old.'

Dina's stomach did a cartwheel. She flicked her cigarette into the bushes and turned to face him.

‘I don't think you're too old. I said, didn't I? I like older men. Especially you.'

She half-closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her. They were away from the house, unobserved. All he had to do was take a step forward and pull her into his arms.

But Hugo tilted his head to one side and gave her a look of affection mingled with genuine regret.

‘Oh, my dear. It's delightful young things like you who get men like me into trouble.'

‘I wouldn't.' Dina shook her head eagerly. ‘Honest. I'm on the pill.'

Hugo's mouth twitched.

‘You're very sweet. Nevertheless, maybe we should be making our way back to the house. Before people start to wonder where we are.'

Claudia waited until Jake had taken her mother's empty glass and disappeared in search of a refill. She was over in a flash.

‘Hello darling, fancy bumping into you again so soon,' said Angie. Claudia had been scowling at her from a distance for the past ten minutes. She unclipped her evening bag, took out a mirror, and calmly redid her lipstick. ‘I must say, I can quite see why you're so keen on Jake. What a poppet.'

A poppet…

‘You always have to ruin everything,' hissed Claudia, ‘don't you?'

‘Ruin everything?' Angie looked surprised. ‘Baby girl, I had no idea there was anything to ruin. I assumed he was a free agent. I'm sorry, are you saying you and he are a couple?'

‘You know I'm not!' Claudia spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You just come out with the most embarrassing remarks, like, “I've heard all about you.”' Viciously she imitated her mother's words. ‘That was a lie for a start. I've
never
told you about Jake.'

Angie's smile was pure Cheshire Cat.

‘I didn't say you had. Caspar did, while I was sitting for my portrait. He told me all about your crush on Jake.'

Bloody Caspar.

‘But that was months ago.' Angie shrugged. ‘Let's face it, sweetheart, if he was interested, he'd have made his move by now.'

Since there was no answer to that, Claudia scowled and said instead, ‘So what were you talking about?'

‘Oh, money mainly. Jake's little windfall…'

‘How typical.'

‘…how to spot gold diggers…'

‘Well, you'd know about that,' Claudia said bitterly.

Angie looked at her. ‘You should try smiling occasionally, darling. It does wonders.'

‘Don't—'

‘Just a suggestion. Ah, there's your father. Speaking of gold diggers, who
is
that frightful creature with him? He looks as if he needs rescuing.'

As Angie drifted away, Claudia wondered if the evening could possibly get worse.

Bursting for the loo, Dina excused herself seconds before Angie reached them. She slipped into the downstairs cloakroom, relieved herself, then studied her flushed reflection in the small mirror above the basin.

Hugo Slade-Welch had called her delightful. And sweet. He fancied her like mad, she knew, but was holding himself back because he thought it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Dina, whose maxim when it came to make-up was more-is-more, rummaged around in the bottom of her shoulder bag. She applied an extra layer of metallic Bahama Blue eyeshadow, another generous coat of blue mascara, and redid her lipstick. When someone tried the door handle she called out, ‘Hang on a sec,' but as her mouth was in lipstick-receiving mode at the time, the words came out oddly. Hey, Dina marveled, I sound dead posh.

But there were evidently two people on the other side of the door. A woman, in a low voice, was saying, ‘…but darling, where on earth did you find her? Talk about cheap and tacky. I can't believe you brought her over with you from the States! I mean, she'd still be in quarantine…'

When Dina heard Hugo's unmistakable laugh, she froze.

‘Angie, didn't anyone ever tell you? You're supposed to mellow with age.'

‘I am being mellow. I could think of far worse things to say about her. Come on, Hugo, spill the beans. Who is she and where
did
you pick her up? King's Cross?'

Dina's hands were shaking so hard she almost dropped her lipstick in the basin.

