The Birthday Party (32 page)

Benedict smiled his lack of concern over her leaving the table. He was used to the reliance of the young on mobiles, thanks
to Justine. Coco bolted outside. Gavin was lurking down the pavement, looking as much like what he was as anyone possibly
could. She grabbed her stash off him and thrust a wad of notes in his hand.

‘Thank-you wouldn’t hurt,’ grumbled Gavin. They were always so desperate to see him, and then could barely give him the time
of day. He was used to it.

As soon as he had gone, she looked up and down the street, then walked smartly to the nearest shop doorway. She knew she was
being reckless, but she couldn’t wait for the next opportune moment to go to the loo. She didn’t want Benedict to think she
had a weak bladder. Besides, she was fairly certain she was safe. With her back turned away from the street, she administered
herself a line of the precious powder as discreetly as she could.

Moments later she slid gracefully back into her seat. She had barely been gone five minutes. The waiter was hovering with
the dessert menu.

Now she could focus. Now she could respond. She felt confident. All her nerves had melted away; the butterflies had flown.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to Benedict. ‘When you’re on a show like
Critical
, your life’s not your own.’

‘It must be enormous pressure,’ he agreed. ‘I admire you.’

‘Please don’t,’ Coco begged him. ‘It’s hardly rocket science.’

‘No, but it’s entertainment. And we all need some light relief in our lives.’

‘I suppose so …’ She looked down at the menu. The cocaine had killed what little appetite she’d had, but she didn’t want to
be a bore, like so many showbiz people, and refuse pudding. ‘I’ll have the wild honey ice cream.’

She could force that down if she had to.

‘And so will I.’ Benedict handed his menu back to the waiter, then leaned forward. ‘Tell me, what have my daughter and your
sister been getting up to? They seem as thick as thieves.’

‘Justine and Violet?’ Coco looked at him, startled, then shook her head. ‘Just … whatever it is girls do, I think.’ She frowned.
‘Why?’

‘Nothing in particular. It’s only that Justine seems a little … distracted at the moment.’

Coco surveyed him coolly. Was that why he’d asked her out? To grill her about her sister? She hated it when people started
quizzing her about her family, even when there was nothing to hide.

‘Violet knows how to have fun.’ She shrugged. ‘In fact, we all do. Maybe Justine’s enjoying being a part of that?’

Benedict sensed her unease.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Benedict. ‘That’s not what this meal is about.’

He poured her another glass of wine. There was an awkward silence. Coco worried that she’d been a little too defensive, but
it was her default setting when it came to her family. She quickly changed the subject.

‘Tell me about your hotels. I was thinking of booking Mum and Dad a weekend away somewhere amazing – it’s her fiftieth birthday
soon. Where would you recommend?’

Benedict warmed to his subject straight away. Soon, they were debating the benefits of Marrakesh versus Montenegro, and the
honey ice cream arrived and was sublime, and they had
a glass of Tokay to complement its luscious sweetness, and they were laughing and …

It was time to go. The bill was dealt with discreetly. The waiter slipped Coco’s suede Jil Sander jacket on; a driver appeared
outside with the Bentley.

‘Let me run you home,’ offered Benedict.

Coco relaxed in the comfort of the back seat. They were close, but he didn’t make a move to put an arm around her. When they
arrived at her flat, he got out to open her door. Before she could even think about offering him a liqueur, or a coffee, he
had kissed her goodbye on the cheek.

‘I enjoyed our evening,’ he told her. ‘I’ll see you again soon.’

He slipped into the back of the car without another word, and it slid away.

Coco shivered in the cold night air as she watched the tail-lights fade. She’d blown it. He’d got the measure of her. He’d
seen how agitated she was at the beginning of the evening, then how animated she was when she came back. He was on to her.
And he didn’t want a cokehead for a girlfriend. He had given her the most polite of brush-offs.

With a sinking heart she went up the stairs to her flat and threw herself onto the bed without getting undressed. How the
hell had she got herself into this mess? She’d thrown away the chance of a relationship with a man she found devastatingly
attractive, because she was self-medicating. Dabbling in something she should never have started, because of her lack of confidence.
She hadn’t meant to let it take a hold like this …

But of course it had. She should have known that. Cocaine was addictive. Addiction ran in her family. If she wasn’t careful
she was going to lose everything. Hadn’t her father’s experience taught her anything?

