Sins (43 page)

Rose gasped as she took a corner too fast, and then
braked, sending the Mini skidding across the thankfully otherwise empty road, to come to a halt inches short of a deep ditch.

She stalled the car but was shaking so much that she couldn’t restart it for several minutes, and then when she did, she felt so sick with nerves and despair that she could only drive it slowly to a small lay-by and pull in whilst she tried to calm down.

She was not her mother, she was herself. But what was herself? What if the drug had revealed her true self? What if in the past that true self had simply been kept under control? What if now, like a genie released from a bottle, there was no way she could force that true self back into captivity again?

Rose longed for the comfort of Josh’s reassuring presence. He would have understood. He would probably have laughed and teased her and made her feel that what had happened wasn’t really so bad after all. But Josh wasn’t here, and if he had been then last night wouldn’t have happened in the first place because she would have been safe with him.

She was shaking, sick inside with fear and panic. She wiped her hand over her cheeks to remove her tears. She couldn’t stay here like this. She must forget what had happened. She must forget it and tell herself that she wasn’t her mother.

Rose turned the key in the ignition. It took three attempts before the Mini’s engine fired. Carefully and slowly she pulled back on the road. She must look forward, not back, but with her driving mirror there to remind her of what lay behind her, Rose dreaded looking
in it and seeing the spectre of her inheritance staring mocking back at her.

Janey looked at her watch–again. She’d been sitting here in the pub for over half an hour waiting for Charlie. She scanned the crowded bar area again but there was no sign of him.

It was silly feeling let down and disappointed because Charlie wasn’t here for her to pour out her troubles to, she acknowledged.
She
was the one who gave
him
a supporting shoulder to lean on, not the other way around. Right now, though, she felt it would be very comforting to be looked after. She had a small pang of longing for Denham, with the comfort of the calm sureness of her father and the loving kindness of her stepmother to turn to.

Janey reached for her cigarettes and lit one, the nicotine helping to soothe her. She was being awfully silly getting herself into such a state over something that was just a mix-up and that Cindy would soon sort out once she was back.

Thinking of her friend and partner helped to calm her. Cindy had told her to leave the financial side of the business to her, Janey reminded herself. Cindy would sort everything out. She had been silly to panic. Cindy would laugh at her when she told her how worried she had been, and remind her, no doubt, that she had no head for money.

She was home now. Safe. Rose’s hand shook slightly as she poured herself a cup of tea, and then held it between her hands as she sat in the kitchen.

It had been an unexpected bonus to arrive back and find that she had the house to herself. The first thing she’d done was run herself a bath and then scrub her skin clean, anxiously checking for any remaining paint.

She’d heard enough descriptions of people tripping out to know that what she’d experienced was not unusual, but that didn’t stop her feeling horrified. The whole episode was something she desperately wanted to forget.

She heard the front door opening and then Janey calling her name.

‘I’m in here,’ she called back. She must just behave as though the whole thing had never happened. She must tell herself that it
hadn’t
happened…

By Monday morning Rose had managed to convince herself that whilst she felt like curling up into a small ball every time she thought about Saturday night, there was no point in mentally beating herself up for it. Unless she chose to tell someone, which she most certainly was not going to do, it was unlikely that anyone was ever going to know about it.

She doubted that to Pete the episode was anything out of the ordinary and news worthy of sharing, even if he was fully able to remember it–or her. Doubtless there had been a procession of willing bedmates through his life, amongst whom she was hardly likely to merit even the vaguest memory.

Thus armoured against her own guilt-ridden conscience she was able to report to David Mlinaric very firmly and determinedly that although she was grateful to him, the project needed an architect and not her.

That done, she settled down to work on the story-board she was creating for the drawing room of a newly married couple who had moved in further down Cheyne Walk.

She’d been working on it for less than half an hour when the flowers arrived, an enormous and very artistic display of white petals and greenery from Pulbrook and Gould, which smelled and looked divine, and which Rose knew must have cost a small fortune.

