Original Sin (64 page)

‘Pay him,’ she had said firmly.

Tess had objected. ‘There must be another way. You can’t start paying people like Kressler; the demands for money will never stop.’

‘We’ll cross that bridge after the wedding,’ replied Meredith. ‘The wedding is only six weeks away. We need to keep him quiet until then, after which his information will be less valuable.’

Then Meredith had turned the full force of her stare on Paula.

‘Now we have to consider your position, Paula,’ she had said coolly. ‘In some strange way, the Billington family might
welcome
a disabled child in the family, given their plan to push David to the highest levels of politics. Tragedy and heroics are tools commonly used to court media and public sympathy, and I doubt the Billingtons would be above it.
Perhaps
you might even weather the fact that you put Violet up for adoption. But to have hidden it for so long? To have abandoned your child then to have lied about your past for social acceptance and material gain? That would not be palatable to most people.’

Meredith had been careful to talk about the impact her revelation would have on the Billington family and their standing in society. She had never once referred to the Asgills, but Paula did not miss the implication. Her place in the family was now under threat.

Paula had left the meeting humiliated, feeling cheap and guilty. But most of all she left knowing that Meredith was right. For years, Paula had managed to justify her actions to herself, using her mother’s downward spiral and their slide into poverty to rationalize clawing her own way to the top, no matter the cost. But deep, deep down, Paula felt ashamed of what she had done.

She turned and looked back to the street where Tess was waiting in the car. Tess had offered to come inside, but Paula had refused. It was too private, too raw. She looked back at the entrance and took a deep breath.
Just do it
, she told herself. She followed the signs through the main doors and down a long corridor towards a huge conservatory filled with people and noise. It was the nursing home’s Winter Fair, and dotted around the room were stalls selling Christmas decorations, bags of Taffy, and mugs of hot, spiced apple juice. Double doors led to a walled garden. Somehow, it seemed to be sunnier here than on the street outside, and the sky was as blue as a robin’s egg. There must have been at least a hundred people out here – parents, children, and nurses all wandering between the willow trees, smelling the cinnamon and honey and the cool freshness of the Cape Fear river close by. Paula felt a nervous rush of expectation, although she had taken two little yellow pills to calm herself when they’d left the hotel.

Her eyes kept straying towards the children; some walking around, others confined to their wheelchairs, although most looked severely disabled. For a second Paula had to close her eyes and take in a long breath, the weight of her feelings making her chest feel tight.

‘Are you okay?’ asked a voice, and Paula turned to see a middle–aged woman with a concerned expression.

‘I’m looking for Violet?’ stammered Paula. She was going to say ‘Violet Abbott’, but remembered that she would now have changed her name.
We’re no longer connected
, thought Paula, with a strange lurch of pain.

‘Are you family?’ asked the woman. ‘I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Etta, the admin assistant here. I know Violet’s mum and dad are on vacation this week so they couldn’t come down for this.’

Paula nodded feebly. ‘Family, yes. Although I haven’t seen her in a very long time.’

‘She’s over there,’ said the woman, pointing to the far side of the grounds, where a uniformed nurse was pushing a wheelchair.

Thanking her, Paula moved towards them. Just one step, then another, she told herself. Just one foot in front of another. Closer and closer to the wheelchair, everything else became blocked out and meaningless as Paula stopped in front of her little girl. Although she wasn’t such a little girl any more; she was almost an adult. But her long limbs were thin and twisted, her shoulders hunched, head lolling to one side. Nodding to the nurse, Paula crouched down in front of the wheelchair, her knees trembling.

‘You’re such a big girl now,’ she said, her voice only a whisper, barely registering the tears that ran in hot streams down her cheeks. She reached out and touched Violet’s gnarled fingers. To Paula’s surprise, Violet’s eyes looked up, meeting her gaze. For a moment she seemed more alert.
Does she recognize me?
thought Paula wildly, covering her mouth to choke back a sob.
No, how could she?

