Naked Truths (12 page)

‘I'm sure things are different now,' said Caro hurriedly, noticing Frances's look of alarm.

‘Mmm, yes,' said Angie absently. ‘No one wears feather boas these days.'

That evening Caro invited Granny Clem over to Mill House for dinner. She had suggested picking up a takeaway from the Chinese in Bedlington, but received such a look of horror from Clementine that she ended up serving a fresh pasta dish, cheating ever so slightly with a jar of Loyd Grossman sauce.

The two women had dinner outside on the decked patio. Despite the fading light, the garden was bursting with colour and vigour. In Caro's absence Clementine had insisted on looking after it, and Caro thought it had never looked better.

‘I wish I was as good as you at gardening, Granny Clem.'

‘You could always give it a try,' Clementine pointed out.

‘I did, remember? I pulled up five hundred pounds' worth of flowers in one afternoon,' Caro said wryly. ‘Sebastian went mad. I can't say I blame him, although in my defence I had just had Milo and was so sleep-deprived I could barely string a sentence together, let alone distinguish between a narcissus and a nettle.'

‘Have you heard from Sebastian?' asked Clementine. ‘I suppose now you're in London he can't fob you off with ridiculous excuses to not see Milo.' Caro bit her lip and Clementine immediately looked guilt-stricken. ‘How rude of me darling, I do apologize.'

Caro refilled her grandmother's glass with a dash of dry sherry. ‘It's fine. You're right, of course. The last thing I want is any more confrontations with Sebastian, but I had hoped he'd take Milo out more. He's still paying monthly maintenance, but that's about it.' She sighed and took a sip of wine. ‘I really picked one there, didn't I? I just feel for poor Milo, having a father who's not interested in him.'

‘He's got Benedict,' her grandmother told her. ‘And so have you. That's what matters. Sebastian is the one who will lose out in the end.'

It was eleven o'clock before Caro bid Clementine good-night at the front door.

‘Are you sure I can't walk you home?'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Clementine said, pulling on her stout walking shoes. ‘I may be ancient and decrepit, but I haven't lost the ability to put one foot in front of the other.'

Caro smiled. ‘That's not what I meant.' She kissed her grandmother gently on the cheek. ‘Do you think you'll come and visit us at Montague Mews? There's plenty of room.'

‘I think I'm getting a bit too old for gallivanting up to London.'

Clementine shifted slightly, and the porch light fell on her face. For the first time, Caro thought she detected a hint of vulnerability.

‘Well, the offer's always there. I could come and pick you up.'

‘That's very kind,' Clementine replied. ‘Let's see a little further down the line, shall we?'

Somehow Caro knew she never would.

Caro sighed and snapped the book shut. Valentina Black's latest novel was her best yet. Famous for her wildly romantic novels set in exotic locations round the world, the notoriously reclusive Ms Black was rumoured to live in tax exile in Switzerland. Regularly topping the bestseller lists, she had been one of Caro's favourite writers for years.

Caro lay back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. It was nearly midnight, but she felt restless. After her grandmother had left, Caro had phoned her mother in Barbados for a catch-up. They'd been in fits of laughter, as Tink regaled Caro with the latest episode from Camilla and Jed's travels. They were now staying with a shaman on an organic farm just outside Mexico City, making musical instruments out of vegetables. As usual, Tink had been in full dramatic flow.

‘Camilla sounds fine, but I'm a bit worried they've inadvertently joined a cult or something. Heavens, they could both be kidnapped and held to ransom for the GNP of Paraguay!' Caro had heard a muffled voice in the background.

‘What was that?'

‘Your father says I've been watching too many of those trashy detective dramas again. But one never knows!' Tink's fertile imagination was well-known in the family, and many an entertaining but completely exaggerated story had tumbled breathlessly from her lips. Caro had giggled. ‘He does have a point, Mummy.'

Caro sat up and strained her ears. She was sure she'd heard a soft knock on the front door, but who could it be at this hour? Throwing on Benedict's too-big dressing gown, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and went downstairs.

‘Hello?' she called out. Keeping the safety chain on, she cautiously opened the door a crack. To her surprised delight, Benedict was standing on the step, an overnight bag in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other.

‘What are you doing here?' Caro cried happily. She opened the door and flung her arms around her husband.

‘We got through it quicker than expected,' Benedict said as he nuzzled her neck. ‘I was going to drive down first thing tomorrow, but I couldn't wait to see you. Sorry about getting you up, I forgot my keys.'