She lay there, her heart pounding, cursing herself for her stupidity. Why had she taken the easy way out, like her dad? Why
couldn’t she have just faced up to her fears, like a normal person? Only a coward took refuge in something that gave them
false confidence. She was a fool, a failure—

Her phone beeped. She sat up. Who would send her a text at this time of night? Maybe Tyger. She grabbed it and stared at the
screen.

Meant to say, have tickets for the opera next Thursday. If you fancy it. B

Joy flooded through her. She’d been given a reprieve. She had a second chance. She flopped back onto the pillows with a huge
smile on her face, then quickly typed her response.

Definitely. Thank you for a lovely evening. C

Next week, she would be as clean as a whistle. She would make sure of it. Yes, thought Coco with a sudden burst of happiness.

It was goodbye Charlie, hello Benedict.

L
ess than two weeks after the opening party, Raf and Pandora were in bed together.

They were huddled under the duvet, waiting to shoot the first time Hugo and Saskia make love. As usual the set-up was taking
ages. The lighting director wasn’t happy. It could mean hours of adjustment, but there was no point in them getting out again,
just in case.

Pandora was shivering. It wasn’t cold in the room, so it must be fear. Raf stroked her reassuringly, as if she was a frightened
animal.

‘This is worse than the first real time,’ said Pandora, her teeth chattering.

Raf pulled her into him, snuggling her.

‘Just take yourself somewhere else. Think of somewhere you’d like to be.’

Pandora gazed at him, her eyes huge.

‘That’s the problem,’ she confided. ‘This is exactly where I’d like to be. It’s just … I’d rather we didn’t have the world
and his wife watching.’

She didn’t take her eyes away from his.

Raf fell silent. That was a pretty big confession. Was she winding him up?

‘OK, we’re ready when you are.’

They both slithered out of their dressing gowns and handed them to the floor manager, then pulled the duvet up to shoulder
height.

‘And … action!’

Raf put his hands out to touch Pandora. He could do this. It was what he did best, acting. He could pretend to be someone
else. He was Hugo, not Raf. His fingers tingled as he touched her warm skin. So soft but so firm. He had forgotten what youth
felt like. He went to slide his hand down her leg then leapt back.

Jesus Christ! She didn’t have a stitch on underneath. Most actresses kept their knickers on at least for sex scenes. He snatched
his hand away as if he had been electrocuted, but it was too late. She caught his eye. She knew that he knew, and she gave
him a secretive, minxy little smile. She stretched sensually, pressed herself up against him. He could feel her breasts, perfectly
round, her nipples erect.

She was totally turned on by this, not nervous at all. And now he was going to have to kiss her. That’s what was in the script.

Then next thing he knew she had wrapped her legs around his and pushed herself against him. He could feel her warm wetness
on his thigh. Raf groaned involuntarily. There was no way she couldn’t feel the desire on him. He had never been so hard.
His whole being, his whole raison d’être, was in his cock.

‘I dare you,’ she whispered in his ear, and every hair on the back of his neck rippled.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t fuck Pandora in front of an entire camera crew. He was a happily married man who loved his wife.

A happily married man who hadn’t had sex for two months.

Raf assessed the situation. He couldn’t deny he found the girl attractive. She was totally stunning. And they had become quite
close over the past couple of weeks, rehearsing together during the day, working on the script at night, sharing the same
house. He might have fantasised about her in the odd quiet moment, but he hadn’t really thought about it seriously. There
had never really been an opportunity. Genevieve seemed to be with them most of the time, after all, acting as his conscience,
like some bloody chaperone.

She wasn’t here now, though. And he was only bloody human. Pandora was kissing him, slow, sensual, deliberately provocative,
sliding her tongue over his lips. With one hand she slid down the waistband of his boxer shorts.

He rolled on top of her. Instinctively she parted her legs.

It was so easy. Two seconds and he was inside her. He barely had to move. He could feel her body respond to the slightest
thrust. She was starting to moan, her head tilted back, and he kissed her throat, knowing this would look good for the camera.
She threw her arms open wide, arching her back, pushing herself against him, and he clenched his jaw to stop himself from
coming. They needed a good few minutes of this. He didn’t dare look around him to get the crew’s reaction. The fact that the
cameras were still rolling said it all.

