Original Sin (46 page)

‘Hey, I didn’t know you were getting back so early.’

Tess was not annoyed to see Jemma coming through from the flat. She had been enjoying the rare solitude, but, despite sharing the flat, she rarely saw her friend. Jemma worked even longer hours than she did, stalking the hippest bars and restaurants in town for pap shots that she could sell back in England.

‘It is eight o’clock,’ said Tess. ‘You’re the one who works until three a.m.’

‘Well, no one’s out today,’ said Jemma, perching on the little wooden chair opposite Tess. ‘It’s a quiet night, no parties, no openings – quite a relief, to be honest. So how was your day?’ she asked, reaching over to pick a chunk of pasta from Tess’s bowl.

‘Oh, the usual,’ sighed Tess. ‘Exhausting. Do you know Dom had the cheek to phone me again today?’

‘What did he say?’

‘I never pick it up. But he’s left four messages this week saying we need to talk.’

Tess stabbed at her penne, then put the fork down. Suddenly she wasn’t feeing hungry any more. In the week after their split, she’d received a long email from him that started off apologetically but finished off by coldly suggesting that they should put their Battersea flat on the market.
Well, he could go and screw himself.
She didn’t need the money and she had no need for the flat either, not now. Neither did he, she thought with a pang of jealousy, imagining him shacked up in some luxurious Holland Park mansion with ‘Tamara’. She assumed he wanted the proceeds from the flat’s sale so he could keep up with his new rich, fabulous friends: trips to Mustique and dinners at the Cipriani were not easily afforded by mid–ranking members of the press.
Well, I’m not going to help you with your little upper–class adventure. I’d rather burn that flat to the ground
, she thought, a little surprised at her own anger.

‘So do you think he wants to get back with you?’ asked Jemma, playing with a string of fairy lights that were wrapped around the terrace’s railings.

‘Huh,’ snorted Tess, ‘in his dreams.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ grinned Jemma. ‘Chuck me a magazine.’

Both girls began flicking through the big pile of publications that Tess had brought out. Most of them were British editions she read for work purposes, but somehow, she also found their familiarity comforting, like a little glimpse of home.

‘Have you seen this picture of Sean with some dolly blonde?’ asked Jemma, showing her the party section of
Tatler
.

‘Hmm, yes. His new girlfriend, Annabel Russell.’

‘You know I think he’s cute,’ said Jemma casually. ‘Cuter than David Billington, anyway. I know David is classically good looking, but Sean looks as if he’d be very naughty in bed.’

‘Urgh. You wouldn’t say that if you’d met him.’

‘So which one would you do?’

Tess flicked over another page, ignoring the question. She really didn’t want to be asked questions about whether she found Sean Asgill attractive. She hadn’t even spoken to him since the episode in London where he had humiliated her for what seemed like his own entertainment. She glanced up and saw that Jemma was still waiting for an answer.

‘What?’ she sighed. ‘What was the question?’

‘Which one would you shag? If you had to, I mean.’

‘Jem, I work for them.’

‘So what?’ giggled Jemma. ‘That would only make it more exciting. I think I’d shag Sean.’

Tess fell silent.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jemma suddenly. ‘Oh God! Have the Asgills got the flat bugged? Have I just got us both fired?’

But Tess wasn’t listening. All her attention was focused on the
Hello
she had just opened. Right in the centre of the news page was a large picture of Dom and Tamara next to the headline ‘Society Beauty to Wed’. She tried to gulp in air but the oxygen failed to reach her lungs. She felt as if she was drowning.

‘Tess? What’s the matter?’

Tess finally took in a long, ragged breath. ‘So that’s why he’s been trying to get in touch with me,’ she whispered, her throat feeling dry.

Tess’s hands were trembling as she passed the magazine over to Jemma. ‘Look.’

Jemma’s mouth slowly opened in an expression of shock, which swiftly turned to anger.

