B004D4Y20I EBOK (29 page)

Tara stood up and walked to her office window. ‘All my life, I’ve worked to be a success. I know bad things can happen, things that are outside one’s control. But the essence of success is knowing when a risk is worth taking, and when it’s not. I don’t think Gerald understands that. He believes he’s untouchable, destined for great things. He honestly believes he’s superior to little people and that’s a dangerous mindset. I used to be overawed by him, impressed by his confidence and the certainty he possessed that he was always right. Now …’ She turned to face Jemima, fear in her eyes. ‘I just don’t know. It’s beginning to look more and more like hubris to me. And I’m not sure I want to share my life with someone like that any more. Besides, there are other things in our relationship that aren’t right.’ She paused for a moment and then added quietly, ‘He wants to control me too. He thinks he can.’

‘So leave him,’ Jemima said earnestly. ‘You don’t have to put up with his behaviour.’

‘It’s not that easy.’ Tara’s head drooped and Jemima wondered if she were crying. ‘He’s making my life hell. I can’t tell you everything that’s happened. But I’m not ready to leave him. What about the children?’

‘Do you honestly believe it’s healthy for them to live in that environment? Not a thing out of place? The whole house terrified of putting a foot wrong? Do you want them to grow up with a mother scared of their own father? I know our childhood wasn’t exactly rosy,
but
one thing’s for sure, our parents respected each other. Who knows if they loved each other right to the end – though I think Mother never stopped adoring Daddy – but they certainly never showed us anything other than a united front.’

‘But the children are happy, honestly. He’s their father, he adores them and they love him with all their hearts. I can’t break up our home.’ Tara turned round, wiping her eyes. ‘Another Trevellyan mess, I’m afraid. Look at us. Both in miserable marriages. How did we manage to end up with husbands we don’t love?’

Jemima stared at her for a moment, then averted her gaze. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

‘At least we have the company,’ Tara said stoutly.

Jemima gave a half-smile. ‘Yeah. But a company doesn’t keep you warm at night.’

26

POPPY CLUTCHED HER
sketch pad under her arm. In it were dozens of pictures of perfume bottles. She’d spent a happy afternoon in various department stores and perfumers, looking only at bottles and trying to understand what they said to her and to the average shopper. She’d found bottles shaped like stars or abstract shapes, like classical urns, with stoppers shaped like birds or diamonds or flowers; square bottles, round bottles, triangular bottles; clear or opaque; with accents of silver or gold, with labels and without, with ribbons, with jewels, with engraving. There was no end to the variety.

Then she’d gone to an arts club in Notting Hill where she was a member and spent a further happy hour drawing ideas for what she thought was the perfect bottle for
Trevellyan’s Tea Rose
.

What is
Tea Rose? she wondered.
Who is this scent for? What is it trying to say? What should the bottle convey?

She ended up with some ideas she liked but she
realised
that until the new version of the perfume was created, they wouldn’t know the answer to any of those questions.
It’s a process of evolution
, she thought.
As the scent evolves, we’ll start to understand what we really want. At the moment, all we know is what we don’t want
.

She decided not to return to Trevellyan House and instead walked back home, taking a detour through Kensington Palace gardens on her way, to enjoy some greenery and a break from the heavy traffic on the main road.

I wonder if George will be about
, she thought idly as she walked. She knew he had a couple of afternoons off a week but couldn’t remember which they were. She sighed happily. The night she had spent with him had been beautifully invigorating. For the first time she understood how sex could be good for your health: she felt alive, full of energy and generally happy. She had also not given Tom a thought since it happened.

Is that all it takes?
she wondered.
One really good shag from a new bloke and suddenly, my broken heart is all mended? Who said women were fickle, eh?

But it felt as though a line had been drawn under her relationship with Tom. Spending the night with George had shown her new possibilities. There were other men out there; funny, witty, caring, expert lovers, just waiting to be the next chapter of her story.

When she reached the square, she walked slowly, taking every step at half-speed. Then, when she got home, she climbed the stairs at a snail’s pace, listening out all the time for the sound of anyone in the building. She passed by Miss Fellowes’s flat, glancing at the door, but continuing up the stairs.

