Sin Tropez (25 page)

A fat tear slid down Abena’s cheek. ‘Yep, yes, I’m sorry,’ Abena sniffed. ‘It’s just, Sebastian and I broke up – he’s been cheating on
me.’

‘Oh, sweetheart!’ Sarah embraced Abena, comforting her in that motherly way that made all the boys do whatever she wanted. ‘Poor thing, tell me everything. What
happened?’

Abena began telling the story and by the time she got to the ridiculous bows at the sides of the frilly Agent Provocateur knickers, she was in a much better mood.

‘Obviously, compared to you and Si, it’s nothing, I mean, I was only with Sebastian for five months or so, and it was hardly serious – just a bit of fun, you
know…’

‘Hon, five months is more than enough time to fall for someone. And especially someone like Sebastian Spectre, well he’s … Anyway, you’re so much better off without him
Abbi; infidelity is inexcusable.’

Abena looked uncertain, so Sarah carried on, ‘You know I’ve never told anybody this before, but my parents were almost torn apart by my mother’s affair.’

‘You’re kidding! Your family seems like the perfect little unit.’

‘I know, and my mother’s a complete prude like me! But my dad had a few too many rums one Christmas and told me the story.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Well, it was the internet that caught them out. Mum’s not very computer-literate and didn’t realize Dad could read her emails if she didn’t sign out. He stumbled across
an email to Mum from their friend Nigel that said “My cock is hard thinking about you”. So of course my dad was absolutely furious. He hit the reply button and wrote to Nigel saying
“If you have any more bulletins about the state of your cock then kindly direct them to your own wife”. Then he went rummaging through the rest of her emails and came across the message
that made him demand a divorce.’

‘What was the message?’ Abena was trying seriously hard not to laugh.

‘It was my Mum’s reply to Nigel that did it. He’d sent her something really smutty about how he wanted to do her all weekend in a seedy hotel, and she’d replied,
“Yes, wouldn’t it be lovely, with crisp, white linen sheets and the sunlight streaming in.” My dad thought that if that was the foxiest thing she could come up with then Nigel was
welcome to her – said it was symptomatic of all the problems they’d been having in bed for years.’

‘I’m astounded! Well, at least they worked it out in the end.’

‘Yes, but imagine if they hadn’t! You were right to break away from Sebastian, these things often get worse.’

Abena waved at a waitress and ordered two Bloody Marys.

‘Could you ever have an affair with a married man?’ Sarah asked.

‘No,’ Abena answered immediately. ‘Nothing to do with the morality of it all; after all, his marriage is not my responsibility. It’s more that I just hate the thought of
the sort of married man who still has affairs. He puts on this front as a libidinous alpha male, but behind the mask he’s a spineless beta. That type of man just isn’t attractive to
me.’

‘Me neither,’ Sarah agreed.

Both girls slurped at their cocktails and thought about men.

‘Let’s do something tonight,’ Abena said, feeling more upbeat. ‘Go out – I just need to do something.’

‘Do you fancy Annabel’s?’

‘Is this really Sarah Hunter I’m talking to?’

Sarah laughed. ‘Bertrand Brampton Amis, who manages all Willy’s financial affairs, is hosting a dinner there. He’s super-rich and super-posh and extra girls are always welcome
at that kind of thing.’

‘I’m on it – anything to stop me thinking about my miserable love life. I’m going to drag Tara out too.’

Sarah’s face fell, she’d always thought Tara’s bitchiness was the wrong side of fun.

‘I just need to get her out of the flat – and I need to watch her.’

They celebrated their decision with a toast to ‘bizarre life experiences’, swiftly followed by toasts to independence, to making the best of life, to love, and, as an afterthought,
to world peace.

By the time Abena was ready to stumble home she felt an urge to call Benedict. She didn’t quite know why. She supposed she wanted somebody else to talk to about things. When he
didn’t pick up, she left a teasing message:

‘Hi there Ben, it’s Abena, romantic shoe fetishist, remember? He he. Well, just wondered if you and your mesmerizing eyes wanted to come to a party at Annabel’s tonight, 9 p.m.
Don’t forget to comb your beard – dress code is smart! Ha ha.’

She put down the phone. Whoops! Was she
flirting
with Ben? How silly. She didn’t even fancy him – and imagine how boring it would be dating a broke student type after the
excitement and glamour of being Sebastian’s girlfriend! Anyway, she didn’t need anyone. She could be alone. Yes! Alooone … Humming tipsily, Abena headed home to change.