‘Do you fancy a nightcap?' asked Caro, leading him into the hallway. Benedict put the bag and flowers down and slipped his hands inside the dressing gown.

‘I fancy you,' he said gravely. He shot her a look and opened the door to the downstairs loo.

‘Ssh, we'll wake Milo!' she whispered, half-laughing.

‘Not in here, we won't. Come and sit on my lap, I promise to behave myself.'

Like the imaginary Gabrielle, Caro found herself helpless to resist. Benedict deftly kicked the door shut with one foot. For once, he didn't keep his word.

Next morning the family enjoyed a breakfast in the garden. Benedict had brought fresh bread and orange juice, so they ate the spongy loaf with Clementine's homemade blackberry jam, and fluffy scrambled eggs that Caro knocked up on the Aga.

‘Have you had any interest in the house?' she asked, inclining her head next door. Benedict paused, a mouthful of egg on his fork. ‘It's only been on a week, but the estate agents are very confident about selling it for full price, even in this market. They seem to think it will appeal to families in London, looking to leave the rat race.'

‘I hope they're better than the last neighbour,' Caro said mischievously. ‘He was a right pain in the backside, gave me no end of problems.'

‘Funny, that. I heard the poor fellow was driven to distraction,' said Benedict.

Caro laughed. ‘What do you fancy doing today?'

Benedict stretched. ‘Something within walking distance.'

‘Why don't you stay out here and keep Milo entertained while I have a shower, then we can go for a walk down to the Meadows? We can pop in and see Granny Clem on the way back.'

They ended up staying for lunch at Fairoaks in the end and, after a pleasurable few hours in the conservatory, the three made their way back towards Mill House.

They had just passed the village shop when the door to the house next door flew open. A tall, skinny woman with long, flame-red hair rushed out. She was carrying a large, lurid canvas under one arm and didn't seem to notice Caro and Benedict until she nearly ran straight into them.

‘Oh!' the woman exclaimed. Her bright red lipstick clashed horribly with her floaty orange dress, and along with the hair the whole ensemble resembled an out-of-control bonfire. After a few seconds, recognition dawned and she flashed an overly large smile.

‘Caro! Darling! I didn't recognize you for a moment. I've been up all night finishing this, and I'm almost
blind
with tiredness. Hello, Benedict,' she added, fluttering her eyelashes.

He smiled back. ‘Babs.'

Babs Sax glanced reluctantly down at Milo, as if not liking what she found there. ‘Er, hello young man.' Milo stared up at her and stuck his finger up one nostril.

‘Is that your latest painting?' asked Caro. She looked at the canvas clutched under the other woman's arm.

‘It is, indeed,' said Babs Sax grandly. ‘It's called
Lilibet Meets Her Nemesis
. I was inspired by the Queen's battle over the last few decades to stop the tarnishing of the monarchy. You know, the dawn of celebrity, commercialization, the effect of global warming on the sacred royal sanctums.'

Benedict's right eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly as he and Caro stared at the hideous mess of colours. Caro thought she could detect a flash of orange, was that meant to be Prince Harry?

‘It's very original, Babs,' she said tactfully.

The artist gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘Isn't it? I have to say, it's my best work yet.' She looked at them, a little patronizingly. ‘Look at you all, playing happy families!' Milo smiled toothily at her and Babs took an inadvertent step back. ‘I haven't seen you around, have you been on holiday?'

‘We've moved to London for a while,' Caro told her.

Another flash of recognition. ‘Of course, it completely slipped my mind. I've been on such a spiritually creative journey lately, the world has passed me by!'

‘Yes, we're in Chelsea,' said Caro. ‘Benedict's got a wonderful house there.'

‘Oh?' Babs replied, gazing towards her rusty old red MG, parked next to the garden fence. The conversation not focused on her any more, she suddenly seemed keen to be off. ‘Whereabouts?'

‘Montague Mews,' said Caro. ‘Stephen and Klaus have a house two doors away. Maybe you've heard them talking about it?'

Just then a loud beep sounded and they all jumped. Lucinda Reinard had pulled up in her new Volvo estate; the back seat crammed with saddles, picnic baskets and jodhpur-clad children.

‘Lovely day for it!' she called through the open window. ‘We're off to the Bedlington gymkhana!' With that she screeched off in a cloud of dust, a single sweet wrapper floating in her wake.