The attached card said, ‘Hi, groovy chick–you were the best ever. See you when I get back, Pete xx.’

Rose was still staring at it, appalled, when Josh walked into her office, doing a deliberate double take when he saw the display.

‘Not missed your birthday, have I?’

Rose’s reply was distracted. She was itching to conceal the card, but she couldn’t without him noticing, so she tried to turn his attention to something else.

‘Have you spoken to your solicitor yet about ending the partnership?’

‘Yes, that’s what I’ve come round about. So who are the flowers from then?’

‘Oh, no one, really, just a client.’

He moved closer to the display and before she could stop him he grabbed the card.

‘“Hi, groovy chick–you were the best ever.” A client, you say?’

Thoroughly flustered, Rose retorted, ‘You shouldn’t read other people’s personal mail.’

‘You aren’t other people, you’re my best mate,’ Josh told her. ‘So come on, give. Who is he?’

Later Rose was forced to admit to herself that she had behaved very childishly indeed. Just because Josh had hurt her feelings by referring to her as a mate, that was
no excuse for her practically boasting about having gone to bed with someone.

‘He is a client,’ she insisted, ‘or at least that’s how we first met. His name’s Pete Sargent, and—’

She wasn’t allowed to get any further.

‘Peter Sargent?
The
Pete Sargent? The lead singer in Feelgood?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

She shouldn’t have said anything, and she didn’t know why she had. Yes, you do, she corrected herself. You did it because you’re jealous that Josh has fallen in love with someone else, so you wanted him to know you’d been to bed with Pete. That just shows how silly you are because why should Josh even care?

At this revelation Josh was prowling round her office, frowning.

‘Look, Rose, I don’t want to interfere—’

‘Good.’

‘But it’s a bit like you are my kid sister, and no guy wants to see his kid sister getting herself involved with someone like Pete Sargent.’

‘Why not?’ What was she doing? She knew perfectly well why not. Pete was dangerous, bad news, and he had brought something out in her that had shocked and terrified her until she had managed to convince herself that it had been a one-off, something that could not and would not ever happen again.

‘Because I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s why not. The guy’s a rock singer; he’s got to have girls crawling all over him, he’s—’

Was that envy she could hear in Josh’s voice?

‘Sexy?’ she asked him briskly.

Josh was looking at her as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘Yes, and, you know…’

‘I know what? That I can’t have a sexy boyfriend, is that it?’

‘Rose, what’s got into you? Don’t be silly. That isn’t at all what I meant and you know it. I’m concerned about you, that’s all.’

She almost relented and told him there was nothing for him to worry about, but then she remembered that he was not concerned enough about her to stop his girlfriend from breaking up their partnership.

‘Will Patsy approve of that? You being concerned about me. After all, she doesn’t approve of our partnership, does she?’ she heard herself asking him with unexpected enjoyment. What on earth had got into her? She had never imagined herself ever behaving like this, never mind enjoying it.

Josh was looking bewildered. Guilt overtook her earlier enjoyment.

‘Look, it’s nothing for you to worry about,’ she tried to reassure him.

But he misunderstood her and retorted, ‘You mean it’s none of my business any more, is that it?’

She wanted so badly to reassure him, to hug him and hold him tight, but of course she couldn’t.

‘I’ve got to start learning to stand on my own two feet sometime, haven’t I?’ she told him, trying to ease the emotional tension. ‘After all, you’re going to America…’

‘Yeah. You’re right, I am. It’s just…well, I guess I’ve been looking out for you for so long that it’s become a habit. One I obviously need to break,’ he said simply, closing the door behind him as he left.

Cindy was on the telephone when Janey arrived at the shop on Monday morning. She’d called round at Charlie’s flat on her way to the shop to wish him luck for his afternoon casting, and that had delayed her. Some of the other young actors and models he knew had been there and so Janey had ended up agreeing to join them all on an anti-Vietnam War march on the American Embassy on Saturday afternoon.

