A Perfect Heritage (43 page)

No one had ever stood up to Athina and she’d just got worse and worse, saying and doing whatever she chose, and even humiliating Cornelius in the boardroom, delivering some withering criticism of him. Bertie, forced to watch and listen, would find himself most vividly back in Mr Keith’s study, knowing he was entirely helpless to do anything to stop it.

Only now suddenly he felt he could.

He phoned her to make an arrangement to go round to the flat one night when he was sure she would be on her own and concentrated, in the meantime, on looking for another job and a solicitor who might be able to handle his divorce.

Apart from that, he kept his head down and his office door shut, working extremely hard and avoiding everyone, particularly Lara. He knew that one word of kindly curiosity from her as to whether he was all right would render him unable to maintain his silence. And after a while, rebuffed several times over offers of lunch, drinks, and even coffees, Lara withdrew. There was no way she was going to expose herself, especially within the company where she had her position to consider, to either ridicule or pity, as a divorcee of a certain age chasing after an openly disinterested man. She’d seen it happen several times herself and it was not a pretty sight.

He didn’t mean it, of course he didn’t. Everyone knew that. Of course he wouldn’t kill himself, the people who said they were going to never actually did. It was just a cry for help. And designed to frighten her, to get a response. He was mad. Or at least unhinged.

It had started the very next day: after she’d got back to her office after talking to Bianca about her idea.

A text:
If you shut me out now, I’ll kill myself. I mean it.

She stared it, bile rising in her throat; she ran to the loo, threw up. This was hideous, terrifying. She heard another text arrive, flinched. But it was from Jonjo.

Hi. You free tonight?

She texted back,
Sorry no. Tomorrow?

She just couldn’t do it tonight, not with this nightmare going on.

Only it would still be going on tomorrow, wouldn’t it?

Back in her office she stared fearfully at the screen as an email arrived.

She suddenly felt she knew how it felt to be stalked . . .

They had had something of an altercation that morning, following Milly’s refusal even to allow her into her room the night before.

Milly had come down to the kitchen this morning and she looked dreadful. She was clearly exhausted; white-faced, heavy rings under her dark eyes. And she was very thin. She hadn’t properly noticed that Milly’s blazer practically hung off her. What sort of a mother did that make her? God, don’t say she was developing anorexia. She was exactly the age . . . Milly smiled at her now, almost imperceptibly, said goodbye, made for the door.

‘Darling, have some breakfast.’

‘I don’t want any breakfast.’

‘Sweetheart, you must eat something. How about a waffle with maple syrup?’

‘I said I didn’t want anything. Didn’t you hear me? Let me say it again.’ She raised her voice: ‘I don’t want anything! OK? I’m going now. Bye.’

As the front door slammed, Bianca jumped up to call her back, then realised it would be pointless. She looked out of the window, and her heart turned over; Milly was trudging along the street, in the slightly pigeon-toed walk of girls her age, her head drooping. She must do something to help her, Bianca thought, stabbed with fresh remorse. But how was she going to even begin?

If she was being subjected to a bullying campaign, then the school would surely know about it – they made such a performance about it all, assuring parents that they were absolutely on the alert for it, and had a zero tolerance policy. Maybe she should have made her own inquiries, but she’d been so busy. Later today she’d email Mrs Blackman, demand a meeting but right now, she had to get into work . . .

Milly walked dutifully to the bus stop and waited. But as the bus arrived she saw the smirking faces, the fake waves of two of her tormentors, and simply turned and walked away. She couldn’t face another day, another hour, even another minute at St Catherine’s. They had broken her; they had won.

She walked down Haverstock Hill and then along Adelaide Road to Swiss Cottage and into the shopping mall where she and Jayce had spent so many hours, and settled herself into the coffee shop.

‘These are – lovely, Lady Farrell. Really beautiful.’

Only God would ever know what that had cost her to admire the prototypes for the perfume packaging Athina had had mocked up. It was truly beautiful: dark, dark red lettering on white, the word
Passion
scrawled recklessly across the box.

‘I’m so pleased you like it. The bottle is one
you
found, reminiscent of the Arpège design. Of course we really should do something original. It’s a crime to cheapen the whole thing with stock packaging.’

‘Unfortunately, that would treble the cost.’

