Shameless Exposure (16 page)

Caroline grew anxious as summer turned to autumn. Miss October had been painted by Cecil Sharpe. In his youth he had been dubbed the Yorkshire Picasso, his paintings and sculptures, according to the gallery notes, charting the fracturing of traditional relationships between men and women. In his dotage, he had mellowed, seeming to enjoy the female form as an object of desire, tinged with humour and regret (according to the gallery notes) that something so lovely was slipping beyond his grasp. To the philistines who made up the bulk of the audience and hadn’t read the notes, Miss October was simply a stunner in the act of discarding her nurse’s uniform.

It was Caroline’s turn to pull the chord. Not for the first time she had doubts about the wisdom of her decision to reveal herself so completely. Caroline looked nervously over to Robert. Antonia was holding his hand supportively. She shut her eyes as she drew back the curtain. She waited for the audience reaction. None came. Then a few hands clapped politely. She tentatively opened her eyes.

The newspaper art critics were grouped together. They looked to each other, mouths gaping like fish. They needed a leader. Was it good or was it terrible? Was it clever or was it obscene? Then Benjamin Cummerbund from
The Times
leaped to his feet and shouted “Bravo!”

The audience gave a sigh of relief that it was considered acceptable to enjoy such an explicitly sexual work. Thank God it was art and not pornography. Caroline turned round to see what Erik had done to her. He hadn’t made her look horrible after all. He had removed all the work tension from her posture and had her loose and inviting on the couch, every sensuous brushstroke applied in loving realist detail. Her hands went to her face to hide her blushes, and as soon as the cameras and the attention moved on to December, she slipped back to her seat next to Robert and Antonia.

“I wouldn’t mind having that on my wall,” said Antonia. “Do you think it would fit above my bed? I think I’ll make a bid.” Antonia rummaged for her phone and looked up the on-line auction. “Perhaps not, you’re already over a quarter of a million.”

“You see, Robert, it was in a good cause,” said Caroline. Robert was not sure whether the cause was good enough. It would take him more than a moment to work out his feelings. On one hand it was obvious to the whole world that Erik had been making love, in some shape or form, to his wife. On the other hand, he was proud to be married to such a beautiful, desirable woman. It was a turn-on to imagine her exposed to a worldwide audience. He let his emotions do battle behind a quiet façade.

“Tell me what you think,” insisted Caroline.

“I don’t know what I think. It’s a bit of a shock to share you with Erik and all these people.”

“You’ve always been jealous of Erik. You don’t understand the artistic temperament.”

“I understand that painting, though.”

Their deliberations were interrupted by the return of the chairman to the podium.

“Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen. I think we can all agree that our artists have done a splendid job in capturing the essence of the seasons. The more observant of you may have noticed there is one more painting on the wall behind me. No, it’s not a lunar calendar. But our patron requested that we include one extra image to enhance the published work and raise additional funds. The thirteenth picture, painted secretly by royal appointment, will adorn the cover of the charity calendar. Ma’am, can I ask you to reveal the final work of art.” He stood back and there was Princess Fiona. She pulled back the red velvet curtain.

Pandemonium erupted at the back of the hall with the journalists jumping on chairs and taking pictures with their phones. There was an interlude whilst security forced the journalists back into their seats, but when order had been restored, Princess Fiona took the hand of her closest lady-in-waiting, whose naked likeness also appeared in the picture, and they approached the podium together.

“I know some of you will be shocked to see one with no clothes on. But believe it or not, one is human too. Hermione and I have been together in a relationship for two years now. The painting, which I trust you critics will judge is a tasteful nocturne making clever use of moonlight and shade, is a reflection of the love we feel for each other.

“I will continue my work for BCRI, but not as Princess Fiona. Out of respect for my family, I am renouncing my position of ninth in line to the throne. Henceforth I will be known as Dame Fiona of Fakenham. Sorry as I am to disappoint you, when Hermione and I get married in July, it will not be a royal wedding. However, we will put on a jolly good bash and an outdoor popular concert to cheer up the unemployed youngsters.” Robert was struck with a flash of inspiration. His warring band could bury the hatchet and reform for Fiona and Hermione’s grand party. He busied his fingers with a text to Rick Hammer.

