The Devil You Know (41 page)

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Daisy climbed into her stand-alone shower, lined with blue enamel tiles splashed with gold daisies, a whimsical notion of her designer’s. More importantly, the shower had three heads that pummelled and massaged her back. Jets of hot water blasted away her sluggishness, and she washed her hair carefully with John Frieda and soaped herself down with L’Occitane lavender bath and shower gel. After she had swathed herself in fluffy white towels, blasted her hair dry, and pulled on some of her best clothes, she felt a little better, but not much.

For one thing, there were dark circles under her eyes that no amount of Touche Eclat could wipe out; her eyes were bloodshot, and her skin felt dry with stress. But no matter. She still had to see Edward.

Daisy dug out her Wayfarers and put them on. Yeah, much better. She was wearing a long, figurehugging Katherine Hamnett skirt in dark-blue velvet and a white silk shirt, and she teamed it with a strand of platinum-blue Akoya pearls she’d picked up in Manhattan, light, sheer make-up, and a spritz of Amarige on her wrists.

She was beautiful. More beautiful than Edwina? Probably rt. Certainly not so bloody well-bred. Daisy inventoried her outrageo!.s curves: her butt was firm and tight, but it still stuck out there, o question.., and her breasts, well, at least she was no longer trying to hide them. She had a trim enough waist, her thighs were strong but not stocky, and her arms were toned. Daisy considered her hair and skin critically. Olive-ish, with rich, dark locks … And those wolf blue eyes, hidden away behind the glasses …

I wonder, she thought suddenly, who my real parents were.

But she didn’t dwell on it. Her real parents lived in Sussex. Still, she bet her birth mother had had good genes …

Daisy went to the phone and dialled Edward’s home number. It

was disconcerting that she still knew it by heart. A woman answered. ‘Hello?’

Daisy’s heart hammered. Edwina. Speaking to her, she struggled to sound calm.

‘Hello, is that Edwina?’

‘Yes, it is. Who’s this?’

‘Hi, Edwina, this is Daisy Markham,’ Daisy said, smoothly enough. ‘I was a friend of Edward’s at Oxford.’

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‘Daisy Markham! Of course. The famous novelist, how exciting. Edward’s just in the garden, hang on a mo, I’ll get him for you …’

There was a pause. Daisy’s knuckles were white around the receiver. She thought she could yank it from its socket at any

minute. Edwina hadn’t been a bitch, or nasty …

Daisy was almost faint with jealousy.

‘Daisy!’ Edward’s voice came on the line, warm with pleasure. ‘How good to hear from you.’

‘It’s been a long time,’ Daisy agreed. ‘I meant to get in touch, but I’ve been so busy.’

‘Of course you have, tremendously exciting. You’ve done splendidly.’

‘I thought perhaps we could meet up for a drink.’ ‘Love to. When?’ ‘Today?’

Edward called out, ‘Darling …’ and she heard him cup the receiver. Then he came back on. ‘Wina can’t make today, how about tomorrow?’

Tm leaving on a trip tomorrow,’ Daisy lied. ‘How about just you, can I see you today? I’d love to catch up.’

There was a pause. She held her breath. Then he came back. ‘Three-thirty suit? At the club?’

‘Fine.’ Daisy was giddy with relief. ‘I know it, near Chafing Cross. See you there.’

The Jugglers was just the sort of thing Daisy associated with Edward Powers. It was gentlemanly, discreet, tucked away, and very, very luxurious. The club was housed inside an old Georgian townhouse in the heart of Covent Garden, with a courtyard full ofP,.olls P,,oyces and Aston Martins, a guard at a gatehouse, and a splendid wrought iron fence. There was a blue ceramic plaque outside the front entrance that said Disraeli had once lived in the house. When she stepped into reception, she saw that there was a stone floor and a wooden board on which were the names of members of the club

who had died in the Second World War.

‘Can I help you, madam?’

A uniformed receptionist smiled impersonally at her. Daisy smiled back. ‘I’m meeting a Mr Edward Powers.’

‘Ah yes, Mr Powers. Of course, madam. He’s waiting for you in the Drawing Room. If you just walk down the corridor it’s the third room on the left.’

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The Drawing Room was hung with red fabric wallpaper and lined with what looked like original Regency chairs, chaise-longues and sofas. Hung around the walls were solemn oil portraits, all of men, and men in suits, with just one or two women, were sitting around at little tables, drinking, smoking cigars, and talking in a muted hush.

