Someone Like You (77 page)

Neither, it seemed, could A & E Catering. Felix had told her grandly about plans for a seafood buffet with splendid raspberry tarts as dessert, like the last party he’d been at. The catering company had said that the woman who oversaw seafood buffets was on holiday and would she not settle for hams, cheese, the odd quiche and exotic fruit meringue?

Now the problem was the number of staff. Somebody had overbooked and there was only one waitress available for the party. Hannah, who thought it was all too expensive anyway and would have much preferred to cancel the bloody party, had no intention of being the second waitress, which was what would happen unless she could twist the caterers’ arms.

‘Look,’ she said finally, ‘I want two waitresses or consider yourself fired.’

She hung up.

‘Mercedes!’ she yelled.

Mercedes was the au pair, an indolent French charmer who could have been on the front of Vogue and was clearly biding her time au pairing until she was asked. A tall, sylph-like nineteen with endless legs, she had long platinum-blonde hair she could sit on and big blue eyes that must have looked wanton from the day she was born. Now she swayed into the “kitchen, pink kitten heels clacking on Hannah’s terracotta tiles, a vision in black jeans and a pink gingham shirt with the ends tied carelessly about her tiny waist.

‘Omi,’ she breathed.

‘Can you take Claudia for a walk?’ Hannah asked. ‘I have a few more phone calls to make and she’s restless.’

‘But I must do my nails,’ Mercedes said plaintively.

Hannah’s own nails were unpainted and likely to stay that way because she still had to do so much before the party Felix wanted, a party they couldn’t afford.

‘Mercedes, please,’ begged Hannah. ‘You can have all of tomorrow off.’

For a brief, dizzying moment, Hannah remembered running an office, hiring and firing at will. Now she was reduced to begging the au pair for help. Mercedes was supposed to work for six hours, five days a week, the days to be organized between employer and employee. But after that first month coaxing Mercedes out of the desolation of homesickness for Marseilles, Hannah had crossed the line from employer to mother-figure and Mercedes now behaved exactly the way Hannah suspected she behaved at home: on the phone at all hours, by turn melancholy and jubilant, depending on which boyfriend had phoned, and uninterested in emptying out the dishwasher. She loved Claudia, which was wonderful, but hated nappy-changing and feeding. Getting her to take Claudia out for a walk was like getting NATO chiefs to reach a unanimous decision.

The promise of Saturday off did it. Mercedes liked nothing better than spending Saturdays with her au pair friends, idling away hours drinking coffee in Covent Garden, being eyed up by handsome young men and spending money their parents had sent on flirty little outfits from French Connection and Monsoon.

‘Out,’ Mercedes said grudgingly, and because she was a kind girl, added, ‘Are you going to the ‘airdresser, ‘Annah? I’ll keep Claudia for the afternoon.’

Hannah could have kissed her. Once she’d decided to help, Mercedes was generous.

Claudia was the only one who didn’t like this plan. She scrunched up her face and bawled, hurling her bottle at Mercedes this time and making enough noise to frighten the cat.

Hannah picked her up and cuddled her tightly as the wails subsided. As she held Claudia’s heaving body close to hers, she marvelled again at the intensity of her feelings for her daughter. From the very second she’d been born, love for Claudia had overwhelmed Hannah like a volcanic eruption pouring ceaselessly out of a crater. She adored each dark curl on her daughter’s head, was obsessed with every breath she took, even sitting beside the cot when Claudia had been very small, listening to every inhalation, as if watching the tiny chest rise and fall could keep Claudia safe. Under the circumstances, it was a miracle that Claudia had remained so sweet and sunny-natured thus far. But despite her adoration, Hannah was terrified of spoiling Claudia, and the little girl had learned that her beloved mother occasionally had to do things and go places that didn’t include her.

She wasn’t in the mood today. Snuggling closer to Hannah, Claudia sniffed plaintively.

‘I hope she’s not getting something,’ Hannah said anxiously, immediately toying with the idea of cancelling her hairdresser’s appointment.

‘She’s fine,’ Mercedes said, taking a protesting Claudia away from her mother. ‘We’ll go to the common and play.

Won’t we, ma cherie!’ Mercedes said in baby-speak to Claudia.

The baby’s eyes lit up at the attention.

