Our Little Secret (23 page)

‘What do you want?’ I ask him in a hushed whisper, getting as far away from him as I can along the sticky black seat.

‘There’s no need to be hostile,’ he says, turning in his seat to face me and spreading his arm out along the back of it towards me. ‘I thought it would be nice to catch up.’

‘I don’t know you. I don’t like you. I don’t want to speak to you,’ I tell him. I need to be clear. Set my boundaries.

‘Fair enough. You’ve had your briefing. I understand that,’ he says, not in the least offended by my rudeness. ‘I’m just concerned for you, that’s all.’

‘I don’t need your concern,’ I snap, but I still feel a shiver of alarm.
My briefing
. He’s right. I have been briefed.

‘But that’s where you’re wrong,’ Harry says. ‘You do. You don’t know what you’re messing with, Miss . . . ?’

He stares at me expectantly, wanting me to say my name. I fold my arms and stare out of the window.

‘Oh, come on,’ he says, ‘gimme a break.’

He puts his hands out and appeals to the cab driver, who smiles at him, clearly both confused and amused by the scene playing out in the back here. I get the impression that he’s on Harry’s side, not mine.

‘Henshaw. Sophie Henshaw,’ I say quietly.

‘Sophie. I like that,’ Harry says.

I shake my head and grit my teeth, annoyed that I’ve given him this piece of information. Annoyed that I’m in this situation at all. I don’t know a living soul in the whole of America, apart from the staff at Thousand Acres, Edward and Marnie Parker and him. And yet here he is. What are the chances? He knows it, too. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream.

‘You made quite a splash in the press the other night,’ he says, sitting back in his seat. Despite myself, I hear it as a compliment. He saw the pictures then, but why is he so interested?

I don’t say anything. The cab drives on another block.

‘I’m surprised you’re back in town so soon. Must be a special occasion if you’re shopping in José’s,’ he says, nodding to the bags at my feet.

‘I have a party to go to,’ I tell him, before I can help myself.

I regret it immediately, but tell myself that I haven’t given too much away.

‘Is that so,’ he says. I can tell he’s absorbing the information, using it, like the rat he is.

‘Please. Can you just leave me alone?’ I ask him, hoping to appeal to his good side.

He stares at me, frowning. ‘You really have no idea, do you?’

‘No idea about what?’

‘Listen, I don’t know what your connection to Edward Parker is. You might be his mistress, you might not be. But let me tell you. You’re playing with fire.’

God, he’s irritating. If he has some beef with the Parkers, why doesn’t he come right out and say it? Why be so cryptic and annoying?

‘And what business is it of yours?’ I snap. ‘Exactly?’

‘Trust me. I know things that you don’t know.’

‘What things?’

He gives me a sly smile. ‘Not so easily done,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell you my secrets, if you’ll tell me yours. If I snag the kiss-and-tell on the Parkers, it would make my career.’

I stare at him, astounded by what he’s just said. What he thinks I might do.

‘Can you pull over, please?’ I ask the cab driver.

‘Ma’am?’

‘This man is getting out just here.’

I glare at Harry, hoping he’ll take the hint. How dare he suggest that I would betray the Parkers? How dare he think I’m the kind of person who would even consider it? How desperate does he think I am?

‘Goodbye,’ I say pointedly, opening the door onto the sidewalk and gesturing for him to get out.

He grins at me as he climbs over me. I pull my knees around to the side, like he might contaminate me if he touches me.

‘I’ll catch you later, Sophie Henshaw,’ he tells me with a grin.

‘I hope not,’ I say.

He closes the door and taps the top of the cab.

‘He sure has the hots for you,’ the cab driver says.

47

Mamie’s offices aren’t like offices at all. I don’t get to see the shop, but go straight up to the open-plan space where the designers hang out. I’m early, but it doesn’t seem to matter and I’m glad to get a sneaky peek into what Marnie actually does.

I meet Kay and Brendan, two of her designers, who seem entirely unfazed by my presence. I watch them as they work on large desks, discussing fabric samples and a photoshoot that is coming up. There are mannequins everywhere in various lingerie outfits. Some have normal underwear, others Marnie’s burlesque-style collection. To me, they look wonderful. If I could afford it, I’d have every single piece on display.

