Whatever Love Is (16 page)

‘Here we go! Quiet everyone! Just you watch this,’ Thomas cried.

Everyone turned to face the huge plasma screen.

‘Darling, it’s just adverts,’ Tina protested. ‘We don’t want — Oh, I see!’

There was a gasp of recognition from everyone as slow-motion footage of a cheetah running across the African savannah filled the screen.

‘
When a cheetah is hungry, she moves fast. Faster than any other animal on earth.
’

The image switched to a redolent cheetah, licking its lips, stretched out under the shade of an acacia tree.

‘
And when she’s got what she want
s,
she just lies back and purrs while others . . .
’ The image switched to a computer-enhanced picture of various big cats
prowling and roaring and looking generally fed up. ‘
. . . look like losers. Cheeky, eh?
’

‘Oh darling, that’s —’ Tina began.

‘Shh!’ Thomas ordered, holding up his hand.

Slowly the image of the cheetah merged into a sylphlike woman, lying on a chaise longue, stretching luxuriantly and wearing silk palazzo trousers and a blouson jacket in shades of gold and
tortoiseshell.

‘
Cheeky Cheetah – the label for the woman who always gets what she wants.
’

As the advert ended, a ripple of oohs and aahs and ‘Well done, Thomas,’ echoed round the room.

‘Thank you, everyone. Not bad though I say so myself,’ Thomas gloated. ‘And you’ll notice that my girls are all wearing items from the collection – even Frankie. We
do a petite size for little people!’

Everyone laughed while Frankie squirmed, knowing full well that the jungle print sundress showed off her freckled shoulders and in her opinion simply highlighted the fact that her bosom
didn’t exist.

‘I’m doing fashion studies,’ Alice chirruped, sidling up to Thomas. ‘If you want someone with innovative ideas about future trends, then I’m willing to be your
intern.’

‘Really?’ Thomas raised an eyebrow. ‘Then come and see me when you’re a little less wet behind the ears.’

The look on Alice’s face gave Frankie the urge to hug her uncle.

They all sat down to eat, just as the telephone rang.

‘Let it ring,’ Thomas said as Tina stood up to go into the hall to answer it. ‘I refuse to be interrupted while entertaining!’

This was so unlike his usual approach that Frankie wondered just what had been in the jug of Pimms served before the meal.

‘You know, it’s a shame you three will be in Barbados for this party of Frankie’s,’ Thomas said. ‘I’d forgotten about that when I suggested it, but with
William coming it seems the right time to have it.’

‘Honestly, I don’t want a party,’ Frankie said hastily. ‘I mean, I did when I was a kid, when it was just games and jelly and ice cream.’
Before Mum got ill and
Dad disappeared and everything fell apart
, she thought. ‘But now —’

‘I went to one of those in London last Christmas,’ Mia interrupted. ‘You all dress up as cartoon characters or Disney princesses – stuff like that – and have
sausage and mash and nursery food and a bouncy castle and play silly games. It can be quite a blast, actually. We ended up having jelly fights in Cornwall Gardens! You could do something like
that.’

‘Don’t be silly, Mia,’ her father said. ‘She’s eighteen, not five.’

‘Actually,’ Frankie said, taking a deep breath. ‘I think that would be a great idea. Only I wouldn’t just invite my mates – I’d want to have some of the KOT
kids.’

Ned shot her a smile that Frankie felt all the way to her toes.

‘KOT kids?’ queried Thomas. ‘Is this some newfangled band?’

‘No, you know, the children Ned works with. The ones he took to camp?’

Ned’s eyes flicked to Frankie’s. He beamed widely and she tried hard not to melt into a puddle.

‘What a perfectly lovely idea!’ Poppy’s mother cried. ‘KOT does some amazing work and you know, I’ve got kids in my practice who are in care and could benefit from
a bit of a treat. I’d be happy to help if you’d let a few of them come along too! Of course, there’s the question of CRB clearance if you’re going to be hands on with the
kids.’

‘Got it,’ Frankie said. ‘From helping at Sunday School. And Ned’s got it because of his work at the camp.’

‘Well, it does sound rather fun! I could let you have the name of the company who hired out the carousel for Nick’s party,’ Verity Rushworth added.

‘You could hire those costumes where people walk around dressed up as Iggle Piggle or Peppa Pig,’ Jemma suggested.

‘Hopefully we could get hold of some at short notice.’ Frankie smiled.

‘I wish I was going to be here,’ Jemma sighed. ‘I could make cupcakes.’

‘Oh come on,’ Alice broke in. ‘Barbados versus a crowd of screaming brats? No contest!’

‘Well,’ Thomas said, ‘if it’s what you really want, then go ahead! I don’t know much about what Ned does in his spare time but maybe I should find out. Not that
he’ll have much spare time once he joins the family firm!’ He guffawed with laughter and everyone smiled obligingly. Everyone except Ned and Frankie, who both suddenly took great
interest in their table napkins.

They were halfway through dessert – Jemma’s amazing trifle – when the phone rang again.

Tina leant across to Frankie. ‘Go and answer it, darling,’ she whispered. ‘I get really jangly when I think someone’s trying to reach us. I mean, what if James has had an
accident or something?’

Frankie went through to the hall and picked up the handset. ‘Park House,’ she said, imitating the style of her aunts.

‘May I speak to Thomas Bertram?’

‘He’s busy at present, may I take a message?’

