Original Sin (53 page)

Tess nodded sympathetically, recalling that she hadn’t seen Leonard around the office all week.

‘As is happens, Sean is in New York this week,’ continued Meredith. ‘He heard that Leonard can’t make the pageant and suggested he should attend in his place.’

‘I bet he did,’ said Tess. ‘But Meredith, I’m not at all sure–’

Meredith raised her hand to silence Tess’s objections.

‘I am aware this goes somewhat against the grain of the wonderful work you have been doing to reposition Sean in the public mind, but he has done it before without incident, and it is a very good photo opportunity. It raises the profile of the pageant and hence the sun cream and, at the moment, that has to take precedence over any concerns about putting Sean, shall we say, in “harm’s way”?’

‘I appreciate that, Meredith,’ said Tess. ‘And I hear he has managed to stay sober since rehab, which is brilliant; but, even so, he’s too much of a loose cannon in the company of beautiful girls in bikinis.’

‘Which is why I want you to go.’

Tess’s mouth opened. ‘You want me to
baby–sit
him?’ She looked away, lest her anger show on her face. She could not believe Sean Asgill was once again interfering with her life, ruining her plans. As if unveiling Dom as an unfaithful bastard purely for his own entertainment wasn’t bad enough, now he was putting the kibosh on a much–needed trip to Lake Tahoe.

‘Not baby–sit, no,’ said Meredith. ‘I simply want you to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble. Young girls and rich men don’t mix.’

Tess blew out her cheeks in frustration and Meredith looked at her with a more kindly countenance.

‘It won’t be so bad, Tess,’ she smiled. ‘Hawaii is a beautiful island and I understand the hotel where the pageant is being held is, well, fun. If you like, the company will pay for you to stay on a couple of nights afterwards; that way you still get your break. Take an airplane flight over Mauna Loa at night – it’s something you will never forget in your life. Invoice everything to me.’

Tess nodded numbly. She knew she was in no position to argue. ‘I’ll make all the arrangements tomorrow,’ she said.

‘No need,’ smiled Meredith. ‘I had my secretary book you on Saturday’s flight to Hilo. She has all the details.’

Meredith stood up and walked towards the door on her Ferragamo heels. ‘I do appreciate everything you’re doing for the family, Tess. I know your contract with us was until David and Brooke’s wedding, but I really hope you’ll stay on with us after that. Perhaps we can talk about it a little nearer the time?’

Tess wondered if now would be a good time to remind her employer of the quarter–of–a–million–dollar bonus she had been promised if the wedding went ahead. It had been mentioned at her first conversation with Meredith at the Connaught, and Tess had insisted it was put into her contract, but with rumours of financial trouble with the Asgill company beginning to surface, Tess made a mental note to double–check her contract to make sure there was no way they could wiggle out of it.

‘Oh, before I forget,’ said Meredith, slipping her slim hand into her Chanel quilt bag. ‘I received this today.’ She pulled out an envelope and handed it to Tess. It was addressed to Meredith at the Asgill’s office. Inside the envelope was a letter on blue airmail paper, the likes of which Tess hadn’t seen in a decade. She unfolded it and read the short message.

Your family has a secret.

Flipping over the envelope, she examined it.

‘Well, it’s a South Carolina postmark. I’m assuming you don’t know who it’s from?’

Meredith gave the smallest of shrugs. ‘I have no idea.’

Tess wasn’t unduly worried. One thing she had learned from her time in the tabloids was that the world was full of crackpots. At the
Globe
, they had regularly received letters from one of Britain’s most notorious criminals, sent from Broadmoor Hospital (the institution that in less enlightened times had been known as Broadmoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane); here, barely a week at the Asgills’ office went past without some email or letter from someone claiming to be Brooke’s best friend wanting her cell–phone number, or a long–lost relative claiming a slice of the annual profits. New York seemed to be particularly full of crazies. Tess tapped the letter against the palm of her hand thoughtfully.

