A Twist of Fate (34 page)

Romy had hated herself then. Perhaps more than she’d ever hated herself in her life. Why hadn’t she trusted him right from the start? Why hadn’t she told Alfonso who she really
was? Because she’d been afraid he’d judge her? That he’d find her wanting? That he’d throw her out? She was a fool. He’d always believed in her. So much more than
she’d believed in him.

She’d vowed it then: she’d never keep a secret from him again. Everything she was, she’d give to him. There would be no more lies.

And then there’d been the door buzzer and Max had been there, a stick-thin blonde woman standing dwarfed by him.

Claudia.

The sight of her took Romy’s breath away.

‘It’s OK,’ Alfonso had told Max, taking charge of the situation. Then he’d welcomed Claudia in as if he’d been expecting her.

Romy stared at the girl who’d once been like a sister. But that innocent beauty had long gone. Mascara had smeared down Claudia’s gaunt face, her cheekbones pushing against the
pockmarked skin there like two razor blades about to tear through a crumpled paper bag. Romy hadn’t needed to see the track-marks on her forearms to know that they’d be there.
She’d recognized the haunted look in her eye, had seen it plenty of times before, and not just on those poor London hookers she’d met when she’d escaped to the West, but on models
too – girls with more money than sense, whose lives had slipped out of control.

Claudia had been clutching a magazine. In German. It had been folded open on two worn, once-glossy pages, showing Romy and Alfonso’s wedding day. And there at the bottom – Claudia
had pointed to it – had been this address, the Scolari family home where Romy and Alfonso were correctly rumoured to be holed up now.

‘I knew it was you,’ Claudia had said. ‘I saw you in the magazine and I couldn’t stop staring at you. You’re so beautiful. My Romy . . . ’

She’d stepped towards Romy then, her trembling hand extending as if Romy might not be real.

‘You have no idea,’ Claudia had said, her eyes pooling with tears, her voice cracking. ‘I’ve searched for you for so long. It feels like I’ve been searching for you
my whole life.’

Romy had swallowed down her own tears then, and as Claudia’s hand had reached her arm, her touch had been like a feather.

‘I can’t believe I’ve made it here. I hitched the whole way, but I just wanted to see you one last time. Just to make sure you were OK.’ Claudia’s familiar eyes had
filled Romy’s vision. ‘And to tell you that – to tell you that I escaped too.’

‘You’re alive. I thought . . . I thought . . .’ A sob had burst from Romy. Then she’d reached out and pulled Claudia into her arms, not caring about the sour smell coming
from her. Not caring about her thin, scrawny, tattoo-covered body. Only caring that she was living and breathing.

‘I don’t want to cause you any trouble,’ Claudia had apologized eventually, pulling away. She’d glanced at Alfonso, as if suddenly becoming aware of her opulent
surroundings and her own condition.

‘It’s OK,’ Alfonso had reassured her, touching her bony arm.

‘I’m sorry for coming to your home, Romy. I don’t want anything from you. Really I don’t. But maybe you could help me . . . just for tonight.’

She’d weakened then, and Nico and Alfonso had caught her and taken her to the couch. And as Romy had seen how desperately frail Claudia was, she’d realized that this was truly her
second chance.

‘Of course I’ll help you,’ she’d whispered to Claudia, smoothing her hair away from her face. ‘And I will never let you down again. I’ll give you a new life,
a better life than you could ever imagine, to make up for the one those bastards at the orphanage took away.’

Now, hours later, after Romy had let Claudia bathe and had dressed her in clean pyjamas and Nico had tried out his pasta sauce on her, she was sleeping like a baby, but Romy still took one last
glance along the corridor as she reached her bedroom door with Alfonso.

‘Do you think she’ll be OK?’ Romy asked Alfonso.

‘She’ll be fine. She says she’s clean. I think the worst of the withdrawal is over. She’s one brave girl.’

Romy shuddered, thinking of Claudia’s harrowing tales of life on the street in Hamburg. She knew all too well that the same situation could well have happened to her.

‘She can stay for as long as you like,’ Alfonso said gently. ‘And when we go, you can bring her with us too. I will not mind.’

