Little White Lies (51 page)

TASH

Tash picked up the scrap of paper the receptionist had slid in front of her. She looked at the name again, frowning.
Yves Pasqual
. A good friend of Annick’s? She’d never heard Annick mention him. She wondered who he was. She ought to ring Annick and check, shouldn’t she? She hesitated for a moment, then her curiosity got the better of her. She got up, pulled her ponytail tight and opened her door. Annabel, her PA, was busy on the phone. ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she murmured and walked out.

He was standing by the window, looking down onto Marylebone High Street. He turned as she approached. Her eyes widened. He was tall and lean, a little darker-skinned than Annick, with short, tightly curled black hair and a neat goatee. He was wearing a dark tweed jacket, a round-necked jumper and jeans. He looked serious. She held out a hand. ‘Hi. I’m Tash. You’re a friend of Annick’s?’

His handshake was firm. ‘Yes. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t contact you beforehand. I just happened to be in London and . . . well, I thought I’d try and find her. Is there . . . is there somewhere we could talk for a moment? Do you have time?’

His English was excellent, if accented. He seemed nervous. Tash warmed to him immediately. ‘Of course. Let’s grab a coffee. There’s a cafe just across the road. Gemma, will you hold my calls? Tell Annabel I’ll be back in half an hour.’ She turned to Yves. ‘So, have you come from far?’ Was he a friend from Togo or Paris, she wondered?

‘Paris,’ he said, standing back to let her enter the lift first. Good manners, she noticed. And good shoes. It was cold and damp outside. She wrapped her arms around her, refusing his offer of his coat. ‘Come on, it’s not far.’

‘Hi, Tash.’ One of the waitresses recognised her immediately. ‘Usual?’

‘What’s your usual?’ Yves asked, scanning the menu.

‘Filter coffee, dash of hot milk, no sugar.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll have the same,’ Yves smiled. ‘I can’t get used to these London coffee shops. Americano, flat white, cappuccino, macchiato. Crazy.’

‘So, who exactly are you?’ Tash asked as the coffees were brought to the small table. ‘I’m afraid Annick’s never mentioned you.’

An involuntary expression of hurt flitted across his face, which he quickly suppressed. He shrugged. ‘We were close,’ he said after a moment. ‘We met at the hotel where she worked. I heard that’s where you found her.’

‘How did you hear that?’

‘From one of the guys who worked there. He still talks about the fifty euros you gave him.’ He smiled. ‘It took me a while to track you down. There was a newspaper article she showed me once. I’m afraid I wasn’t really listening at the time. I had to go back through every single copy for the last six months until I found it.’ He stopped, stirring his coffee slowly with his spoon. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, especially considering who she is and with everything that’s happened to her family, but do you know where she is? Will you give me her number?’

Tash hesitated. ‘She’s a solicitor – did you know that?’

Yves nodded. ‘Yes, I know. I know more about her than she thinks,’ he said after a moment. He looked Tash straight in the eye. ‘And I suppose you’re wondering why she hasn’t mentioned me.’

Tash shook her head. She smiled. ‘I’ve known Annick a long time, remember?’ she said gently. ‘There’s lots of stuff she doesn’t talk about.’

‘So will you tell me where she is?’

She looked at him. He had a certain quality about him that she liked. He was careful, but not cagey. She liked his directness and his frank way of speaking, but recognised too that there was a vulnerability behind it all, as though he knew he could also be hurt. She turned to look out of the window. Annick hadn’t said anything about a man in Paris and she must have had a reason. But there was something about Yves, some instinct that told her he was someone to be trusted, not pushed away.

‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll tell her you’re here. Will you wait here for her?’ He nodded. She turned her head to look out of the window. Yves followed her gaze. Across the road, a woman struggled with a child in a pram and two teenagers passed by, giggling hotly between them. They both turned back to look at each other at the same moment. She found she was smiling. ‘I hope I’ll see you again?’

He scribbled his number on a piece of paper and gave it to her. ‘So do I. She ought to know my number,’ he said. ‘But just in case.’ He signalled to the waitress. ‘I’ll get these,’ he said, pointing to the coffees. ‘And thank you.’

‘Nothing to thank. Not yet, at any rate,’ Tash said lightly. ‘I’d better run. I hope she calls.’

‘Me too.’

