Original Sin (65 page)

‘This is an early subscribers’ edition, so the story won’t have broken in any of the papers yet,’ said David. ‘I don’t think my father knows about it yet, but I have my lawyer on it already seeing what we can do.’

Despite her misgivings, Tess shifted into reassurance mode.

‘This is old news, David. It’s just tittle–tattle, nothing more.’

‘Come on, Tess. We all know about this story, but this is the first time Howard Asgill’s name has been publicly linked to Olivia’s disappearance.’

Tess knew he was right. This story had always unsettled her, but when it was just a missing actress at a wedding, even a semi–famous actress who had supposedly drowned in a drugged–up stupor, Tess knew it would not have any direct impact on David’s popularity and electability.

But the
Washington Spy
story was exactly the kind of ‘no smoke without fire’ story that could easily smear someone’s name, and Tess knew how these things could easily run out of control.

‘It may all have happened over forty years ago, Tess,’ he added. ‘But for many people, especially for the younger politicos in Washington, this story would be a fresh scandal. And scandal is the last thing we need right now.’

‘It’s not necessary going to pan out like that,’ said Tess firmly.

‘You know, three months after I started dating Brooke, my father came to me to talk about Olivia Martin.’ said David, looking down at his hands. ‘He told me it might cause “problems”
.
He had an investigator snoop around the story, but it threw up nothing.’

He looked up at Tess with genuine sadness. ‘I love Brooke, Tess, and I want to marry her. I don’t care about what her father might or might not have done because, whatever it is, it’s nothing to do with us. But my father
does
care, and if any more stories start coming out of the woodwork–’

‘Well, we can’t let that happen,’ said Tess quickly. ‘Besides, I’m sure there’s nothing more to say on the subject. No one knows
what
happened to Olivia Martin.’

His dark blue eyes grew softer. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

Tess rubbed her cheeks to shake off her tiredness. ‘Look, I doubt we can injunct the magazine, seeing as they are simply rehashing an old story, but see what your lawyers say. Either way, I’d say it’s better to try to get the magazine on our side rather than against us. Do we know who owns it?’

‘Ben Foley, I know him vaguely. Rich parents. The magazine is a very successful little hobby for him.’

‘Well, see if you can speak to him,’ said Tess. ‘We don’t want this Olivia Martin story to run and run. In the meantime, the best way of killing it off once and for all is to find out what really happened.’

Just then Jemma burst through the door with a cigarette in her mouth and a brown bag under her arm.

‘I got wine,’ she said, looking hopefully from Tess back to David.

‘Great,’ said Tess. ‘Get three glasses, because we have to talk.’

CHAPTER FIFTY–FOUR

Liz had arrived first. She let herself into the hotel suite at The Carlyle with her own key. It was a welcome change to meet here instead of Wendell’s place at the Pierre, as Liz never felt truly in control unless she was on her own or neutral territory. She took off her clothes and had just slid naked under the crisp white sheets when Wendell appeared at the bedroom door.

‘You’re late,’ she smiled, stretching her arms out languorously on the pillows.

Instead of his usual smile, Wendell frowned and threw a copy of the
Washington Spy
on the bed.

‘Have you seen this?’ he asked.

Liz bent forward, clutching the sheet around her body.

‘What is it?’

‘Take a look and then you might understand why you’re not the person I most want to see this afternoon.’

Confused, she flicked through the magazine.

‘Not this bullshit story again,’ she said with irritation. Wendell slipped off his Brioni jacket and unfastened his tie. His mouth was set in a firm, fixed line. She knew the expression well – she called it ‘the death–mask’. It only hinted at the ruthlessness he was prepared to bring to a problem.

‘You would say it was bullshit,’ he said sitting on the edge of the bed. His implication annoyed her. She was not her mother, or Brooke, or Tess Garrett, all of whom would be scared stiff of this story derailing their precious wedding. Liz couldn’t care less whether they got married or not, none of that fairy–tale shit bothered her. What did bother her, however, was the idea that Wendell – and every other gossip down the years – was accusing her father of being somehow involved in Olivia Martin’s disappearance. It was a foul slur Liz would not tolerate.