But they had the same eyes, thought Paula. She had tried to forget that detail, but now she could see it; the same big, grey eyes that looked back at her from the mirror every morning. And such beautiful, thick, golden hair. Although she had let Violet go, although they were no longer connected by the same name, they were linked by genetics forever. Somehow, that gave Paula comfort. There were so many things she wanted to say as she stared at her daughter’s face, but she knew she couldn’t. Violet’s understanding was limited, but even a childlike mind would understand if she told her she was her mother. But it just wasn’t fair.
The truth usually isn’t
, thought Paula.

‘I think your friend is here,’ said the nurse, nodding behind Paula. She turned, expecting to see Tess, but her jaw dropped.

It was William.

How could he be here?
she thought, gripped with panic.
How could he know?

William had left for London the morning Tess had come to the apartment to tell her about Ted Kressler, and although she had spoken to him on the phone, Paula had not breathed a word of what was going on. Meredith? Tess? She was too emotionally drained for anger, she simply stood there, her shoulders sagging as he approached.

‘You’re here,’ she said, fighting to keep composed. ‘How did you know where to find us?’

William gave a half–smile. ‘I’ve been here before.’

‘I don’t understand.’

William touched her arm gently and led her slightly away from Violet and the nurse.

‘Paula, I knew.’

‘You
knew
?’ she whispered incredulously.

‘About six months ago, I bought you that dress for the Met gala dinner, remember?’

Paula nodded dumbly. It had been a beautiful vintage Valentino evening dress. He was always giving her little surprises, she thought, her mind wandering off on a tangent.
About time I gave him one back
, she added to herself.

‘Well, I had gone into your closet to find out your dress size and I … well, I found an old letter that Marion Quinn had sent you,’ he said, his cheeks colouring a little. ‘It mentioned your daughter Violet.’

Paula remembered that letter. Marion Quinn had sent it to her modelling agency when she was in her early twenties and she thought it had been well hidden.
Obviously not.
Paula knew all along she should have destroyed that letter, but she had never been able to, and now it was too late. Her throat felt so thick she could barely swallow. He was going to divorce her. She almost laughed out loud at the irony: now she was getting what she wanted, she found she didn’t want it at all.

‘I hired a private investigator and eventually he found Violet,’ said William. ‘I wanted to meet her so I came down here on my own.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew?’ asked Paula, her voice hoarse.

William shook his head sadly. ‘Honey, I tried so many times.’

She nodded. ‘I know how that feels.’

‘Mother told me yesterday about Ted Kressler,’ continued William, ‘and that you were coming down here with Tess. So I got a flight straight here from London.’

With an effort, Paula looked up at his face, trying to read his expression.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

The nurse, who had been hovering, came over and took hold of the wheelchair handles. ‘I have to take Violet inside now,’ she smiled apologetically.

‘Just another minute, please,’ asked Paula. Hesitantly, the woman retreated and Paula reached out to gently stroke Violet’s hair.

‘I understand what you did. Why you did it,’ said William quietly.

Paula looked up sharply. ‘But you don’t approve,’ she said.

William ran a hand over his chin. ‘No, but … but she’s still your daughter, Paula. There’s no need to hide her any more. Violet has a new family now, but we don’t have to pretend she doesn’t exist.’

For a moment, Paula looked at him with hope. Was he suggesting that they could move on from this? No, that was too much to hope.

‘Your mother hates me,’ she said. ‘And the Billingtons will go crazy.’ For a moment she thought about her friends in New York, about her newly elevated social circle and how they would freeze her out, but suddenly their disapproval seemed immaterial compared to what her husband was thinking.

‘William, I … ’ she began, but he stepped forward and took her in his arms.

‘Shhh … ’ he said softly as she burst into tears, sobbing into his shoulder.

‘What’s so bad?’ he whispered into her hair. ‘What’s so bad? We’ve still got each other; we’ll always have each other.’