‘In our day, that would have been seen as an investment. However . . . Now, you must excuse me, I have a meeting in the lab.’

Which you shouldn’t be having, Bianca thought, as I’ve made so plain so many times. But might as well tell lightning not to strike. She smiled feebly at Athina and went back to her office. Susie had asked to see her, and Mike and Hugh were due in fifteen minutes.

‘Hello.’

Milly jumped and looked up from her phone. A policewoman stood in front of her. A second one stood a few yards away.

‘Hello,’ she said carefully.

‘No school today?’ said the woman.

‘Um – yes. Yes, of course. But I’ve been to the dentist.’

‘Right. Where do you go to school?’

‘St Catherine’s, Chelsea.’

‘That’s a long way from here, isn’t it?’

‘Well – yes,’ said Milly, ‘but girls go there from all over London.’

‘So, if you’ve been to the dentist, shouldn’t you be getting along there now?’

It was beginning to dawn on Milly why she was being questioned. The policewomen thought she was playing truant.

‘I’m – I’m waiting for my mother,’ she said, inspiration striking. ‘She’s driving me to school.’

‘And where is she now? Didn’t she go to the dentist with you?’

‘Well . . . no. She’s busy.’

‘I see. Right. Well, what time are you meeting her?’

Milly looked at her watch. It was half past eleven.

‘Midday,’ she said.

‘So where do you live?’

‘Oh, P-Primrose Hill,’ said Milly.

She was beginning to feel a bit sick. Inspiration struck her.

‘I need to go to the toilet,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’ She could give her the slip surely, then head off to school.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said the woman, ‘if you don’t mind.’

‘Lucy! Hello. What are you doing, loitering in the corridor? Looking for your dad?’

Bianca really liked Lucy; she had met her for the first time at the sales conference and thought she had a real talent as a make-up artist. She was also touched by her clear devotion and loyalty to her father, and OK, so she clearly also adored her grandmother, but nobody was perfect.

‘Oh, good morning, Mrs Bailey.’

‘Please, call me Bianca. Mrs Bailey is a very old person. Which is what I daresay you think I am.’

‘Of course not! I hope you don’t mind me being here. I’m looking for Dad, but I’m also killing a bit of time, waiting for Grandy. She’s in a meeting, apparently, and her office is locked. She’s taking me out to lunch. To – to celebrate something.’

‘Which is? Oh, sorry, maybe I shouldn’t ask.’

‘Oh, no, of course you should. I’ve just got two days’ work doing make up at London Fashion Week in April. And I can’t believe it! It came through a big charity show I did – I’ve managed to get on that circuit – and word’s got round, I suppose.’

‘Lucy, that’s fantastic! People would kill for that gig! Very well done. Lovely to talk to you, and enjoy your lunch. Your dad’s definitely around because I just left him. If you can’t find him, come and sit in Jemima’s office and have a coffee.’

‘Oh, cool. Thank you. Lovely to talk to you, Mrs – er – Bianca. And I did enjoy the conference. I thought it was really cool.’

Bianca went into her office, smiling; if Milly turned out that charming and easy she would be very pleased.

‘I’ve been thinking some more about your idea,’ said Susie. ‘In fact, I can’t stop. And thinking about the launch – it’s going to be amazing. I’ve got so many ideas already. I do have one question, though.’

‘Yes?’

‘How many shops are we talking about?’

‘Ah,’ said Bianca, ‘we’re not sure yet. But – quite a few.’

‘So what’s a few?’

‘At least four, maybe more.’

She smiled at Susie; but she didn’t smile back. She looked embarrassed.

‘Bianca, that – well, that won’t be enough. This’ll only work if you have loads of them.’

‘And how would you define loads?’ Bianca’s voice had developed a cool edge.

‘Well – well at least a dozen. All over the world. Sydney, New York, Dubai, all the big shopping places. Otherwise, time-wise alone, it won’t be exciting enough. I’m sorry if it sounds rude, but I just don’t think you’ll get the interest otherwise. Get the story going.’

‘Well, I’m obviously still investigating that side of things,’ said Bianca. ‘I’ll keep you posted about that as well. Meanwhile – oh, hello Mike, Hugh, come on in. Didn’t Jemima—’

‘She’s not there,’ said Mike. ‘She’s downstairs in reception and sent us on up.’

