Valentine (26 page)

'So Fleming, have you missed me then?' Jack asked
once they were inside. His question definitely sounded
promising, even flirtatious and he'd called her Fleming,
as he always used to when they were flirting.

'You can't ask me that when you've just been so horrible
to me!' she protested. She leaned against the wall and
tried to act cool, doing her best Greta Garbo 'I want to
be alone' impression, while inside her thoughts were
tumbling round, with the answer: God yes, I've missed
you, I miss you so much that sometimes I can't bear it.
Do you know I still sleep with your T-shirt and I still can't
drink coffee because it reminds me of you and how you
always had to drink coffee in the morning. And I'll never
be able to watch
The English Patient
again.

'I'm sorry I was rude earlier. I guess it was just the
shock of seeing you again. But you haven't answered my
question. Have you missed me, Fleming?'

'Have you missed me?' she countered.

He moved in closer. 'What do you think?' He was so
close his lips were almost brushing against hers. She got
a hit of Eau Savage, always her favourite, and he gently
ran his hands along her bare arms, sending fireworks of
anticipation shooting down her spine all the way into her
Spanx. She instinctively moved closer to him so their bodies
were touching, willing him to kiss her. As if he had read
her mind his lips were on hers and they were kissing,
opening the floodgates of memory and desire in her. She
wanted him so badly. He broke away from kissing her lips
to kiss her neck and shoulders, slipping down the thin
straps of her dress. Desire made her reckless; she didn't
care that anyone could walk in on them. She returned his
caresses, undid his shirt buttons, ran her hands over his
chest, his flat, hard abs and lower still.
God
, this was going
to be like that really intense scene in
The English Patient
when Katharine and Almásy have slipped away from a
party to make love. So long as she didn't end up trapped
in a dark cave on her own to die, with only a notebook
and tinned meat for company – Valentine knew she
wouldn't have come up with such poetic musings as
Katharine had in her final hours – more like
Help! I don't
want to die!
And she hated corned beef. Though true
enough, she wasn't quite sure how they would negotiate
the passion-killing control pants. Nothing mattered except
how good kissing Jack felt and feeling his body against
hers. But suddenly, just as Valentine was wondering if she
could race to the bathroom and take off the Spanx before
resuming activities – whatever Hugh Grant's character in
Bridget Jones' Diary
had said about them, they really were
not a turn on – Jack abruptly pulled away.

'What's the matter?' Valentine asked, disconcerted by
the change.

'I just remembered I had to be somewhere else.' His
voice was clipped and cold.

'What d'you mean?' Valentine, suddenly aware of how
much of her body was on display, quickly pulled up her
straps.

He gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes and
said, 'That was just a taste of what you've been missing
all this time.'

She looked at him in dismay. He hadn't wanted her
at all; this had just been about humiliating her and getting
some kind of revenge. It was so needlessly cruel, so unlike
Jack.

He started walking out the door; then he turned
back and said, 'I miss the old Valentine. Do you want
to know why I stopped just then? I realised I didn't even
know you anymore. You obviously love this kind of world,
and seem to fit right in, but it's not for me. And you can
tell Daddy dearest that I'm not interested in working for
him, not now, not ever.'

Valentine watched him go, willing herself not to cry.
He's not worth it
, she tried to tell herself, but her words
sounded so hollow, because yes he was worth it – Jack
Hart was definitely worth it. She had been the one to
blow it; she blinked back the hot tears. All she wanted
to do now was go home, but how would she explain
that to Piers?
Oh sorry, I just ran into my ex, nearly had sex
with him but then he rejected me
. She spent a few minutes
redoing her make-up, wincing at the sight of her flushed
cheeks and swollen lips. Then she walked slowly back into
the ballroom, trying to locate Piers. She had to accept
once and for all that Jack belonged to the past. So why
then as she looked around her, did she long for him? And
not just him – suddenly, as she looked around at the
famous faces, the lavish decor, the extravagant food and
drink, she was overcome with longing for all of her old
life. She wished she was back in her old flat giggling over
a bottle of red wine with Lauren, Lily and Frank rather
than standing here and sipping vintage champagne in her
designer evening dress. She didn't belong here and she
didn't want to either, even if there was a film role for her.