‘Well, it’s not a demand or an accusation. It’s probably just another attention–seeker.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Meredith quietly. ‘But I’d like it taken care of.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,’ said Tess with as much reassurance as she could muster. ‘And get any post like this diverted to me as soon as it arrives.’

‘Thank you Tess,’ said Meredith. ‘This is exactly the reason I hired you.’

She watched Meredith leave the room and her face creased into a frown.
What the hell does she want from me?
she thought, annoyed.
First a PR, then a baby–sitter, now they want me to be a private bloody detective!

She grabbed her coat and switched off the light, throwing the letter into the back of her drawer.

CHAPTER FORTY–TWO

‘What do you
mean
, you can’t make it?’ asked Brooke, cradling her phone to her ear as she pushed through the revolving door of her office building and out onto the cold street.

David’s voice sounded apologetic but firm. ‘I’m sorry, honey, but it’s impossible. The producer wants to follow up a story that has just broken on the
Huffington Post.
We’re going to do an extended segment about it on the show tomorrow, so it’s all hands on deck. Meetings with the researchers, you know the drill. I think it’s going to be a late one.’

‘But we’re supposed to be there in an hour,’ said Brooke, exasperated. She heard a long sigh into the phone.

‘Brooke, this is my job, whereas tonight’s supper is for a guy I don’t even know; in fact it’s for someone I’m not actually that happy you’re seeing, if I’m honest.’

Brooke felt angry and defensive. When she had finally plucked up the courage to invite David to Matt’s birthday dinner, it had raised all sorts of difficult questions. Why had Matt invited Brooke when they weren’t even close friends?
Who wouldn’t invite New York’s premier couple to their birthday party if they knew them?
she’d answered. How many times exactly had she seen him?
She could count them on one hand,
she’d said. Was she regularly in touch with him on text and email?
Yes! But wasn’t that how everybody maintained friendships in the twenty–first century?

‘If you had a problem with me going, you should have said so earlier,’ said Brooke with irritation. ‘Then I wouldn’t have accepted his invitation. I can’t exactly get out of it now when we’re supposed to be there in twenty minutes.’

‘Listen why don’t you just go?’ he said after a pause. ‘But come and stay at mine tonight? At least that way I’ll get to see you.’

‘Well, I’ll just have to see how busy I am,’ she said curtly and hung up. As she walked out of her building and stepped into the waiting car, she ran over David’s words. Why had he made a point of asking her over to his place? she wondered. Was it a test or did he really want to see her? She shook her head angrily and resolved not to think about it for the rest of the night.

*

Brooke stood outside Matt’s apartment, holding a bottle of Château Pétrus, feeling such nerves that she wanted to open the claret there and then. The endless parties and fundraisers she’d attended with David over the past year had made Brooke much more confident in social situations, but she still felt anxious. It hadn’t helped that she had told Tess Garrett that she was going to Matt’s dinner party – Tess hadn’t been pleased. How had she put it?
Beware new friends
, that was it. Brooke kept the advice in mind as she pressed the bell. A pretty blonde about her own age opened the door with a broad smile.

‘Hi, I’m Brooke.’

‘Of course you are,’ said the girl, moving out of the way to let Brooke inside. ‘I’m Susie, I’m Matt’s girlfriend.’

Her wheat–coloured hair was piled up on her head, slim jeans showed off her long legs, and a tie–dyed Indian smock top made Brooke irrationally wonder if she was into tantric sex. The thing she noticed most, however, was how wide her eyes were, giving her a slightly manic look. Brooke had met this type of girl at college. She’d heard men refer to them as ‘mad chicks’.

‘Hey.’ Matt came forward and awkwardly air–kissed her.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have,’ said Susie, as Brooke handed her the wine.

Matt peered at the label on the bottle. ‘Wow, you really
should
have,’ he said.