‘The snake,’ she hissed. ‘This magazine must have gone to the printers over a week ago. He must have proposed to her just after you two had finished.’

Tess nodded numbly. ‘I can do the maths,’ she replied flatly.

She fumbled for her glass and drained it. As Jemma came over and put a reassuring arm around her, Tess’s shoulders began to shake.

‘I’m an idiot,’ she whispered. ‘I’m a bloody idiot.’

‘No you’re not,’ said Jemma softly. ‘
He
is.’

Taking deep, heavy breaths, Tess rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. She did not cry. She never cried. She wasn’t going to start now.

‘You know what pisses me off the most? We were together for nine years. That’s nearly a third of my life I’ve wasted on him.’

‘It wasn’t a waste, honey,’ said Jemma. ‘It’s just life – you fall in love and things end.’

Tess banged her fist onto the table. ‘But it’s so unfair, Jem! I’ve worked my butt off for ten years and where does it get me? Yet
he
just strolls along to party – a party I had to beg to get him invited to – and walks off with a millionaire fiancée, while I’m stuck here in someone else’s flat with no one but a twelve year–old boy for company at the weekend.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ said Jemma with mock outrage. ‘Jack gets top billing over me?’

But Tess was in no mood to laugh.

‘I actually don’t know why I’m so angry,’ she went on. ‘Is it because he’s such a shallow, social–climbing rat and I didn’t realize quite how much? Or because he seemed to fall in love with someone else so quickly? Or … ’

‘What, honey?’

‘ … because he didn’t want to marry
me
.’

She felt her lip quiver as she said the final word, the anger finally giving way to self–pity. Tess remembered how she had reacted to her father’s death and how she had discovered that grief could be a selfish emotion. The distress for the loss of a loved one was often mixed up with a feeling of universal injustice:
Why did it happen to me? How could I have made things different? Why didn’t I say all those things I wanted?
In the end, it was all wasted emotion. What was done was done and no one could turn back time. The end of a relationship was no different. She looked at Jemma sadly.

‘You know, through the first year of our relationship I used to have a photo of Dom as my screensaver? Pathetic, isn’t it? I think it was to remind me that he was real. I couldn’t believe that someone like me was going out with someone as good looking as him.’

‘Oh Tess, now you’re just being silly,’ said Jemma. ‘You know you’re gorgeous. And I’ll be honest, Dom’s never done it for me.’

Tess wondered for a moment whether Dom had really been doing it for her. She supposed he hadn’t, not really, not for a long time. For the past year, Tess had found that the slightest thing irritated her about Dom. His endless grooming before leaving the house, his know–it–all pontificating about the world’s ‘best places’, his terrible name–dropping about work: everything about him seemed to set her teeth on edge. Maybe they really had been growing apart, falling out of love. But it wasn’t that truth which hurt, the knowledge that she should really have done something about their relationship sooner. No, what really hurt was that someone she loved had preferred someone else. Seeing him grinning happily from the pages of the magazine had simply compounded every feeling of insecurity and inadequacy she had ever felt. Underneath all the career bravado and ambition were old wounds, and this had just torn them open.

‘If I hadn’t taken this job, we would never have gone to that Asgill Cosmetics launch and he would never have met Tamara … ’ began Tess.

‘Okay, stop that!’ said Jemma sharply. ‘You’re not a victim, Tess. You are a strong, beautiful, kick–ass bitch and you’re not going to sit here wallowing.’

She pulled Tess’s arm, dragging her into the flat.

‘Right, get in that bedroom and doll yourself up,’ she said sternly. ‘There’s a great salsa bar in the East Village. We’re going to go and drink loads of margaritas and find ourselves two chilli–hot men, then dance until they throw us out.’

Despite herself, Tess laughed. ‘Okay,’ she smiled, ‘But, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll give the men a miss and stick with the margaritas.’