'Darling! I think you may be finally up for the part that
could be the making of you!' It was Sylvia, her agent, in
full flow.

'What is it?' Valentine realised that she was required
to speak, even though all she wanted to do was crawl
back to bed. It was the morning after the premiere. In
the aftermath of her encounter with Jack Valentine had
drunk a lot of vintage champagne. In fact she'd probably
consumed an entire two days' worth of calories, Olivia
had informed her when Piers was out of earshot. Valentine
had simply drunk another glass as her answer; it seemed
like the only way to deal with what Jack had said to her.

'It's the female lead in a major new TV drama about
a private detective agency in London. A kind of British
Moonlighting
if you like. Yes, yes I know it was way before
your time, but google it and you'll see what I mean. Lots
of simmering sexual tension between you and your
partner. Gorgeous. You're the Cybill Shepherd type character
who runs the agency. I know you will be absolutely
perfect. It's a bit like
Spooks
; you know, all sexy slick
production values, plenty of gadgets and a scrumptious
male actor – think Rupert Penry-Jones meets James
McAvoy – but obviously not them as they're looking for
someone new.

'Did Piers line this up for me?' Valentine asked
suspiciously.

'Who, darling? No, the director saw you in
A Midsummer
Night's Dream
and in that film you did yonks ago and
thought you were wonderful – very powerful, very sexy,
just the qualities he's looking for. The audition's tomorrow.'

They finished the call with Sylvia telling her the script
would be with her in the next half-hour as she was biking
it over. Valentine had told Sylvia she was staying with
friends in Hampstead. How ironic that she'd got this audition
at an all-time low. She was bound to fuck it up. Just
then Kelly knocked at her door. 'Hiya!' she said perkily.
Kelly had two tones – perky or bossy. Valentine didn't
know which one she loathed more.

'Kelly, there is no way I can go running just now. I'm
horribly hungover. I'm going out to a cafe for a fry up.
It's the only cure.'

Kelly's perfectly glossed lips formed an O of shock. 'A
fry up?' She could barely get the words out. 'What are
you going to have?'

'Scrambled eggs, bacon, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms,
baked beans and toast,' Valentine replied.

'White or brown bread?'

Valentine considered. 'Brown, I think.'

'Butter, or marg?'

What was this? The Spanish Inquisition? She'd never
known Kelly ask so many questions.

'Butter, definitely.'

A battle seemed to be being waged inside Kelly. Then
she spoke. 'I'd fucking love a fry up. I haven't had one
for years. I always have a grapefruit and hot water for
breakfast.'

'Come with me then,' Valentine replied.

Kelly looked behind her furtively and whispered,
'Promise you won't tell anyone, especially not Olivia.'

Valentine nodded.

'Can we at least run to the cafe?' Kelly asked.

Valentine shook her head and looked stern. 'Absolutely
no running of any kind.'

'Power walking?' Kelly persisted. 'It can burn just as
many calories as a run, if you do it fast enough.'

'If you do that I'll tell Olivia.'

'We'll walk,' Kelly replied.

Kelly ate her traditional English breakfast with enormous
relish, finishing by mopping up the egg yolk with at least
five pieces of white bread toast, slathered in butter. Her
face took on a dreamy expression. 'That was fucking
lovely.'

'Kelly! That's twice I heard you swear,' Valentine
replied in mock outrage.

'I swear all the fucking time when I'm not at the
Hunters'. Mustn't ever do it near Mrs Hunter. She sacked
the last trainer for saying "bloody".'

'God, she's harsh.'

'Miserable cow. It's Piers I feel sorry for. She's always
telling him to lose weight and train more, when the truth
is he looks bloody amazing for a man his age. You look
good as well Valentine, by the way. I know I've been hard
on you, but Mrs Hunter's had me on performance-related
pay for my work with you, and me and Dex, my fiancé,
really want to get a deposit together for a flat.' Now Kelly
had shed her cheerleader persona she was coming across
as a really down-to-earth, nice girl.

'D'you really think that?' Valentine asked.

