Party Games (26 page)

‘I don’t know; we like showing off our thoroughbred ankles. What is it with you farming girls, anyway?’

‘What about us?’

He gazed straight at her. ‘Why do you never wear clothes that show off your cracking figures?’

She suddenly found it hard to breathe. Failing to think of a witty reposte, she stared at the landscape.

An owl hooted overhead, making her jump violently.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he said gently. ‘I’m not going to eat you.’

Her heart was fluttering wildly, like a trapped bird; there was no way he couldn’t not hear it.

‘I called my dad the other day,’ he said conversationally. ‘First time in months.’

She blinked, mometarily wrong-footed by the swerve in conversation. ‘Oh. Was he pleased to hear from you?’

‘He had no idea who I was. He’s got stage six Alzheimer’s.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’

‘Were you close to him?’ she asked. ‘I mean, before he got ill.’

Beau chucked a twig down the hill. ‘I went to boarding school at the age of seven. I never really got to know him.’

‘Seven sounds so young.’

‘It wasn’t the greatest moment of my life,’ he said dryly. ‘I cried every night for a week, convinced they’d come back and get me. Of course, that soon went.’

Fleur imagined a tiny, blond moppet of a boy sobbing into his pillow. Her heart ached. Her upbringing might not have been glamorous, but she’d had love and stability.

‘Tell me about your mum,’ she said. ‘What was she like?’

‘Good fun. We were as thick as thieves. I think that’s one of the reasons I got packed off to school; my dad didn’t like having to compete for her attention.’

‘Did you see Felix much?’ It was easy to forget they were even brothers.

‘No,’ Beau said shortly. ‘He was off doing his own thing by then, and I only came home for the holidays.’ He changed the subject. ‘How about your mum, were you close?’

‘Really close. It sounds so cheesy, but she really did light up the room when she walked in. She was great for my dad.’

He tugged softly on the end of her ponytail. ‘Is that where the red hair comes from?

‘N-no,’ Fleur stuttered. ‘That’s my dad’s side of the family.’

Every follicle on her head tingled. Her heart had started to thud again painfully. ‘I-I’m not going have sex with you,’ she blurted.

He almost looked pained. ‘Is that all you think I’m after? Oh, come here.’ Cupping his hand round the back of her head, he pulled her in and kissed her.

His lips were astonishingly gentle. Fleur inhaled intoxicating smells of citrus aftershave and washing powder and started kissing him back.
Any second now I’ll wake up to real life
.

When he pulled away, it was like she’d been dropped from a cloud back down to earth.

‘W-what’s going on with you and Valentina?’ she stammered.

‘Nothing. It’s over.’ He touched her cheek. ‘God, Fleur. What
is
it about you?’

Bending his head, he kissed her again, making her forget all about Valentina.

It was barely two weeks since Catherine had been round to the Hollies, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Felix greeted her on the doorstep with a wry smile.

‘I’ve been expecting you.’

Ginny was coming down the stairs behind him. ‘Hello, darling. Felix said you were coming over.’

She looked rather pale and washed out, dark circles ringing her eyes. ‘Poor Ginny’s had a nasty stomach bug,’ Felix explained.

‘You poor thing,’ Catherine said. ‘Are you feeling better?’

‘I am, thank you. The upside is I’ve lost a few much-needed pounds.’ Ginny’s smile seemed forced. ‘I’m going to take Bonnie out for her walk. Felix, there’s a fresh pot on in the kitchen.’

‘Is Ginny really all right?’ Catherine asked in the study.

He glanced up from pouring the coffee. ‘Yes, why do you ask?’

‘She didn’t seem herself. It’s nothing I’ve done, is it?’
Catherine was only half-joking. She was still relatively new to the friendship game.

‘Heavens no! She’s under the weather. Poor darling is so full of get-up-and-go usually; this bug has really hit her for six.’ He held up a plate piled high with biscuits. ‘Homemade shortbread?’

‘So,’ Catherine said a moment later. ‘I guess you know about my surprise visitor.’

‘I was aware, yes.’

She put her cup down on the windowsill. ‘Felix, I feel really bad about all this.’

He fixed her with his blue eyes. ‘Do you? Why?’

‘You should be running for MP, Felix, not me. I know sod all about politics.’