CHAPTER THIRTY–THREE

The penthouse bar of the Clifton Hotel had taken over from the Gansevoort as the hottest rooftop watering hole in Manhattan and, despite her bad, distracted mood, Liz could not fail to be impressed by the views. In front of her the Empire State Building was lit up blue, red, and silver, like a giant platinum rocket, while the lights of Manhattan twinkled and shimmered like an Oasis in the desert. Inside the bar, the faces of the crowded party–goers were given a golden cast by the hurricane lanterns placed on the bar and the walls. It was cosy, yet exclusive – an apt location for tonight’s event, a Wall Street networking event–cum–drinks party hosted by the financial magazine,
The Fund
. Liz was here at Rav’s invitation and, as she looked around, she was amazed how few women went to these things. Perhaps that was accounted for by the fact that there were so few very senior women on Wall Street. If you weren’t in the boys’ club, you didn’t get on. Rav approached carrying two drinks with an apologetic half–smile.

‘Sorry,’ he said, kissing her on the lips as he handed her a stemmed Martini glass.

‘Whatever for?’ she asked.

‘For leaving you alone for so long.’

Liz was almost touched by his protectiveness, although suspected that his alpha–male routine was for the benefit of his fellow party–goers, most of whom Liz had noticed checking her out. No wonder, she smiled to herself: she did look sensational in a chocolate–brown, form–fitting Gucci dress that accentuated her slim waist and pert breasts.

‘Don’t worry, I can look after myself,’ she said with just the right balance of censure and flirtation. Rav’s dark eyes danced across Liz’s before he spoke.

‘I’ve just been speaking to some of the guys from Petersen’s,’ he said name–checking the boutique investment bank and jerking his thumb towards a group of suits standing by the bar. She glanced at her watch, already bored, already having dismissed Rav’s banking friends as being too far down the pecking order to be of any importance. In fact, in the ten minutes she had been sitting on her own, she had worked out there was no one here worth meeting that she didn’t already know and, as she had a hair appointment at seven a.m. with Enrique at Skin Plus, she wanted an early night.

‘A group of them have rented a chalet in Aspen for Christmas,’ continued Rav. ‘They wanted to know if I wanted in.’

‘Sounds fun,’ shrugged Liz. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘It’s over Christmas and New Year.’

Liz smiled at Rav’s ham–fisted transparency. ‘Is that a roundabout way of asking me if you’re invited to Brooke and David’s wedding?’ she asked archly.

‘Well, I didn’t know if it was going to a happen over the holidays,’ he stammered.

‘You’re a bad liar, darling,’ she smiled, touching his chin. ‘One of the tabloids ran a story this week that it’s happening on New Year’s Eve, and I know you read those awful rags because I’ve seen you.’

Watching him smile like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Liz realized that she did not entirely object to Rav being at Brooke’s wedding with her. He made her laugh, sometimes, and while he had not introduced her to anyone important, he
had
provided a distraction this summer. At weekends he took her to parties in the Hamptons; he was a more than competent tennis partner and he was generous with his money. Although Liz generally preferred older men, the beauty of a younger man – particularly one in clear awe of Liz’s sexuality – was his
eagerness.

Her eyes wandered across the crowd and met a familiar stare. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘Leonard’s here.’

She strode over, but instead of an embrace, she met her uncle with a challenging stare. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she demanded.

‘You’re not the only one with friends on Wall Street,’ replied Leonard with a half–smile. ‘Not that I’m fitting in here, by any means. The banking profession gets younger every time I look.’

He accepted a cocktail from a passing waiter and looked at the purple concoction curiously while Liz watched him. This was the first time Liz had spoken to Leonard since the Asgills’ board meeting the day before, when William and Meredith’s plan to put Asgill Cosmetics up for sale had been officially ratified. While she was still angry, she knew she had to step carefully; Leonard was no fool, and had many friends and allies both inside the company and out.

‘Liz, I just want you to know that I respect your judgement and I know how much the family business means to you,’ said Leonard, addressing the unspoken.