The Devil You Know (47 page)

His rough voice grunted. ‘LA, actually. So I can see you. Meeting the Mayor about some subway project. Going to another fundraiser,

giving some barnstormer speeches. What else do I ever do?’ ‘Write legislation?’

‘Not in an election year.’ He laughed. ‘I wish that’s what politicians did.’

‘I want to go with you,’ Poppy said suddenly.

‘Go with me to the dinner?’

‘Why the hell not?’ Poppy said fiercely.

‘You know why not, sugar. How do you think a group of SoCial

Registry snobs are going to react when I turn up with Janis Joplin @n

my arm?’ ‘I don’t know. But we’re gonna have to find out.’ ‘After the election.’

Poppy bit on her lower lip. ‘Henry, no. After the Senate, you’ll be running for Governor. Or God knows what. And there’ll always be a reason not to introduce me, to tuck me out of sight. And I’m not settling for that.’

‘But you’ll hate wearing long dresses, and pearls, and nodding at what I say.’

‘I would if I was gonna do that.’ Poppy sighed. ‘I have to be me, and you have to not be ashamed of me. Because I’m not going to be your secret woman you love and keep in the background. I just can’t

do the little woman thing.’

LeClerc .paused.

‘Maybe they’ll respect my honesty,’ he said.

‘Isn’t it rather that you’ll respect your honesty?’ Poppy asked. She felt warm, salty tears trickle down her cheeks, and was very glad he couldn’t see her. Because she knew this was the way it had to be. She loved LeClerc too much to be just another notch on the

33I

bedpost, or a political mistress kept out of sight while he married some other, more suitable woman …

If he was truly a man, he would not prostitute his soul for votes. And Poppy trembled on the brink, because she was so afraid that he

would weaken, would betray her.

There was a pause.

‘You’re right.’ She could almost see those broad shoulders shrugging. ‘It’s just one more thing about me they’re gonna have to accept.’ He chuckled. ‘This should be fun.’

The limousine purred smoothly through the flood of traffic in downtown LA, moving towards the Pierre. Henry sat in the back with Poppy and a tight-faced Simon Harvey, his campaign manager, who kept giving her little rictus grins, as though twisting his facial muscles up around the mouth would make his hostility to Poppy seem less evident. She thought it just made him look like he had a nervous tic.

She had waited in the drawing room of Henry’s gigantic suite in the Bel Air while the row raged on. Simon and his coterie of political hacks and spin doctors had smiled briskly at her, shut the door, and gone to work on ,Henry. At first the noise had been muted, then it had raged into a full-on screaming match.

‘You have to be fucking shitting me, Congressman!’ Simon had screamed at one point.

Poppy allowed herself a little smirk. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn that cut-off Iron Maiden shirt with the black leather cowboy boots and sprayed-on jeans, but they were in the privacy of their hotel room. Henry liked her; Simon didn’t matter.

She hadn’t been able to resist putting a glass to the wall. ‘Politicans are always trying to pretend they are what they’re not. We never drink, we don’t gamble, we never inhaled … we’re not gay, we don’t cheat, we have perfect voting records.’ Her man’s voice had been firm, like a parent not about to brook arguments. ‘I’m different. The public is entitled to my service, but that’s it. They’re not entitled to choose whom I go to bed with.’

‘Go to bed with her all you want. IZuck her all you want. But ‘ ‘Careful, Simon.’ LeClerc’s voice had a warning in it that made Poppy shiver. Brooding menace; she was glad she wasn’t Simon Harvey. ‘You’re speaking about the woman I’m in love with.’

‘Henry!’ It was a despairing wail. ‘The girl manages heavy-metal bands and she’s hardly out of diapers!’

332

‘She’s a self-made millionaire. Isn’t that what the P,-e.publican party stands for? Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps? And as for her age, the lady is over twenty-one. That’s all you need to know.’

At that point Poppy had put down the glass and fled into the bathroom. She didn’t want the spin doctors to emerge and see her crying.

Tonight was going to be the acid test. Poppy had spent an entire day picking her outfit. She had selected a long Armani dress in pale grey silk, teamed with a chiffon shawl and platinum-silver pearls at her throat and dangling from her ears. She carried a Judith Lieber clutch and wore her black hair up in a chignon; her perfume was Chanel No. 9, her hose were Wolford, her shoes Dior kitten heels. Her make-up was neutral, just a tinted moisturiser and a slick of blusher and smoky-grey eyeshadow.

