Love Nest (32 page)

39

Lucinda sat on the overstuffed sofa in the living room of her father’s Claridge’s suite. She kept her eyes focused on the Linley furniture. Perfectly tasteful, but
so
overpriced thanks to the fact that it was made by the Queen’s nephew, cashing in on his title. She kept thinking this, hoping it would stop her crying.

‘How could you have done this?’ her father bellowed, standing above her. He had flown in that morning for an emergency family summit. ‘You’ve brought shame upon the family.’

‘But why not, Daddy?’ she said, looking him straight in the eye and twisting her fingers together so he wouldn’t see them shaking. Where was her damn bracelet? ‘I’m young and single. So is he. Why shouldn’t we go on holiday with whomever we like?’ She was pleased with the ‘whom’. Lucinda Gresham did not forget her grammar, even in moments of the gravest crisis.

Michael Gresham’s face was very red. ‘Because this rock star was also a client of your agency. Can’t you grasp the measure of such unprofessionalism?’

‘Anyway, he’s not single,’ Mummy said softly from her armchair in the corner where she’d been intently inspecting her manicure. ‘He has a girlfriend.’

‘I know,’ said Lucinda, hanging her head.

‘You’ve lost your job. You’ve brought terrible publicity to the family when we’ve always tried to be so discreet.’

‘I’m really sorry, Daddy, I really am.’

‘Sorry isn’t good enough. You won’t be coming to work for me now, you realize that?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’ Lucinda was devastated, but she kept her face as expressionless as possible. This wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. She’d get another job. She’d be a brilliant success and then Daddy would beg her to join the company. She
would not
let one stupid mishap defeat her. The thought sloshed round and round her head like clothes in a washing machine.

Her father stood up.

‘I’m going to stop your allowance. Evict you from the house. Someone who repays their father’s generosity with this tramplike behaviour doesn’t deserve any more part of it.’

‘Michael!’ Mummy protested. ‘That’s very harsh.’

‘Lucinda can fend for herself. Like every other woman in the world has to. They manage fine and so will she.’

‘All right, Daddy.’ Lucinda kept her eyes pinned to the carpet but her mind was reeling. Where would she go? What would she do? She still had some cash from her investments but they’d taken a nasty knock recently and would only cover a month or two at best.

She had to find a job. Who could she ask?

There must be other people out there. People whom it would be less humiliating to approach. But she simply couldn’t think. Cass’s chinless boyfriend and his hedge fund. He’d say she could make the tea and enjoy watching her messing up the nasty strong English brews. She could go home to Switzerland, of course, but that would be even worse, living in the same town as Mummy and Daddy, doing what – working in a cuckoo-clock factory?

‘Another thing you’d better know,’ Daddy said. ‘I’ve offered Benjie the job with the company that you seemed so arrogantly to think was meant for you. He’s going to start after Christmas.’

All the feelings she’d been keeping a lid on burst out. ‘Benjie! But he doesn’t care anything about property. About what you do. All he wants to do is…’

‘Benjie is my son. I’ve always felt it was right that he took over the business. Of course if he’s no good at it then maybe your sister’s husband would be a better candidate. Or, most probably, none of you.’

Lucinda glanced at her mother. Still gazing at her nails as if they were this week’s copy of
Hello!
magazine.
Stupid cow
. But then she looked up. The concern in Gail’s eyes made Lucinda’s stomach turn. Made the already unbearable guilt worse than ever before. Her mother loved her and was heartbroken for her. She’d never really realized that. Until now.

‘So off you go, Lucinda. I wish you luck. Hope you can get over this rocky phase. But don’t expect to hear from us again.’

‘But Daddy…’

‘I spoilt you children. I see that now. But now you have to manage on your own. Benjie is returning to Geneva at the end of the week. I’ll give you the same amount of time to find alternative accommodation.’ He looked at his Rolex. ‘Right, you’d better be off. I have a meeting in five.’ He picked up his BlackBerry and began scrolling through his messages.

‘Bye, Daddy.’ Lucinda turned to Mummy and smiled. Chin up. Show no pain. Gail smiled back, at least as much as the services of Dr LeGrand would allow her.

