Sin Tropez (24 page)

‘I detest that word,’ Benedict cut in.

‘What, “sweet”? Why?’

‘Oh you know why! “Sweet” is what girls call their little brothers. Or their dogs!’

‘Nonsense, brothers are exasperating and dogs are smelly. Fine, don’t sulk. You’re clever. And a romantic. And sweet. How’s that?’

‘Hmmnn … Getting better …’ He offered her his arm and led her, slowly, in her precariously high heels, to the bar to buy a drink.

‘What would you like to drink?’

‘A glass of red would be great – you must let
me
get it this time,’ Abena pleaded. She remembered on the boat he’d said he was a runner, one of the few people in
the world who earned even less than she did.

‘Don’t be silly, let’s get a bottle,’ he replied, pushing her £20 note away and handing his card to the barman.

As Benedict ushered her over to the corner and on to the comfiest seat, Abena was aware that she should really be trying to network with the high-powered crowd mingling in the bar. But she
realized with a shock that really the only person she wanted to talk to was Ben, even if he could be infuriatingly stubborn regarding the central message of
Romeo and Juliet
.

Looking at her watch sometime later and seeing it was past midnight, Abena realized they’d been arguing and chatting for over two hours.

‘Look at the time! No wonder my stomach’s growling, we’ve forgotten to eat anything.’

They trawled the streets of Bristol in search of somewhere serving anything other than dodgy kebabs. By 1 a.m. it was pouring with rain. Benedict looked at Abena, drenched and shivering. Her
hair was in two dripping pigtails, and what was left of her makeup was smudged about her eyes. He was struck by how adorable she looked. He forced a laugh. ‘How about room service?’

Benedict’s room was delightful, with hand-painted white floors, a cosy log fire, a king-sized four-poster bed and a vintage Chesterfield sofa in the corner. In an adjoining room were two
distressed leather sofas into which they both collapsed.

By now quite drunk, the pair woozily discussed the other films they’d watched, until the arrival of two big, juicy burgers cut short their analyses.

‘My God it’s exciting to be allowed a burger once in a while!’ Abena whooped as she removed the silver cover on top of her plate. With Sebastian she always felt like a bit of a
heffalump eating anything this awkward and greasy.

Once they’d eaten they moved into the bedroom to listen to some music and, sinking on to the Chesterfield, Abena swiftly realized how tired she was. Looking at Benedict, who had now
slumped on his bed and removed his glasses to rub his eyes, she guessed he felt the same.

‘Wow! You should take off your glasses more – I had no idea you had those striking eyes … It makes me wonder what you’re hiding under that beard!’

‘You don’t like my beard?’

‘I’d just like to see your face, that’s all.’ Abena yawned. ‘I suppose I should really be going now.’

‘Stay a second, just one more song, my favourite?’

‘OK,’ Abena jumped up to join Benedict on the tall four-poster bed piled high with satin throws and plumped-up pillows. As the mournful voice of Bob Dylan caressed her ears she
drifted off to sleep on Benedict’s shoulder. Gently he removed her shoes and covered her with the duvet. For a few minutes he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her body. Then he stood,
slowly so as not to wake her, and switched off the lights. He let himself into Abe-na’s empty room a few doors down and climbed into bed, alone.

****

Natalya’s tormentor had caught up with her and there was nothing she could do about it. It was the day after the Tringate Charity Fundraiser and she felt impotent and
vulnerable. She knew that the police wouldn’t bother with her case, not after her false claim against Oleg. And besides, despite the insinuations, nothing in the letters was actually abusive.
How were they to know how dangerous her father really was? She had no proof of anything, just her mother’s word that a man had come from England in search of a good time and in the process
had ruined her life. He had destroyed her self-esteem and her confidence, and demolished her dreams.

Natalya didn’t dare contact her mother about these letters. It would only upset her, and make her beg her firstborn to return to Latvia. No, frightened as she was, the only way forward was
to ignore the letters and not allow this ogre to control her life. Not when she was so close to her dream of untold riches, of financial freedom, for the first time ever. She was not about to throw
all that away and return to hawking baskets in Riga’s Old Quarter. She would not be cowed by the evil that was her father. She would face him. And she would kill him.

