The Santiago Sisters (34 page)

New York

‘
C
an I come out and see you?’ Mia asked over Skype.

Tess was taken aback by her best friend’s appearance. She hadn’t seen Mia in a while and thought she looked tired and restless—probably jitters at her wedding being a matter of weeks away. ‘Uh, sure,’ she said, although at the thought of Mia visiting she was tense. Supposing Mia could tell in her embrace, suppose something slipped, suppose it all came out?
I slept with your fiancé. And now he doesn’t want to know me.

Tess forced a smile. ‘Alex won’t miss you?’

Mia shook her head. ‘He’ll be fine.’

Did he ask after me? Does he know you’re coming
? Tess felt strangled by the things she longed to ask. She was desperate to talk to Alex, knew he would listen, help her, the person to whom she had first told her story, the person who understood.

Simone’s treachery haunted her. The same thought kept surfacing like a body in a swamp, the same inescapable thought that could never be assuaged no matter how much time passed: putting herself in her sister’s shoes—worn and tattered after hours on the land, while Tess’s own were pristine and new, bought from the finest boutique in London—what had gone through Calida’s mind as she had lain on that store floor, bleeding
to death while the life seeped out of her? Each time Tess thought of it, she crumbled. There was no way back. She would never be able to explain … to say sorry.

‘Get a flight tonight,’ she encouraged.

Mia nodded, relieved. ‘Thanks, Tess … I really need to talk to you.’

They said goodbye. Tess shivered. It was growing dark.

T
he engagement ring was gone. It was the first thing she noticed when Mia entered her building, and Tess’s heart sank. This was it, then. The confrontation.

But Mia didn’t confront her.

Instead, she accepted the drink Tess fixed, curled up on her sofa and admitted quietly: ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone. I was ashamed.’ A breath. ‘Tess, the wedding’s off. It has been for ages. Alex and I broke up. I’ve been pretending ever since.’

Tess didn’t know what to say. ‘Oh, Mia …’

‘It’s OK. Do you know something? It’s kind of a relief. Finally, to admit it, not just to everyone but also to myself. It was never right.
We
were never right—Alex and me. I knew it from the start.’ She winced. ‘You’d probably noticed I wasn’t exactly on board with the wedding. I was hardly bride of the year, was I?’

‘Mia, I’m so sorry.’ That was a good place to start. Seeing Mia now, it seemed incredible that she had done those things with Alex, when Mia meant so much to her.

‘Don’t be. Really. I’m not.’

‘What happened?’

‘Alex broke up with me when he got back from England.’

Tess swallowed. ‘But that was such a long time ago.’

‘I know. At first, I was cut up. I didn’t understand why, he
just said it wasn’t working. Alex moved out, took all his stuff. I told him I never wanted to see him again. Days passed and I didn’t tell anyone. I was too embarrassed, like it was proof he’d always been too good for me, and the more time went by the less possible it became to admit it. So I made out like the wedding was still on, we were still madly in love—it was only behind the scenes that everything was getting cancelled. I couldn’t bear to see my parents’ faces, think about Emily and Fifi laughing at me …’

‘Mia, don’t. You’re … I wouldn’t change you for the world.’

‘But then I realised that was all I cared about—and that was wrong … right?’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘It wasn’t
him
I was upset about.’ Unexpectedly, Mia smiled. ‘It wasn’t Alex. I was upset about what everyone would think. I was upset that I wouldn’t have this big white wedding, and it wouldn’t be to a handsome billionaire whom everyone would envy me over. I was upset that I’d have to suffer the shame of being jilted. But I wasn’t upset about him, because … Well, because I didn’t love him. I
don’t
love him. Not the basis for a lifelong partnership, is it? And if I were really honest, if Alex hadn’t done it now, I would have done it down the road. I’d probably have done it on our wedding night—all the festivities finished with and then you’re left with the person. Just you and them … it’s a big deal, huh? That’s why I insisted on the long engagement. I made out it was so everything could be right, but subconsciously, I guess, I was putting it off. I was scared.’

Tess waited. ‘I thought you were crazy about him.’

‘I was crazy about the idea of him. And, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing at all the matter with Alex. He’ll make someone a great husband—just not me. The fact is we didn’t
have anything in common. When I thought about the future, you know, sitting in my old age with my knitting or whatever, talking with a guy and being certain they’re my best friend … well, it wasn’t him. It’s an artist, or a musician, or someone who writes poetry. I don’t know, just not him. I sound silly.’

‘You don’t.’

‘I was using him. I used him to get over my childhood. Being fat. Being unpopular. Being a geek. Alex was a finger up to all that. But that was all he was.’

Tess was silent. Mia turned to her.

‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Am I an idiot?’

Tess spoke cautiously. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Alex wasn’t for you. You’ll know when the right person comes along—and they will, Mia.’

Her friend put down her drink. She looked Tess squarely in the eye.

‘There was someone else,’ she said.

Tess didn’t breathe.

‘I always knew.’ Mia watched her carefully, kindly, as sweetly as she had that first day the girls had met in the medical ward at Sainte-Marthe. ‘Alex never admitted it, but I knew. Someone else was always on his mind. I felt it. You can feel it, can’t you? You can tell when someone isn’t in the room with you, when they’re looking into you but they’re seeing another person, when there’s just the two of you and it should feel like the closest thing in the world, but actually there’s three. Alex was never into the relationship. He did all the right things and he said all the right things … but he was never in love with me. Not in the way I deserve.’

‘You do deserve that.’

Mia took her hand. She was looking at her strangely,
intimately, as only a best friend can. Tess returned her gaze. They stayed holding hands.

‘I know,’ said Mia. ‘And do you know what, Tess? You do, too. After everything you’ve been through, you do, more than anyone.’

She couldn’t speak—and anyway, there was nothing to say.

‘You just have to wait and see,’ said Mia.

R
eturning to America and the circus of work, Calida found herself impotent. She could only have faith that Astrid Engberg would get through to the heiress but beyond that she had no control. Astrid took Scarlet’s side, and why shouldn’t she?

November arrived. The city was filled with songs and light. Christmas decorations adorned the buildings and a huge tree sparkled outside the Rockefeller.

Calida hurried through the streets, bundled up in her coat and scarf. She loved being in the thick of it, swallowed up by a flood of people; so different from her humble beginnings, when she couldn’t have imagined finding solace in crowds. Now, the masses gave her anonymity. If anything, it was possible to feel more alone in the city than it had been on the ranch. She passed a hot-dog vendor, whose stand smoked salty meat, frying onions, and the sharp tang of mustard, and crossed to Ray’s Diner.

Inside, it was warm, the windows damp with the heat of bodies and the bustle of waiting staff as they wound between tables. Conversation hummed and coffee was poured; a bank of TV screens chattered busily above the service counter.

Calida took a booth and ordered pancakes. She pulled out
her tablet and checked CNN. Under the latest, her attention was caught by a headline:

SCARLET SCHUHAUSEN ENTERS U.S. FOR FIRST TIME SINCE RECOVERY.

‘
I
’
m
here on a personal matter
,’ the socialite was quoted as saying.
‘It’s time to tie up some loose ends …
’ Calida read the piece with mounting apprehension. She didn’t even notice when her order came, and let it go cold. Scarlet talked about exorcising her demons, about coming face to face with the people who’d hurt her. She was a woman on a mission. She had been a victim too long. She knew what she had to do in order to move on in her life. And while the rest of the world celebrated in the joy of Thanksgiving, Calida wondered what on earth that meant for her sister.

Please don’t hurt her.

Don’t let it be too late.

She would never forgive herself. Calida had been ablaze with animosity for so long; it was the only thing that got her up in the morning and allowed her to sleep at night—but now, at the end of things, what did she have to show for it? All that counted, all that had ever counted were the people she’d had at the start. She should never have let Daniel go. She should never have let Teresita go. Regardless of all her twin threw back at her, she should never have given her up. She should have tracked her down years ago, in London, in LA, at the wedding in Barbados, and refused to turn away; she should have stormed into that hospital, ignoring the denial and insisting on her place. She should have said to Teresita:
Here I am; I’m still me. I’m still yours.

We’re still sisters.

She should have let her stupid pride go.

Pride that had lost her Daniel as well …

The irony was that she had known all along. When Julia used to coo over money and status, Calida had known it was an illusion. It wasn’t real. She had known.

Calida closed the screen and put her change down on the bar.

If the appeal to Astrid hadn’t worked, she would have to face the final frontier herself.
You and me, Tess,
she thought.
It’s just you and me.

Exactly as it had been at the beginning—only this time, they wouldn’t be separated. Calida had to find a way through. Find her sister, in some dark room across this city, find her and make her listen. Take her someplace safe, where she wouldn’t be hurt, wouldn’t be harmed, and then, maybe, just maybe, they could begin again.

A
t the start of December, Mia admitted: ‘I’m dreading Christmas. Can we skip it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just get away for a while—you and me. My parents will kill me but a family celebration is the last thing on my mind. Having to explain to everyone for the millionth time about Alex and the wedding, I’m sick of raking it over … Come on, Tess, say yes.’