Not that I’d ever have cause or occasion to wear them, I remind myself. But how amazing would it be, to be that rich and have the kind of lifestyle that you could treat yourself to lingerie like this? I try and fast-forward into my fantasy future and visualize myself in a swanky penthouse somewhere, but just as soon as the image forms, it pops with my thorny self-doubt. This is
me
we’re talking about. How would
I
ever get to be like
that
? But that’s the whole point of the lingerie, I guess. The promise it captures.

There’s a palpable buzz about the photoshoot. I help to move desks out of the way, when some guys arrive to deliver the most amazing velvet furniture, which Marnie is delighted with. Then lighting crew arrive and put up a grid, wiring it up from the ceiling. There are workmen everywhere.

There’s a runner, Keilan, who is cute; and then there’s Marnie herself, who around nine o’clock suddenly remembers the party. She shouts to everyone to get ready soon, and shortly afterwards there’s a bottle of Grey Goose vodka out. Her whole crew in the studio are coming to the party and, as the music thumps, I can tell it’s going to be a crazily fun night.

I see Roberta, who made me up for the party with Edward, who gives me a big hug and fixes my make-up. It feels like one big, happy family and I forget all about Harry. No wonder Marnie often stays in town. This feels so far removed from Thousand Acres and her life there.

The party is only a few blocks away, but after we’ve got ready, Marnie makes us all pile into the limo to get there, and I feel like we’re in a Katy Perry video. Marnie’s wearing tiny shorts and a cropped T-shirt with a diamanté slash on it and a tiny top hat. She’s so excited about her set, it’s hard not to get pumped up too. Before we arrive, Keilan takes out a little pillbox and gives everyone in the limo a little white pill.

‘A little livener?’ he grins.

Marnie takes one, so I take one too, when he offers them to me. I have no idea what they are, or what they’ll do to me. I’m vaguely aware of how irresponsible this it, but I’m with Marnie and her staff. How bad can it be? For all I know, they’re breath-fresheners. Except, as soon as I swallow it, I know they’re not.

The party is in full swing when we arrive. It’s in a big club and there is an infrared-lit tunnel leading into it, which makes everyone’s teeth go purple. Marnie grabs hold of my arm, teetering in her high-heeled patent boots. I glance at her white T-shirt and see her breasts clearly outlined below it, her nipples dark shadows beneath the white cotton.

As we arrive in the roaring noise of the club, she throws up her arm and whoops with delight. I hear a whoop from the crowd below. Marnie has arrived, and everyone knows it.

It feels great to have her arm looped around my shoulder, like I’m her partner in crime.

And she thought she was old! She’s a total diva, more like.

In the DJ booth I sit and watch her wait her turn. I lean up against the speaker, feeling the bass of it throb through me. Keilan arrives and hands me a tall vodka drink and asks me to come to the private table he’s got downstairs, but I’m suddenly high and I want to dance.

I join the crowd in the middle of the floor and stare up at the DJ booth as Marnie comes on. We shout and whoop and hop around, like we’re her most ardent groupies, and soon the whole place is rocking out. She plays her ambient music, but with a big beat and it’s so much fun to dance to. I’ve never, ever had so much fun. I feel so honoured to know her. So flattered to be part of her tribe, especially when she gives a shout out to us on the PA system and points at me. She’s pointing at me from the booth, and I blow her a huge kiss and punch the air.

I’m sweating and entirely lost in the music when I spot that she’s left the DJ booth, and I wonder where she’s gone; and then I see her arrive on the dance-floor.

The crowd parts for her and she throws up her arms and dances. I see her wriggling her hips and I’m amazed by how young she looks. She could be a teenager. My God, if I get to look like her – be like her – when I’m her age, it’ll be incredible.

Friends and fans greet her, and Marnie screams with delight when she sees each one. I carry on dancing, but I can’t take my eyes off her. I see the curve of her waist, as she wriggles and writhes. She’s so sexual, and sensual, too. A kiss here, a hug there, a hip-grind and smooch. She’s loving every minute.

Finally she reaches me and beams at me. I look at the tiny gap between her teeth. Her eyes are dramatically made-up, but even so I see myself reflected in her giant dilated pupils as she squeezes up against me.

‘Hey, baby. How’s my little bird?’ she asks.

‘You were brilliant,’ I tell her. I mean it, and she knows it.