She looked hot, and elegant; ladylike, but her age. Henry was in a beautifully cut tuxedo with plain gold cuffs. He was gorgeous; her heart melted just to look at the close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. And he had a confidence about him that was breathtaking. Just like

she had on the concert stage; this was his world, his scene.

He was in total control. Not even slightly nervous.

‘There might be some press when we arrive,’ Simon Harvey id,

licking his lips and looking shiftily at Poppy. ‘Maybe you’d betterU’ ‘Step out with me,’ Henry said flatly …. ‘light.’ Harvey nodded. ‘Yup. light.’

The car glided noiselessly to a stop outside the hotel. There was a red carpet laid out for them, paparazzi crammed behind the golden ropes, flashbulbs already popping, bursting about them. It was almost like when she took Travis to the Country Music Awards in Nashville, Poppy thought, trying to stem the tide of panic which was suddenly rising in her.

‘Congressman,’ Simon Harvey implored one last time, ‘are you absolutely sure about this strategy?’

‘It’s not a strategy, Simon.’ LeClerc offered an arm to Poppy, who took it delicately, as the chauffeur opened the door and the flashbulbs exploded in an artificial starburst. ‘It’s my life.’

Then he led her out on to the red carpet.

333

Daisy looked at the map. Was she on the right road? B237, half a mile down from the Queen Adelaide … yes, there was a wonky signpost, endearingly dusty and crooked on its grassy mound. Ashton Under Wychwood. OK, she was headed in the right direction. Heptonstall House should be right around here …

Yes, here it was. A couple of glorious mature oaks flanked a broad gravel drive. Daisy took a deep breath, turned the steering wheel,

and drove on to Edward Powers’s property.

Her love. Married to someone else.

As the Bentley crunched along the gravel, she glanced in the mirror to make absolutely sure she looked OK. Not that there was much chance she didn’t. Daisy had taken almost three hours getting ready this morning. She had to strike ]just the right balance between beautiful and casual, between looking sexy as hell and looking like she really hadn’t tried that hard.

In the end, she had gone for a tousled look, suitable for country pleasures such as… well.., hay-baling, riding tractors, or whatever they did out here. Daisy had picked a red-checked cotton shirt that was wellcut and highlighted her figure, and a dark-blue pair of.jeans with Doc Martens. She had teamed this with some dangly silver and turquoise earrings, loose flowing curls, and a smoky-grey eye shadow, with rosy blusher and just a touch of lip gloss on her full pout. The effect was gratifyingly attractive. All she needed now was some straw to dangle out of the corner of her mouth, and she’d be set.

She could no longer put offEdward’s invitation to come and meet Wina. No, she had to face her rival head-on. See whom Edward had taken instead of her.

His words from the Jugglers Club kept ringing in Daisy’s ears.

‘I’d have proposed to you had you given me the slightest encouragement.’

334

Timing. Bloody timing. Daisy pulled up in front of a gorgeous house, an Elizabethan manor, not too large, but stunning, with clematis in full bloom trained up the side of it, and lead-paned windows, and wonderful gardens with what looked like a mature apple orchard off to one side. She got out, grabbing her Chanel quilted purse, and fixed a warm smile on to her face.

She hadn’t given him any encouragement. True enough, but that could be fixed.

She was here to put things right.

‘Daisy!’

The old front door opened, and three dogs came bouncing out: a chocolate Lab, a wiry Jack 1Kussell, and a rather slow fawn pug, who was very fat and waddled a bit. Daisy petted them all, and waved to Edward, who was standing in the doorway with his wife.

Wina was wearing some beautifully cut black slacks and a little matching cardigan, with a string of black pearls. She looked exactly as she had done in Hello!; she was tall, noble-looking, slender, a bit sexless, Daisy thought.

She was smiling gently at Daisy while Edward looked overjoyed

to see her and was beckoning her in.

‘Hi, hi, Edward.’ Daisy walked into their mud-room, which s

lined with Wellington boots and caked-over iron scrapers. ‘And this

is Wina! Finally.’ The other woman kissed her on the cheek, and

Daisy noted jealously that she smelled of baby powder. Of course,

nothing so plebian as perfume for Mrs Perfect here, she couldn’t help

thinking. ‘Congratulations, Wina!’ she said brightly. ‘I’m so sorry I

missed the wedding.’