‘Catherine, I’ve been in this business a long time. One thing I’ve learnt is that it’s about personalities and not politics. And apparently the PM thinks you’ve got the personality to go all the way!’

He put his cup down and sat back. ‘Let’s put our party differences aside for the moment, Catherine. What do you believe in?’

She thought. ‘A fair and free society. Equal rights for women, safety in the home. Young kids with a shit start in life given a chance instead of being demonized.’

‘I want those things as well.’

She chose her words carefully. ‘Present company excluded, but the Conservatives still come across as a bunch of over-privileged, Eton old boys. How can they be trusted to run the country, when the majority have no idea how the rest of us live?’

‘Contrary to what you might think, we aren’t all the intolerable old toffs you imagine. Many of us are born
with a silver spoon in our mouths, but there’s a lot that haven’t. I’ve always been in the camp that believes it’s our duty to look after others. As the great Harold Macmillan once said, it is a necessary price we have to pay for our privilege.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘It’s easy to sit round at dinner parties criticizing others, but how do you know what’s really going on unless you’re out there doing something yourself?’

She caught the gentle rebuke. ‘You’re saying I’m just an armchair critic,’ she said.

‘It’s healthy to have strong opinions,’ he said mildly.

‘This whole situation is so absurd, Felix! I don’t know what to do.’

‘What do you think of the PM?’ he asked.

‘He’s like a dog with a bloody bone.’

His eyes twinkled again. ‘Rather reminds me of someone else I know. Young, tenacious, idealistic.’

‘Do you really think I could do it?’

For a moment his face was unreadable. Was he covering up his misgivings?

‘I believe we’re all capable of anything, providing we put our minds to it. But you have to want to do it, Catherine. I’ll run your election campaign for you, but make no mistake, it’s a bear fight out there. You’ll be pulled apart and humiliated, your private life will be up for grabs. You’ll spend hundreds of hours going from house to house to people who don’t know who you are and don’t care. Trust in politics is at an all-time low. It will have to be a strong man – or woman – who puts themselves out there.’

‘You make it sound horrific,’ Catherine joked.

He looked serious. ‘Believe me, it can be.’

‘Why put yourself through all that for something that isn’t going to change anyway?’

‘If we don’t try, then who will?’

She thought about the gap-toothed smile of a young Debbi Giachetti, and the wretched face of her mother Linda. Catherine thought about her own mother, dying alone in her prison cell.

The words were out before she realized. ‘OK, I’ll do it.’

Her mother called out as Vanessa crept into the house after another ecstatic hour with Dylan. ‘Is that you, Vanessa?’

‘Yes, Mother.’ She hovered at the bedroom door. ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’

‘I was awake anyway. Come in.’

Vanessa pushed the door open. The curtains were drawn, the heavy velvet fabric concertinaing on the floor. The familiar scent of lavender perfumed the air.

It was a big room, a beautiful one, and yet it felt strangely impersonal, like a suite in a five-star hotel. The only touches of humanity were the framed photos Dominique always kept on her bedside table. Her own wedding day and her daughter’s.

Dominique was lying on the vast bed. She looked so small amongst the realms of satin and over-stuffed cushions. Vanessa felt a pang. She’d been neglecting her.

‘Where have you been?’ her mother asked.

‘Just out for a drive.’

‘Another one?’

‘They help clear my mind,’ Vanessa lied. ‘I tell you what, it’s better than any therapy!’

Her mother didn’t smile. ‘Sit down for a minute.’

‘I really need a shower.’ Vanessa was conscious of smelling of sex. ‘I’m so hot.’

‘Sit down.’ Dominique’s voice brooked no discussion. Reluctantly, Vanessa perched on the end of the bed.

‘Are you all right?’ her mother said.

Vanessa plucked at an imaginary crease on the duvet. ‘Of course I am. Why do you ask?’

‘Are you and Conrad having problems?’

‘Why?’ Vanessa said carefully. ‘What would you say if we were?’

‘I would say that you’re going through a rough patch, and that all marriages have them.’

‘Even you and Daddy?’

‘Even me and your father.’ Dominique allowed herself the ghost of a smile. ‘I know how you have him on this pedestal.’

Vanessa gazed at her parents’ wedding photo. ‘Conrad’s not kind like Daddy, though, is he?’