‘I’m so glad you’re back. Something dreadful happened on Saturday,’ she told Cindy once her partner had finished her phone call. Mondays and Tuesdays were always slow so Janey didn’t have any girls working then, which meant that she and Cindy were on their own.

‘What happened? Did you lose the petty cash again?’ Cindy laughed.

Janey always found her partner awesomely efficient, and she was proud of her business skills, but sometimes, despite the fact that they were such good friends, when Janey was feeling particularly sensitive she felt that Cindy’s manner towards her could be just a little hurtful and dismissive, as though she were a child who Cindy tolerated with amused contempt but no respect. She may not be good with the practical side of running the business but she
was
a good designer. Their skills were different but surely equal.

‘No, the petty cash is fine, but we do seem to have
lost some money,’ she told her, explaining what had happened with the supplier, and finishing worriedly, ‘I was expecting there to be plenty of money in the account. Sales have been good, I know that.’

The small pause before Cindy responded increased Janey’s anxiety, as did the faintly exasperated look her partner gave her before saying calmly, ‘Well, yes, they have, but there has been quite a lot going out, you know, wages and so forth, and the outlay for the new season’s clothes. The rent has gone up–I did tell you but you were going through a design crisis at the time and weren’t really listening. These things can mount up more than you think. I can show you the figures and go over them with you again, if you like?’ Cindy’s smile was kind and made Janey feel dim.

‘No. There’s no need for that.’ She could see that it was the answer Cindy had been expecting. ‘It’s just that I hate the thought of not paying our suppliers on time and having our cheques bounced.’

Cindy laughed. ‘You are silly. That’s the way business is conducted these days.’

‘But if we don’t pay on time we’ll end up with a bad credit record and no one will supply us.’

‘That’s even sillier. You’ll always be able to get fabric from your mother.’

For some reason Cindy’s comment hurt. Janey did buy silk from Denby Mill, it was true, but she was scrupulous about paying the market price for it and not asking for or accepting any favours from her stepmother.

‘I didn’t get the chance to tell you on Friday,’ Cindy was saying now, ‘but I think I’ve managed to set up a
meeting with a buyer from Saks. She’s coming over in September and she wants to have a look at the new lines.’

‘But that’s before the new season show,’ Janey protested.

‘Well, that’s OK, isn’t it? Look, I thought we agreed that we want to make a success of this business?’ Cindy was struggling to be patient, Janey could tell.

‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed obediently.

‘I mean, I’ve put a hell of a lot into everything I’ve done here since we became partners and I’d hate to see a terrific opportunity I’ve really worked for slip away from us because of some superstition you’ve got about people seeing your designs before you show them in public.’

Janey felt guilty and uncomfortable. She
was
superstitious about not letting anyone see her designs until she was ready to show them, and she knew that it aggravated Cindy, who found her hard to understand at times. Janey sighed. Clearly she had a lot to learn about business. Thank God she had Cindy.

Emerald’s heels tapped angrily along the pavement. It was a week now since Max had walked out on her and he still hadn’t been in touch with her to apologise.

She just hoped that he had rung her whilst she’d been out. He was bound to have got over his bad temper by now, and naturally would want to make up with her. She thrilled at the thought of the way in which he would want to do this, and started to walk faster.

The daily Emerald had bribed into staying on whilst she was out was waiting with her coat on and her forehead creased in an anxious frown, complaining that her husband would be wanting his tea and that Emerald had said she would be back at three and that now it was half-past four.

‘Have there been any telephone calls?’ Emerald asked her, ignoring her complaints.

‘Oh, yes, there was one.’

Emerald relaxed, the easing of her tension followed by a surge of triumph. She had known Max would telephone all along. How could he resist her?

‘It was your mum, and Her Ladyship said as how
she wanted to know if young Robbie had had all his inoculations.’

‘Are you sure that was the only call?’ Emerald demanded. ‘You didn’t go out, did you, after I told you that I wanted you to stay here?’