If he did not kill her first.

Suddenly Natalya heard a voice and realized with a jolt that somebody was in the house. Her heart seemed to jump right out of her chest and as the figure advanced towards her she let out a long
strangulated scream and backed away until she was stooped, trembling in his shadow.

Then she saw his face.

‘Claude!’

She sighed with relief as she jumped up, crushing the letter into a ball, and flung herself against him, nestling her head in his neck as though he were her beloved soldier husband returning
from a war zone.

Claude smiled to himself as he kissed the top of her head. The strange, delicate thing loved him so.

****

Just five grand doors down the road from Monsieur Perren’s newly acquired residence, Reza reached for the loo roll. He was out of paper and made a mental note to fire the
head housekeeper first thing in the morning. Sighing at the inconvenience he reached into the back pocket of his chinos and pulled out his wallet, from which he extracted three crisp, new £50
notes. Standing up, he reached behind and gave his rear a couple of vigorous wipes before scrunching the money into a ball and flushing it down the toilet. He pulled up his chinos, washed his hands
quickly, ran a comb through his thinning hair and hurried out of his mansion. His Bentley was waiting to drive him to Southwark for an interview with the
Financial Times
.

Abena decided to spend extra time on her getting-ready ritual that evening. She hadn’t seen Sebastian for a while and was surprised at how painfully she missed him. She
knew it had been her decision to stay overnight in Bristol, but still, the number of times he called had dwindled from a few times a day at the height of his pursuit to absolutely nothing for a
week. But at least he’d texted earlier and explained that he’d been busy with ‘business’, whatever that amounted to, and that he’d make it up to her over dinner. Well,
she’d blow him away tonight. Every so often a man needs to be reminded of how lucky he is. She hadn’t been sweating it out walking to work every day for fun. She did it to look as good
as she could, and she hated to have to blow her own trumpet, but: toot toot!

Examining herself in the mirror Abena was finally satisfied with her softly applied make-up, the ‘natural’ look being, as usual, the most lengthy and laborious one to perfect. Her
eyelashes seemed endless, framing her dark eyes, and the gold shimmer on her cheeks lifted her complexion and lent it an air of sunny vitality. The dark circles under her eyes, the result of late
nights spent rowing with Tara about her habit, were untraceable underneath a deftly applied layer of Touche Eclat. Her lips were full and inviting and her long dark hair fell in tousled waves about
her face. She threw her keys, phone, lip gloss and a spare pair of undies into her clutch bag and treated herself to a taxi.

Sebastian had excelled himself in his choice of restaurant, food being one of the only passions the couple truly had in common. He watched with amused appreciation as Abena devoured in record
time a first course of
lingua di manzo, salsa verde
– ox tongue being a speciality of the exclusive Italian restaurant. He adored girls with good appetites. Women who didn’t
cultivate and indulge their sense of taste were usually disappointing where other sensory pleasures were concerned. And by that he didn’t mean women should stuff themselves senseless on pies,
burgers and sausages, rather that he was attracted to those with distinguished palates and adventurous tastes.

Sebastian seemed unable to take his eyes off Abena, so she banished her last lingering doubts and, confident that he still fancied her like crazy, relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy her food.
They drank a fruity red that was as old and full bodied as they were young and slender. Pudding was sweet and sticky.

With the meal over, Abena’s mind wandered to what lay ahead. Sebastian was obviously thinking the same thing as he placed his wine glass down purposefully, moved the candle to one side and
leaned forward to bring his face right up close to Abena’s. Nina Simone was playing softly in the background and Sebastian added his own baritone slurs to her throaty purring. ‘I put a
spell on you …’, he sang, ‘Cos you’re mine …’ Abena joined in: ‘You better stop the things you do … It ain’t right … OOOOOH IT
AIN’T RIGHT’. She belted out the last line like a true diva, and fell about laughing.

Sebastian jumped up and grabbed his girlfriend’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

Full of wine and mischief, Abena began to perform an impromptu Nina Simone karaoke-cum-striptease in the car.

‘Birds flying high … You know how I feel …’, she sang, her voice rich and low as she slipped her foot out of her stiletto and stretched her bare leg high in the air,
letting her blue silk skirt slide up her thigh as she bent her knee and brought her toe to rest on the dashboard. Sebastian swerved the car and the driver of a beat-up Ford behind hooted and made a
‘wanker’ gesture.

