A Class Apart (51 page)

“Well, I won’t argue with you. But take it from me, he’s absolutely crazy about you. No doubt he’ll get around to telling you himself one of these days. I must say, though, it’s not like Conrad to wait this long.”

“I don’t want to talk about him any more,” said Ashley. “It’s absurd. The whole thing is utter nonsense. I don’t mean to be rude, Candice, but you’ve either got it all terribly wrong, or you’ve taken leave of your senses.”

Candice shrugged. “Have it your way. But remember, I know Conrad, and you’ll see if I’m not right.” She looked up at the clock. “Come on, time we were going in.”

Ashley followed her down the steps to the auditorium, her mind in complete turmoil. How was she ever going to concentrate on the film now?

In fact, it was less difficult than she imagined. It was so good to see her beloved London up there on the screen, even if
Mona Lisa
did major on the sleazier side. But she soon became immersed in the story, and if Conrad Frazier crept into her thoughts at all during those couple of hours, she hurriedly pushed him away again. The whole thing was quite unthinkable.

When they left, Candice suggested that they grab a bite to eat somewhere. Ashley didn’t really feel hungry, but she agreed to go, to keep Candice company. They didn’t stay long over their food, Ashley wanted to get back to the office. And she had plenty to do at home, before her parents arrived tomorrow.

There wasn’t much sleep for her that night. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the face of Conrad Frazier looking down at her, and she couldn’t stop her ears ringing with the words, first of Mr Halworth, then of Candice.

TWENTY-NINE

“What’s this?” said Vicky, standing at the door and laughing. “Taking naps in the afternoon now, are we?”

Jenneen smiled, nervously. “I had a bit of a headache,” she said, running her fingers through her tousled hair.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Jenneen glanced quickly over her shoulder before she opened the door wider. “Yes, of course.”

Vicky gave her a strange look. “I’ve brought along some things I thought might be suitable for tomorrow.”

Jenneen cast a look back at the bedroom, then followed her into the lounge.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Jenneen shook her head. “Sorry. No, of course I haven’t forgotten. The pilot programme.” She closed the door behind her.

“You look awful,” said Vicky. “Still, I suppose it’s nerves. Have you got any make-up remover? Best not try these on with all that make-up over your face.”

Jenneen put her hands to her cheeks. She had remembered to take off the wig before she’d answered the door, but she had forgotten about the make-up. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll go and get some. Wait here.”

“I remembered what you said,” Vicky called after her, as she sat down by the table. “No blues, no whites, no stripes, no checks.”

Jenneen didn’t answer, so Vicky merely shrugged, and assumed she hadn’t heard her. She started to unpack the dresses. Jenneen had mentioned something about strobing on camera, and then some queer word, Ultimatte or something, that ruled out certain colours or patterns. She had brought along an assortment of what she thought would be the best. Personally she rather liked the cream shirt dress, or the lime Calvin Klein suit, but she wasn’t sure that Jenneen would be so keen. She laid them all out neatly on the table.

She had just finished when Jenneen came back into the room. Vicky was pleased to see her looking marginally better now. Heavy make-up really didn’t suit Jenneen. Vicky assumed that that was what everyone who appeared in front of cameras wore. But Jenneen had not been into work at all today; maybe she had been experimenting.

One by one Jenneen tried on everything Vicky had brought round, but she insisted that Vicky wait in the lounge while she went to look in the mirror. She was behaving very strangely, but when Vicky asked her if she was all right she only said that she still had a touch of the headache.

Finally, after she had decided on the cream shirt dress, Jenneen asked Vicky to go. “I think I’ll go back to bed for a while,” she said. “It’s the only cure, I find, for a headache.”

“You’re probably right. Mind if I use the bathroom before I go?”

“Sure,” said Jenneen, but Vicky could tell that she didn’t really want her to. And when Vicky went into the bathroom, she found the reason why.

Jenneen must have forgotten that she had left it lying on the shelf at the side of the bath, and Vicky noticed it straightaway. She sighed, sadly, and picked up the dark, curly wig. Jenneen had never mentioned Mrs Green again, since the night she had stayed at Vicky’s flat, and Vicky had thought that perhaps Jenneen no longer felt the need to satisfy her alter ego. But this wig, and the heavy make-up Jenneen had been wearing, confirmed that Vicky had been wrong. Jenneen obviously still needed help.

She put the wig back where she had found it, and went into the lounge. Jenneen was wrapped in her robe again; she didn’t look up as Vicky came into the room.

“Jenn,” said Vicky, very gently.

“Mmm?”

“Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“Course I’m sure,” said Jenneen, forcing a smile onto her face. “Now, here you are, I’ve put everything back under the plastic. Is it all right if I write you a cheque for the one I’m taking?”

Vicky nodded. She could see that there was no point in pressing the matter, so she decided to let it go. At least, for the time being. She waited while Jenneen filled out the cheque, then taking it from her, she dropped a light kiss on her cheek, and left.

Jenneen leaned against the door for several minutes after Vicky had gone, quaking at her narrow escape. She had forgotten that Vicky was coming this afternoon. But Mrs Green had no interest in the everyday life of Jenneen Grey. When Mrs Green craved attention, Jenneen Grey no longer existed.

Jenneen looked over at her bedroom door, and felt her temper beginning to rise. She walked across the hall, and threw open the door. Her lip curled in disgust to see him sitting there, in her bed. What the hell had got into her, bringing him here?

The man in the bed looked over at her and grinned. “Got an ashtray, love?” he asked, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

“Get out of that bed!”

He looked surprised, but made no move.