‘I must dash,' Babs said shrilly. ‘I have a very urgent appointment.'

They watched her clamber into the MG and pull off rather erratically. Benedict turned to Caro. ‘A least I know what to buy you for Christmas now. You seemed utterly enthralled by
Lilibet Meets Her Nemesis
.'

‘You bloody dare,' she laughed.

TWO WEEKS LATER,
at Montague Mews, Saffron was woken by an insistent prodding in her lower back. She had just been in the middle of a very nice dream in which she and Johnny Depp had won the final of
Strictly Come Dancing
with a particularly sizzling rumba. Moments later, she felt Fernando's hands creep round and squeeze her breasts, as if he was standing in the fruit and veg section at Sainsbury's appraising a particularly ripe pair of avocados.

‘You woke me up,' she said sleepily. ‘I was just about to shag Johnny Depp.'

Fernando sat bolt upright and leant over her. He sounded outraged.

‘You were
what
?'

Saffron sat up in exasperation and looked at him. ‘It's only a dream, Fernando!'

This didn't placate him. ‘It makes me sick! That greasy Yank, I'll knock his clock off. The thought of his slimy hands all over your body . . .'

Saffron gave a laugh of disbelief. Fernando was the most competitive man on earth when it came to sexual prowess, but even this was a new one. ‘It was a
dream
for God's sake! It doesn't mean Johnny and I are going to run off together.'
I wish
, she thought wryly.

Her protest was quickly silenced as Fernando dived on top of her, and started what he had to finish.

Downstairs in the kitchen Velda raised her eyes to the ceiling and sighed at the thumping, before turning up the
Today
programme on Radio 4. John Humphreys would be scandalized.

Six miles across London, Ashley King sat on his bed and pulled his trainers on. Taking his coat off the back of the door, he made his way down the narrow hallway to the living room. A scene of utter carnage greeted him. His dad was passed out as usual, fully clothed on the sofa, empty beer cans and vodka bottles scattered around him. The coffee table had been knocked over, and the untouched plate of dinner Ash had made his father last night was strewn across the carpet.

A muscle in Ash's cheek flickered as he looked down at his father. He walked over and hauled the prostrate figure upright.

‘Dad, get up.'

His father's bleary eyes opened. ‘What?' he mumbled confusedly. ‘Where am I?'

Ash blanched: the older man's breath stank of stale booze and unhappiness. ‘Dad, get up. Now. You passed out on the sofa again.' He sighed. ‘Come on, I don't need this shit.'

His father stood up unsteadily, face still slack and eyes drunken. Ash went to grab his arm, but was pushed away.

‘Get off me,' his father growled. ‘I'm not a fucking invalid.' He turned and banged into the doorframe, before shuffling off in the direction of his bedroom.

Ash shook his head and went to get a cloth and bowl of water to clean up the mess on the carpet. It was going to make him late for work again.

They'd been almost happy once, the King family. Ash, his dad Phil, mum Linda, and Ash's older sister Bev. True, there hadn't been much money, and the tenth-storey flat on the housing estate in Peckham was small and poky, but Phil's job as a gas fitter had kept the family in clean clothes and put food in their mouths. Ash had always been closest to his Granddad Bert on his mum's side, who had lived in sheltered accommodation around the corner. It had been Bert who had got Ash interested in antiques, when he'd given him an old silver pocket watch for his tenth birthday, inscribed with the words, ‘
To Fred, for all eternity, with heartfelt love, Elsie.
' It had been a gift from Bert's mum to his dad, before he went off and got killed in the First World War. The watch had fascinated Ash: it hadn't just been the craftsmanship, but the sense of a moment in time, captured like that, for ever. The rest of his family couldn't understand it. ‘What do you want with that old bit of junk?' his mum had laughed, ruffling his hair. But Ash's love for antiques had been ignited, and every weekend Bert would take him round fairs, car boot sales and to Portobello Market. Other lads Ash's age spent their free time eyeing up girls on the high street or hanging round the back of the community centre drinking, and couldn't understand why he'd want to spend his time in musty-smelling shops filled with old people. Ash didn't care. His greatest thrill had been when he had spent two months' pocket money on a porcelain bowl he found at a car boot sale. His mum had gone mental – until it had transpired it was a very nice eighteenth-century piece, which Ash had sold on to a dealer for £80.