She nodded, feeling a sudden spurt of hope, as Alfonso closed their bedroom door behind them. The new racing season began in less than two weeks. For the next three months Alfonso would be
moving from country to country with his team. Romy would travel with him, of course, but having a companion to spend time with whilst he was working would be no bad thing.

But what about Claudia? Is that something she might want too? Romy hoped so. She wanted to make it all up to her. Every second that had passed since she’d left her there in the woods. All
the good fortune Romy had come into since, she wanted to share it with Claudia now. Poor, weak Claudia. Romy was determined to make her strong and healthy, probably for the first time in her whole
life. That sweet little girl Claudia had once been – well, she was still there, Romy just knew it.

She undressed in silence, then slipped under the cool cotton duvet next to Alfonso. Her skin felt cold, as if she were made of stone. But then he reached out to her, taking her hand, entwining
his fingers round hers.

‘It’s OK,’ he told her in the dark. ‘I know you’ve had a shock.’

Romy swallowed down more tears. ‘I’ve been holding in this secret all of my life,’ she said, feeling tears slide down her cheeks. ‘But now Claudia is here and . . . well,
I’m free of it, but I feel . . . I feel . . .’ she tried, unable to put into words how she felt. ‘I’m sorry.’

Alfonso took her in his arms, soothing her. ‘Shhh. Stop saying that. You’re a good person, Romy,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve always known that about you. In my
heart.’

‘But you don’t understand. Fox, that boy – I killed him.’

‘In self-defence. You had no choice. Romy you were a
child
,’ Alfonso said. ‘We can work all this out, OK? We can make sense of it in the morning.’

Alfonso kissed her neck and she wrapped herself around him. She felt his life, his strength, pouring into her. So long as he was here, so long as he was holding her, she knew that she could
never, ever truly fall.

She woke to the sound of shouting. And something else: a noise. A sound that had invaded her dream and jerked her, heart pounding, wide awake into the cool night air.

Alfonso was sitting up beside her. Whatever it was that had woken her, he’d clearly heard it too. He snapped on the bedside lamp. Light stretched across the bedroom. Shadows reached out
from the wardrobes and walls.

Romy could hear her breath coming in short, fast gasps. ‘What is it? Did you hear something?’ she said.

A shout. Distant. Muffled. Then another. It was coming from downstairs.

‘Call the police,’ Alfonso said.

‘But—’ Romy was terrified.

Alfonso was already on his feet, grabbing his jeans from the back of the chair. He stumbled for the door, pulling them on as he went, nearly falling as he did so.

Then he was gone. Out into the corridor, bouncing off the wall. Running in his bare feet.

Romy picked up the phone receiver from the bedside table and started to dial. But nothing happened. All she heard was a tinny crackling sound on the line. She grabbed her jacket and trousers,
frantically searching through her pockets as she heard someone – a man . . . Alfonso? – shouting downstairs. But her mobile phone wasn’t here. It was downstairs, she remembered
then . . . it was downstairs in the kitchen with . . .

Claudia? Max? Nico? There was no one else here.

More shouting. Then nothing. Only the tick of the clock.

Romy dressed in a frenzy, tearing buttons and ripping a sleeve as she pulled her shirt over her head. She ran for the door and then stopped, holding it ajar, listening for a second, but hearing
only silence in reply.

She walked out into the corridor. Where had Alfonso gone? Why was the house so quiet?

Then a figure stepped out of the shadows, making her jump.

It was Claudia. For a moment Romy felt a surge of relief that she was safe. Then she saw that Claudia was fully dressed in Romy’s clothes, in her jeans and jumper and loafers. Gone was the
ravaged, weak look of earlier. With her hair pinned back in a clip, she looked business-like and aloof.

Then something glinted in the moonlight and, in the time it took Romy to realize that Claudia was holding one of the sharp knives from the block in the kitchen, Claudia had stepped towards her
and was pressing the tip of it against Romy’s throat.

‘Get downstairs, bitch,’ she said. Her voice was cold and heartless. ‘There’s another old friend dying to see you,’ she added, jabbing the knife tip in harder to
make Romy start walking.

September 2001

She was nearly there, Thea thought, straining to see through the crowds to the block of shops ahead, but at this hour the sidewalk was busy. She looked at all the people
filling up the tables at the sidewalk cafes – couples and friends meeting after work in this trendy Manhattan neighbourhood.