‘Sun in the sky … You know how I feel …’, Abena continued, and her white cape came off. ‘Breeeeeeze driftin’ on by … You know how I feel
…’ Now she peeled off her white silk vest. ‘It’s a new day … It’s a new dawn … It’s a new liiiife … Foooor, meeee …’ She sang
louder as she shimmied out of her skirt, to reveal her black lace underwear.

‘And I’m feeeeeeling good …’

Sebastian was so fired up he could barely open his front door. Running inside the apartment with only her cape wrapped around her Abena headed straight to the bedroom and threw herself backwards
on to the bed, arms thrown wantonly above her head.

‘Come and get me,’ she cooed, laughing at Sebastian, who had tripped over his jeans in an effort to remove them and run towards her at the same time. Then Abena turned her head to
the side and the sight she encountered caused her heart to stop.

‘What are these?’ She rose from the bed, slowly, uncertain. In her hand was a pair of sheer Agent Provocateur panties.

‘Either you’re a secret cross-dresser or you’ve got some explaining to do.’

Sebastian’s face fell. It was all Abena needed to know. In a single casting down of the eyes, he had surrendered. Still, he tried to fight back.

‘What the … I can’t believe Alex would do that to me. He obviously brought some girl back here and she must have left them in my bed.’

‘Why the hell would Alex come here when he’s got his own place to bring girls back to?’

‘Uh, yeah. Yeah, but he’s been having some work done to his place so he’s been staying here.’

‘He had work done to his place weeks ago.’

‘Well, I … I don’t know, they must have been here for weeks.’

‘Oh right, I see, so you’ve been sleeping with a pair of stripper pants in your bed for three weeks and just happened not to have noticed. For that matter your housekeeper
hasn’t changed your sheets for three weeks either. You can do better than that, Sebastian.’

At once his face hardened. ‘Baby, this is who I am. It’s how I roll.’

Abena was stung to the core. Had nothing in the last five months meant anything to him? Deep down, though, she’d known.

‘How does it feel … To be on your own … Like a rolling stone …’, she murmured sadly under her breath.

‘Do you want me to drive you back?’ Sebastian asked.

She looked at him, a wan smile on her face. It was a smile for all the fun they had shared, but tempered with hurt and sadness.

‘I’ll get a cab. See you sometime … I guess.’

She turned and walked, wretched and alone, into the icy, dark night.

****

‘Tara?’

Abena banged harder on Tara’s bedroom door.

‘Tara?’

No answer. She pushed the door and walked in. Tara was in bed with the light off, so Abena didn’t notice the translucent pallor of her friend’s skin, nor the almost imperceptible
shivers of her bony body.

‘What is it?’ Tara asked crossly.

‘Sebastian’s been cheating on me – we broke up.’ Abena gulped down her tears.

‘Why d’you break up?’

‘B-b-because he cheated on me.’

‘Oh.’ And then, ‘Hon, do you have some cash I can borrow?’

Abena let out a loud sob. Tara had so many of her own troubles. Sniffing noisily, Abena shuffled off to bed alone.

****

Abena wolf-whistled as Sarah arrived for Sunday brunch in one of Notting Hill’s trendy cafés. ‘You’re really looking amazing these days,
Sarah.’

‘Thanks! I feel great. Things are going so well with Willy – you won’t believe the people I’m meeting and the stuff I’m doing. I’ve organized a celebrity
karaoke for Willy’s natural disaster rescue charity, which is going to be covered by all the glossies, and it’s been dinners, dos and parties non-stop in the evenings, and manic
meetings and emails in the office all day, so it’s exhausting but I love it there.’

She paused for breath and gabbled on.

‘I just wish Si would appreciate me a bit more. He’s the only person who hasn’t said they like my new haircut and he’s the one who should love it the most! I invite him
out to Willy’s events and he just stubbornly refuses, saying he’s sick of me out with all these lecherous TV execs breathing down my cleavage every night when they wouldn’t be
able to if he’d only come to stuff with me and … Oh my God, Abbi, are you OK?’