‘Oh – OK. Well, I’m just finished, so . . .’

Jemima, most unusually flushed, looked round the door. ‘Excuse me, Bianca, but there’s someone – well, that is, maybe you could – should – come outside. It’s quite important.’

‘Jemima, whatever is it? Has Lady Farrell come back?’

‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. Although Lucy is waiting to speak to you when you’re done with Hugh and Mike. And – and she’s got Bertie with her. But this – well, it’s personal.’

‘Jemima, please tell me what’s going on.’

‘Bianca—’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! All right, I’ll come out. Would you excuse me?’ she said to Hugh and Mike.

She walked into the outer office – and felt the ground heave. Milly stood there, tear-stained and defiant, a policewoman beside her. She stalked into the office, the policewoman following her.

How had this happened? Bianca wondered. How had she raised a daughter who not only played truant and had to be brought into the office by a policewoman, who was even now telling her, in distinctly disapproving tones, that children under sixteen should not be roaming shopping centres unsupervised, but who was now screaming at her dementedly.

Telling her she was a stupid, bloody, selfish cow who didn’t care about her, that if she did she’d have noticed something was wrong, gone to the school, tried to sort things out, but she’d been too busy with her stupid bloody job, hadn’t noticed what she was going through.

‘I
did
notice,’ Bianca kept saying helplessly. ‘I asked and asked you to tell me, but you wouldn’t—’

‘Oh, so you couldn’t notice for yourself that I never saw my friends any more, never got asked anywhere, never went out?’

She was crying so hard she was shaking violently. ‘And Daddy, he’s as bad these days, never talks to me. He’s obsessed with that stupid, stupid man, and his own stupid job. Ruby noticed, and Fergie’s been really worried, and I know he said something to you and what did you do?
Nothing!
I hate you, I hate you both, with your darling this and your darling that! You don’t deserve to have children! Jayce’s mother, with all the boyfriends and everything, she’s a better mother than you!’

‘Who’s Jayce?’

‘My friend. My only friend.’

‘Oh, is she the girl you were with when you met Ruby on Primrose Hill—’

‘Yes. The fat, spotty girl, who you wouldn’t approve of, who’s kind and generous and really cares about me, who you’d never have in the house because what would your friends say, and the other mothers, Carey’s mother and Sarajane’s and Annabel’s, all those dear little girls, who speak so nicely and say “thank you for having me, Mrs Bailey” so beautifully and who’ve made me wish I was dead, and – God, your values are just so disgusting!’

Somewhere, interspersed with this monologue, the policewoman asked questions, filled in a form, asked her to sign it and left.

Milly stopped screaming.

Jemima reappeared.

‘I’m so sorry, Bianca, but Mike needs a quick word, very quick he says, then they’ll be off, but a contract needs signing and apparently it can’t wait . . .’

‘Oh God!’ Go on, Bianca, just say you can’t see him now, ask him to come back later . . . but she couldn’t. The contract was completely vital.

‘Milly, could you just give me five minutes? I have to see this person, very briefly.’

Milly shrugged. ‘Makes no difference to me,’ she said, sullen once more.

‘Milly, if you want to come into my office, I’ve got loads of magazines.’ This from a tall pretty blonde woman, standing just behind Jemima, who had been with her mother when she arrived.

‘I’d rather stay here, thanks.’

‘Milly . . .’ It was another girl, much younger. ‘Milly, I have to wait for about half an hour too, for my grandmother. Would you like to come and have a hot chocolate with me? Would that be all right, Mrs Bailey?’

‘Oh, Lucy, how kind, I’m sure she’d like that, wouldn’t you darling?’

Milly shrugged again.

‘OK.’

She followed Lucy out of the office, feeling, for some reason, vaguely better. She supposed it was because she had now seriously embarrassed her mother. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would be good for her precious image, having a policewoman arrive in her office, with her own daughter practically handcuffed to her. She might have gone now, the policewoman, but enough people had seen her to realise why she’d been there. Well, good. It was revenge of sorts. She was beginning to wish she’d been smoking. Or had been found with a spliff on her . . .

‘I won’t ask what that was all about,’ said Lucy with a grin, as they settled at their table in Starbucks, ‘but I can imagine. How horrible for you.’