Folly's Child (20 page)

‘Clever girl.' The slightly ironic note was tempered by wry humour. ‘You won't regret it, Paula, I'll see to that.' He paused, looking for the first time at the menu. ‘Now perhaps we should order. I think the smoked salmon and the steak – rare. Yes?'

‘Yes,' she said.

Gary had the wide-eyed bemused look of someone who had just felt the ground slip away from under his feet.

‘You can't be serious, Paula! You're not really going to the States? I warned you about Hugo, didn't I? What the hell will I do without you?'

‘Don't you mean where the hell are you going to find someone else to work for you for as little as I do?' She raised one eyebrow, enjoying as she always did the feeling of supremacy that came from reminding him of it.

‘Oh Paula …' His face became anxious. ‘I know I've never yet been able to repay you, but I will …'

‘Oh, just forget it, Gary!' she said, impatient suddenly. That game was almost over now – she'd had her fun from it, now it was time to move on to a new game – one that she thought would be even better. But even so she could not resist adding: ‘ If ever I need anything, though, I shall know where to come. I don't suppose I shall want for money – Hugo is wonderfully rich – but sometimes it's nice to be able to call in favours from a friend.'

‘You know you can count on me, Paula. But oh, I shall miss you! Are you sure you won't change your mind and marry me instead of Hugo?'

She laughed. It seemed she had laughed more in these last days than in the whole of the rest of her life. Not that Hugo made her laugh – he didn't. He was powerful and exciting and vital, but not amusing. No, the laughter must stem from the deep well of happiness within her, the feeling that she was standing on the brink of the wonderful world of all her tomorrows.

‘Marry
you?
Oh Gary, I don't think so.'

‘Why not?'

‘You know damned well why not. I need a man – and so do you. We'll always be friends but marriage – oh no, definitely not.'

‘No, I suppose not.' He looked almost regretful. ‘Pity. It would be so nice, so uncomplicated. I could make you beautiful clothes and you could cook me cheese on toast and …'

‘There's a little more to marriage than that.'

‘Yes. It's strange, I never really thought that Hugo …' He broke off, turning away. ‘ He's really swept you off your feet, hasn't he?'

‘Yes.'

‘So when is the great day?'

‘Two weeks' time, at Caxton Hall.'

‘Am I invited?'

‘What do you think? If Hugo doesn't ask you to be his best man then you must give me away.'

‘Give you away, lovey? Oh, that's a joke. You were never mine to give.'

The world's press was there as they emerged onto the steps of Caxton Hall, the famous American fashion designer and the beautiful model. Flash bulbs exploded around them like confetti and crowds who had never heard of Hugo Varna or Paula Bristow gathered to catch a glimpse of the celebrities and speculate on their identity.

‘Is it Adam Faith?' someone asked.

‘No – isn't he married already?'

‘Don't know – they all get hitched and divorced so much you can't keep up with it.'

‘I think it's that film star – what's 'er name? You know – the one in the Alfred Hitchcock film.'

‘Don't talk daft! How could it be her?'

But whoever it was, they all agreed, she made a radiant bride. Too good, really, for that nondescript looking man. She stood there for a moment, beautiful and glowing in her dress and coat of ivory silk with an enormous ivory picture hat, holding on to her new husband's arm. Then she turned, tossing her bouquet of cream orchids straight into the waiting hands of a girl in a kingfisher blue coat and tiny netted pillbox hat.

Sally caught it – and with the bouquet she felt, as she had so many times before, as if she could catch a little of Paula's glamour.

She buried her face in the flowers, closed her eyes and made a wish.

She wished that one day some of the gifts which Paula attracted so effortlessly would be hers too. That she would be beautiful and feted and happy and these things would be hers as of right instead of reflected like sunlight on a mirror from her sister. Sally wished that one day she would be able to step out of Paula's shadow. But in making the wish she had no idea what it would cost her to gain these things for her own.

Sally missed Paula dreadfully. All too soon the first novelty of having the bedsitter to herself began to wear off and she realised how much she had depended on her sister for company. All very well to have extra space to hang her clothes, lovely to have the whole of the sofa bed to herself instead of sometimes waking up clinging to the edge or half covered, wonderful not to be faced with a stack of dirty coffee cups and overflowing ashtrays which had to be collected from all around the room before they could be washed up. But there was something very bleak about the ordered tidiness and Sally began to feel restless. At least her job kept her occupied for up to twelve hours a day, but even that was not the same as it had been now that Paula was no longer there.

Though Sally was ready to be friendly with Gary's other employees she found that being Paula's sister had ‘ tarred her with the same brush' as her mother would have put it. The other model girls, who were even more jealous now that Paula had married Hugo Varna, mistrusted Sally, and the women in the workroom considered her a snob. Added to this she had never learned to be totally at ease with Gary.

Perhaps she should look for a new job, Sally thought, one which offered her the chance of a totally fresh start and the chance to make new friends. The world of fashion was so rarified – it would be nice to get out and breathe some fresh air. And there seemed to be endless opportunities in London for a secretary with her qualifications.

