Little White Lies (34 page)

TASH

It was hard not to be jealous and she hated herself for it. Rebecca deserved every ounce of her happiness. And she
was
happy. You only had to look at her to see it. She was glowing with the sort of happiness that gave rise to pop songs and Hallmark cards. Tash tried to imagine what it must be like to have someone interested enough in you to want to spend the next few weeks together, never mind the rest of your life. She couldn’t. The memory of the one and only time she’d ever felt the force of someone else’s passion – Sylvan Betancourt, Annick’s father’s – was mingled with such shame and guilt and try as she might, every time she thought about a man kissing her, wanting to be near, his body anywhere close to hers, her whole body burned with embarrassment. No one had ever looked at her the way Julian gazed at Rebecca. Once, a while back, one of the sub-editors at
Style
had rather clumsily asked her out. Tim. Tim Collier. Nice enough, in a harmless, unthreatening sort of way. They’d worked together for a few weeks on some inane article about Britain’s most eligible bachelors. One night, a couple of days before deadline, they’d wound up in the office together until almost midnight, checking photo permissions. They got along fine; he was witty and droll and laughed when she said something funny . . . a friend, nothing more.

‘So, who’d you pick, if you had to,’ he asked, straightening up in his chair.

‘Pick? What d’you mean?’ She hadn’t understood him at first.

‘Of the bachelors.’ He indicated the dummy sheet in front of them.

‘Oh, I don’t know . . . they all look the same to me,’ she quipped.

‘No, really. Which one’s most like your boyfriend?’

‘
My
boyfriend? Which boyfriend?’ Tash was almost too surprised to speak. ‘I haven’t
got
a boyfriend.’

‘No? How come?’

She stared at him. Was he blind? ‘I . . . I haven’t got the time,’ she said brusquely. ‘Too busy.’

‘Too busy to enjoy yourself?’ It was his turn to sound incredulous.

‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘Now, where are we with these? How many more to go?’ She turned the conversation briskly back to work.

He looked at her queerly for a moment, then acquiesced. ‘Couple more,’ he said, bending his head back down to the photographs. ‘Here . . . take a look at this. She’s just out of focus . . . d’you think we’ll need to clear it with her publicist?’ He handed her a photograph. As she took it, their fingers touched for a second, his lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Tash jerked her hand away as though she’d been burned and got up quickly from her desk. She hurried to the bathroom and opened the window. Tim’s comments and that odd little moment had set off an alarm in her that she couldn’t quite control. She lit a cigarette and leaned out of the window, smoking furiously until her heartbeat had returned to normal. She was being ridiculous, she knew, but his unexpected interest had set off all sorts of alarm bells ringing deep inside her, and she had absolutely no idea why. Better to steer clear of him. He was nice enough, but clearly bonkers. Why would anyone be interested in
her
?

The next evening, as she was getting ready to leave the office, she found herself walking towards the lift with him.

‘Doing anything special tonight?’ he asked cheerfully as they fell in step.

Tash looked at him warily. Was he making fun of her now that he knew she didn’t have a boyfriend? ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Nothing special.’

‘How about a drink, then?’

She opened her mouth in surprise. Now he really
was
making fun of her. The panic rose before she could suppress it. ‘What? With
you
? No thanks,’ she said swiftly. A terrible, painful confusion broke all over her like a sweat. She pushed the emergency exit door and let it slam behind her. She’d been rude, she knew, and cruel. She’d seen the look in his face as she’d said it but she just couldn’t help herself. Better to knock him down than run the risk of humiliation. With
you
? She’d hurt him, she knew she had.
Jesus Christ
, she muttered furiously to herself as she clattered down the stairs.
What’s wrong with you? He was only asking you for a drink!
She shoved down hard on the metal bar and pushed open the door, bursting out onto the street, embarrassed beyond belief.

‘Don’t you
dare
talk to me like that!’ A woman’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned, catching sight of a tall, leggy blonde, her beautiful face distorted with anger. She brushed past Tash and disappeared into the toilet, slamming the door behind her. Seconds later, the front door opened again and a man strode into the hallway. It was Adam, Rebecca’s gorgeous cousin. He stopped and ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed. Then he caught sight of Tash and grinned. ‘It’s Tash, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, yes it is.’ She was surprised he even knew who she was.

‘You haven’t got a light, by any chance, have you?’ he asked, pulling a packet of Woodbines from his jacket pocket.

