The Birthday Party (26 page)

She thought about Coco and Tyger. Coco was definitely standing on her own two feet. She scarcely heard a peep from her during
the week. When she had remarked upon it, Coco had explained her work schedule had nearly tripled – she was in so many more
scenes, there was barely time to take a breath between takes, let alone phone. And Tyger – well, Tyger hadn’t just flown the
nest, she’d jumped out of it without a parachute.

It was a terrible moment, realising you hadn’t been the wonderful mother you thought you had. And what about wife? Did Raf
think the same? He’d certainly jumped at the chance of
Something for the Weekend
. Even if he had pretended to discuss it with her, maybe he had made his mind up from the start. Had he seen it as a chance
to escape her clutches?

Delilah put her face in her hands, pressing her fingers into her eyeballs to staunch the tears. She was being silly. It must
be the wrong time of the month or something – she always got tearful before a period these days, more than she ever had done
in the past. They were probably just reminding her of their presence before they disappeared altogether.

Fuck it, she thought. There was absolutely nothing glamorous about being about to turn fifty. Dried up, barren, unloved, surrounded
by ungrateful offspring—

‘Are you OK?’ Polly asked her.

‘Do you think it’s too late to cancel?’ she asked in reply.

‘Don’t be silly. You can’t cancel. It’s going to be wonderful,’

Polly told her stoutly. ‘Now come on. We haven’t even chosen the cocktails yet. I think raspberry Bellinis sound just the
thing …’

Delilah picked up the cocktail list with a sigh, wanting to snap that you couldn’t have raspberry Bellinis, the whole point
about Bellinis was they were made with peaches. But she didn’t, because the last person who deserved her ill temper was Polly.

‘Polly, why don’t you choose for me? It all looks fine, and I trust your judgement. Just bring me the final menu for approval
…’ And she drifted out of the kitchen.

Polly looked after her, concerned. It was very unlike Delilah not to be interested, but she had picked up on a certain tension
in the house of late. Ever since Raf had agreed to be in the film, in fact.

She picked up the menus with a sigh. It was all very well asking her to choose, but Polly had a lot on her plate. The admin
was through the roof with the film coming up, Delilah’s editor was chasing for material which Polly had to doublecheck, she
wasn’t getting home before eight most nights …

She supposed it would calm down once Raf was on location. Though she didn’t like the thought of that one bit. She was going
to miss him horribly.

She turned her attention back to the menus to distract herself. Japanese egg custard with shitake mushrooms, lotus root and
soy. Yuk! Who thought up these things? What people really wanted was some really good sausages on sticks to soak up the booze.
But this party was a showcase. The nation’s culinary sweetheart was going to be fifty. It had to be perfect.

B
enedict was striding around The Melksham, the latest of his projects. It was a small, three-storey town house on the edge
of Covent Garden that had been a rather run-down and unimaginative pub. Benedict had transformed it into a small but perfectly
formed hotel-cum-members’ club that felt almost like home on the surface, but with discreet facilities that made it luxurious,
convenient and utterly irresistible for anyone who wanted a little place in town. There were twelve bedrooms, a delightfully
intimate restaurant, a screening room, and even a facility for members to leave their favourite items so they could be installed
each time they stayed. The long-term rates were very favourable, so as to appeal to anyone who had been considering renting
a flat but who didn’t want to be bothered with the maintenance.

His brief to the designer had been ‘restrained flamboyance’ – which sounded impossible but the designer had worked with him
on many other projects and understood what Benedict meant by this apparent contradiction in terms. One still had the sense
of being in a Regency house but with a modern take.

Adjoining the main hotel was a delicatessen, with exposed rough brick walls, a stone floor, and a wood-burning pizza oven.
In the basement was an intimate bar with a slightly clubby feel – again the exposed brick, but with industrial chrome fittings
and violet down-lighters. To save it from starkness there were plush white velvet sofas, while canvases printed with iconic
London symbols – taxi cabs, a policeman’s helmet, Big Ben – gave it a witty edge.

It had been open a month, and Benedict was concerned that it wasn’t yet as busy as he would have liked, hence the visit. He
always kept his staff on their toes, as he was fond of impromptu visits to make sure they were keeping up his incredibly high
standards. Woe betide the manager if things weren’t up to scratch. In fact, where the hell was the manager? Benedict had been
here nearly ten minutes and no one had bothered to approach him …

He finally caught sight of him, escorting someone back up the stairs from the bar area, giving her the spiel. He recognised
her immediately: Coco Rafferty. She was just the sort of person they needed as a member. She had a great pedigree, a high
profile; she was beautiful, fashionable, intelligent, and people would flock to follow in her footsteps. That was how London
worked these days. In the current economic climate, being too discreet could mean disappearing altogether. Benedict needed
bright young things who liked the idea of belonging to something exclusive. Once one joined, the others would follow.

And he had another reason for being interested in Coco. Justine was spending a lot of time with the Raffertys these days.
Maybe Coco could shed some light on what had made her change so dramatically? He was still waiting for Justine to tell him
whether she wanted to go to Berlin. She’d definitely been avoiding him for the past few days. And a month or so ago, she’d
have had his hand off at the offer. He needed to get to the bottom of what was going on with his daughter.

He stepped forward, cutting in between the manager and Coco.

‘I’ll show Miss Rafferty round. Thank you.’

The manager knew better than to protest. He melted discreetly away into the background. Benedict turned to Coco with a charming
smile and an outstretched hand.

‘Benedict Amador. Are you interested in becoming a member?’