So, Annick had been hiding something after all, Tash thought to herself as she hurried across the road. She was impressed. Yves had impressed her. As she walked through to her office, a deeper, darker emotion pushed its way through the thin crust of her admiration. Envy. She sat down behind her desk and propped her chin in her hands. She ought to be happy for Annick. Someone cared enough about her to plough through six months’ worth of newspapers just to find her! She tried to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention. She couldn’t. The truth was that for all her achievements and her burning, driving ambition, there was no one with whom she could share any of it, even if she wanted to. She stared at the phone on her desk, biting back the sudden horrid urge to cry.

ANNICK
London

‘Oh, Miss Betancourt,’ Katie looked up as Annick staggered past, carrying a stack of papers that threatened to topple her over. ‘Your friend rang again. She says it’s really urgent. Did you get the other messages?’

‘Yes, I did, thanks. I was just about to ring her,’ Annick said breathlessly. She set the pile down on her desk with a thud, moments before it all collapsed. ‘God, there’s a lot to go through.’

Katie nodded sympathetically. ‘And Ms Karol also rang. She’s on her way back now.’

Annick grimaced and glanced at the clock. It was almost five and she’d yet to go through the huge stack of notes Frances had left out for her that morning. She was drowning in paperwork. Her earlier experience had in no way prepared her for the demands of corporate law. There seemed to be no personalities involved, which was what had made wills and probate at least marginally interesting. Corporate law seemed to be made up entirely of faceless corporations either seeking damages or seeking to avoid them. It was the most impersonal, unemotional and – dare she say it? – boring area to work in but she had no choice. She didn’t dare think about how much money she now owed Tash, and it wasn’t just about the money, either. She’d been given a second chance, a lifeline back to her old self – she’d be absolutely mad to reject it.

Katie picked up her coat and scarf and switched off her computer. There were many differences between them, Annick thought to herself as she watched her, but none quite so stark as their respective end-of-day routines. Katie and Louise clocked off at five on the dot, unless they were specifically asked to stay. They were at their desks by nine and not a moment sooner. She, on the other hand, rarely got home before seven. Eight or even half past was the norm.

She picked up her phone and quickly dialled Tash’s mobile. Her own mobile was tucked away in her bag. Mobiles were banned at Clifton Crabbe. ‘Tash? It’s me.’

‘I know it’s you,’ Tash said drily. ‘It says so on my screen.
Annick. Office
.’

‘I’d better be quick. Frances is on her way back. What’s the matter?’

‘Why should anything be the matter?’ Tash asked mildly. ‘No, nothing’s wrong, per se. But I had a visitor today.’

‘Who?’

‘A friend of yours. A bloke.’

A cold hand of fear crept up her back. ‘A bloke?’

‘Yeah. A friend. I think you know who I mean.’

There was a short, painful silence. ‘Looking for me?’

‘Yup. He came over from Paris.’

‘Paris?’ Annick almost dropped the phone. ‘Yves?’

‘Why didn’t you mention him?’

Annick opened her mouth but no words came out. She gripped the phone. The shame and embarrassment she’d spent the past three months suppressing came rushing up through her body like a tidal wave. ‘I . . . wh-where . . . where is he?’ she croaked.

‘He’s in Black’s. You know, the cafe across the road from my office. He’s been waiting there since three o’clock. I rang you at least half a dozen times. He left a number—’

‘I know his number,’ Annick broke in, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. ‘Wh-why did he come to
you
?’

‘Well, how else was he supposed to find you? He tracked me down through that interview in the
Guardian
. Pretty intrepid, if you ask me. Annick, you’ve
got
to go and see him. How can you not?’

‘I . . . I . . . just didn’t—’

‘Look, whatever it was you
didn’t
do, forget about that now. He’s here. He’s come all this way. Go and meet him.’ And before Annick could offer any more excuses, she rang off. Annick was left staring at the phone.

‘Everything all right, Annick?’ Frances bustled into their offices carrying yet more folders. ‘Did you get through the DTI files?’

Annick looked up, startled. ‘No, n-not quite. I’m still going through them. I’ll . . . I’ll have the summary on your desk first thing in the morning.’

‘The morning? What’s wrong with tonight?’

‘I . . . I’ve got a meeting,’ Annick stammered. ‘At six. But I’ll come back straight after.’