‘It’s urgent – really urgent. This is Sidney Cutler, news editor of the
Daily Telegraph
. I assure you he’ll want to take this call, whatever he’s
doing.’

‘Hold the line, please.’

She went through to the dining room where her uncle was topping up everyone’s glass. ‘Uncle, there’s a phonecall for you. It’s the
Daily Telegraph
. They said it
was really important.’

Her uncle put his glass down on the side table and stood up. ‘The
Telegraph
, huh? Well, I guess I should talk to them. After all, they were the sponsors of the Fashion Awards! And
of course, with honour comes responsibility.’ And with that he strutted into the hall and picked up the handset.

CHAPTER 11

‘She does not think evil, but she speaks it,
speaks it in playfulness; and though I know
it to be playfulness, it grieves me.’

(Jane Austen,
Mansfield Park
)

F
RANKIE HADN
’
T TAKEN TOO MUCH NOTICE WHEN HER
uncle didn’t return to the table, or when Ned apologised to the guests
and said his father had urgent business to deal with; she had even assumed that the door slamming and raised voices after everyone had left were due to the fact that he and Tina had both polished
off a great deal of wine at dinner. She was used to her uncle’s short fuse.

But even she wasn’t prepared for what greeted her the following morning.

The kitchen table was littered with newspapers, her uncle was pacing backwards and forwards, shouting into his iPhone, and Tina was wringing her hands like some distraught heroine in a 1920s
silent movie. Frankie hesitated in the doorway for a moment and then edged past Nerys – who was spooning dog food into bowls with rather more vigour than was necessary – opened the
cupboard and took out a jar of coffee and a loaf of bread.

‘Thomas, dear, you must eat!’ Nerys said, as Bonnie and Bridie, the Springer Spaniels, tucked in. ‘You mustn’t let these scurrilous rumours —’

‘Nerys, will you shut up!’ Thomas wheeled round and glared at her. ‘Just take your damn dogs for a walk and get out from under my feet!’

‘I was only trying to help!’ Nerys grabbed two dog leads from the hook on the back of the door, clicked her fingers at the spaniels and marched out of the room.

‘The sooner that woman’s boiler is sorted out the better it will be for all of us,’ he muttered under his breath, flinging his phone onto the table. ‘Engaged
again!’

‘Uncle, what’s going on?’ Frankie asked. ‘What did Nerys mean?’

Thomas sighed and slumped into a chair, pushing a copy of the
Daily Telegraph
towards her, folded open at page five.

‘Libel, that’s what it is! Libellous muck!’

Frankie picked up the paper and read the headline.

Like a slow-motion action replay, Frankie recalled the conversation she had overheard between Thomas and James. Slowly, not daring to meet her uncle’s gaze, she read the first few lines of
the report.

Below the text was a photograph showing several young girls bent over machines sewing jeans.

‘But, Uncle, surely this is all lies,’ Frankie gasped. ‘You wouldn’t let something like that happen!’

‘I didn’t know – I mean, I can hardly be held responsible for the way some Mexican freeloader runs his operation, can I?’ he replied, his face more florid than ever.
‘Accusing me – it’s an abomination. And to think my own son . . .’

To Frankie’s horror, Thomas’s eyes filled with tears.

‘James? You think James told the newspaper? He wouldn’t . . .’

‘That’s what Ned keeps saying,’ he replied, ‘but who else could it be? He was with me in Mexico, he had a camera, he had a blazing row with me about the set-up after the
factory visit and he stormed off to change his plane ticket and fly home. Of course it was him. And after all I’ve done for that boy. Just wait till I get my hands on him! Where is he, come
to that? I sent Ned to get him ages ago.’

‘I’m here.’

James stood, tousled haired and tight lipped in the doorway, with Ned right behind him.

‘I didn’t do it, Dad, I swear to you,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘I wouldn’t put the family through something like this for the world.’ He took a deep breath.
‘I’m sickened by the way you run things, but I wouldn’t sink that low. However, I guess the bottom line is that it is, indirectly, my fault.’

Thomas strode across the kitchen, his hand raised as if he was about to lash out. James flinched.

‘Dad!’ Ned shouted, and Thomas let his hand drop. ‘Let James explain.’

‘This better be good,’ his father muttered, sinking down onto the nearest chair. ‘Well, get on with it.’

‘I was so strung up about what I saw in Mexico – about what you put those poor kids through.’

‘I’ve told you, I didn’t know!’

‘Whatever. Anyway, I told Jon about it. He wanted to know why I was in such a foul mood. I showed him the photos and he asked if he could have some.’

‘And you let him?’

‘He said he wanted to use them to give him inspiration for one of the videos to go with his social justice raps on YouTube,’ James replied miserably.

‘So it was Jon!’ Thomas stormed. ‘Right – I shall sue, I shall —’

‘No!’ James shouted. ‘I rang him this morning and he swears blind that he never intended any of this to go public. He didn’t go on YouTube with it. He just talked to his
godfather about the whole issue of sweatshops. Like I said, he cares about social justice.’

‘So what’s this got to do with anything?’ Tina said.

‘Just that Jon’s godfather is Sidney Cutler, the news editor at the
Daily Telegraph
,’ replied James. ‘Jon reckons that Cutler must have slipped one of the photos
into his folder while they were talking – there was quite a pile so Jon wouldn’t have noticed one missing.’