‘Oh my God! Oh my Jesus fucking God Christ fuck.’

She was pulsing round him, so tight. He couldn’t hold back any longer. Raf didn’t cry out, or swear, like Pandora. He had
never been particularly vocal during sex. All he wanted was to look in her eyes. It was all about the eye contact for him.
And as they locked gazes, he found himself falling. Maybe if he hadn’t looked, he could have saved himself, but that soulsharing
moment sealed his fate.

Raf came up for air, panting, sweating. He knew he had to hold the moment until the director shouted, ‘Cut!’ He bent his head
and kissed Pandora’s forehead. She was laughing, exhilarated, pupils huge, her breath ragged with the exertion.

‘Oh my God, that was the best ever. Oh my God – do it again … !’

She pulled his head down to her, kissing him over and over in a frenzy, a demented lover. Was she acting? Was she? He didn’t
think so. Her orgasm had been real all right. And to his surprise, he found himself responding, kissing her back, not wanting
this to end.

Eventually they fell back onto the pillows tangled in each other’s arms, laughing, exhausted.

The crew broke into spontaneous applause and the pair of
them looked round in surprise. They had all but forgotten they were being filmed.

Dickie came over, beaming and blushing.

‘Guys – that was amazing. You were on fire. There’s some serious on-screen chemistry going on there.’

He fanned the air in front of him to indicate fanning flames.

‘Just don’t ask me to do it again,’ pleaded Raf. ‘There’s no way I could repeat that performance.’

‘Not just yet, anyway,’ he heard Pandora murmur wickedly.

The crew teased them incessantly for the rest of the day. There were constant references to Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland,
who were rumoured to have done their sex scene for real in
Don’t Look Now
.

It was a testament to their acting skills that it didn’t seem to occur to anyone that perhaps Raf and Pandora
had
done it
for real.

Raf’s mouth was dry and his legs felt shaky. How the hell had he let himself do that? Was he mad? He’d screwed another woman
and it was all on camera. Once they looked back at the rushes, it would be bloody obvious. They were both great actors, but
not that good. He felt slightly feverish. The exertion, the adrenalin, and now the panic were getting to him.

Pandora was as cool as a cucumber. She was wandering around in that bloody robe, looking dishevelled and divine, blagging
a cigarette off one of the crew.

‘I always need a post-coital cigarette,’ he heard her joking, and everyone laughed. He felt a chill descend on him. The whole
incident didn’t seem to have fazed her in the least.

Well, of course it hadn’t. She wasn’t the one with a twenty-five-year marriage at stake.

The thing is, once you’ve fucked someone in front of a room full of people, there really isn’t any excuse not to carry on
doing it.

Pandora came to Raf in his room that night. A bunch of them had been out for dinner. She had – deliberately, he
realised now – not sat next to him, but had spent all night chatting to one of the sound guys. A cheap trick, and an obvious
one, but it had worked. He’d spent all evening casting glances at her to check what she was up to. All he could think about
was her velvet-soft skin on his. And the scent of her body. He hadn’t showered. He could still smell her on him, where her
wetness had dried on his limbs. What a pervert, he thought, disgusted with himself, but not disgusted enough to wash her away.

He had tried phoning Delilah to get Pandora out of his system. He thought perhaps the sound of his wife’s voice would instil
such guilt in him that any thoughts he had of a repeat performance would be quashed. But no. When he heard her, he felt nothing.
No little needles of doubt or pinpricks of remorse. No desire to rush home and take her in his arms. No need to confess and
then atone.

What did that say about the state of his marriage? Raf was a little bit shocked. He hadn’t realised things were so bad. If
you’d asked him even yesterday whether he would cheat on Delilah, he would have said a resounding no. Things weren’t perfect,
but there was no such thing as a perfect marriage. They were under a lot of strain, he supposed. Then he scoffed. Not real
strain. Not husband-properly-out-of-work, disabled-wife-needing-full-time-care, up-to-your-eyes-in-debt and liv-ing-on-a-sink-estate
sort of strain.