Sin Tropez (39 page)

‘Natalya.’

‘Yes?’ she whispered. For a second she thought he might say sorry.

Instead, he shook his head and said, ‘I will miss you.’

When she left, Claude opened one of his safety deposit boxes and got out a wad of photographs, which he laid out methodically on a table. They were all of Natalya. There were a number of
photographs of the girl out shopping. A fair few with that coked-up English whore. Even one of Natalya putting Hugo Bridges to bed. He picked up one of Natalya on the toilet and studied it. Then he
held up the picture of her natural father and reached for his phone.

He might not be able to control her any more, but he could still hurt her.

****

As April rolled over into May, Abena sat alone on Sarah’s sofa. She flicked on the television. No, she didn’t want to watch people locked in a house together. Gay
refugee dating transsexual midget? Check. Bigoted homophobe? Check. Evangelical anti-capitalist freegan? Check. Head of Bank of America? Check. Violent woman-hating psycho? Check. His estranged
ex-wife? Check. She turned off the TV. Funnily enough, the nuances of a relationship between, say, a schoolteacher and a nurse would probably be more interesting in the long run.

Sarah’s flat was very quiet without the television. She switched it back on to ease the loneliness, got up and logged on to the internet to see if there were any nice apartments available
to rent. She’d just found something promising, posted by a friend of a friend, when her mobile rang.

‘Carey, hi, how’s it going?’

‘Hi, Abena. Yeah, good, good. Sorry to have been a bit out of touch but I’ve been wrapping up the last bits of post-production on the movie.’

The two chatted for a while, and then conversation moved back to film.

‘So, are you still at that den of mediocrity?’ Carey asked.

‘What, Mallinder? Yep, ’fraid so. It’s killing me.’

‘I’ve decided to make
Vanity Fair
,’ Carey said.

‘No way!’ Abena was stunned and didn’t know what to say.

‘Yes way! I spoke to some bigwigs, they love the idea, and much of it will be set, as you suggested, in the South of France. Abena, I’d like you to be involved in its
production.’

‘Wow! But, how?’

‘Well, you could come on the publicity tour with my current film? We’re about to head off for six months, starting with Cannes and then on to LA and New York, then Toronto, South
Africa, the rest of Europe and finally back in the UK. And in the process we’ll be starting to raise the funding for
Vanity Fair
and beginning on pre-production.’

‘When are you heading off?’ Abena was still utterly astonished. ‘It … well, it sounds amazing. Almost too good to be true. So I ’d be your sort of assistant? And
would I be paid?’

‘Well, you’d be working for, and employed by the studio, not me personally. And you wouldn’t need to spend any money either – flights, meals, hotel rooms, everything
would be paid for.’

Abena tensed. ‘But I’d get my own hotel room and everything, right?’

Carey’s laughter reverberated down the phone. ‘Of course you would; I’m not asking you as my date for Christ’s sake! Look at it as a decently paid internship. I like you,
Abena, you’re good fun and you don’t get star-struck around high-profile people. I ’d be quite happy to have a smart girl like you around to help out. As I said, first stop is
Cannes, so if you’re on board I’ll have somebody get in touch with you about it tomorrow.’

Abena was on her feet now and skipping around the room in exhilaration.

‘Oh my God!’ she screeched. ‘I’ll hand in my notice tomorrow – I can be in Cannes in two weeks. What have I got to lose?’

‘You said it!’ laughed Carey.

‘I hate my job, I’m in between flats, I’m single and – oh fuck it – I’m just going to do it. How exciting!’ Pausing, she added more soberly, ‘I
only wish Tara had someone to keep an eye on her. Her family situation is shaky to say the least.’

‘Oh sure, but you’re big girls now. You can’t spend your life caring for Tara, it won’t do either of you any favours. And besides, we’re talking six months. And
then who knows what trouble you’ll get yourself into …’

‘Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I just don’t know what to say. You’re quite simply amazing.’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure and I’ll enjoy having you around. I’ll have someone call you about it tomorrow.’

‘Speak tomorrow!’ Abena nearly sang down the phone.