Nobody who was at the National Portrait Gallery that night was ever short of a dinner party story. Yet momentous as these events of national significance were, Caroline and Robert could not escape their personal domestic dramas. Robert drank too much at the after-show party and made accurate but unsubstantiated allegations about Caroline’s conduct with Erik. Caroline retaliated with almost accurate, but also unsubstantiated accusations about what Robert and Antonia did after she went to work the day she was suspended. Loud and cross words were exchanged. The upshot was, though neither of them desired it, that Caroline went home with Erik and Xena to his flat in Belgravia, and Robert went with Antonia back to her flat near London Bridge.

 
Fifteen

Caroline was determined to think positively. Not having to go to work every day had its advantages. She had been able to behave in a bohemian manner with Erik and Xena, indulging in soft flesh late into the next morning. And now she was free to respond to the invitation of her mystery mother to meet at some legal offices in Edinburgh, an old grey stone building close to Waverley Station.

The wheels of her blue case rattled over the cobbles of the steep side street. She looked at the brass plaque on the door of number 26 and something about it reminded her of Robert. Wasn’t one of the firms of solicitors that gave him work called Forbes-Somebody? She rang the bell and was met by a prim woman with a perfect bonnet of blond hair.

“I’m Dorothy, Mr Forbes-Brown’s secretary.”

“I’m here to meet my mother. Only I don’t know her name yet.”

“Please take a seat. Mr Forbes-Brown will be with you shortly.”

Caroline did as she was told and leafed through a dog-eared Classic Car magazine while she waited. A restored Aston Martin caught her eye. She imagined it parked in front of the porticoed entrance to her house. She must not sit back and let Andreas and the spineless creeps in his management team take everything away from her, even her dreams.

She opened her case and took out the note he had left on the table at the Copacabana Palace Hotel. How would it stand as evidence in a hearing? It certainly contained lewd suggestions, and referred to lewd activities that had already taken place. But did it amount to a confession that he had organised her kidnap? It made her shiver just thinking about it. She read the note again:

“
…you owe me for the repairs. But don’t worry; I will accept payment in kind.
”

How did he know the kidnappers’ van was damaged? She hadn’t told him about how she had escaped halfway up the hill and let the handbrake off. He could only know because he’d picked up the bill. No, she wouldn’t cut her losses, as all her so-called colleagues thought she should. She would fight. She would take that bastard down, even if it meant taking the company down too.

She took out her tablet and composed an email to Ivan, subject line:
A new chief executive for Monsaint?
What had she learnt from Melody on the management course in Spain?
The successful executive harnesses the ambition of others…

A grey haired man in a waistcoat put his head round the door of the waiting room.

“Caroline Fanshaw?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Forbes-Brown shook her hand warmly. “Delighted to meet you, my dear. I had no idea you’d be so young and pretty. What ever attracted you to that idle bugger Robert?”

“You know Robert?”

“Of course. If it wasn’t for me he’d never have got started on the commercial side. I did it as a favour to his father. Now there was a fine QC, God rest his soul. Don’t see much of Robert since I crossed the border but still keep an eye on him. Just had to take him off a case to protect him from a client.”

“I’m sorry, I’m confused. I was given this address to meet my natural mother. I was adopted as a baby and I’ve been trying to make contact.”

“No need for confusion, my dear. It’s all straightforward. Your mother happens to be a client of ours, so I suggested, or she suggested, that it would be convenient to meet you here for the first time. Miss Heart lives out in the wilds.”

“Miss Heart? Is she Scottish?”

“Not from her accent, but you can ask her yourself. She’s asked me to give you this confidentiality statement to sign first. She wants you to keep her identity secret from everyone. You must understand, even after all these years, it’s still an embarrassment to her that she had a child in her teens when she was in no position to care for it.”

“It? So, I’m an embarrassment?”

“No, no, not at all. I’m being clumsy. It’s just that she has had a high profile career and does not want any unnecessary attention on her private life. That’s why she contacted you directly and not through the charity.”