She looked so adorable in her red woollen cardigan and blue spotty dungarees. ‘Go with Ruth from next door, won’t you?’ said Hannah. You never knew what sort of weirdo would approach a young girl with a pushchair.

She’d become paranoid about security and felt much safer when the next-door nanny went walking with Claudia, Mercedes and her charge, a one-year-old bruiser named Henry who was training Claudia how to have terrible tantrums one minute and smile angelically the next.

‘Perhaps we should get a dog, a guard dog,’ Hannah had said worriedly to Felix when they moved to the house in Clapham. Claudia wasn’t even born at the time and Hannah had read a terrible story about a woman who’d had to run away from a crazed man in a park near her home when she was wheeling her twin boys out.

‘You’re such a worrier,’ Felix had remarked, patting her belly. ‘We’re not Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, you know. Nobody is going to kidnap our baby.’

Even so, Hannah did her best to ensure that when Mercedes went out with Claudia, they went with somebody else. She wasn’t frightened of meeting someone scary when she was on her own with Claudia: mainly because Hannah knew she’d savage anyone, man or beast, who tried to harm a hair of her precious baby’s head. Mother love could be a terribly violent thing.

Claudia grizzled a bit as Hannah put on her red woollen hat and matching coat. It was a glorious Friday in April but Hannah was paranoid about chills and it was a bit windy out on the common. Convinced that Claudia was buttoned-up safely from both the wind and mad men on the common, she let them off, reminding Mercedes to phone her in the hairdresser’s if there was a problem.

It was wonderful to have a few precious hours to herself, she thought as she let herself out of the house ten minutes later. The sun shone on the small terraced white houses on the road, and the scent of next door’s yellow jonquils filled Hannah’s head as she shut the door. Their house wasn’t the large, airy Edwardian mansion in Chelsea that Felix had promised her when he’d persuaded her to live in London. There was nothing airy about it. Tall and narrow, there was a basement kitchen, two pretty reception rooms on the ground floor, and three pokey bedrooms on the second floor. If the attic hadn’t been floored, Hannah didn’t know where Felix would have put his clothes.

Still, it was a pretty little house and would be even prettier if they had any money to spend on doing it up.

They’d had the living room wallpapered in an apple green and cream patterned paper Felix had fancied and it had worked out so expensive that they’d been forced to abandon plans to redo the dark red kitchen.

It all came back to money. Felix hadn’t worked for two months now and, due to his reckless spending when he was working, they were a bit strapped for cash. Which was one of the reasons why Hannah wasn’t keen on the idea of tonight’s party.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Felix had said crossly. ‘This sort of entertaining is vital for my career. Bill’s bringing this important casting director with her. She could do things for me.’

Hannah knew when she was beaten. Felix’s career was everything, especially since hers was on the backburner.

But they needed to cut back on something. Mercedes was an expense they could do without. Hannah hadn’t wanted an au pair at all, saying she’d prefer to look after Claudia by herself, but Felix had insisted that people ‘like them’

always had some sort of help. She could get out more and maybe go back to work, he’d suggested.

However, an intense desire to be with Claudia meant her work was confined to two mornings a week working at a local charity shop, which her mother had insisted was good for getting her out of the house.

‘You don’t want to turn into one of those wives who have no life outside the four walls of your kitchen,’ Anna Campbell had said wisely. ‘Without my job, I’d have been ga-ga years ago.’

She spent an enjoyable hour in the hairdresser, reading magazines she wouldn’t normally buy and savouring a cup of sugary coffee. The small local salon always did a wonderful job of washing and blowdrying her hair. Felix went to Nicky Clark for his streaks but they couldn’t both afford to go there.

‘To think I believed this was natural,’ Hannah laughed, running her fingers through his silky blond hair the day she discovered he had it professionally coloured.

‘I was very fair as a child,’ Felix protested, sounding hurt at the notion that Hannah felt he wasn’t really the gilded creature she’d married.

She kissed him affectionately. ‘I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

He’d had his hair done the day before and was now out meeting Bill in the Groucho Club, looking as if he was successful and gainfully employed instead of overdrawn and worried. Bill was a terrible woman for boozing and Hannah prayed she’d stay off the Black Label until she got to the party. Otherwise, she’d be pinching men’s bottoms at a rate of knots. Bill went through men faster than Claudia went through nappies. At least if she was bringing a famous and influential casting director to the party, she would be on her best behaviour. Hopefully.