That night in bed Abena was so excited she couldn’t sleep, her mind playing over the delicious moment when she would stride into Olympia’s office and serve her with her notice. But
by the time morning came, the euphoria of yesterday had subsided and a quiet uneasiness had grown in its place.

She couldn’t fathom the uneasiness at first. She thought it might be the issue of leaving Tara behind, and yet she knew Carey was right and her friend’s over-reliance on her would be
bad for everybody. Perhaps it was her family? No, she was used to being away from them, and besides, like Tara, she knew they would always be in her life no matter what she did or where she went.
It slowly dawned on her that the feeling she had was brought about by unfinished business.

It was Benedict. She had fallen for him. Plain and simple. She’d tried for months to dismiss him for superficial reasons. First it was his beard, then it was his job, then it was the fact
that he’d lied when they first met. Now the prospect of losing touch with him for good forced her to face up to her feelings. How stupid she’d been. She had to tell him how she felt
before she left. She knew she’d probably blown it the night of the Mallinder party, but she had to at least try. Maybe, just maybe, he’d still feel the same.

Two hours later Abena was staring at her phone, willing a little envelope icon to appear. She had tried Benedict’s phone nine times with no luck – it must be switched off. Dammit!
She had to see him! Suddenly she had a brainwave. Booting up her computer she logged on to Mallinder’s offsite server and opened the contacts folder. Bingo! There was his address. She could
drop by on her way to work – if she caught him unawares and woke him up he might be more likely to respond to her on impulse instead of being guarded or upset because of their last meeting.
Thinking of what he must look like sleeping was making Abena melt; probably in his boxers, short hair messed up, those long eyelashes resting on his cheek. She must pull herself together and get
going.

She raced out of the flat and jumped into a taxi – there was no time to mess about on the tube. The cab pulled up outside a townhouse. She rang the doorbell to the ground-floor flat,
adrenaline pulsing through her body. After a few minutes an unfamiliar man opened the front door and scowled in that unfriendly way that people in big cities do so well.

‘Er, I’m so sorry to disturb you,’ began Abena, ‘I was looking for somebody called Benedict Lima.’

‘The guy who lived here before has moved out. Sorry. Left a couple of weeks ago and didn’t leave a forwarding address, think he moved abroad.’

He gave Abena a sympathetic smile and closed the door. He seemed less angry now, but that was no use to Abena.

Taking a few dejected steps away from Benedict’s front door, Abena leaned against his wall and slowly slid down it until she was sitting on the pavement. She stayed there for a minute,
slumped against the brickwork, looking straight ahead but seeing nothing. She didn’t care that people walking past probably thought she was a beggar. Even the thought of a beggar wearing
sample-sale Prada didn’t make her laugh.

Hugo Wittstanley hung up the phone, his face white.

‘Who was it? asked Tina.

‘Just some foreigner,’ said Hugo. ‘Wrong number.’ But his forehead was sweating as he left the room. He waited for Tina to start busying herself in her dressing room and
checked that her Audi wasn’t in the forecourt; Tara must have taken it into the village. The coast was clear. He took a final gulp from the bottle of vodka he had smuggled into the house and
staggered to his studio. In a little room to the right his guns nestled in their cases. He walked towards the first case; slowly, as though he were in a dream. Calm now, he stretched out both arms
to lift the case off the shelf. Pulling out the gleaming Purdey shotgun, he ran the back of his hand up and down its length, savouring the sensation as though it were the soft, warm skin of a
woman’s inner thigh. At length, he locked it back in its case and moved further down the shelving to where the handguns lay.

****

Tara swept up the drive and parked in the huge forecourt. Built to accommodate hundreds of cars around the central fountain, it looked desolate with just her mother’s Audi
and her father’s small classic car. Before climbing out of the driver’s seat, Tara checked her reflection in the mirror and was pleased to see that her local hairdresser had done a good
job of colouring her hair.

She let herself into the house and headed up to the calm of the library, with its deep, worn sofas, soft lighting and studious atmosphere. Settling into an armchair by the fireplace, with Lamb
curled up by her feet, she opened the
Vogue
she had pinched from the salon and flipped through it. She could smell the aroma of the duck roasting in the Aga in the vast kitchen, now the sole
domain of old Connie. Her stomach rumbled beneath her slouchy white cotton dress. Looking down, she wondered crossly what the point was of wearing such a cute dress when there was nobody around to
see it. Perhaps it was time to start thinking about returning to London. As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Mildly curious, she set aside her
Vogue
and padded over to the window to see if she
recognized the car in the forecourt.