Caroline read the agreement. It was draconian. But what did it matter? She didn’t need to tell anybody. She signed on the dotted line with the heavy gold fountain pen proffered by Forbes-Brown.

“What did you just say about having to take Robert off a case?”

“Since you’re his wife you may as well know. I’m sure he will tell you anyway. A client has made an allegation about your husband. She says, she alleges, that he came into her bedroom when she was in a state of undress and refused to leave. And, I’m afraid, that he forced himself upon a vulnerable woman, one of the client’s young visitors, a proselyte, who was having an emotional breakdown. Very sportingly, the client has promised not to take the matter any further as long as I take over the case myself.”

“Proselyte? What’s that? Robert’s not been…” Caroline thought for one moment that she knew where the money from his account had been going.

“No, my dear, nothing like that. It’s some sort of religious thing. Come with me.”

Forbes-Brown took her upstairs to a small interview room with a large window. Regina was sitting with her back to the window, creating a dark silhouette. Unable to see her features clearly, Caroline did not recognise her until she spoke.

“I always felt such a strong connection to you. I’m not surprised.”

“Melody? It can’t be.” Caroline squatted on a chair, ready to escape at a moment’s notice.

“Not Melody, Regina. Regina Heart. I have renounced my previous life. I know I did wrong. I have made a new life with the animal spirits.”

“Robert told me. It sounded to me like it has big things in common with your previous career.”

“Only superficially. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot. I always had strong feelings for you. I could see so much of myself in you, and now we both know why.”

“No, it’s impossible,” said Caroline. “You can’t be my mother. That’s too horrible to contemplate.”

“I’m sure the adoption charity told you these first meetings can be difficult. I’m not expecting anything from you. Just give it time and a relationship will develop.”

“I don’t want to develop a relationship with you,” said Caroline. “Anybody would have been better than you.”

“You can’t deny your nature, Caroline. It all makes sense, doesn’t it? The exhibitionism, the voracious sexuality? It’s in our genes.”

“Where does this idea come from that I’m an exhibitionist? Just because…” Caroline decided not to pursue that line of argument.

“We are so alike,” continued Regina. “I said to Robert that you would understand better than anybody the power of female sexuality, the mystery of the vagina spirit. I have dedicated my life to allowing people to experience that incredible power. Once released, that power can guide them to any achievement. It could help you too.”

“Robert is more gullible than me. I think it’s complete mumbo-jumbo.”

“Then why do I have over half a million proselytes worldwide?”

“Half a million what?”

“Converts. They follow me on Twitter.”

“Thought for the Day in a hundred and forty characters?”

“Exactly, no long boring sermons. Please don’t waste this opportunity to connect with the vagina spirit. Give it a chance. Open yourself to what is within you. I can see it so clearly. It will give you the power to overcome your adversaries in Monsaint.”

“Why do you think I have adversaries at work?”

“The network. People talk, people tweet.”

“And what is it that people are tweeting?”

“That you seduced the chief executive and are trying to blackmail him for sexual harassment. Now I’ve been there, done that. You have to turn the tables. It’s not difficult to take control and I can show you how. Have you watched my little film? It will give you a hint of the forces that can be harnessed.”

Regina picked up a slim red tablet and woke it up. She handed it to Caroline. They sat in silence whilst she finally watched the five minute promo. Caroline wiped her eyes with a tissue and handed the tablet back to Regina.

“Now tell me,” said Regina, “which animal is your spirit guide?”

“It’s a vixen. Please tell me you’re not really my mother.”

“I am. But everyone is your mother, everyone is your father.”

“Who was it? Who was my father?”

“There’s so much to tell you, Caroline. Come with me back to Castle Dunlaggin. Spend a few days at the centre, stay for the solstice moon ceremony. Feed your power, then go back to London and devour Andreas Rivera-Castillo like he deserves to be devoured.”

Caroline felt like she had been punched in the stomach and her head was short of oxygen. Regina her natural mother, Robert forcing himself on a vulnerable young woman, cast out by her work colleagues, it was all too much to bear. She looked past Regina to the grey stone façade on the opposite side of the street. It was no use; her life had become a prison. She would call on the inner vixen to come to her aid.