‘’Bye, darling. I…’

Lucinda walked out of the room, her knees feeling as if they were on loose hinges. Down the corridor. It was as if every sound was muffled; all she could hear was the beating of her own heart. What had she been doing? She’d been so foolish. It had all been because she’d been lonely and too proud to admit it. And vain too. Nick had flattered her and she’d fallen for it unquestioningly. She was so insecure she’d risked everything for a few compliments and some good sex. How could she have done it? And she’d been so ruthless about Kylie. Poor Kylie, who had clearly known all about them and had been suffering. The papers said she was recovering, but that was scant comfort.

Lucinda realized she’d targeted Nick because that was what Daddy did. Had affairs with whomever he felt like, no regard for other people’s feelings. Well, it was horrible. She’d learned her lesson. Would never do it again.

But still she’d have to take the punishment.

She pressed the button for the lift. Stepped into it, trying to think. Where would she live? Who would give her a job?

She had no friends in London to ask. She could probably find work in a café or a shop or whatever, but she didn’t want that. But she didn’t see how she could find a job in property without going through the proper channels, and Dunraven Mackie were hardly going to give her a reference after this fiasco. Gemma Meehan had probably grassed her up by now anyway.

It came to her as the doors pinged and she stepped out into the lobby.

Anton.

Anton owned a thriving business. He employed people with her knowldge and skills. He’d said she had some great ideas, that he wished there were more like her.

And he loved her. Well, not
love
but he certainly had strong feelings for her. Whether it was a good idea to exploit them or not was another question. Lucinda would investigate that later. Once Lucinda had an idea, she was physically incapable of stalling, she
had
to get the ball rolling.

She picked up her phone and began scrolling for his number.

Gemma was standing outside the flat on Western Avenue. She’d rung Bridget and Massy’s door bell three times but clearly no one was home. She’d even braved the neighbours, but nothing.

She’d been calling Bridget every day, but every day the line went dead. Once she tried the Costa where Massy had been working. ‘He’s left,’ said a woman. ‘No, I have no idea where he go.’

Sweating slightly in the early summer heat, Gemma pulled a pen out of her bag and scribbled on a page of her notebook.

If you do get this, I want to talk to you. I’m sorry Massy didn’t tell you what was going on. I’ll pay you whatever you want. G xxx

She posted it through the door, knowing it wouldn’t help but not knowing what else she could do. Then she turned back towards the Tube. For a second, her hands rested on her stomach. There were twelve more days to go before she was allowed to do a pregnancy test. She didn’t know if her nerves could stand it. This was her one and only shot at motherhood. Although they’d frozen four of the remaining embryos, she didn’t see how she could use them. It had been one thing to say ‘too bad’ to Bridget with the embryos already inside her; to remove them from the freezer and use them in cold blood, knowing her sister was against it, was quite another.

As she returned to the Tube, her eye was caught by the
Standard
’s billboard.

THE ROCK STAR AND THE HEIRESS. BLINDS GIRLFRIEND IN COMA.

Blinds girlfriend?
Gemma paid the vendor 50p. On the platform, waiting for a delayed train, she began to read. Six pages of coverage, including aerial shots of a mansion ‘on the shores of Lake Geneva’ with an indoor swimming pool, two tennis courts and its own stables. There was a brief biography of Michael Gresham, outlining how he’d capitalized on his father’s fortune. A picture of a trout-mouthed mother in a pink suit with braiding around the collar and pockets, holding a pair of binoculars at some race meeting. Another of her brother and sister, and then Lucinda. ‘It is believed she was working at estate agents Dunraven Mackie incognito in order to gain experience before joining her father’s property empire. Colleagues told the
Daily Post
they were “gobsmacked by the news”. “I always thought there was something different about her, she was very snooty and had no point of contact with planet earth whatsoever,” said one, who asked not to be identified. “But Michael Gresham’s daughter? We could never have guessed that.” ’

Amusement at Lucinda’s true identity was overlaid with horror at the thought of gentle, unassuming Kylie in a coma. Apparently she’d overdosed on discovering where her boyfriend was and been found by band member Ian’s girlfriend just in time. Then Gemma was assailed by a more selfish concern. What about the flat sale? All this drama was going to hold it up again. As soon as she emerged from the Tube, she called Dunraven Mackie. The phone was answered by a man with a kind, West Country accent.

‘Is Lucinda there?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer.