It was only when she reached the door to her own apartment that she realised the swooping sense of disappointment which descended on her could only mean one thing. That she’d been hoping to see George more than she’d realised.

Oh God
, she thought.
So much for sex being good for you. I’d forgotten that getting rid of one obsession just leaves a vacancy for another. I can’t believe it. I bet I never see him again
.

She was dressing to go out when there was a knock at the front door.

She breathed in sharply and stared wide-eyed at her reflection for a moment.

Her first thought was:
Is it George?

Her second was:
If it is, thank God I’m already dressed!
She was wearing a flowery silk tea dress in bright blues and reds, with high cream Mary Janes. To go with the dress, she’d set her hair in a 1940s Veronica-Lake peek-a-boo style, so that she had a long dark sheet of wavy hair falling seductively over one eye. Fiery red lipstick and lashings of mascara finished the look.

Her third was:
But I’m going out!

Heart thumping, she opened the door. Her stomach did a somersault. George was standing there in the hallway, a sweet smile on his face and a bunch of white ranunculus in his hand.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d drop by. I got these for you.’ He noticed how dressed up she was and his face fell. ‘Oh, you’re going out. Of course.’

‘Thank you – they’re beautiful.’ She took the flowers
he
was offering. ‘Yes, I’ve got to go to a private view. A friend of mine is exhibiting for the first time. It’s very exciting.’

‘Well, I hope you have a marvellous time. Perhaps we can meet up another evening.’

‘Why don’t you come with me?’ Poppy said in a rush. ‘Ally won’t mind.’

‘Oh. I don’t want to impose. Honestly, I only came by on the off chance …’

‘No, no, you must come. I mean it. It’s just a view. The more the merrier. Especially if you buy a picture … Joking, I’m joking,’ she said quickly when she saw the look on George’s face.

‘As long as you’re sure I wouldn’t be in the way …’

‘I’m certain.’

‘Then I’d love to.’ He stepped into the flat as Poppy went about gathering her bag and finding her keys. Finally she was ready.

‘Have I told you how devastatingly gorgeous you’re looking?’ he asked, taking her hand.

‘No.’ Poppy looked out sultrily from under her sheet of hair. ‘But you can if you like.’

‘I most certainly
do
like. I particularly like that 1940s look. It makes me feel like I’m back in fashion, briefly.’

George was wearing a tweed jacket, a bright yellow waistcoat and baggy chinos, with polished brogues. He could have stepped straight out of 1947.

It’s a sign
, thought Poppy.
We’re obviously the perfect match
.

* * *

The private view was held at an exclusive Cork Street gallery. Burly men in black suits stood on either side of the door as the guests arrived. Just inside, a beautiful blonde gallery assistant took their invitation, ticked them off a list and asked them to sign the visitors’ book. George signed in a flowing handwriting. He seemed entirely at home in the glitzy crowd. The men were debonair in suits, a mixture of old and new money, arty types and high-powered City boys who were looking to invest in paintings, as they needed something to spend their money on. All the women were extremely glamorous, from the pretty young things, mostly from wealthy backgrounds and trying out the art world as a career, to the fabulously well-turned-out forty-and-fifty-somethings. There were even a few knock-out old ladies, loaded with jewels and wearing expensive black dresses or vintage Chanel tweed suits.

Immediately Poppy arrived, she was surrounded by friends, and she spent a happy hour exclaiming, kissing cheeks, introducing George and talking non-stop, swapping as much news as she could in the short period of time before another friend dashed up to claim her.

‘You’re very popular,’ murmured George into her ear as he pressed a glass of champagne into her hand.

‘I didn’t realise how many people would be here.’ She smiled at him delightedly. She already felt a little high on the champagne, and it was lovely to see so many friends, greeting her so enthusiastically. She had begun to believe that no one wanted to know her after
Tom,
that they had taken his side. And yet, there they all were, asking her where on earth she’d been hiding and saying how brilliant it was to see her again. Not one of them had mentioned Tom, but maybe they were being polite. After all, she was obviously here with George.