“Did you hear me? I said get out of that bed! Now!”

“Aw, come on, love,” he said, “it’s still early.”

“I don’t care what the bloody time is, just get out!” She stormed over to the bed and threw back the covers. She turned her back on his nudity and, grabbing his trousers from the chair, threw them at him.

“What’s all this about?” he grumbled, getting to his feet. “I didn’t ask to come here, you know.”

“Don’t say another word. Just get out as fast as you can,” and she left the room.

Several minutes later the man appeared in the doorway of the lounge. Jenneen looked up at him, then closed her eyes in dismay. How could she have done it?

“Off now then,” said the man. She didn’t answer. She didn’t even know his name.

“Nice knowing you,” he said, quite pleasantly, and left.

Jenneen began to pound her hands against the settee. Why? Why? Why did she do it? He was revolting. He had smelt of beer and tobacco, and he had burped almost continuously throughout their short encounter. And to have brought him here. She must be going out of her mind. What if Vicky had opened the bedroom door? What would she have said if she’d seen that caricature of Desperate Dan lying there in the bed, perfectly at home? Jenneen shuddered to think of it.

Earlier, without even really thinking about it, she had put on her disguise and gone out. She hadn’t even planned to put on the wig or make-up, it had just happened. And then she had got into her car, drove down to Reading, parked, and hitched a lift back to London.

The lorry driver had been very friendly and chatty, and was quite clearly glad of the company. He had looked at Jenneen in surprise when she had offered to pay him for the journey, and had shaken his head.

“No,” he had said. “No. Was nice to have you along.”

She felt sick now, as she remembered the expression on his face when she had explained a little more graphically what sort of payment she had in mind. But even then he had said, “Aw no, there’s no need for that.” But she had insisted. She had bloody well insisted.

She jumped to her feet and paced up and down the room. Mrs Green and Matthew Bordsleigh. She would never be rid of either of them. They both had a suffocating grip on her now, and neither of them were ever going to let go. She wondered how much longer she could carry on without anyone finding out. But it didn’t matter really, did it? She was cheap, and no good, and she deserved no less. There was really little point in even going to have a bath to try and wash away the memory of the lorry driver. She would probably only go out again later, and find someone else.

From time to time she considered the health risks, but even that didn’t seem to stop her.

She stopped in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection. “Ugh!” she spat at it. “Vile! Ugly! Miserable!” and she turned away in disgust.

She heard a car pull up outside, and went to look out of the window. All she needed now was Matthew to come along, and the day would be complete. But it wasn’t him, it was only her neighbour, back from shopping.

She walked into her bedroom and began to pick up Mrs Green’s make-up that she had left lying around. She found the case under the bed, and dumped it all inside. Then she looked around for the wig. She couldn’t find the damn thing anywhere. She pulled back the bedcovers, wondering if it had slipped off, but it wasn’t there.

And then she remembered. Her heart skipped a beat. When Vicky had knocked on the door and called out, Jenneen had rushed out of bed and into the bathroom, where she had torn off the wig and, casting it to one side, had run to open the door. And Vicky had gone into the bathroom when she had been here. She had probably seen it. And more than likely she had guessed what had been going on.

Jenneen closed her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed. Of course Vicky had guessed. Hadn’t she been trying to say something before she left? Maybe she’d even seen that repulsive lump, lying in bed, smoking his roll-up.

Despite the warm evening, Jenneen began to shiver. It was one thing for Vicky to know about Mrs Green, but quite another for her to have seen the victim. What must she think? She would change her mind about everything now. Who in their right mind would want to have someone like Jenneen Grey for a friend? And with the overwhelming hatred she had of herself, she threw herself onto the bed and screamed through tears of rage. She never wanted to see Vicky again. She hated her for knowing.

“Nick!” Kate cried into the phone. “At last! I’ve been ringing you all day.”

“I’ve been with Adrian. Just got back.”

“Adrian?”

“Adrian Cowley, the producer of the
Queen of Cornwall.
”

“Oh God, yes, of course. How did it go?”

“Pretty well. Looks like we might have to go to New York in a couple of weeks. They’ve got American backing for the film now, and for some reason Adrian wants me to go over there with him. I think it’s something to do with Bob not being able to fly out straightaway, or something.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Only a week, I think. Maybe two.”

“Oh,” said Kate. “Quite a long time.”

“Does that mean you’ll miss me?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” she answered. “Actually I’ve rung about tomorrow.”

“Yes. What about tomorrow?”

“Well, you know we were going to Cliveden House?”

“Mmm.”

“Well, I’m afraid we can’t now.”

“Oh?”

“It’s Daddy,” she explained. “He’s got terribly upset because I haven’t been down there these past couple of weeks, so I feel I ought to go and see him tomorrow.”

“I see. And tonight?”

“I’m cooking your favourite. Sardines on toast.”

“Sardines on toast! I hate sardines.”

“Only a joke,” she said. “No, it’s a surprise. I’m not telling you till you get here.”

“Shall I bring some wine?”

“Lots.”

“I don’t want you getting out of hand,” he remarked.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. What time will you be round?”

“Seven thirty?”

“Great. See you then. And Nick . . .”

“Yes?”

“You’re not too disappointed about tomorrow, are you?”

“Very.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was looking forward to it.”

“Well, I did wonder if you could keep the day free on Friday. I could ring them and ask if we can go along then instead. Yes, Mrs Adams, I’m coming,” she called in response to the knock on the door. “How does that sound?”

“I’ll have to check my social calendar,” he quipped. “See you at seven thirty,” and they hung up.