Matt led her down a short hallway and into the living room; as she stepped through the door, everyone turned towards her and conversation hushed to a silence. Brooke could feel herself blushing. On the New York social circuit, no one ever acted in a self–conscious way around her because to do so would be tantamount to admitting Brooke was somehow more important than they were. Instead, they adopted an over–friendly and familiar tone, whether they had met her before or not. All of which made Brooke feel even more awkward, even more of a circus freak, standing in Matt’s small living room.

‘Please Brooke, come and meet Greg,’ said Matt, ushering Brooke over to a rangy blond man on the sofa. ‘Greg’s a friend from school,’ said Matt, ‘and this is his girlfriend Courtney.’

Courtney was the youngest in the room, perhaps early twenties, and had obviously dressed up for the occasion in a sequinned emerald cocktail dress. She seemed to be completely star–struck and could only offer an open–mouthed smile when Brooke said hello. Matt then introduced Peter and Ed, doctors from the hospital and their wives, Sally and Grace. While Matt went to get Brooke a drink, she glanced around the room, noting the changes since her last visit when she had twisted her ankle in the park. It had definitely had a woman’s touch: the boomerang and baseball had gone from the bookshelf to be replaced by a line of scented candles. She made a mental note to check the bathroom for signs of Susie’s permanency: another toothbrush by the sink, perhaps, or bath oil in the cabinet. Brooke took a glass of white wine and sidled up to Sally.

‘Great tan. Have you been anywhere nice?’ Brooke asked politely.

‘Actually we’ve spent the year in Ghana,’ said Sally. ‘We’ve been on a medical exchange programme. Grace is a nurse, too. We all went out together.’

‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ said Brooke. ‘Is that the programme Matt is interested in?’

She said it without thinking, realizing too late that Matt might not have made his plan public just yet. Future politicians’ wives have to learn to be more diplomatic, she reminded herself.

Ed seemed to pep up noticeably at the question. ‘Oh yes. I kept emailing him while I was out there, telling him what a life–changing experience it was. The poverty we saw out there was depressing, but it’s humbling to go out there and try and make a difference.’

Susie pulled a face to communicate that she had been rather less enamoured by the idea; Brooke noticed the atmosphere and dropped the subject. There was another lull in the conversation. Brooke was just about to remark on the change in the weather when Courtney piped up, ‘So, when’s the wedding?’

Brooke laughed out loud and everyone else followed suit. She felt a sense of relief that someone had pointed out the obvious and broken the ice.

‘She’s been dying to ask ever since Matt told her you were coming,’ said Grace in a stage whisper.

‘Oh please,’ said Courtney to Brooke eagerly. ‘Can’t you tell us? I read in
US Weekly
it was going to be May at some grand lodge upstate. But people are now whispering that it’s going to be over New Year at Belcourt.’

Brooke flashed her a smile. ‘You don’t expect me to tell you that, do you?’ she teased.

‘Yes, Courtney, the Secret Service will have you killed,’ said Susie, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

‘I doubt Brooke has any dealings with the Secret Service,’ replied Ed, not unkindly. ‘Not yet, anyway,’ he added with a wink.

‘But I bet you will, one day,’ said Courtney, pushing her olive around her glass. ‘Matt says David is going to be president in fifteen, twenty years’ time. Imagine that life, it’d be so glamorous! Not being able to eat, sleep, shop without some man with an earpiece and a gun in his pocket guarding you. Do you think they monitor the President having sex?’ She dissolved into giggles.

‘Doctor, can you get this woman a coffee to sober her up?’ said Greg to Matt only half jokingly.

‘Speaking of the wedding, you must let me make you an essential oil for the big day,’ said Susie. ‘Lavender and neroli oil would be just dreamy.’

‘That reminds me,’ added Brooke, picking up her clutch, ‘I must just go and deliver something to the birthday boy.’ She crossed the corridor and went into the kitchen. It had a wooden swinging door like a Wild West saloon. The windows were steamed up and Matt was bent over the stove, tasting something that looked like bubbling stew from a wooden spoon. The scene reminded her of his attempts at cooking when they were in college, and she found it comforting that some things hadn’t changed all that much. He looked up from his pots with a start.