On impulse, Hannah stopped at the chemist on the way home and treated herself to pillarbox red lipstick and matching nail varnish. She’d been very drab lately, slopping around in her old threadbare jeans and never bothering much with make-up or such niceties as painting her nails.

Some days it was a miracle that she managed to brush her hair. Felix was such a sweetie, he never complained when she came to bed in a crumpled giant T-shirt and socks instead of some beautifully ironed silken slip of a thing designed to be whipped off.

But then he knew how tired she’d been after having Claudia. Caring for a baby who refused to sleep at night for more than two hours at a time until the last week, had knocked the stuffing out of Hannah. Sex and a beauty routine seemed to matter very little when you were so tired you could barely see straight.

Tonight, she’d remind Felix of the glamorous, sensual woman he’d married, Hannah vowed as she paid for the cosmetics. A smile lifted the corners of her generous mouth as she thought about it. And when the party was over, she’d bring him upstairs, cross her fingers that Claudia would sleep, and seduce him. Slowly, sexily, the way he loved.

‘What are they coming for?’ demanded Felix, pulling Hannah into the kitchen as soon as she had led Freddie and Michelle from next door into the sitting room and gone off to get them a glass of wine.

‘They’re our neighbours,’ Hannah whispered angrily, ‘and unless you want warfare along the road, you have to ask neighbours to parties. If Bill gets twisted and starts running up and down the street naked with a glass of whiskey in her hand and a rose up her bum, it’s better to have the neighbours on our side, don’t you think?’

Felix scowled. He hadn’t a leg to stand on. Bill had arrived home with him from the Groucho Club, much later than he’d promised and minus the famous casting director.

Felix had been mildly drunk (he was far too ambitious to ever let his bleached hair down) but Bill was completely plastered, no matter how she tried to hide it. Hannah was an expert at gauging drunkenness. She’d shoved a cup of strong coffee into Bill’s hand, sent her into the garden to

cool off, and had made Felix feed her a plate of the Spanish ham that the caterers were taking out of refrigerated packs.

That had been an hour ago. Now the guests were beginning to trickle in, starting with their neighbours who all had small children and liked going to parties early because toddler alarm calls at five every morning meant they were too exhausted to stay out late.

‘Circulate,’ hissed Hannah to her handsome husband, who was now admiring his reflection in a shiny silver platter.

‘None of my people are here yet,’ he replied, adjusting the collar on the chocolate brown DKNY shirt that went so well with his eyes and golden skin.

‘Do you mean that all the neighbours are my boring friends and that the thrilling act-or types, who won’t get here for hours, are your friends?’ Hannah said angrily.

‘Keep your hair on,’ Felix said. ‘I’ll mingle. Just rescue me if I get stuck.’

Hannah followed him in with the wine and watched as he greeted Freddie and Michelle as if he’d been counting the hours till their arrival. Michelle flushed pink when he kissed her hello like she was Claudia Schiffer’s prettier little sister instead of a clever, rounded banker who moaned to Hannah that she was fed up to the teeth with Weight Watcher’s spaghetti.

‘Freddie!’ said Felix warmly. ‘When are you going to stop bullshitting me and give me that game of squash? You promised to fit me in.’

He was so charming, Hannah reflected, watching the tableau. People adored him; he could light up a room, not to mention what he could do to a woman’s eyes. No wonder he was so magical on film.

As the best, if somewhat bittersweet, review had put it: ‘Felix Andretti has a screen presence which draws your eyes to him. If he’s on the screen, you’re watching this magnetic man. It is star quality, but is it acting quality?

Time will tell, but keep an eye out for his name.’

Hannah had been horrified by the review. And scared.

Her great fear had always been that Felix was such a beautiful creature he’d succeed to a certain level within the business but no further, simply because he wasn’t a good enough actor despite his matinee-idol looks. With his lofty dreams of both critical and commercial success, it would kill him. This review seemed to confirm her fears, but Felix and Bill had been in raptures over it.

‘Acting, schmacting,’ Bill had crowed as they enjoyed a celebratory lunch in a chi-chi bistro on the King’s Road.