He sounded embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid Lucinda has left the company. Can I help you?’

‘Yes. She was selling my flat. To the… er, to the man she was on holiday with.’
Whom we also found her rogering in our flat but you’ll never know about that.

She explained who she was. The man, who was called Gareth, was very sympathetic.

‘Right. We are aware of the situation and we’re chasing Mr Crex. He’s not answering his phone at the moment, which is understandable, but I’m sure he will in the next day or so when things calm down. I’ll keep you posted as soon as I hear anything, I assure you.’

‘Good. Because you know we’re meant to exchange soon.’

‘I know. I understand. House sales are always stressful at the best of times, without your buyer being involved in a scandal with the estate agent.’

‘What I don’t understand,’ Gemma said, emboldened by his kindly tone, ‘is why Lucinda was working as an estate agent at all?’

Gareth sighed. ‘We don’t understand that either. I wish she’d told me. I would have kept her secret.’

You don’t know the half of it
, Gemma thought. ‘Thank you for your help. I look forward to hearing from you.’

Lucinda’s phone kept ringing. Emails kept dropping into her inbox. Friends who found the scandal hilarious. Reporters wanting to talk to her. The next message cheered her up slightly.

‘Wotcha. Gareth here. Hope you’re OK. It’s all been a bit of a drama this end, as you can imagine. Really sorry about what’s happened. We’re going to miss you here.’ A tiny pause. ‘Doubt you’ll miss us, though. And – I have to say – some people were a bit pissed off with the way you and Niall kept us in the dark. Anyway, if you fancy a drink some time just give us a bell. All right. Cheers then. Er. ‘Bye.’

‘You are a fucking arsehole,’ Martine Crex told her son.

‘I know, Mum,’ Nick said humbly.

‘How could you do that to Kylie? After what your dad did to me? You men, you’re all the arseing same.’ Nick could hear her inhaling sharply on her Embassy filterless. ‘Unbe-fucking-lievable.’

‘Have you seen Kylie?’ Nick asked. He’d returned to the flat in Belsize Park to find it stripped of her belongings. None of her girly shit in the bathroom, the cupboards stripped bare, photos of them taken down from the shelves. The place seemed echoing, empty. He knew he was the world’s biggest hypocrite to miss her, but still he did. A faint fruity smell was all that remained. The teddies littering the bed, the piles of magazines, the tampons, the handbags, the make-up. All gone. Packed up.

‘What’s it to you? You’ve got a new girlfriend now. Lucinda Gresham.’ Martine cleared her nicotine-clogged throat. ‘According to this, daughter of property mogul Michael Gresham, currently listed at number twenty-seven on the
Sunday Times
Rich List. Veeeery nice, Nicky. When are you going to bring her up to Burnley then, to meet your old mum?’

‘It’s over,’ Nick said.

‘Over? Fucking hell, Nicky. Then why did you do it in the first place?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt Kylie.’

‘Then why didn’t you work at it? Oh, don’t answer! I don’t want to know your pathetic excuse. You men. You’re all the bloody same. So do you really want to know how Kylie is doing? I’ll tell you. She’s still in intensive care. They think she may be brain-damaged. Plus there was a baby and of course she’s lost it.’

Nick felt dizzy.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Why would Sharon lie to me? My only chance of a grandchild. How could you do this to me?’

‘I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t know she…’ Nick felt flustered and hot.

‘Whatever. Just fuck off. I don’t know if I want to talk to you any more. My own son, treating a woman like this. Didn’t you learn anything from what your dad did to me?’

And she’d gone.

Nick stared at the phone. How could Kylie not have told him this? History was rapidly being rewritten in his brain. He’d never have gone to Tobago if he’d known about it. Why the hell hadn’t she told him? A child. A son, obviously. Their baby. She’d killed it. How could she not even have consulted him?

Immediately, his phone rang again. Number withheld. Perhaps this was Kylie. He was surprised how visceral was his need to talk to her.

‘Hello?’ His voice wobbled as if he were stilt-walking.

‘Hello, Nick,’ said an oily voice. ‘It’s Charles here. I’ve been taking calls from your solicitors and the estate agents. They want to know what on earth has been going on with the flat while you’ve been off getting a tan. Forgive me, but you can’t avoid the papers.’