Original Sin (71 page)

Brooke giggled.

‘Strictly speaking, this is not a night out.’

The taxi stopped on a quiet cobbled street in Brooklyn Heights, in front of a small red–brick building that looked as if it might once have been a stables. Brooke walked to the door and pressed a buzzer.

‘So where are we?’

‘Nicholas Diaz’s studio,’ said Brooke. ‘He is
the
most talented designer I’ve ever seen. He sent me a dress a few months ago and I loved it so much, I’m getting him to make me one for my rehearsal dinner.’

The studio was a small room at the top of the building.

‘Brooke! Darling!’ said Nicholas, as he threw open the door and air–kissed her. He was tall and thin, with a shaved head, goatee beard, and a big smile.

‘Nicholas, this is my friend Matt.’

The two men shook hands, then Nicholas took Brooke’s arm and led her into a corner.

‘Tell me he’s going to be at the wedding,’ he whispered, fanning his face with the back of his hand.

‘He’s going to be at the wedding,’ she smiled.

‘Tell me he’s gay,’ he grinned mischievously.

‘Sadly, he’s not,’ said Brooke. ‘Sorry honey.’

Nicholas threw his hands in the air. ‘Huh!’ he said in mock disgust. ‘And here I was thinking you’d brought me a wedding present.’ He glanced over at Matt, then back at Brooke. ‘Or is he your own little gift to yourself?’

She slapped him gently on the arm. ‘No, Nicholas. No,’ she said, but the designer did not look convinced. Nicholas had only graduated from the Parsons Fashion School three years ago. He’d gone directly to work for YSL in Paris, subsequently starting his own label just over a year ago with a loan from his parents. His label was still little more than a cottage industry – when Brooke had first met him, he’d confided in her that he knew the best way to get his designs noticed was sending them to the most beautiful, high–profile girls in the city, but he did not have the money to send $25,000 gowns out to socialites on the off chance. He’d chosen Brooke carefully and he had confessed to ‘weeping buckets’ when she had made her appointment to see him.

‘Come here,’ said Nicholas, waving Matt over to a table at the far end of the studio. ‘I have champagne, I have chocolate, I have strawberries.’

Nicholas shook his finger at Brooke. ‘No chocolates for you, sugar plum.’

He then went across to a garment rail and unzipped a dress bag. He pulled out a biscuit–coloured gown that fluttered through the air like a butterfly. Brooke clapped her hands together in glee.

‘Oh Nicholas!’ she exclaimed.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ said Nicholas, beaming.

‘Like it? I
love
it,’ she gasped, fingering the gossamer–light material.

‘Shame it’s just for the rehearsal dinner,’ said Matt, taking a drink of champagne from a mini–bottle.

Both Brooke and Nicholas scowled at him, making him snort his drink down his nose.

‘Speaking of which, I have something for you,’ added Nicholas, looking a little embarrassed. She followed him into a white dressing room where he pulled back a curtain. ‘Just in case,’ he whispered.

Brooke gasped. It was a beautiful ivory sheath of satin, a wonderful dress she just knew she’d look amazing in.

Nicholas shrugged. ‘Now, I know you have another dress, a much grander one than this. But I thought if you wanted to change into something a little simpler for the party?’

‘Oh Nicholas, it’s amazing.’

Nicholas smirked. ‘So I take it you want to try it?’

Brooke nodded, then looked back at Matt.

‘Hey, don’t worry about me,’ he said, pouring another glass of champagne, ‘I’ll be fine out here.’