‘Do I look as if I found her anywhere?' she heard Hugo reply with amusement. ‘She found me. I hadn't been here more than ten minutes when she latched herself onto me. Her name's Dina, she knows Poppy and Claudia and she's spent the last hour telling me how much she loves older men, especially ones who star in Hollywood movies. She made me autograph her chest, she told me I should try a splash of Pepsi in my Scotch. As for cheap and tacky,' he added dryly, ‘you couldn't be more wrong. She told me herself, her boob tube cost seventeen pounds ninety-nine at Top Shop.'

Dina didn't know why this should be so funny but it clearly was. Angie snorted with laughter and Hugo joined in. She clutched the sides of the basin as Hugo, recovering himself, went on, ‘And when I said I was due to play Othello at the Royal Court next year, she said yeah, Charles Dickens is brill, she's seen all his films but
Oliver!
is her favorite.'

Dina didn't move. Eventually, she heard Angie say, ‘Darling, whoever's in that loo has obviously died. Could you be an angel and find me another drink? I'm going to have to run upstairs.'

When they had both gone, Dina looked up again at her face in the mirror. Bahama Blue tears ran down her cheeks and plopped steadily into the basin.

When the doorbell rang at ten thirty, Caspar answered it.

‘Bloody late as usual,' he grinned at Patrick Dennehy, who was lugging a huge canvas-shaped parcel tied up with brown paper and a lot of frayed string. ‘What's this, homework?'

Patrick was the evening class tutor at St Clare's, which wasn't the kind of career he'd dreamed of during his art student days but was still better than a government check. Since his arms were aching, he thrust the parcel at Caspar with some relief.

‘Kind of. Here, you can take these through. Presents for the girls.'

‘Great,' lied Caspar. Patrick was an old friend but his paintings were crap, hopelessly modernist and quite without meaning. Still, it was a kind gesture. Caspar just hoped Claudia would be diplomatic when the paintings were unwrapped.

He had to clear a space in the sitting room for the opening ceremony. Neither Claudia nor—more surprisingly—Poppy seemed overjoyed to see Patrick there.

‘Try and look thrilled,' Caspar murmured in Claudia's ear. ‘It's probably three black splashes and a blue triangle. Patrick's only ever sold one painting in his life. And that was to his mother.'

It was like pass-the-parcel. Both paintings had been extremely thoroughly wrapped. By the time the last layers were ready to come off, the carpet was strewn with brown paper and a sizeable crowd had gathered to watch.

Claudia, who had thought the night couldn't get any worse, realized it could. She screamed and tried to cover the painting up with a crumpled sheet of paper which had unaccountably shrunk.

A howl of protest went up from the audience.

Next to her, Poppy froze. ‘Oh shit.'

‘You bastard,' wailed Claudia, swinging round to glare at Patrick.

‘You didn't paint those,' said Caspar, starting to laugh.

‘I didn't say I had.' Deeply offended by such a suggestion, Patrick failed to see what all the fuss was about. ‘One of my students did them. Mike Cousins. When I mentioned I was coming here tonight, he asked me to bring them along.' He turned back to Claudia. ‘Mike bumped into you the other week, right? He was worried you might have got the wrong idea and thought he'd wanted you to buy the picture. He didn't mean that at all; he just wanted you to have it.'

Claudia just wanted to die. One of Caspar's friends had whisked the brown paper from her grasp, leaving the painting exposed for everyone to see.

And, dreadfully, everyone had. Some people were laughing, others applauding. Next to her, pink to the hairline and similarly humiliated, stood Poppy.

‘Mike wanted you to have yours too,' Patrick assured her. ‘You don't have to buy it. It's a gift.'

To add insult to injury, Mike Cousins was an enthusiastic artist rather than an accomplished one. He had given Claudia a hint of a squint and a right breast larger than the left.

Poppy hadn't fared much better—one arm was longer than the other and her hair looked like a wig put on in a rush—but at least she was thin. Depressingly, one aspect of Claudia's figure Mike Cousins had got off to an absolute tee was her awful undulating stomach.