****

There is something about being in a loud and glamorous group that makes people who are usually graceful behave like brats. As Sarah strutted into Annabel’s, followed
closely by Abena and Tara, male eyes followed the sway of their hips admiringly. Female heads turned too, but with a mostly competitive glint in their eyes.

‘Everyone’s staring at us,’ whispered Sarah, simultaneously self-conscious and exhibitionist in her very merry state. She was aware of how high her breasts were, pushed up in
the most dramatic of her newer dresses, and newly tanned from an embarrassingly excessive sun-bed session after yoga. She herself could not help but stare down at them every so often, strangely
aroused by the power they wielded over those around her.

As Tara announced, ‘If I weren’t us then I ’d stare at us’, Sarah guffawed with disproportionate vigour and arched her back to accentuate her curves.

Spotting Bertrand, who, in the absence of Willy, was holding court at the head of a large table, Sarah sashayed towards him, pausing mid-movement to nod and smile at a ‘silver fox’
raising a champagne glass at her from a neighbouring table.

‘Bertrand, hello, so lovely to see you. Meet my friends, Abena and Tara. Girls, Bertrand Brampton Amis is
the
most accomplished man you could ever meet. He is one of the top bankers
in the City and his family have owned the private bank that oversees all Willy’s financial affairs since … since the beginning of time!’

Bertrand looked embarrassed and gestured for Sarah to sit down. ‘You look incredible, Sarah. Glad you could make it. And this elusive boyfriend of yours?’

‘He thinks Berkeley Square is the epitome of Western corruption.’ Sarah grinned. ‘But life’s too short not to have fun. And anyway, I’m trying to cheer my friend
Abena up – her boyfriend’s just given her the sack.’

Bertrand glanced down the table at Abena. ‘What a silly boy. So it looks like we’re all partnerless tonight. My wife’s out of town.’

‘What are we drinking, Bertrand?’ Sarah said quickly.

‘You can have whatever you want. Just promise not to do any fussing or organizing tonight. Willy’s not around and you can relax.’

Sarah decided she liked Annabel’s. She liked the old-school glamour, the men in shirts and jackets and the women mostly in smart black dresses, not a ripped denim trouser in sight. Old
favourites and nostalgic dance anthems made for festive music, but it was not so loud it ruled out conversation. She remembered what she’d heard about the place being reassuringly expensive.
At the time she wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. But she liked it tonight. Yes, Sarah decided, it was all very civilized indeed. What a shame she’d never be able to bring Si
here. He always wore jeans and, outside of work, he refused to wear a jacket.

Bertrand, on the other hand, wore jackets fabulously. His skin was tanned the same honey colour as Sarah’s, although his was real as he’d just returned from a break at his
wife’s family’s estate in Tuscany. Sarah had never been into older men, but she had to admit Bertrand was remarkably handsome – in an austere, poker-up-bottom sort of way, anyway.
And it was flattering how he rose from his seat to stand, erect and straight-backed, every time she left or rejoined the table.

‘Come on, let’s dance.’

Sarah found his clipped, old-Etonian tones sexily authoritative; masterful, even.

Bertrand took Sarah’s hand and led her to the small dance floor at the back. Moving his feet deftly in time to the music, he spun round and snaked backwards on to the floor, jiving all the
way. Tara and Abena watched open-mouthed as this seemingly reserved middle-aged man in a suit transformed himself with one move into a hybrid of James Bond and Carlos Acosta. He moved with the
agility of a trained ballet dancer but the arrogance with which he did so was pure sex. With each movement he dared his audience to laugh at the absurdity of his talent, so blatant and unexpected
that it seemed not quite right, and yet it was amazing.

Abena finished yet another glass of exquisite Châve au Cheval Blanc and held her breath as she waited to see how Sarah would retaliate. Sarah had many talents, but dancing was not one of
them. Moments later, her worst fears were confirmed when Sarah began to sway.

Emboldened by drink and carried away by her own voluptuousness, Sarah started wiggling her hips in a large circle and clutching at her breasts and her head in turn. It was unclear to what beat
she was moving.