‘Me too, but come and have a cup of tea,’ Wina invited Daisy.

Her voice was light and perfectly modulated, very upper class. Swiss

finishing school probably, Daisy thought, feeling middle class and

small.

‘That would be wonderful.’

‘And then I can show you the house.’ Wina was leading the way

through an oak-panelled hall into the kitchen. She seemed very at

ease, in command. ‘I know you’ve never seen the place. Edward told

me. It’s truly a lovely house.’

Did he indeed? ‘I can see that it is,’ Daisy agreed. She smiled

sideways at Edward, and he winked at her, making her heart flip

over slowly in her chest.

335

The big country kitchen reminded Daisy of Fenella’s place. There was the Aga, of course, and Wina obviously had a thing for dried flowers, as she had artful little bouquets hanging everywhere. Daisy refrained from asking about them. She really didn’t care ifWina was talented at arts and crafts.

‘Do you cook? It’s a terrific kitchen.’

‘Oh no,’ Wina said. ‘We have Mrs Allsop, who comes in in the mornings and makes up the meals. I couldn’t live without her.’

‘Of course, Edward told me you had a cook. Like my boyfriend,’ Daisy added pointedly.

‘Your boyfriend?’ Edward grabbed the teapot from Wina. ‘You mustn’t lift that, darling, it’s heavy.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Edward, I’m not even showing.’

‘Daisy, you sly thing. You never mentioned a boyfriend. Who’s the lucky chap?’

‘Magnus Soren. He’s from New York.’

‘Not the Magnus Soren?’ Edward said.

‘Yes,’ Daisy said innocently. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I should think so,’ Wina said, enthusiastically. ‘Edward sees him at parties sometimes, don’t you, darling? He’s always on the London social scene. He jet-sets. I thought he was dating that 1Lussian model?’

‘Obviously not any more,’ Edward said. ‘Well done, Daisy, he’s a good man. And a fortunate one,’ he added with a little bow.

Daisy saw his hand unconsciously brushing over his wife’s, stroking it. The tender intimacy of the gesture broke her heart.

‘I saw him in London last week. He’s flying me out to New York in a fortnight; I said I needed two weeks at least to get on with my

writing.’ She looked at Edward out of the corner of one eye. He was frowning. Frowning!

That was wonderful, Daisy thought. He was jealous. Now all she had to do was foster that feeling.

Wina showed Daisy around the house, which reminded her of the little jewel of a flat in Oxford: plenty of beat-up furniture, well-used antique chairs, original William Morris wallpaper. Daisy was glad of it; the tour gave her something to do, and she could confine her conversation to saying, ‘Oh, how lovely,’ and other such banalities. ‘It’s old, but we like it,’ Wina said.

‘Mmm, lovely,’ Daisy agreed. She glanced at Edward. ‘Magnus is quite serious with me. I think he wants me to have his baby.’

336

Edward looked shocked. ‘What? How long have you been going out with him? Has he proposed?’

‘Not yet, Edward, but don’t be so bourgeois,’ Daisy said airily. Edward scowled darkly and Daisy’s mood lifted.

‘Tell me all about work, Edward,’ Daisy said. Ugh. How much longer did she have to stay here? She could have lunch, then make her escape.

It couldn’t be too soon. Daisy’s mind was ticking around, like a hamster on a wheel, trying to find ways to get Edward out of this domestic-goddess mindset he had fallen into.

Think, Daisy, she said to herself. Think.

After a fairly stilted lunch, Wina hugged Daisy goodbye.

‘I’ll walk you out,’ said Edward, taking her arm. Daisy shrugged, to hide her pleasure. ‘OK,’ she said.

At her car, Edward squeezed her arm and looked deeply into her eyes.

‘Listen, this Magnus Soren chap. Don’t take things too seriously, Daisy. I don’t think he’s right for you.’

A thrill of satisfaction coursed through her, but she gently shook her arm free and slid into the driver’s seat.

‘If he isn’t, Edward, then.., who is?’ Daisy asked lightly, and shoe started up the car and drove away. ‘

337

The summer rolled on into autumn. Daisy divided her time between writing her new book, dating Magnus Soren, and placing friendly calls to Edward. She refused to allow Magnus to spend too much money on her. She also refused to go to bed with him.

Edward thought they were inseparable; Daisy made sure she always brought up his name. Finally, one Monday in September, the call she had been waiting for arrived.