Caspar came up and stood between them. He put his arms around Poppy and Claudia and said, ‘You both look great.'

Jake, over by the doorway, agreed. Seeing Claudia naked was something he had dreamed of. And he wasn't disappointed. She looked beautiful, even more beautiful than he had imagined. He adored every curve, every perfect voluptuous inch of her…

‘Christ Almighty, who's the blob?'

The voice, loud and slurred, belonged to a late arrival. Jake didn't know him but he appeared to have tagged along with a group of Caspar's friends. He leaned in the doorway, his arm draped around the waist of an anorexic-looking brunette.

‘Shut up,' said Jake.

The bloke grinned. ‘Come on, look at it! What a whale! Imagine getting trapped under something like that.'

The room fell silent. Glancing across at Claudia, Jake saw the anguish in her eyes.

‘Move,' he instructed the skinny girl.

She looked blank. ‘What?'

Jake placed her to one side and punched the smirking heckler so hard he was catapulted through the doorway. Out in the hall, sprawled on his back on the floor, the man groaned loudly and clutched his face.

‘You've broken my nose…'

‘Good,' said Jake. He wrenched open the front door, surprising two more late arrivals on the doorstep. ‘Now get up and get out. You too,' he told the skinny brunette, who was kneeling beside her boyfriend, using the hem of her cheesecloth skirt to wipe the blood from his face. ‘Come on, out you go.'

The open-mouthed couple on the doorstep stood aside to let them past. When they had gone Jake said, ‘Sorry about that. You can come in now.' To be on the safe side he added, ‘You're friends of…?'

‘We aren't really friends of anyone,' replied the girl, who was plump and sensibly dressed. ‘We're just looking for someone. Maybe you can help us,' she went on, sounding like an efficient policewoman making enquiries. ‘Her name is Dina McBride.'

Claudia had disappeared upstairs. Caspar gathered up the offending paintings and dumped them in the broom cupboard out in the hall.

‘Well,' said Tom icily, ‘that was fun. Anything you'd like to do as an encore? Rip your dress off, maybe, and dance on the table? After all, it's hardly going to make a difference now. Everyone here already knows what you look like.'

His eyes glittered, reflecting his disgust.

Since there wasn't much else she could do, Poppy attempted to brazen it out.

‘It was just a bit of life-class modeling,' she said lightly, with a shrug. ‘I don't do it anymore. I needed to earn some money to pay the rent. I thought I'd
told
you about St Clare's.'

She hadn't, of course she hadn't. For this exact reason.

‘No, you never did. I think I might have remembered.' Tom's jaw was set like concrete. ‘Jesus. I wondered how you could afford to live in a house like this. How long ago did you stop doing it?'

‘February. Three months ago. Before I met you.'

‘And how have you been managing to pay the rent since then?' His gaze flickered dangerously in the direction of Caspar. ‘In kind?'

After the von Kantz had sold at auction, Jake had doubled her salary. Tom knew that.

Poppy looked at him.

‘What are you trying to say, you don't want me to move in with you? It's all over between us? You don't want to see me anymore?'

Tom didn't speak for several seconds. Finally he shook his head.

‘Don't be stupid, of course I still want you to move in. I love you, Poppy. More than words can say. You know that.'

The tiny hairs at the back of Poppy's neck were standing to attention. Abruptly a lump came into her throat.

‘But—'

‘Come here,' murmured Tom, drawing her to him and wrapping his arms tightly around her. ‘You silly thing. If I didn't love you I wouldn't care, would I? But I do care. You're mine and I want to be the only man who sees you without clothes.' He kissed her, lingeringly, then stroked her pale cheek. ‘I want to keep you all to myself.'

‘Um… excuse me,' said Jake, embarrassed to be butting in. ‘Poppy, some people are here looking for Dina. I can't find her. Any ideas?'

Extricating herself from Tom's embrace, Poppy turned and came face to face with the man she had once so nearly married: Rob McBride.