‘Screw you, Wendell,’ she spat, pulling the sheet further up her body. ‘Olivia Martin was a crazy bitch who killed herself, end of story. It’s nothing to do with my father or my family, and the idea that you believe in this groundless crap pisses me off.’

There was a long silence as they glared at each other, then Wendell slowly shook his head. He looked up sceptically. ‘I hope you’re right about it having nothing to do with the Asgill family, because I’m not in the mood to take any chances.’

Liz took a deep breath to calm herself. She was still mad as hell, but tearing into Wendell wasn’t going to solve anything. She especially didn’t want to rock the boat with the Skin Plus buyout so imminent. It had been like extracting teeth to get Wendell to agree to finance the deal; he was a bitch about negotiating even the finest details of the contract. If Liz had been expecting any special favours because she was sleeping with him, she was very much mistaken. Instead Wendell had demanded eighty per cent of the equity in return for the purchase price from Asgill, although Liz had worked out some share clawback provisions if certain optimistic sales targets were reached. She was confident they would be and she was also confident she and Wendell would be a sensational partnership out of bed, as well as in it. The man was a pit bull: a huge asset if he was on your side, but you really didn’t want him snapping at your heels.

‘Come here,’ he said gruffly.

She paused and then crawled across the mattress, sitting behind him with her long, smooth legs either side of him. Pressing her naked breasts into his back, she planted feather–light kisses on the back of his neck and unbuttoned his shirt, caressing his chest.

‘Between us,’ she whispered, ‘we can sort out anything.’

Sliding her hands down the front of his body, her nimble fingers undid his trousers and eased out his hardening cock.

‘David and Brooke should do a pre–wedding interview,’ she said, coiling her fingers around his thick pink shaft, moving her hand expertly up and down as she felt him grow bigger and harder in her grip.

‘We’ll manage the story,’ she whispered, feeling herself moisten. ‘Control it, tell our side. Look at Obama, he came clean about taking drugs before he came to office and everyone forgave him. But Clinton with that whole “I didn’t inhale” bullshit? They crucified him.’

‘That was a joint,’ growled Wendell. ‘This is murder.’

Her hand stopped moving and her fingers tightened on his cock just a fraction.

‘It was suicide,’ she said firmly, ‘or an accident. Fuck, maybe Olivia is still alive, who knows. There was never a body.’

Suddenly Wendell stood up and, facing away from her, zipped himself back up. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea today.’

She looked at him fiercely. ‘I guess not.’

Sliding out of bed, she strode into the bathroom, still smarting, her body denied its pleasure. Putting her black trouser suit back on she splashed water onto her face and stared at her pale reflection in the mirror.
Calm down, Liz, remember the big picture
, she told herself.
Control your story. Manage him
.

When she reappeared, to Liz’s surprise, Wendell had a sheepish look on his face.

‘Liz I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind,’ he said, holding out his hand. She allowed him to pull her in.

‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, not used to hearing Wendell apologizing. ‘It’s just that this is my father.’

‘And this is my son.’

He kissed the soft fold of her ear lobe and it felt good. She stroked his neck, feeling his body become less tense.

‘I’m busy with work all week, but how about we come back to this next Tuesday or Wednesday?’ she asked, caressing his cheek. ‘There are lots of Christmas parties you could pretend to be at.’

‘Let’s do that,’ he said softly. He took her hand and put her fingertips in his mouth, sucking them.

Smiling, Liz gently pulled away. ‘Now, I think I should get back to the office. I’ll check out.’

Picking up her clutch bag and the room key, she stepped out into the ghostly quiet corridor and pushed the elevator button. They rarely met anywhere other than Wendell’s suite but, when they did, they made sure to take precautions, especially when it came to leaving and entering hotels separately. Once, they had spent the whole afternoon at Belcourt, fucking in the stables, by the boathouse and, most thrillingly, in the bed he shared with Rose, such abandon made possible by Wendell’s generous instruction to the staff to take the whole day off.

Liz pulled out her Black American Express card and paid her bill as quickly as she could. She was just striding across the lobby when she felt a tap on the shoulder.