She nodded. ‘Yeah. But I’m not sure we can smoke in here,’ she said hesitantly.

‘You’re absolutely right. Join me outside?’

She was too surprised to do anything other than nod and follow him through the doors. ‘Er, what about your girlfriend?’ she asked, casting a backwards glance towards the toilet.

He shrugged. ‘She’ll calm down eventually. She always does.’ He offered her a cigarette.

‘What did you do, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘More a case of what I
didn’t
do. You know how it is. Didn’t say she looked nice often enough. Didn’t introduce her quickly enough. Didn’t introduce her properly. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t . . . relationships are just one long string of “didn’t”s, don’t you find?’

‘Wouldn’t know,’ Tash said cheerfully. She inhaled deeply. ‘Never had one.’ She blew the smoke carefully out of the corner of her mouth.

Adam looked down at her. There weren’t many men who could look down at Tash. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

Tash shook her head. ‘Nope.’

‘How come?’

Tash shrugged. ‘No reason in particular. Just never met anyone I—’

The door behind them opened suddenly. It was Adam’s girlfriend. Her face was a mask of sulky beauty. ‘I’m going home,’ she said sulkily.

Adam swore softly under his breath, then glanced at Tash as if to say,
See what I mean
? ‘You can’t go home now,’ he said patiently, as if explaining something to a child. ‘There’s dinner first, then the speeches.’

‘I’m going home,’ she repeated, though her voice wasn’t quite as strident as it had been. She was weakening.

Tash dropped her cigarette, stubbing it out with her toe. It was clearly a ritual they’d been through many times before. She gave Adam a quick grin, and left them to it. He was right. A relationship? Who’d want one? Not her.
Liar
, a little voice inside her spoke up suddenly.
Liar
. She suppressed it and hurried over to find someone to talk to. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with
those
sorts of thoughts.

A few hours later, when the dancing inside the house was in full swing, she wandered outside for a quick cigarette and found herself in the company of a group of men, including Julian, Rebecca’s new husband. She was suddenly shy; he smiled at her rather gravely. ‘You’re Tash, aren’t you?’ he asked curiously, breaking away from the group.

She nodded. ‘Yes.’ It was the second time someone had asked her that question.

‘Well,’ he looked down at his own wedding suit. ‘You know who
I
am,’ he said, and laughed.

She laughed with him. She felt curiously tongue-tied in his presence. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, not knowing what else to say.

He looked at her keenly. ‘Thank you.’ There was a slightly awkward pause. She was one of Rebecca’s best friends and yet their wedding day was their first real encounter – there was an awkwardness there that neither could fully admit to. ‘You’re the entrepreneur,’ he said, and again, it was more of a statement than a question. ‘Rebecca’s always talking about you. She’s been telling me a little bit about your business idea.’

Tash blushed immediately. ‘Oh . . . well, we’ve still got a long way to go,’ she said quickly, wondering how much Rebecca had actually told him.

‘Not much,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘But I’m intrigued. I’m an investor. I look for good ideas to invest in and this sounds interesting. You should come and see me. In the office, I mean. Here . . . let me give you a card.’ He slid a hand inside his jacket. ‘Just give my secretary a call. We’re in France next week but we’re back at the weekend.’

Tash nodded. ‘Th . . . thanks,’ she said uncertainly. She liked the way he said it.
We’re in France next week
. ‘I’ll give you a ring when you’re back.’ She saw Rebecca out of the corner of her eye, coming towards them. She was tipsy, Tash saw. The rosy colour was up in her cheeks and her eyes shone with warmth, in spite of the cold.

‘So . . . you’ve met,’ she laughed, slipping an arm around them both. ‘Finally. It feels a bit strange, doesn’t it?’

‘Why’s that, darling?’ Julian looked at her indulgently.

‘Here I am, getting married. No, I
am
married,’ she corrected herself, giggling. ‘And yet you’ve never met.’

‘Well, we have now. And I’ve asked Tash to come and see me when we get back.’ Julian put his arm round his wife.

‘Oh?’

‘Mmm. We’ve got business to talk about.’ He winked at Tash and they turned to greet someone else.

The party sounds around her rose and fell, shattering lightly against the clear night sky. Tash turned, walked back towards the house. She pushed open the front door. There were a few people standing around in the vestibule; they looked up as she came through the door but she didn’t stop to say hello. She wanted to be alone somewhere.