Parked beside Tina’s Audi was a black, two-seater Porsche, which looked brand new. The top was down and she could just make out a number of books strewn across the passenger seat. Well,
she didn’t know anyone with a brand-new Porsche. It must be one of her mother’s friends.

A breathless Tina burst into the library.

‘There’s a young man at the door. Says he’s come to see you!’ she gasped.

‘Well who is he?’ Tara frowned. If it was Harry or some other ex she’d tried to get rid of then he had a cheek turning up unannounced at her door.

‘I don’t know, darling, but he claimed to be a friend of yours. He’s awfully good-looking!’

‘Really?’ Tara’s tone was indifferent, but a hand shot instinctively to her newly highlighted hair and tousled it a fraction.

When she saw him standing in the huge panelled hallway, deep in conversation with Connie, she stopped dead.

‘Philip!’ she cried out, jumping into his arms and hugging him. ‘What are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s you! I wouldn’t have thought you’d be a
Porsche driver!’

‘Sorry,’ he grinned, ‘but they’re so well constructed. I’m a bit of an engineering geek! How are you, my angel?’

Tara wrapped her arms around Philip’s neck and clung on as if her life depended on it. She could have stayed there forever but Tina was loitering with intent, eager for an
introduction.

‘Oh, this is my mother,’ she told Philip. And then, turning to her mother, ‘I met Philip at Appletons.’

‘You must invite poor Philip in for a drink, darling. All that driving – he’ll be exhausted,’ Tina purred, beaming at her daughter’s enthralling new friend.

‘Why don’t we go for a drive?’ Tara asked Philip. The last thing she needed was her mother buzzing around while they talked. ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘Where shall
we go? How about I drive and you navigate?’

‘That sounds like a perfect partnership.’ Tara mussed up her hair again as she waved goodbye to her mother and beckoned Philip towards the door.

Philip gathered up all the books on the passenger seat and threw them into the boot before opening the door for Tara to climb in. Instead of driving off he turned to face her.

‘I’m so sorry for just turning up like this, it’s just, well, I wanted to surprise you. And I wanted to talk to you, but face to face, and, I was desperate to see
you.’

‘Oh God, me too! You’re the only one who really knows what I’m going through.’

Philip put his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him. ‘I know, I know,’ he murmured into the top of her head, brushing her hair with his lips.’

‘Where’s Diane?’

‘She met somebody else while I was in the clinic. Said I’d never loved her, that she was just a habit of mine.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Tara
was
sorry; she didn’t want to be just a shoulder to cry on.

‘Don’t be sorry.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she was right. I thought I loved her. But then I met you.’

‘And how have I changed things?’ Her voice quivered and was barely audible.

‘It sounds … silly … but now I know what love truly is. I love you.’

Tara said nothing for a while, savouring the sound of those words.

‘I love you too. I’ve loved you from the very beginning, as soon as I heard you speak at group therapy.’

She kissed him and then pulled away. ‘But I’m … I’m too silly for you.’ She looked sad.

‘Teach me to be silly, Tara. I love you. I love everything about you. I love your mind, I love your body, I love your heart and your soul. I love you.’

They kissed again, and this time she didn’t pull away.

When she finally tore herself from his arms, Tara glanced up at the enormous house and revelled in the romance of the setting. Then she caught sight of her mother peering out from the library
window, sobbing into a handkerchief. Realizing she’d been spotted, Tina lifted the hanky from her face and waved it high above her head, so Tara could see that she was smiling broadly though
her tears.

Then she nearly jumped out of her skin with shock as an ear-splitting sound rang through the air.

****

‘Please go faster!’ Natalya urged the harassed taxi driver. She squeezed her mother’s hand tighter and tried to fight back the terrified tears threatening to
reappear.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Daina’s whisper was almost inaudible. This was not the kind of excitement she’d been expecting of her trip to London.