‘Liz. What a nice surprise.’

She turned to see Robert Billington, buttoning his overcoat and smiling thinly at her. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked with his usual sly smile.

Her heart started fluttering wildly, wondering if he had seen her at reception.

‘I’ve been staying here the last few days. My bathroom is being renovated.’

Robert nodded. ‘Not moved in with that Indian? I heard it was all hot and heavy with you two.’

You are just horrible,
thought Liz, narrowing her eyes.

‘I’m the independent sort,’ she said as mildly as she could, ‘I thought you knew that about me, Robert.’

She heard the elevator behind her ping. Instinctively she turned and saw Wendell walking past them.
Shit.

‘Father?’

Liz glanced at Robert and could see a look of confusion turn to gleeful triumph as he realized he had caught his father out. Wendell, however, did not even flinch, walking over to them with open arms.

‘Robert. Liz. What are you two doing here?’ He tapped Robert on the arm jokily. ‘You two aren’t arriving together, are you?’ he said with mock suspicion. Liz almost laughed out loud at his brazen performance. He was so consummate and slick it made her feel amateur by comparison.

‘Where did you just come from?’ asked Robert, looking momentarily thrown.

‘I’m having a late lunch with Ty Connor. Did you see him in there?’ he said, nodding towards the restaurant. ‘Only just got here and needed the bathroom.’

Robert examined his father cautiously. ‘No, I didn’t see him … ’

Wendell smoothed down his blazer and nodded more soberly. ‘Have you seen the
Washington Spy
?’ he asked his son, neatly changing the direction of the conversation.

Robert glanced at Liz, his expression turning guarded. ‘Yes. Let’s talk later.’

Wendell reached over to kiss Liz on the cheek. It was still flushed from the warmth of their hotel room.

‘Well, goodbye Wendell, Robert. I’ll guess I’ll see you both at the wedding.’

She walked out of the plush lobby, eyes staring directly in front of her until she was on the street. Stepping out into the road, a yellow cab beeped at her and swerved, the driver yelling from his window.
Another near miss
, she thought, a smirk on her lips.

CHAPTER FIFTY–FIVE

Jemma may have been small, but she certainly had a big voice. Every face in the dining room turned towards her as she stood to raise a birthday toast to her friend.

‘Thirty today, Tess Garrett may be on the shelf,’ she began to laugh, ‘but with Tess, you can be sure she built the damn thing herself: sawed the wood, drilled the holes, and everything. This woman is capable, resourceful, she is brilliant, and she knows how to use a hammer, so watch out.’

Everyone laughed and clapped. Jemma shushed them down.

‘Seriously, though, Tess Garrett has helped a lot of people round this table and many of us owe her a great deal. She is the best friend anyone could hope to have. Raise your glasses please to say “Happy Birthday Tess”!’

Tess groaned, everyone cheered, and a happy ripple of applause went round the private dining room Brooke had hired to celebrate Tess’s birthday. Upstairs from San Carlos, a lively Italian restaurant in SoHo, Tess felt happy and relaxed. She was certainly glad Brooke hadn’t picked one of the super–fashionable places that peppered this part of town. Candle–lit with low ceilings, there was a splendid earthiness about San Carlos that reminded her of her favourite pubs back home. Carafes of red wine littered the table and the remnants of a delicious gooey tiramisu scented the air. She didn’t have a big collection of friends here, just Patty, Kevin and Jack, Brooke and David, Jemma, of course, who was accompanied by her new friend, a photographer called Phil she had met on the trip to Lake Tahoe, plus her old friend ‘Bonkers’ Becky from the
Oracle
, here with her latest boyfriend, a pashmina–wearing banker called Ronaldo. But it was enough for Tess. Everyone seemed to be in very good spirits, the benefit–Tess always felt–of having a birthday only a few days before Christmas. She’d hated it as a child, of course, but as she grew older, when parties rather than presents were the hallmark of a great celebration, her birthday was double the fun. She sighed happily, trying to remember what she was doing this time last year. Right now, it escaped her.