There was a small living room just off Rebecca’s father’s study. She tried the handle; the door swung open silently and she slipped in, shutting it quietly behind her. There was an open fire in the grate, sending out glowing streams of warm, coppery light. The door to the study was partly ajar but it was quiet inside the small living room. She looked around her. She’d always liked this room. Its dark wood-panelled walls held thousands of books, just like her father’s private rooms up at Portmore. She stood in the doorway for a second, breathing deeply. There was an old, smoothly worn Chesterfield in front of the fire. She walked over to it, sinking gratefully into its soft, comfortable leather. She, Rebecca and Annick had spent many a night curled up on it when they were younger, playing cards, gossiping, escaping from the rest of the world, especially their respective families. There was a cosy warmth to the room, in spite of its sombre air. There was history here, and continuity, and the sense that one’s own dramas, however threatening, couldn’t possibly overturn the larger order of things to which the house and its wealth and history belonged.

She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. As happy as she was for Rebecca, she’d found the day oddly overwhelming. Seeing Rebecca surrounded by literally dozens of close family members brought a keen sense of her own loneliness into sharp relief. If Tash were ever to get married – and the thought of it seemed about as remote a possibility as dying, or flying to the moon – who would come? Her mother, Rebecca, a handful of colleagues from work . . . that would be it. For all Rebecca’s complaints about not doing anything with her life, she was
loved
and cherished in a way Tash would never be. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. It wasn’t a day to cry. Suddenly, she became aware of a low murmur coming from behind the half-closed door. She struggled upright. She wasn’t alone.

‘She’ll find someone, don’t worry.’ It was Rebecca’s mother, Embeth. ‘It just takes time.’

‘No. You don’t know her.’ Tash drew in a sharp breath. It was her mother’s voice. Sulky, irritated. ‘Tash very difficult. Not like
your
daughter.’

‘Tash is a lovely girl,’ Embeth said loyally. ‘She’s so
bright
.’

‘What is point of brains?’ Lyudmila said sulkily. ‘Better she should be beautiful.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Is curse, you know. Having ugly daughter.’

‘Tash isn’t
ugly
, Lyudmila,’ Embeth said gently. ‘She’s a lovely girl. She’ll find someone, just be patient. Wait and see.’

‘I wait how many years now? She never has boyfriend. Never.’

Tash was aware she was holding her breath. She exhaled slowly and stood up. Her whole body was flushed with anger – how
dare
her mother discuss her with Embeth Harburg? She crept across the carpet, shaking with rage.
Is curse having ugly daughter
. The words were like a slap in the face. Of course she knew her looks were a disappointment, and probably not just to her mother. She knew her colleagues at work sniggered behind her back about her hair and her teeth and the fact that she never, ever wore make-up. She was used to it. But hearing it stated so baldly and with such despair . . . she swallowed hard. She picked up her coat and bag and walked towards the main road. Let Lyudmila find her own fucking way home. She’d seen and heard enough.

EMBETH

She watched her own Bentley bearing Tash’s mother pull slowly out of the driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. What an unbelievably disagreeable woman, she thought to herself, shutting the front door firmly behind her. Lyudmila had been one of the last guests to leave. It was well after midnight and she was exhausted. Rebecca and Julian had departed for the hotel where they were staying before going on to a fortnight’s holiday at a beautiful villa at Le Dramont, near St Raphaël, her and Lionel’s gift to the honeymooning couple.

Now, with the house slowly returning to itself after the excitement of the day, the staff still busy clearing the grounds and making sure their various guests were all comfortably accommodated, Embeth allowed herself the luxury of drawing breath. The entire day had gone off without a hitch. She switched off the lights in the study; Lionel had long since retired to the suite of rooms on the first floor. At ninety one, amazingly, he still had the curiosity and zest for life that had so attracted her all those years ago, but not the stamina to match. It was to be expected, of course. She’d never met anyone with as much energy. At an age where her own father had slowed to a near-halt, not moving from their Altamira home in Caracas, Lionel still went to the bank every day, still oversaw all the deals that the younger generation made . . . he could no more have stopped working than he’d have stopped breathing and there were times when Embeth feared that that was exactly how it would end – suddenly, in the middle of a telephone call or whilst chastising an employee. She was forever telling him to slow down, take things easy, think about retirement.
Retirement?
He’d looked at her as though she were mad. ‘We’re Jews, Embeth,’ he said incredulously. ‘What d’you expect me to do? Take up golf?’