Excited as a little girl, Brooke quickly slipped into the dress. Nicholas helped her onto a little footstool to elevate her off the ground and he darted around her, making fine adjustments with pins. Looking into the long gilt mirror in front of her, she scooped her hair up to show her long neck. She almost felt like crying. Brooke had never been the sort of girl to believe it when people told her she was beautiful, but the poised, sophisticated woman staring back at her from the mirror was as stunning as she had ever dared hope to be. The A–line skirt was grand yet modern, the neckline low and scooped, while the fitted bodice emphasized her long torso. It dipped down just past her shoulder blades at the back, enough to be proper but low enough for a suggestion of sensuality and daring. Not only did it look good, it felt good too. The ivory satin–faced organza felt light and luxurious on her skin, both fragile and strong, like a secret armour. As Matt walked to the entrance of the dressing room, Nicholas retreated. She felt a vague sense of disloyalty that Matt was seeing his dress before David, but reminded herself that this wasn’t actually her wedding dress, so it didn’t really count. Still, she held her breath as she awaited his response.

‘Very nice,’ he nodded. ‘I thought you hated it.’

She held her skirt out, feeling a pang of disappointment at his polite reaction. Her heart started beating faster with the realization that she wanted him to think she looked beautiful.
Stop it
, she told herself.
Stop it.
Doesn’t every woman just want a compliment from an attractive man? ‘It’s the other dress I have a problem with,’ she said quickly, stepping down from the stool. ‘The Disney Princess dress. But this one just feels
right.
Shame I can’t get married in it.’

‘What do you mean?’

She saw his confused expression and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t ask, family politics. Now if you’d just care to step out again … ?’

When Brooke had changed back into her own clothes, she thanked Nicholas and led Matt back out onto the street. They slowly walked back towards the Brooklyn Bridge, along a tree–fringed promenade, staring out at the glistening oily–black waters of the East River, not speaking. It was unusually quiet, no joggers or stumbling drunks, the bitter cold keeping people indoors or in bars and restaurants enjoying Christmas parties.

‘Shouldn’t we be with a bodyguard about now? Anyone could jump out at us around here.’

‘I’ve got you,’ she said playfully nudging his shoulder.

They walked in silence for a while. ‘Sorry for bringing you out here,’ said Brooke finally. ‘I thought it might be fun, but it’s just made me depressed.’

‘You don’t have to wear that other dress you know,’ said Matt.

She sighed. ‘I do. It cost such a lot of money, and Asgill’s got the licence to manufacture the Guillaume Riche perfume because he was making the dress.’

‘Does that appear in a contract anywhere?’

‘I don’t think so, but Liz would go crazy. She spent weeks negotiating with Guillaume’s business partner.’

He smiled and rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. ‘So you’d prefer to feel like a cream puff on your wedding day than annoy your sister? The sister you don’t like very much, I should add?’

She smiled ruefully and they stopped at the iron railings, looking across to the magical Manhattan skyline sparkling against a Prussian blue sky. Brooke sighed. It was one of her favourite views in the world, especially at night, when the Brooklyn Bridge was festooned with lights, its arches like two black bishops’ mitres.

‘Funny how the best view of the Manhattan isn’t even in Manhattan,’ she said, suddenly feeling like Audrey Hepburn in
Roman Holiday
. ‘Sometimes you need to get out of somewhere to get the best perspective on it.’

She glanced across at Matt and felt a strange illicit thrill being with him, seeing wedding dresses, taking romantic walks. Matt pulled up the collar of his long overcoat and thrust his hands in his pockets. He looked more brooding than usual tonight, his wide mouth in a long firm line, his eyes fixed at some vague point on the river. Brooke frowned, wondering if he was thinking about Susie. To her amazement she felt a sharp jolt of jealousy.

‘I’m going to Africa in February,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘I’ve decided to do the programme and it looks like I’ll be offered a place in Ghana.’

Although she had known about it for ages, she still felt disappointed he was leaving. ‘That’s great, Matt,’ she said, forcing out her enthusiasm. ‘Good job I brought this from the studio then, huh?’

She took a mini–bottle of champagne from her coat pocket and struggled with the cork until it eased off with a pop.

‘To the future,’ she said, offering him the bottle.

He took a long gulp and turned to look at her. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said simply.

She waved her hand to laugh off his comment. ‘Hey, I’ll expect postcards,’ she said. ‘But it’s only for a year, isn’t it?’