'Yeah really. Though I don't think you should lose any
more weight. In fact I think you should put some on –
you look better curvy, well-toned curvy. Get that balance
right and you'll look fucking ace.'

'That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in ages.
But it has been lovely getting slimmer – well the result,
not the process. Wearing jeans with no muffin top, being
able to try on a size ten in a store and then calling out
to the assistant for a size eight because the ten is just too
big! I've loved it.'

'Yeah, but it's fucking hard work isn't it?' Kelly replied
with feeling, adding wistfully, 'Sometimes I wonder what
it would be like just to let it all go and eat whatever I
like.'

'But what about your gorgeous pert bum? And your
abs of steel?'

'Would I be any less of a person if I didn't have them?
Do they define me? Am I a better person because I'm
slim? Aren't we, as a society, outrageously discriminating
against fat people? I mean, we're all for sexual and racial
equality and outlawing discrimination against people with
disabilities, but what about the way we treat people who
happen to be overweight, often through no fault of their
own!' God, Kelly was getting a bit deep. Valentine had
never seen this side of her when Kelly was urging her to
push herself harder. She would never judge a person by
their pert bum again.

'Well, you probably wouldn't be able to work as a
personal trainer anymore.' Valentine didn't want to be
responsible for Kelly losing her job and any chance of
owning a flat with her fiancé just because she'd had a fry
up.

'You're right.' Kelly snapped out of it. 'Fuck it! I'm
going to have to work out extra hard to make up for this.'
She looked down at her now completely clean plate. 'Still,
it was worth it.'

Valentine would have liked to stay chatting to Kelly,
but the script was on its way and even though she felt
she didn't have a chance in hell of landing such a fantastic
part, she may as well go through the motions.

She left, swearing eternal secrecy on the fry-up front
to Kelly. As she walked slowly back to the mansion she
had flashbacks to the night before – memories of kissing
Jack, jarring painfully against the look on his face when
he said he didn't even know her anymore. But surely, the
tiny flicker of hope tried to speak up – very persistent
that flicker of hope – he couldn't have kissed her like that
if he didn't still have feelings for her, whatever he may
have said? Valentine hadn't thought she was even remotely
close to getting over Jack, but she'd made small progress:
she hadn't woken up in tears for a while and she had
stopped reading his old text messages, but now she was
back to square one, of the wanting, aching, longing, hopeless
feeling for him. It was like that man in mythology
whom the Gods punished for giving fire to humans by
chaining him to a rock and having his liver pecked out
by vultures for all eternity, and just to make sure it really
did go on for all eternity every night his liver would grow
back ready for the bird to peck out in the morning. Well,
obviously her situation was not
exactly
like that, but seeing
Jack again had blasted any hopes she had that she was
getting over him and the pain was repeated on a loop.
Mind you, at least the guy in the myth got a new liver
and frankly after the amount of champagne she'd drunk
the night before that wouldn't be such a bad thing, if you
could just get rid of the chains and birds of prey. Oh
God, she must be still drunk to be wittering on like this.

She had just let herself into her apartment when there
was a knock at the door. It was Olivia and Saul. The ice
queen and the toad.

'Piers had to go out, so sends his apologies about break-fast,'
Olivia said, wrinkling her nose as if she could smell
the fry up, even though Valentine had just sprayed herself
with practically a whole bottle of Coco Mademoiselle on
the way home. A reprieve for Valentine for having to
come up with a comment about the elusive Bergman
influence. 'And this came for you,' Olivia said, walking
down the stairs, followed by Saul even though Valentine
hadn't invited them in. She handed Valentine the package
and looked meaningfully at her feet. Valentine was still
in her gladiator sandals. She chose to ignore the look and
took the package, muttering, 'thank you.'

'You were seen, by the way.' Olivia said.

'What do you mean?' Valentine demanded. Surely Ivana
hadn't tracked her and Kelly down to the greasy spoon?

'Last night – you and the ex, going at it some.' The
chinos toad spoke.

Valentine and her hangover saw red. 'Shut up you
motherfucking chinos-wearing toad!'

