Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (12 page)

Her eyes are watery blue and pale, and there are worry wrinkles around her eyes.

She starts to cry when she sees Marc – deep, wracking sobs that shake her skinny chest.

‘Marc. Oh Marc. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

He goes to her, and she flings her arms around his waist. ‘I told them where you were, Marc. I didn’t mean to. They phoned. They pretended to be from the college. I told them where you were. Where you were going.’

She looks up and notices me.

‘Oh! You must be Sophia.’ She tries for a smile. ‘I’m so sorry. What a mess.’

Marc turns to me.

‘Sophia,’ he says gently. ‘This is my sister. Annabel.’

I think of the fami
ly photo in Marc’s box upstairs, and the young brown-haired girl in the picture. This woman looks more than a little like that young girl. But the names on the back of that photo were Joan, Mike, Marc and Emily. No Annabel. Does Marc have another sister?

Annabel
pulls herself free and pushes hair back from her face. I see a long red and purple bruise down her left cheek, by her ear.

Marc notices it too and crouches down, taking her chin in his hand.

‘If that doesn’t heal up soon, I’m calling the doctor.’

She turns away.

‘You have to leave him for good this time,’ Marc says. ‘Do you understand me? You can’t go back. I don’t care if he says he’ll marry you. You have to think of your son.’

‘I know
. I know, Marc.’

She pulls herself from the stool.

‘Sophia, I’m so sorry.’ Her legs look barely able to hold her weight. ‘I so wanted to be well and healthy when I met you, but ... I’m a wreck again.’

‘It’s fine, really.’ She’s so frail that I want to take care of her. Wrap her in warm clothes and feed her up.

As she walks towards me, hand out to shake mine, she stumbles a little.

I leap forward, and Marc does too. We both grab her, me around her rib cage, Marc by the shoulders.

‘You need to rest,’ says Marc.

‘You need to
eat
,’ I say, helping her back onto the stool. ‘Let me make you some soup.’

‘No, please.’
Annabel shakes her head. ‘Honestly, what must you think of me? I so wanted to make a good impression on you.’ She glances at Marc and manages a weak smile. ‘The girl who has my brother head over heels.’

‘Let me fix you something,’ I say, making sure she has a firm seat on the stool. ‘Tea at least. Or hot Bovril.’

I go to the fridge and see its chock full of gourmet stuff – potted crab, sides of ham, smoked salmon and a basket of exotic fruit tied with ribbons.

‘Do you have any chicken soup?’ I ask Marc.

He comes to my shoulder and looks into the fridge. ‘Rodney stocked up in case Annabel felt like eating. I don’t know if chicken soup was on his radar.’

‘Do you think you could manage some soup?’ I ask
Annabel.

‘I can try.’
Annabel gives Marc the tiniest of smiles. ‘She’s beautiful, Marc. Just like you said. Inside and out. I can see why you like her.’

I feel a smile in my stomach and glance at Marc, but he’s giving nothing away, so I open and close cupboards, looking for hearty, warming foods – the sort you want when you’re ill and shaky. I don’t know what’s wrong with
Annabel, but chicken soup helps most things.

There’s nothing in the cupboards but gourmet spreads, exotic spices, speciality flours and warm champagne.

I go back to the fridge and find a packet of Harrods roasted chicken legs and some fresh tarragon. There are odd bits of vegetable in the fridge door – a bunch of carrots with big leafy stems, a Savoy cabbage and a packet of Jersey Royal potatoes.

I rummage in the cupboard for flour, noticing Marc watching me, a half smile on his face.

‘Chicken soup,’ I say, taking down a knife and chopping vegetables on a marble board. ‘And I’ll bake some soda bread too.’

Thanks to Rodney’s organisation, the kitchen is easy to use, and I soon have a pan of soup boiling on the stove and soda bread baking in the oven.

When I serve
Annabel her bowl of soup, she takes a spoonful and smiles.

‘
Mmm,’ she says. ‘I haven’t had anything like this in a long time.’ She looks at Marc. ‘I’ll bet you haven’t either. A home-cooked meal.’

‘On the contrary,’ says Marc. ‘Sophia cooked me a meal just the other day. At her father’s house.’

‘If it was as delicious as this, you were lucky,’ says Annabel.

‘It was sublime.’

I blush when Marc says that. He’s probably eaten at some of the world’s best restaurants, but still he enjoyed my cooking.

‘Do you think you could manage some bread?’ I ask
Annabel, stooping to check my little loaf in the oven.

‘It smells so good,’ says
Annabel. ‘I’d love some.’

I take the loaf from the oven and cut a little slice for
Annabel. I don’t butter it –that might be a step too far – but she seems happy to dip it into her soup.

There’s colour in her cheeks now, and she’s sitting up much straighter.

‘What must you think of me, Sophia?’ she says, scraping her spoon on the bottom of the bowl. ‘A grown woman, a wreck like this.’

I think about what Jen told me, before I started Ivy College. About Marc’s sister being a heroin addict. I don’t care if she is. I don’t judge people.
But I wonder how Giles Getty is involved in all this.

‘Don’t call yourself that,’ I say. ‘Think of your son – he wouldn’t want his mother talking
about herself that way.’

Tear’s slide down Annabel’s face. ‘I’m no mother. My son
is with foster parents.’

‘God,
you poor thing,’ I say. ‘That must be awful for you.’

Annabel nods and sniffs. ‘
It was my choice. I asked them to take him. Until I can get myself free of this stuff and his father, he’s better off in care. I need to get well this time. I have to. Or they’ll take him away permanently.’

‘You should sleep now,’ says Marc, frowning. ‘You need to rest.’