Frances raised an eyebrow. ‘Tonight?’ she murmured. ‘Well, so long as it’s all done by morning,’ she said, picking up the phone. ‘I’m meeting the minister at eleven and I’ll need a
complete
summary by then.’ Her emphasis on the word ‘complete’ was deliberate. The first time she’d done a summary for Ms Karol, a few days after her arrival, she’d inadvertently missed out an entire file.

‘Y-yes, Frances.’ Annick picked up her coat. Her heart was hammering so loudly inside her chest it was a wonder Frances couldn’t hear it. ‘I’ll . . . I’ll be right back.’

‘First thing in the morning,’ Frances said smoothly. ‘Or else.’

He was sitting in Tash’s favourite seat by the window. She saw him even before the taxi had come to a halt. He was bent over his plate, reading something at the same time, his head bowed and his shoulders curved. She was overcome with remorse. How could she have disappeared like that, without leaving a word, without saying goodbye? She thrust a ten-pound note at the driver and jumped out almost before the taxi had come to a complete halt. She pushed open the door to the cafe and wound her way across the crowded room to where he sat.

‘Yves?’

He lifted his head. There was a pause, and then he stood up. ‘Annick.’

She felt her knees begin to wobble. Deep breaths snagged on a sob. She could feel the tears rushing down her face and neck. He saw it too and put out a hand to steady her. ‘Y-Yves. I’m s-sorry. I’m s-sorry,’ she sobbed, oblivious to the people at the table next to him who looked from one to the other in a mixture of curiosity and alarm. ‘I’m s-so sorry,’ she whispered again and again. She held onto the back of the chair.

‘Annick.’ In a second he was beside her. She breathed in the oh-so-familiar scent of him and it made it even worse. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he murmured against her hair. She nodded, unable to let go of the chair. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

‘Wh-what ab-about your n-newspaper?’

He didn’t answer. He steered her gently but firmly towards the door instead. ‘I’ve finished with it. Come on.’

‘M-my flat’s ju-just around the corner,’ she blubbered.

‘Then let’s go there.’ He stopped to tuck her scarf firmly around her neck. ‘That’s better. It’s cold outside.’

‘H-how long have you been waiting for me?’ she asked, unable to stop crying.

He looked at her for a moment without saying anything. Then he shook his head and gave one of his wry little smiles. His fingers gripped her arm through her coat sleeve. It took him a moment to answer. ‘All my life.’

They didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Annick had just managed to close the front door behind her when he took hold of her arm again and drew her towards him. She pushed her face into the warm, familiar solidity of his chest, breathing deeply, taking the scent of him down into her lungs. She brought both hands up and began to unbutton his shirt. She felt his skin shudder under her fingertips. She went over him, every inch, every dip and swell, sliding across the tight, short hair on his chest, around his taut, trembling sides to the smooth dip of his back. She turned her face up towards his but kept her eyes tightly shut, allowing her fingers to do the seeing for her. Across his cheek, then down to the corner of his lips, across the lower one, resting for a moment in the hollow below, then over the prickly skin of his chin, down the smooth, powerful neck, feeling his Adam’s apple swell and contract under her touch. Like a creature feeling its way across a surface in the dark.

‘What are you doing?’ he whispered against her hair.

She shook her head, her fingers busy nibbling at the buckle of his belt, as if he might find some answer there. She pushed his trousers down past his thighs, feeling them fall to the floor with a soft thud, his wallet or his phone buried somewhere in the pockets. His head tilted forward and found the softness of her neck. They began to tease each other in a way she’d never dared to do before. He made short work of her jacket, blouse, bra, skirt . . . within seconds, they were both naked, oblivious to the fact that the bedroom was behind them, the door still firmly shut. It had begun to rain outside, drops beating firmly against the windowpanes, marking out a different kind of rhythm to the frantic, rising tempo of need between them.

Whispered confessions. Buried history. Admissions. Hurts. Old stories, new truths. Suddenly, bed seemed the appropriate place to say everything. Even the silences between them had the tense, quivering quality of speech. She lay beside him, her body turned inwards towards his, his hands loosely cupping her buttocks. She couldn’t stop talking, now.

‘I didn’t know how to explain,’ she whispered. ‘It just seemed too much, somehow. Too much for anyone to have to deal with.’