Tess considered it. She was tired of being trapped in her building, frightened of going out and hating staying in, where she spent her days avoiding Simone’s calls and praying for Alex’s … which never came. Just because Alex had split with Mia didn’t mean he wanted to be with her. Otherwise, he’d have got in touch. Wouldn’t he? He’d never got in touch. His silence spoke volumes. It had all been a mistake.

New York at Christmas, with its laughter and lights and families, was an uninviting prospect. What about her family? One was dead. The other might as well be. Escaping with Mia could be the answer: string out the avoidance tactic a while longer. And then, after that, who knew? Perhaps 2015 would bring new things. New starts. She had to believe it. ‘OK,’ she said, warming to the idea. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes!’ Mia grabbed her tablet. ‘Where can we go?’

‘We could head back to Europe. Paris, maybe, or Spain …’

Mia wrinkled her nose. ‘How about this?’ she said, showing Tess the screen.

Tess shrugged. ‘Seems fun. Anywhere that isn’t here, I’m happy.’

Her friend beamed. ‘You won’t regret this, Tess, I swear. One thing, though: it’ll be total cut off—no phones, no internet, nothing. If I’m running away, I’m running away.’

Tess couldn’t think of anything better. ‘That sounds good to me,’ she said.

T
he man prepared diligently. Everything had to be planned to perfection.

The luxury apartment he would use as a prison wasn’t his; he would never be able to afford this kind of thing—but it seemed an appropriate place to do it, right in this living room, right in this hall. Knowing the place was vacant, he had broken in and spent hours with her belongings, using her bath salts, sleeping in her bed, the pillow pressed to his chest; scanning her photographs, photographs with that
bitch
in, and searching her expression for remorse, a glimmer of remorse, and finding none.

She would soon show remorse when he had a knife to her throat.

Now, he laid out his tools. He was shaking, which made it take longer, but there was a certain pleasure in delay. He concentrated on breathing slowly, harnessing his energy, as he might before a sexual climax. This had to be measured.

He could not blow it now—not when he was so close.

The man dressed in darkness. With each garment, he became the person he needed to be: the person who would lure her to his den. He wanted to practise ahead of the event, get a feel for his costume and what lay ahead. From inside his case, he withdrew a pair of leather gloves and strapped them
on, snug as a surgeon’s as they popped around his wrist. They smelled of antiseptic and the smell was delicious.

With a final glance in the dim, dusk-mottled mirror, the man turned the key in the door, as easily as if he were leaving his own home.

In a way, this was his home … It was his by rights.

All of this should have been his by rights.

He stepped outside. It started to snow.

D
aniel landed in New York to the blaze of Christmas. Exiting the airport, a giant Santa greeted him on a bright-red billboard; trees glistened and snow lay thick on the ground; crowds swarmed and a choir of carol singers shook collection buckets.

The air was chill and bitingly fresh. He hadn’t boarded a plane since fleeing Europe and had thought that was appropriate—that both times marked a pivot in his life, a springboard that led him to change. Come to think of it, both times had led him to her.

He spent the night in a cheap motel, before contacting her workplace. His English wasn’t good and he knew as he made the request that it would not be granted.

Instead, he waited outside XS Studios, until on the third day he saw her.

When he did, Daniel knew he would go a whole lifetime blind for one glimpse of her face. Calida was glamorous, but in the essential ways she was the same. Still that shy girl with the horses, her soul buried on the land, her hands stained with soil, her chin lifted against the wind and rain, his wild Argentinean gaucha.

Some days Daniel rode over the mountain and visited the
estancia,
to see how it was doing. The American who’d bought it had employed a team to restore it to its former glory. He
couldn’t wait for Calida to see it. The way the American had rebuilt it was astonishing, faithful to its character and origins, faithful to a time, Daniel guessed, before Diego Santiago’s death. Before it fell apart. It had come back to life with eternal dignity, so many details the same, as if the American had heard a whispered story about what it was like and taken it on as a personal vocation.

Daniel dreamed of one day being able to buy the ranch back for Calida. He knew that this dream was impossible. He was a good man, but he was without means.

His car pulled out after hers.

What would she say when she saw him? Would she give him a chance? Would her lover be there? Would she turn him away?

Daniel had to make her believe.

He had put his trust in her, once. Now it was her turn to do the same.

Doubt gnawed once more.

What have I got to offer her? Me … Only me.

But that was one thing he could give without reserve.

He was tense by the time they pulled up at her home. As Calida walked inside, Daniel gathered his nerve.
You’ll remember this. You will.

He was about to get out when, moments later, Calida reemerged from the building and jumped back in her car. Daniel frowned. Where was she going?

Calida gunned the ignition. She wore an expression of sheer determination—and also fear, as if she was about to do something drastic.

The engine revved. He had no choice but to follow.