'It's rather unseemly, don't you think, Valentine?' Ice
queen now. 'Piers is going to offer you a film role, even
though frankly, I just don't think you're ready. He's getting
ready to introduce you as his daughter and you're running
around with someone else's boyfriend. A someone else
who is a close family friend.'

'He was my boyfriend first, if you remember!' Valentine
shot back. 'But whatever, this is absolutely none of your
business.'

'Anything that affects Piers is my business! It's not
enough that you burst unannounced into our lives and
upset Piers!' She was losing her cool now, the ice queen
in meltdown. 'We were perfectly happy until you came
along and now you've ruined everything!'

Valentine was getting pretty wound up herself. 'What's
your problem? All I want is a relationship with my father,
and I think he wants one with me! Why can't you let us
get on with it?' She realised she'd reached the point of
no return in her dealings with Olivia; she simply couldn't
stay at the house another minute. It was hopeless to
imagine that she would get closer to Piers this way. 'I've
had enough; I'm leaving right now. Don't worry, Olivia,
I don't want any part of your world.' And with that she
marched past the duo, into her bedroom and began
throwing her possessions into a suitcase, running on anger
and adrenalin. And if she could have she would have
high-fived herself for finally telling the toad what she
thought of him. Maybe Lauren had been on to something
with that word. It had sure felt powerful saying it.

Back home – and never had the patches of damp, the bright
yellow kitchen walls and the uncomfortable sofa seemed so
welcoming – she settled down to read the script. For once
Sylvia had not been exaggerating. It was an absolute peach
of a role. A funny, sexy, feisty, strong female lead. Just the
best part Valentine had ever been up for. A part that really
could be the making of her. In contrast to other auditions
where she was gripped by nerves and insecurities, she felt
strangely calm. What would be would be. The worst thing
had already happened. Jack had left her. If she didn't get
the part it wouldn't matter, it wasn't the end of the world,
because the end of her world had already happened.

'Valentine? Isn't that a boy's name?' Jamie, the director
asked the following morning after Valentine had given
her read-through. He was in his thirties, Scottish, very
groomed, fantastic shaped eyebrows, she noted – he must
get them waxed. The read-through had gone surprisingly
well; she had a devil-may-care attitude about her this
morning, not her usual air of being desperate to please.

She rolled her eyes at the comment. Usually she would
have given her bright little laugh and launched into her
explanation, but today she just shrugged and said, 'Yeah.
And isn't Jamie a bit of a girl's name?'

Jamie laughed, 'Yeah. Anyway, Valentine, it was good
to meet you. We'll be in touch.'

Usually post-audition Valentine would have analysed her
every word and expression, tormenting herself by speculating
how she could have performed better, but today
she was calm. She decided to go and see her mum. The
last couple of days had been an emotional rollercoaster,
what with seeing Jack again, then the row with Olivia.
She'd left a message with Piers, wanting to set the record
straight on why she had left the Hampstead house, but
had heard nothing from him. She hoped Olivia hadn't
poisoned him against her. She badly needed the reassurance
that only her mum could give.

'Do you think I'm a bad person for not staying in
Hampstead?' She was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea
with Sarah.

'Of course not! But I'm sorry it didn't work out. It's
obvious to me that Olivia found your presence very threatening,'
Sarah sighed. 'But I do sympathise; I've been feeling
quite threatened myself since Piers came into your life.'

Valentine frowned. 'Why?' She didn't like to think of
her mum experiencing any kind of emotional turmoil.

'Because I've been wondering if Chris and me did the
right thing by not telling you sooner about Piers.'

'Mum, you just did what you thought was right. If
anything, I've been feeling guilty about Piers because every
time we shared a moment where it looked as if we might
have a connection I felt guilty about Chris. I'll always see
Chris as my dad. Piers might be my father, but Chris is
my dad. And I'm really glad he was, because if I'd been
brought up with Piers I can't imagine how many hangups
I would have.'

'There's something I want you to see,' Sarah said,
getting up from the table and walking over to the dresser,
where she opened a drawer and picked up a letter. 'I
found this the other day when I was going through some
of Chris's papers. I never realised he wrote it.' She walked
back to the table and handed Valentine the letter.