She smiles, pressing herself against me as we dance. I feel her hot leg sliding against the inside of mine. I know people are watching, but I don’t care. It’s fun to be raunchy-dancing with Marnie Parker. I feel completely abandoned, like we’re the hottest chicks in the club and everyone knows it.

She puts her arms over my shoulder and stares down at me, like she owns me. Then she leans in, her mouth against my ear.

‘I like watching you dance. I liked it the other night.’

I’m so surprised she’s mentioned it that I blush. I remember how she spoke to me when we were last pressed together like this.

Hey, you
.

I remember her saying it. How she looked. How I thought afterwards it wasn’t real, but it was. Because, as she pulls back and stares at me, she looks the same now. I see the question in her eyes.

‘Did you get my gift?’ she asks me.

Somehow she’s shrunk the room. I can only stare into her eyes. I forget the crowd, the DJ, the drinks, the dances. I only feel myself in her arms.

‘Did you like it?’

I nod. ‘I loved it,’ I tell her. I feel brazen saying it. I want to tell her what I did with it. How I thought of her when I made myself come.

Suddenly, she grabs my hair and pulls my head back and stares right into my eyes, like she’s trying to see inside my head. For a second I think she’s going to kiss me, and I feel a sharp stab rush through me. I don’t move. I can’t move.

‘Are you brave enough?’ she whispers.

For what?
I want to ask, but I know. I think I know, anyway. She’s asking if I’m brave enough for what she’s offering me. Whatever that is. But it’s something unknown and forbidden. I know that much. I know that’s what she means. I want to tell her yes. I feel ‘yes’ screaming through me, although I feel terrified in a way I haven’t ever felt before. Because she’s asking me to be a different person and she knows it. But even in not replying I feel she’s dragged me a little way down an entirely new path with her. That she’s opened a door.

And then the moment is gone as quickly and momentously as it arrived.

She smiles then. ‘Not quite brave enough,’ she says. ‘Yet.’

Then she winks and breaks away from me, leaving me trembling.

48

I watch her go, feeling the deliberateness of how she’s teased me. I feel her delight radiating out of her, as she ignores me. I watch her dancing away from me, swallowed by a sea of bodies and arms, a swirling, thumping, rocking mass of bodies, and I feel hot with jealousy.

I don’t know what to do. It’s too late now to follow her and, after what she said, I can’t, without it being some sort of statement. Some big acquiescence to . . . what? I don’t know. But something. Something scary between me and her.

But at the same time I don’t stop hoping that she’ll come back. I scan the people dancing around me, longing to see her blonde hair. Longing for her to appear through the crowd with that grin on her face.

But with each passing second, her look – her question – continues to burns through me. I dance, crushed up against strangers, but I feel all alone and shaky. Like something has happened, when nothing has. It’s ‘the strange disquiet of a shaken conscience’ – a line from a poem I read, bouncing around now in my mind, as I jig to the music, but I’m hardly listening.

She’ll come back, I tell myself over and over. She’ll come back and make everything normal. She’s just playing with me. She doesn’t really want me
that way
, surely? That’s just Marnie trying to shock me.

But is it? Is she suggesting that she and I get it on? It’s a laughable, preposterous idea and yet, when I’m with her, it seems so real. And that’s what scares me.

She’s right. I’m not brave enough to answer her question. I’ve been so freaked out by my feelings towards Edward, but they are innocent compared to the hot confusion Marnie makes me feel. And it’s all so frustrating and intangible. It’s like she can suddenly flip into being this other person – who is nothing to do with everyday, normal life. And when I get a glimpse of that, I’m like it, too. Like I forget everything: that I’m her nanny, I’m her employee, living under her roof, eating her food . . . fantasizing about her husband.

When I do see her next, she’s back up at the DJ booth. I stare up at her. She’s with a young black guy, and immediately I think of the picture I saw by the wall in the gallery back at Thousand Acres. Is it the same model? He looks like a model. He’s wearing skinny sexy trousers and an open shirt, and even from down here I can see his six-pack stomach glistening. She has her arms around his neck and she’s staring at him. All I can think about is the picture.

I stop dancing in the middle of the dance-floor and stare upwards, watching her. Watching her reeling him in with her eyes. He’s staring right at her. I see him physically pulling her towards him, his hands on her bum, and I know from the smile that she can feel his erection through his trousers and that she hasn’t pulled away.