Daisy scanned the place. Yes, there he was. Tall as a long drink of water, as the Americans said, and in his usual three-piece suit. He was occupying an ancient burgundy leather armchair, comfortably broken in by hundreds of similar men, she had no doubt.

Edward saw her and shot to his feet. He came over, smiling broadly, and shook her hand warmly.

‘Daisy, splendid to see you, splendid.’

‘Hi, Edward,’ Daisy said, kissing him on the cheek. Did he blush a bit? Behind the dark glasses she couldn’t tell.

‘Come and sit down.’ He led her back over to the burgundy chair and waited until she had settled in a skinny mahogany chair covered

in nineteenth-century gold silk before taking a seat himself. ‘Something to drink, madam?’

A waiter had materialised silently. ‘A cup of tea would be lovely.

Lapsang, if you have it.’

,

‘Of course, madam.’

‘It’s so good to see you,’ Edward said. His eyes flickered over hr.

‘But you’ve lost too much weight, Daisy. Any skinnier and you’ll o

down the plughole next time you have a bath.’

‘You can talk,’ Daisy said, and felt some of the tension drain out of

her. It was just as though she’d last seen him yesterday. She was so

relaxed, so comfortable with Edward. She felt that it was fate, and

nothing should keep them apart, especially not some inconvenient

little marriage …

‘I’m upset you have to leave. I can’t wait for you to meet Wina.

You’ll love her, she’s such a doll.’

‘You call her Wina?’ Daisy asked numbly.

Pet names! She couldn’t bear it.

‘Edward and Edwina was a bit much.’ Still is, Daisy thought. ‘But

tell me, how is fame and fortune? Of course, I always knew it was a

matter of time,’ he added politely.

‘Splendid,’ Daisy said brightly. ‘I do enjoy it. I bought my parents

their old house back.’

‘But that’s wonderful,’ Edward said, with genuine enthusiasm and

warmth. ‘What an amazing thing to be able to do.’

The waiter arrived with her tea and poured it out into a bone289

china cup. The whole scene was so civilised, so restrained. Daisy longed to take the delicate vessel and smash it against one of the gloomy portraits and shake Edward by his bony shoulders. Didn’t he see? Didn’t he see? This had to be a mistake, she was sure of it.

‘It truly was,’ she said. ‘But never mind about me. Books and publishing is very boring. Tell me all about you and Wina. You married very quickly, Edward, I was a bit surprised.’

‘Well so was I, rather.’ He shrugged. ‘But once you meet somebody who’s the right person, you want to get on with it. I daresay I’d have proposed to you had you given me the slightest encouragement.’ He laughed cheerfully.

Daisy started to burn. Her cheeks reddened. ‘Well, don’t you think people can change? That you shouldn’t rush into things? I know I’ve changed, for one.’

He ignored her implication. Deliberately, or did he just not get it?

‘I don’t think you’ve changed a bit, old bean.’

‘I have,’ Daisy said mulishly.

‘Yes, you’ve got far too thin. But Wina and I just clicked. She likes all the same things, we have similar backgrounds, ambitions, she’s a Catholic, and she’s a very pretty girl. What she’s doing with an old stick like me I have .no idea. But we’re extremely happy. Newly-weds, I suppose,’ he said, charmingly bashful.

‘I see,’ Daisy said, forcing a smile. ‘Well, that’s wonderful. What does Wina do?’

‘Do? Keeps house for me. Gives the menu to the cook. You know. Ah. You mean work. Well, she doesn’t. We’re quite well-off, and I prefer having her around, so there’s no need for her to work.’

‘I never thought of you as trying to keep women down,’ Daisy said.

‘Good God, nobody could keep Wina down.’ The way he talked about her, Daisy thought, it was like he had a smile in his voice. ‘If she wanted to do something, I shouldn’t give a damn, but she doesn’t, and we don’t need the cash, so I suppose there’s no point.’

‘I suppose not,’ Daisy was forced to agree. There was a lump in her throat, but she forced it back with a scalding gulp of Lapsang.

Change the subject, change the subject, Daisy thought. ‘And do you see many people from Oxford?’ ‘

They talked about nothing for twenty minutes, until Daisy thought she could decently leave.

‘Well, lovely to see you again,’ Daisy said. She didn’t kiss him on the cheek this time, .just shook his hand.

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‘And you. Where are you off to?’

She looked blank, then remembered her excuse. ‘Oh, New York. I’m going to do some shopping.’