She caught a glimpse of him in a mirror. He was chatting comfortably to a group of people. She could see her own reflection too, standing just to one side of George. She looked pretty and her dress was still as good as it had looked in the mirror at home. But more important than that, she looked happy.

After the private view, they walked home together. On the way, they stopped at a Japanese restaurant and bought a big tray of sushi and sashimi to take home. Back at her flat, they sat cross-legged on the floor and ate with chopsticks. Poppy opened a bottle of champagne from her fridge and their ability to pick up the sushi and dip it in the soy and wasabi deteriorated accordingly, but it made them laugh. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice came silkily from the stereo, and Poppy felt ridiculously contented.

When the tray was empty and the soy dish almost dry, they both knew what would happen. Poppy turned down the lights, kicked off her shoes and danced lazily to the music, singing along to ‘Dream A Little Dream of Me’ while George watched her, his gaze burning.

A moment later, he jumped up, took her in his arms and they danced slowly together. He was surprisingly
good
at it, pressing her tightly to him so that they moved in harmony. Her stomach swooped as lust bubbled through her.

Kiss me, kiss me
, she thought. Then he lowered his mouth to hers and began to kiss her properly, pushing his tongue into her mouth, exploring her. He tasted warm and delicious and she responded quickly, pushing her hands inside his waistcoat and unbuttoning his shirt so that she could feel his smooth chest and run her hand up to the nest of soft hair under his arms. He smelt so sweet, all she wanted to do was bury her nose in his neck and arms, and inhale his smell. It excited her and set her heart racing.

‘You feel amazing,’ she murmured as she pulled his clothes from his body, until he was wearing only his trousers, that couldn’t conceal his growing arousal.

She stepped back from him and smiled seductively, tossing her dark hair with a flirtatious shake of her head. Then she slowly unbuttoned her tea dress, and let it slip to the floor leaving her standing in her small white cotton briefs and bra. Stepping out of the dress, she went back to him, pressing herself against him so that the hardness in his groin rubbed against her stomach. He bent to kiss her again, wanting to touch her skin, run his hands over her naked back and over her white breasts which swelled up invitingly from her bra. But she teasingly pushed him backwards until he was standing against one of the dining chairs, then, more forcefully, pressed him down on to the seat. He looked up at her, his eyes intense with desire. She sat down on his lap, one slim white leg on each side, and
returned
to his mouth, kissing him deeply and pushing her groin against his trousers.

He was panting between their long kisses, desperate to caress her breasts, his mouth reaching for her nipples, eager to free them from her bra, but she kept him softly back, so that his desire for her grew stronger.

‘You’re teasing me,’ he protested, longing to touch her flesh and rip her bra and panties away.

‘All in good time,’ she breathed. Reaching down, she unzipped his trousers and felt inside. She pulled out his stiff cock, smiling with admiration. She held the shaft close to her, pressing him against her panties tempting him with the damp heat within. He moaned softly. When he bent his head to her breasts this time, she let him use his mouth to push the fabric aside and release her erect nipples so that he could suck and pull on them, making them tingle delightfully while she ran her hands over his cock.

Pausing for a moment, she reached for the condom packet she’d put in her bag earlier and left in reach on the table. Handing it to him, she watched as he deftly opened it and rolled the sheath down over his cock. Raising herself up on the chair, she pushed aside the crotch of her panties. He drew his breath in sharply at the sight and tensed as she pulled his throbbing penis towards her. For a moment she remained poised above it, the tip just lost inside her and then, when they could both stand it no longer, she lowered herself on to him. George closed his eyes and gasped as he entered her, feeling her tightness yield to him, and they sat motionless for some
time,
enjoying the exquisite sensation of being joined together.

Then George wrapped his arms around her, taking her weight, and stood up, with her still impaled on his penis. He moved slowly into the middle of the room and then sank to his knees, lowering her on to the soft rug until she was lying on her back. Reaching down, he pulled at her panties until the seam broke, then he pushed them aside, and began to thrust inside her.