‘Oh no, she’s going for the “dip-down” again.’ Abena exchanged a look with Tara and they both watched in fascinated horror as Sarah parted her legs and shimmied
down to the floor, banging the ground hard before struggling to wiggle back up again.

Abena turned away and thought of how she’d last been at Annabel’s with Kunle. But now images of Sebastian were swirling through her head and then morphing into parts of Kunle. His
long, broad back. Now it was Kunle’s powerful hand, the darkest brown on one side and lighter on the palm, fingers splayed, and his lifeline etched deep and sure, heralding a grand future.
Suddenly Abena’s failed romances ganged up on her and made her miserable. She was desperate for a diversion. She jumped out of her seat and ran to join Sarah and Bertrand on the dance
floor.

Abena grabbed Sarah and the two of them shimmied down to the floor together, working it like a pair of Las Vegas showgirls, forsaking every last shred of dignity in exchange for one inebriated
moment of forgetting. As they slid down to the floor for the final time, Abena noticed that Bertrand was unable to take his eyes off them, nodding his head in time with each gyration of their hips.
The look on his face was sheer lust. Abena beckoned him closer and wherever she whirled and fell across the dance floor, Bertrand followed behind. He moved lithely like a snake and in her sozzled
mind Abena felt she entranced him as though she were his snake-charmer.

So wrapped up was Abena in the music and in Bertrand, she didn’t notice a familiar figure push through the crowds towards the dance floor. Or perhaps she didn’t recognize him, after
all he was wearing contact lenses and had shaved off his beard. Benedict Lima had also donned a blazer to comply with the strict dress code, even though it wasn’t his thing. He was taken
aback when he was approached suddenly by a seductive older female who reeked of expensive perfume but had a look in her eye that was thrillingly cheap.

‘My first husband was for love,’ she purred. ‘My second for money. My third was for status, and
you
, handsome … I want you for sex.’

‘Objectify me any time, beautiful!’ Benedict laughed, ‘but I’m afraid I’m here for someone else.’

It didn’t take long to find Abena, grinding on the dance floor with a dirty old man. Cursing himself for bothering to show up, he turned and raced out of Annabel’s.

Tara, meanwhile, was deeply bored. She was making painfully dull small talk with Abdullah from Saudi Arabia, who was seated to her left, and she was just about to ask him if he had any cocaine
on him when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Alex Spectre making his way through the club with a slim, Savile Row suited man in tow.

‘Alex!’ Tara shouted, starting up, ignoring the outrage of Abdullah, who’d been about to proffer his business card
.
‘It’s me, Tara.’

‘Hi,’ Alex stopped by their table and ran his eyes quickly over the rest of the party. There was clearly no one there of interest and he made as if to leave but Tara grabbed his arm.
He looked at his friend and then turned back towards Tara.

‘Was there something else?’

‘Stay and have a drink with us!’ she begged.

Alex’s friend shrugged. ‘I’m Jasper,’ he said.

The two sat down cautiously, both perched on the ends of their seats, weight still on the balls of their toes, ready to shoot off the starting block at the earliest possible moment. Alex craned
his neck to see who was on the dance floor.

‘Oh, Bertrand Brampton Amis. I’ll just go say hi.’ And with that, Alex and Jasper were off.

‘Probably sucking up to get ahead in the City,’ Tara grumbled to herself. Her end of the table was now deserted so she concentrated on watching with some satisfaction as Alex was
politely dispatched by Bertrand, who had Abena’s bottom to attend to and certainly didn’t want to think about work now.

Gradually the music faded, the revellers thinned out, and the night began to draw to a close. Tara, who’d been bored silly all evening, was about to go and interrupt Alex and the deep
discussion he’d been having with Jasper when he sauntered up to the group to ingratiate himself with Bertrand once more. After inviting Bertrand to watch a Chelsea game in his father’s
box the following week, he turned towards Tara and fixed his green eyes on her. He hadn’t looked at her so intently since the first time they met, and it was as if a thousand-watt light bulb
had been switched on inside her, making her cool eyes sparkle with exhilaration. His gaze dropped to take in her seventies vintage black cocktail dress. It had once been figure-hugging but was now
too big for Tara’s ever-shrinking frame.

‘Stunning,’ Alex concluded. Tara flushed, he’d called her stunning!

‘Vintage I suppose?’ he added.

Flustered, and furious she’d been outdone by her own dress, Tara snapped sarcastically, ‘No, I got it new last week.’