‘Have fun. And you must come down to meet Wina soon. You’ll probably have to come down to the country, because she won’t be doing too much travelling.’

‘Why’s that? Is she a country person?’ Daisy made herself ask. ‘Very much so,’ Edward said. ‘Pather like me, in fact.’

Daisy was proud of herself. She managed to flag down a taxi and make it all the way back to North London, and into her own flat, before she burst into tears.

Edward was happily married. And he would never, never be hers. But she wouldn’t accept it. No way. Hadn’t he said he might have proposed to her? Edward had been the one, at Oxford, who had loved her for herself, made her feel like she wasn’t lust fat Daisy, that she was worth something. Edward had tried to steer her right when Brad got married; Edward had looked after her when she lost her flat; Edward was her protector and her ideal and her destiny …

Anything could happen, still! There had to be a way rourid, it. This situation was all wrong!

She couldn’t face talking to her editor tomorrow, couldn’t fd˘e her parents, couldn’t face even being in the same country as Edward. The pain was too fresh. Well, she’d told him she was going away, hadn’t she? New York? Why the luck not, Daisy thought. I do work, and I’m rich. Sod it.

She dialled up her travel agent. In ten minutes, she had booked herself on a first-class flight to JFK, leaving at eight the next morning.

29

The plane banked and dipped towards Manhattan. Daisy looked out of her window; the city glittered in the warm afternoon sunlight. She had been sitting here for six hours, but it hadn’t been a bad flight, and, if anything, she felt energised. It was good to get out of London.

‘May I take that for you, ma’am?’ said the steward, giving her a warm All-American smile.

Daisy handed over her last crystal split of champagne. ‘Sure.’ She didn’t drink much on flights, because it dried out her skin, but she

liked to have a couple of glasses just before landing; a celebration. ‘Meeting anybody special?’, he asked. Daisy thought about it. ‘Maybe,’ she said.

It was strange to be here and have no plans. She had booked a suite at the Victrix, supposedly the most glorious hotel in a city which specialised in glorious hotels.

It didn’t disappoint. A towering Art Deco building, the hotel commanded a splendid view of Central Park, and when Daisy had checked in, wandering through an exquisite lobby with marble pillars, fountains, and topiary hedges, her bags were already laid out neatly by her four-poster by the time her elevator arrived at the twenty-third floor. She had a set of huge bay windows that overlooked the sun, only now sinking down behind the lush green trees of the park, and looking towards the skyline of upper Manhattan; she had an Aubusson rug, 1Kegency-style furniture, a bath big enough to swim in, a working fireplace, and enough fax machines to run a business empire.

Daisy picked up a ripe, scented nectarine from the complimentary bowl of organic fruit and took a bite. It was delicious, exactly as she had expected.

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Well, if she was planning on getting over Edward Powers, this was the place to do it.

Daisy padded into her marble-lined bathroom to shower. The free shampoo was from Bumble & Bumble, the skincare lotions from Clarins. Very nice. It would certainly do to wash away the dust of travelling and set her up for an evening out.

So what if I don’t know anybody, Daisy thought defiantly. This was the Nineties. A single girl could go out by herself and not be embarrassed about it. She would call the concierge. In a place like this, they’d have some suggestions.

She knew as soon as she sat down in the bar that every man in the

place was looking at her.

All the magazines said that New York was a nightmare; one single

man for every five single women, with desperate divorcees and ring hungry debs all competing for the same small pool of smug

commitment-phobes.

Didn’t bother Daisy. Her heart had already been broken, so what

was the point in guarding it any further? She knew she looked good,

and she had her own money. If they like me, great, if they ddia’t,

great, Daisy told herself, selecting a stool right in the centre of t)e

bar.

,

She was at Le Spinasse, an extremely expensive midtown restaurant, decorated like Versailles and almost as costly. Appetisers were twenty bucks here and a glass of wine about the same. Well, fuck it; money was no object on this trip.

Daisy stared defiantly at the crowd of suits eyeing her up. She had blown her hair straight and picked out a simple, elegant sheath dress in platinum-silver silk, to complement her eyes, with a pale grey lace cardigan from Ghost that matched it perfectly, strappy sandals, and a cashmere pale-pink pashmina that was resting in the cloakroom. She had tickets to Les Miserables in her velvet evening bag, and she planned to enjoy a cocktail, a light snack,, and an evening at the theatre. What did these men think she was? A high-priced hooker, maybe? So.me of them probably thought just that.