‘Yes,’ says Annabel, clambering up from the stool. ‘Thank you so much, Sophia. Not just for the food.’ She looks at me, and her eyes are big and earnest. ‘For caring.’

‘Here, I’ll help you,’ says Marc.

‘No, no.’ She waves him away. ‘Please. I feel bad enough about meeting Sophia like this. You stay here. I’ll be fine.’ She gives him a weak smile. ‘You know I will be – you’ve seen me like this plenty of times before.’

‘And I’m concerned each and every time.’

‘I know,’ says Annabel, limping out of the room. ‘And I love you for it.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I ask gently, picking up Annabel’s bowl and taking it to the sink.

‘Tell you?’ Marc takes a seat on a stool, one leg dangling towards the floor.

‘That your sister was your house guest. And that she was sick.’

‘Sick? That’s one word for it.’

‘I was thinking all sorts of things.’

‘Oh?’ Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘You were jealous?’

I look at the floor. ‘Maybe. A little. My mind was playing tricks.’

Marc lets out a long, low laugh and my stomach grows soft.

‘I always thought dark feelings were for people like me.’

‘Perhaps I’m not the angel you think I am.’

‘You are. But perhaps you won’t be by the time I’ve finished with you.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I think you know exactly what I mean.’

I feel my stomach flip over, and the familiar melting, crazy-making feeling that has me falling into Marc’s arms whenever he snaps his fingers. But I resist it. There are serious things to discuss.

‘I don’t know why it had to be such a big mystery,’ I say. ‘Was she who you were talking to on the phone? When we were in the hotel?’

Marc nods slowly, watching me.

‘And the person you so badly had to meet up with? The person who could help you with your future?’

‘I
need Annabel to be better. To break free of her boyfriend and move forward. Until she does, there’ll always be a part of me who’s angry. And as long as I’m angry ... there’ll be a barrier between us.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me?’

Marc opens out his hands. ‘I didn’t want you to have to deal with ... something like this ... so early on. I wanted you to meet her when she’d recovered.’

‘Recovered?’

‘From her heroin addiction.’ He rests his chin on his elbow, still watching me.

‘I heard about that,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know if it was true.’

‘It’s true. She’s going through withdrawal right now. Day four. There’s light at the end of the tunnel.’

‘How can we help her get better?’

Marc smiles and shakes his head. ‘And you wonder why I love you? She’s nothing to you, and yet you want to help her. Most people would think ‘junkie scum’ and run a mile.’

‘Of course I don’t think that. She’s a human being. We all have our problems. And I want to help, if I can. She’s your sister. Why wouldn’t I want to help?’

‘It’s going to take a bit more than a few bowls of soup, Sophia.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘Sorry. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean ...’ He looks up. ‘I love that you did that for her. But we’ve been battling this for years. Years. She wants to stop, but something always drags her back. Not something, some
one
. Her boyfriend.’

‘The one you punched out?’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Marc’s eyes widen. ‘How did you -’

‘Jen,’ I say. ‘She works in PR, remember?’

‘Ah, yes. The PR bulldog. Of course. She certainly knows her stuff. She was my chief suspect when the press knew our location.’

‘
Jen
?’ I’m outraged. ‘She would
never
do
anything
like that. We’re like sisters. How could you even think that?’

Marc’s top lip curls into a sexy smile. ‘Jealous and a hot temper? I’m seeing new sides to you today, Miss Rose.’

I blow out air. ‘It’s been a difficult day.’

‘I accept that.’ He holds his hands up, still smiling. ‘Maybe I don’t trust as easily as you. But don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. It’s clear Jen means a lot to you. I take back my comment.’

‘Thank you.’ I hesitate. ‘Marc?’

‘Yes?’

‘Who’s Emily?’

Marc stares at me for a moment. ‘How do you ...’

‘I saw the name Emily on your family picture. In the box in your bedroom. Do you have another sister?’

‘No.’ Marc shakes his head. ‘Emily
was the name our mother gave my sister. But when our mother died and we moved to the States, my father renamed her. Emily was too plain for him.’

‘That’s ... awful,’ I say. ‘
He sounds ... a little crazy.’

‘Not crazy, just spectacularly self
-centred. The worse example of a human being.’

There’s a vibrating sound, and Marc slips his phone from his trouser pocket. He frowns when he sees the number, but still takes the call.

‘Minty. Yes. Yes, I heard.’ He frowns, thick eyebrows pulling together. ‘So they thought they’d go through me? Well, as it happens, Sophia’s right here. No, that won’t be necessary. There’s no decision to make. Tell them she won’t take the part.’

He hangs up.

‘Marc?’ I feel uneasy. ‘What just happened?’

‘
That was the
Beauty and the Beast
musical. They couldn’t get hold of you, so they phoned my publicity person instead.’

‘And you told them
...
what
, exactly?’

‘You heard what I told her.’

‘You told them
I wouldn’t take the part
? Without asking me? Am I hearing you right?’

‘Exa
ctly right. It’s not safe.’

I step back from him, not quite knowing where to turn or what to do. ‘How could you ... you had no
right.’

‘I have
your best interests at heart.’

He moves towards me, but I take another step back, shaking my head. ‘I can’t believe you did that. Marc, you have to phone them back. Tell them that it’s my choice.’

‘I see no reason for doing that.’

‘You see no reason?’ I can barely get the words out, I’m so angry. ‘No
reason
?’ I feel like I’m falling, and the kitchen goes blurry. ‘I can’t be around you right now,’ I hear myself say. ‘I need to be alone.’

I storm out of the kitchen
into the hallway, before I realise there’s nowhere to go. The paparazzi are outside.

I turn a circle in the hallway.