‘Conrad is …
different
from your father. He has an artistic temperament. You have to understand it.’

No
, Vanessa thought.
He’s just an outright bastard
.

‘Look at the wonderful life you’ve built together,’ her mother told her. ‘You’d be a fool to throw it away.’

Vanessa recognized the warning. ‘What if I’m not happy?’

‘There are different kinds of happy. We’ve built up a family again. You’re lucky to have a husband.’
Dominque put a bejewelled hand on top of Vanessa’s. It felt suffocatingly heavy. ‘Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’

‘Of course,’ Vanessa said emptily. ‘I promise.’

Vanessa walked back to her room to have a shower. How could she be screaming so loudly inside yet nobody could hear her?

Conrad was at the bedroom window, staring out. ‘Marty wants us to do
OK!
the week of the Silver Box. Of course, normally I don’t like doing these things, but these are exceptional circumstances.’

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea,’ Vanessa said desperately.

‘I thought you’d be all over it for the exposure for Brand Powell.’

‘I just feel uncomfortable talking about our personal life.’

He gave an incredulous snort of laughter. ‘You? The woman who’d have sold our bottled farts for money in the past?’

Vanessa crossed her arms with more resolve than she’d felt in weeks. ‘Sorry, Conrad, I’m not doing it.’

‘Why’s that, sweetheart?’ His voice became dangerously soft. ‘You do love me still, don’t you? My fans are desperate for a peek into our dream marriage.’

‘Of course I love you,’ Vanessa made herself say. ‘I just don’t feel the need to shout it to the rest of the world.’

‘You’ve changed your tune.’

‘People change, Conrad.’

‘You’re right, they do.’ He walked over to her and
moved his face to an inch from hers. ‘I never imagined I’d catch my uptight wife playing with herself.’

She flinched. ‘The awful thing with these films …’ he continued ‘… is that they can end up in the wrong hands. Just imagine if I left my phone somewhere and the press got hold of it!’

She went cold. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Oh, sweetheart, I would never do it on purpose.’ His smile was reptilian. ‘But you know how forgetful I am sometimes.’

‘You bastard,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t believe you’re blackmailing me!’

‘Darling, how could you even say such a thing?’ He gave her cheek a lingering kiss. ‘This is the most important week of my career. And nothing is going to fucking spoil it.’

John came out of the shower to find his wife sitting cross-legged on the bed.

‘Can we talk?’ she asked.

‘That sounds ominous.’ He walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘I had a visitor this week.’ Catherine’s palms started to sweat. Why was she so terrified of telling her own husband?

He selected a pair of jeans and began to pull them on. ‘Who?’

‘The Prime Minister.’

‘Is there a good punchline to this?’

‘John, I’m being serious. The Prime Minister came to see me this week.’

He straightened up. ‘Are you being serious?’

‘Yes! Deadly.’

John blinked. ‘And he came to see you because?’

‘Because, because …’ Catherine desperately fumbled for the words. ‘He wants me to run as the Conservative candidate for the Beeversham by-election.’

He stared at her for a good five seconds. ‘You?’

‘I know it sounds completely crazy.’

‘Sorry, Cath, let’s rewind a bit. How long have you known about this?’

‘Well, he phoned me last week but I didn’t take it seriously at the time …’

‘Last
week
. You didn’t think to mention it to me?’

‘We’ve had so much else going on,’ she said lamely. ‘And I wanted to make sure before I made my mind up.’

‘About what?’

She swallowed. ‘I’ve said yes. John, I’m running as the Conservative candidate.’

She braced herself, but he just stood there. The calmness was more frightening than any yelling.

‘John,’ she begged. ‘Say something!’

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Look, I know I should have discussed it with you earlier. I’m sorry.’

‘Damn right you should!’ he exploded. ‘Cath, I can’t believe you’ve agreed to something as big as this without even talking to me about it!’

‘I thought you might try and talk me out of it,’ she said weakly.

‘I wonder why! Jesus! Have you gone totally insane?’

‘Is it really that inconceivable?’ she shot back. ‘They do let women into politics these days, you know! To be honest, I’m just grateful that someone still thinks I’m capable of doing something.’

‘What the hell does
that
mean?’ He collected himself visibly. ‘Cath. Look, I understand how flattering it must be to have the Prime Minister of the country singling you out for special attention.’