When was the last time she’d come somewhere like this and just hung out at a bar? Thea wondered. Or gone to a restaurant with a friend? Or even, as her assistant Sarah had suggested, gone
out on a date? There’d been that one guy last year – Alan someone (she couldn’t even remember his full name). And he’d been nice enough, she supposed. Only the whole time
she’d been with him, all she’d actually been thinking about was work. She’d become like her father in that respect, she guessed.

But so what if Maddox Inc. meant everything to her now? Should that really come as a surprise? Wasn’t it in her blood? And so what if she got lonely from time to time? she thought
dismissively, telling herself at the same time to buck up. Wasn’t that just the price one paid for being successful? So what if these people had more fun than her? To get where she was
she’d had to use every second she’d been given. She’d had no time to waste.

She dropped a dime into a street performer’s hat as she passed the subway entrance. His face was painted silver, along with his tailcoat, shirt and trousers. He suddenly, robotically,
switched his position and winked.

‘Good luck, lady,’ he called after her.

It’s got nothing to do with luck
, Thea told herself. Her life, her career – everything she was – it was to do with strategizing. It was to do with competing just as hard
as you could. All the time. Especially when faced with someone like Brett. It was to do with not being cheated out of your birthright. No matter what the personal cost.

Thea sucked in the smell of the hot New York air, the tang of the subway ventilation shaft mixing with the sweet odour coming from the cupcake cafe on the corner. She puffed out her chest and
filled up her lungs. This city, she might not live so much in it as above it, but she still loved it nonetheless and was determined one day to make it hers.

Two rollerbladers slalomed past, almost crashing into a couple of thirty-something women who’d just stepped out onto the sidewalk from a bookstore, both clutching brand-new matching
hardbacks in their hands, and Thea smiled, glad she hadn’t missed the signing.

After meeting Johnny last year, Thea had tried to find Shelley Lawson’s home number in her old school diaries, but she and Duke had moved from their Cotswold house. So she’d got in
touch with Shelley’s publisher, who’d been kind enough to give her details of Shelley’s book tour, starting with two days here in New York. Thea had cancelled three meetings today
to make sure she got to this signing at the small, prestigious bookstore, rather than the new Borders store uptown. She joined the back of the line of people waiting.

Shelley Lawson was sitting behind a desk stacked high with copies of her latest novel. She was wearing a white linen suit, with her hair perfectly coiffed and her make-up smooth and
professionally done. She looked totally different from the bustling English-countryside mom that Thea remembered. Thea wasn’t the only one who’d become successful in the intervening
years.

Shelley didn’t see Thea until she was right in front of her and presenting her with a book to sign.

‘My God,’ she said. ‘Thea . . .’ But then the smile of recognition fell from her face. ‘How nice to see you,’ she continued, her voice much more formal and
stilted now.

Tom
– she was thinking about Tom, Thea guessed. She was remembering how Thea had dumped him and walked out of his life, without so much as a word of explanation as to why. And maybe
she was thinking about Bridget too, and how Thea had let her best friend down. How she’d caused a rift between Shelley’s children. Thea had no idea whether that rift had healed in her
absence from their lives or not. She hoped it had, but looking at Shelley now, it was clear it was still fresh in her mind.

‘Can we talk?’ Thea asked. ‘I’d like to have a few minutes of your time, if I could.’

As she scribbled her name without any accompanying personal message on the title page of the book Thea had handed her, Shelley peeked behind her at the last few remaining people in the queue,
and then over at her publicist.

‘OK,’ she said, pushing the signed copy back at Thea. ‘Give me a few more minutes until I’m finished off here. But I haven’t got long,’ she glanced at her
watch. ‘Half an hour, then I’m due at a dinner.’

It was only two blocks to Thea’s home, but even so she had a cab waiting when Shelley was ready. As they set off into the traffic, Shelley sat with her back straight as
they made polite small-talk about the weather.

They drew up outside the stoop of Thea’s brownstone a few moments later. Two perfectly manicured box trees stood on either side of the shiny black door. Splashes of red geraniums
contrasted against the window ledges’ cast-iron bars.

Sandy, Thea’s trusted housekeeper, was just leaving, locking up the door. ‘I picked up the dry-cleaning, like you asked, Thea,’ she said. ‘Supper is in the
fridge.’