‘It won’t be the same though, will it?’ he said. ‘I’ve got a feeling that when you’re married we might not see so much of each other.’

She knew he was right. In a week’s time she would be married and she knew in her heart of hearts that, even if Matt stayed here, their friendship would not last long. She wasn’t sure if that made their friendship false, it was just the dynamics of a marriage. She would have made a commitment to David that changed things. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud.

‘Matt, you’re my friend,’ she said. ‘David isn’t some ogre, you know. Of course we’ll see each other after the wedding.’

‘Hey don’t worry,’ said Matt, taking another drink. ‘It’s what happens. You get married, somehow all your friends of the opposite sex, particularly
unmarried
friends, just drop off. It happened to me.’

Brooke felt a sudden twist of jealousy. She often forgot that Matt had been married before.

‘Don’t be silly, we can still have lunch and drinks when we’re not working,’ she insisted. ‘In fact, we should make a date for you to come to our house for dinner.’

‘Well, if you do, make sure you fix me up with a Park Lane Princess so I never need to work again.’

‘You’d hate that,’ she smiled.
I’d hate that
, she thought, feeling a shift in mood between them.

Just then, specks of snow started falling, drifting down from the sky like stardust. Smiling, she began walking towards the bridge again.

‘So what do you think?’ she asked, trying to steer them back onto a more platonic footing. ‘What am I going to do about my wedding dress? Guillaume’s or Nicholas’s?’

‘It’s very simple: do you makes you happy, Brooke,’ said Matt. ‘What feels right to you, not other people.’

‘It doesn’t work like that though, does it?’ she asked searchingly.

‘I thought you wanted to become a rebel,’ he chided.

‘I think I’m a very bad rebel,’ she grinned back.

‘You want to wear Nicholas’s dress, so wear it. Fuck what everyone else thinks.’

‘What do you think? You didn’t like Nicholas’s wedding dress, did you?’ she asked, scanning his face. ‘Don’t lie to me. I saw it in your eyes.’

The snow was beginning to fall in thicker flakes, smearing the sidewalk in a glossy white sheen.

‘You’re beautiful, Brooke,’ he said after a long searching pause. ‘You know, the first moment I ever saw you, when we were at Brown, you looked so beautiful I almost felt my heart stop,’ he said softly. ‘I never thought that one person could have that effect on me again, but it did happen again. Back there, seeing you in that dress.’

Thoughts raced frantically around her head. Was he admitting feelings for her, or acknowledging her beauty, like everyone did around her? Over the last few months she had got so used to reading her name prefaced by the word ‘beautiful’ that she had become numbed to the compliment. But hearing it from Matt was making her heart beat hard. She took a breath as the memory of their last night together in Providence began replaying itself in her head. She remembered wanting him that night. She remembered enjoying their closeness, his sexiness, as they danced. At the time she’d thought it was the unusually large amount of alcohol she had drunk, but was their quirky friendship, their easy intimacy that had survived all the way through college, actually something more? Suddenly she had to know.

‘Do you remember our last night out at Brown? On the dance floor. Did you ask me to go home with you?’

He gave her a small, self–conscious smile. ‘Yeah, I did.’

‘I wasn’t sure what you’d said.’

‘
You weren’t sure
?’

‘I couldn’t hear over the music … And I didn’t want to spoil things.’

He looked confused and regretful. ‘You didn’t say anything. You just walked away. I thought you were just saying ‘No’ in the most elegant way possible.’

In a way I had
, thought Brooke sadly, scanning her eyes over every inch of his face. That night in the club, Brooke had been
almost
sure what he had said. But she had chosen to ignore it and, in doing so, had rejected him. If she’d kissed him that night, what would it have achieved? She knew she was not supposed to end up with someone like Matt Palmer – from the cradle Brooke had been brought up,
conditioned
, to believe that she was a princess, destined for her Camelot. Her first summer at Brown she had taken Matt to Parklands and had registered her mother’s silent disapproval. And for reasons she didn’t even understand, Brooke had listened to it.