She shut her eyes, feeling the warm afternoon sunshine on her neck and enjoying the sensation of William’s arms wrapped tightly around her. At that moment, she realized how completely she loved him. Perhaps it was a different sort of love to the one she had read about as a teenager. This love was not breathless, thrilling, and sensual, but was protective, deep and, above all, forgiving. How could she ask for more than that?

The nurse walked over.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘Violet really needs to go inside now.’

Paula nodded sadly and she bent to kiss her daughter on the cheek. As she did so, her eyes met Violet’s, and she could have sworn they shone with happiness.

‘See you soon, darling,’ whispered Paula as she watched the nurse pushing her back into the building. William wrapped his arms around her from behind and squeezed.

‘She knows,’ he said simply.

Paula nodded sadly. ‘Let’s go home.’

CHAPTER FIFTY–THREE

David Billington was waiting for Tess when she got back to the apartment. She silently cursed when she saw him sitting in the living room. She had spent the last forty–eight hours flying from New York to Charleston to Wilmington and back to New York again. In that time she’d paid off a blackmailer, seen Paula’s long–lost daughter, and was frankly so emotionally and physically exhausted she felt quite sure she could sleep for a week, not that there was any hope of that. She gave David a bright smile, trying to hide her annoyance. After all, this was not what she had signed up to do. She was a
publicist
, for God’s sake! She was supposed to firefight any negative stories, massage the press, maybe set up a few interviews. Right now she felt like a cross between Henry Kissinger and Bruce Willis in
Die Hard
. But her irritation gave way to worry as she saw his grave expression. Besides which, he had never been to her flat before, and thus she had to assume he had good reason. She sat on the armchair and peeled off her coat.

‘Been waiting long?’ she asked. ‘Sorry, I’ve just been out of town on business.’

If only he knew where she’d been and why. Another mission impossible, covering up the tracks of the Asgill family. And what was it all for? The career of the handsome, if tired–looking man sitting opposite her. He shook his head.

‘Just twenty minutes or so. Jemma was in but she just popped out to get cigarettes.’

He was fiddling with the cuffs of his white shirt and it unnerved her. Tess had never seen David look anything less than immaculate and composed. There was a pot of coffee on the table in front of him. Tess leant over and poured herself a mug. It was thick, hot, and black and it sent an instant jolt around her body. No wonder New Yorkers loved the stuff. Tea just didn’t pep you up like this.

‘So is everything okay?’ Now she was more awake she could sense his troubled vibe.

David reached into the inside pocket of his cashmere overcoat and pulled out a magazine. ‘Ever heard of the
Washington Spy
?’

Tess was vaguely aware of it, although it was outside of her usual frame of reference. A satirical Washington magazine printed on grey recycled paper, it had a small circulation but was a popular guilty pleasure for the younger Washington movers and shakers, who loved its irreverent and scurrilous take on political events and life on Capitol Hill. She took the magazine from David and examined the cover. It was a line drawing of David Billington opening a wardrobe full of skeletons.

‘What have they got?’ she asked, flipping to the story anxiously.

‘The Olivia Martin story. I assume you know all about that saga?’

Tess nodded as she scanned the pages. It was a rehash of the Olivia Martin story, except this piece was bolder than the cuttings Tess had previously read. It stated that Howard Asgill had been having an affair with Olivia, insinuated that Howard had something to with the drama of her disappearance, and asked the question as to whether David Billington could weather the scandal if he ran for Congress next year. Tess felt her heart sink. The
Washington Spy
might be a small–time magazine but it still had influence, particularly where it mattered, in the corridors of power and, by extension, the news media. And while Tess had warned Meredith on several occasions that she couldn’t control tabloid gossip, she felt sure David’s mother held her personally responsible for every nasty blind story or unflattering paparazzi shot of her daughters.
Well, the shit is really going to hit the fan this time
, thought Tess. And this time she felt sure that the Billingtons were going to take exception to the story too.