‘Actually, I’m looking for somewhere to have a private
screening. Just family and close friends. And maybe dinner afterwards?’

‘Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place.’

She was elegant, in a chocolate-brown silk safari dress, her hair in a smooth ponytail, large Mark Jacobs sunglasses and wedges
so high she was nearly as tall as Benedict, who was over six foot. His first impression was that she smelled delicious and
it threw him slightly. He was used to beautiful women, but not used to being affected by them.

‘I’ll show you our screening room. It seats twenty – would that be big enough?’

He led her swiftly through the building and opened the double doors into the cinema, where five rows of four seats covered
in pony skin were ranged in front of a huge screen.

‘It’s intimate …’

‘It looks perfect.’ She smiled. ‘I want somewhere to watch my first transmission. I don’t want to make a huge deal of it,
but I know the family want to see it.’

She didn’t tell him what she was going to be appearing in. She didn’t need to.

‘We can do you champagne and canapés in here. Then dinner in the private dining room?’

He held open the door and ushered her through, leading her back down the corridor.

‘In the meantime, if you were thinking of joining … We could offer you complimentary membership for a year.’

‘Why?’ Her smile was polite, her stare frank.

‘I’ll be honest. It would be great publicity for me. And in return, if you have a meeting, or want to throw a little party,
or take someone for dinner, you do it here.’

Coco didn’t reply straight away. She stopped and looked at a painting with interest. It was a small Ben Nicholson. She obviously
had a good eye. Or else she was very good at pretending, which was, of course, a possibility. She was an actress, after all.

She turned to him and again he was struck by her beauty – it was almost an old-fashioned look, proper film-star glamour.

‘That’s very generous. Thank you. It’s a really lovely place.’

She smiled. It lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. Benedict swallowed. She really was unnervingly attractive. He felt
drawn to her in a way he hadn’t felt for years. Women had so little mystery these days. They gave away all their cards at
the beginning. There was usually nothing to beguile a man like him.

Coco intrigued him. He’d expected a slightly vacuous and rather brittle creature with the self-important self-confidence that
came from one brought up in the public eye. But Coco was reserved, polite, thoughtful – he didn’t want to let her go without
finding out more. He wondered what would emerge if she was allowed to relax, if things moved on to a less businesslike footing.
With a start, he realised he had almost forgotten his original purpose. His real intent, he recalled, had been to pump her
for information that might lead him to find out what was pre-occupying Justine.

That could wait for the time being, he decided. Or he could kill two birds with one stone.

‘Would you have lunch with me?’ Benedict asked, grasping the nettle. ‘I’d be interested to know what you think of the menu.’

Coco hesitated. She’d been thinking of going shopping, but in fact she was hungry. She realised she hadn’t eaten the night
before, nor had she had breakfast. And there were delicious smells wafting from the dining room. It was a better offer than
picking up a sandwich from Marks and Spencer in Longacre.

‘That would be lovely.’

Benedict found himself taking her arm, in an old-fashioned and chivalrous gesture. She made him feel debonair, gallant – and
strangely protective. As they walked through the reception area and through the brick arch that led to the restaurant, he
realised there was only one other woman who had ever made him feel that way before.

His wife.

Two hours later, they were still sitting at the table window the waiter had led them to, an almost empty bottle of Puligny-Montrachet
between them. They’d had seasonal asparagus risotto with creamy pecorino, and corn-fed chicken with chorizo, chickpeas and
razor clams. For dessert, Coco had unashamedly ordered the house speciality – a triple-chocolate brownie with vanilla ice
cream.

‘I hardly get a chance to eat properly these days,’ she confided. ‘The studio caterers are great, but you know that if it’s
Tuesday it’s pasta tricolore with Mediterranean vegetables. And by supper I’m so tired I just want to fall into bed when I
get home.’

She didn’t mention that her appetite had been somewhat killed of late.

Benedict poured the last of the wine into her glass. He didn’t want her to go. They had chatted about everything and nothing.
They both knew a little bit about each other’s worlds – Coco because she had stayed in lots of luxury hotels in her time,
Benedict because he found television the quickest way to relax in the evening if he wasn’t doing business – so they each found
the trade secrets and inside information fascinating.

Once she had relaxed, Coco was highly amusing. Her drive to perform made her a natural raconteur and she knew how to tell
a story. Benedict, too, could paint pictures with words. They gossiped and laughed and outdid each other’s anecdotes as the
meal progressed, and each felt as if they had known the other for years.

Eventually, the meal came to a natural conclusion. The plates were cleared, the wine finished, the coffee drunk. The dining
room was empty. Slightly flushed from the unaccustomed lunchtime drinking, Coco picked up her handbag.

‘I should get home, learn my lines for tomorrow. Though I know I’ll just fall asleep. That was so delicious. Thank you. And
I’m really looking forward to coming here. It’s going to be …’ She trailed off, unable to find a suitable adjective,
knowing she was gabbling. She felt incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden.

She wanted to see this man again. It was two years since she had dated. She had made a conscious decision to concentrate on
her career. Being in a relationship so often sapped your energy and made you make bad decisions.

Benedict was in a different league from her other boyfriends. Confident without being arrogant. Suave without being slimy.
Witty without being frivolous. And handsome. He was as old as her father, she was sure, but there was something so distinguished
and sexy about him. She found her heartbeat tripling as she motioned to the waiter to bring her coat.

‘Would you like to join us for my screening?’ she heard herself saying. ‘It’ll just be my parents, and my sisters, and a few
friends … I know Violet and Justine have been hanging out together lately. They’ll probably come …’