When Sally handed in her notice to Gary he expressed regret but did not try to persuade her to change her mind. Perhaps he was as ill at ease with her as she was with him, she thought.

A temping agency welcomed her with open arms, but Sally soon discovered she did not much care for this life either. Highly qualified though she was, Sally was a creature of habit. She liked to use a typewriter with which she was familiar and hated having to accustom herself to different filing systems, office methods and boss's foibles. Some might sing the praises of variety – to Sally it was like the trauma of starting a new job every week or so with none of the benefits. And although she was continually meeting new people she was never in one place long enough to make real friends.

One Saturday morning towards the end of the summer Sally had just returned from her weekly expedition to buy groceries and visit the launderette when there was a knock at her door. Sally propped her carrier bags against a chair and went to answer it.

The girl who stood there looked vaguely familiar though for the moment Sally could not place her.

‘Hi – I'm Laura-Jo. I've just moved into the flat downstairs,' she said breezily and Sally's brain clicked into gear.

Gary had moved out of his flat a few months ago and into something more in keeping with his new successful image. Since then Sally had seen a young couple going in and out but now she realised the tenant must have changed again. She had probably seen this girl on the stairs – that was the reason she looked familiar,

‘Look, I'm having a housewarming party tonight,' the girl rushed on, ‘and if you'd like to come down you're very welcome. I thought it would be easier to invite everybody in the block rather than have them complain about the noise.' An American accent was apparent now – that explained her exuberant friendliness, Sally thought.

‘You're a long way from home,' she said.

‘Yeah. I'm supposed to be taking a year out of college to do Europe but it's been two years and here I still am!' She laughed.

‘Why not come in and have a coffee?' Sally offered, liking her and reluctant to let the opportunity pass by.

The girl checked her watch, then pulled a face.

‘Why not? The others can wait!'

‘My sister is married to an American,' Sally said when they were seated at the heat-scarred table with mugs of coffee.

‘Really? Where's he from?'

‘New York. She lives there with him now.'

‘Small world! What's he do?'

Sally hesitated. She did not want to foul up this promising meeting by what might sound like boasting.

‘He's in business,' she hedged ‘ I'm Sally, by the way. Sally Bristow.'

‘And I'm Laura-Jo Bayne. But I told you that, didn't I?'

They chatted on. By the time Laura-Jo left an hour later Sally had accepted the party invitation – and made a new friend. Perhaps things were looking up a little at last, she thought.

By nine-thirty the party was in full swing and Sally was enjoying herself. Laura-Jo's friends were an uninhibited crowd, many of them Americans themselves, and they treated Sally like an old friend. The only awkwardness arose because Laura-Jo insisted on telling them that Sally's sister was married to a New Yorker and hiding the truth about his identity stretched Sally's ingenuity to the full. As she struggled to evade the questions of one particularly persistent soul a voice in her ear whispered: ‘ You might be able to fool them, you know, but you can't fool me!' and she turned to see a young man smiling at her over the rim of his beer glass.

Her first impression was that he was very like Edward – so much so that her stomach fell away. Then she registered the differences. His face was thinner, his hairline receding slightly to accentuate, a high forehead and his nose was more prominent – classical Greek, or was it Roman? Sally wondered. His eyes were a lighter shade of blue and deeper set and there was a trace of a Northern accent in his voice. No, definitely not Edward, but enough like him to stir all kinds of old memories – and to make her warm to him, forgetting how Edward had hurt her and remembering only the good times.

‘Can't fool you?' she repeated, smiling. ‘Now what do you mean by that?'

‘Oh come on, it's not so easy to hide celebrities' lights under bushels. You realise most of the guys here would flip if they knew who your sister is – and most of the girls would go bananas if they knew your brother-in-law is Hugo Varna.'

‘Shh!' Sally hissed, covering his mouth with her hand. ‘Please – don't say anything. I'm sick to death of being Paula's sister. I want to be me.'

He took her hand with his own, his light blue eyes teasing, ‘All right, I'll keep quiet. But there is a price.'

‘What is that?'

‘You don't try and run away from me. You're the best-looking girl here tonight, did you know that?'

‘Oh yes? Compliments slip off your tongue very easily, don't they?' she said, trying to sound cynical, but secretly she was flattered.

‘It's no more than the truth. Oh come on, don't look like that. You've been told so before.'

‘No, I haven't.'

‘I don't believe you. Hey – your glass is empty. Can I get you another? What are you drinking – uh, what was it they called you?'

‘Sally. But I thought you knew everything about me.'

‘I do – all I need to know at least. You are very beautiful, Sally, and very modest, and I am going to see you home tonight.'

She laughed aloud. ‘You won't have very far to go. I'm from upstairs.

‘Well, well.' There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘ So what do you say I get us both a drink and we take them up to your flat, where it's quieter.'

‘How dare you!' But it was impossible to be angry with him, so irrepressible, so wicked … and so like Edward.

They had another drink and another. His name was Stuart, he told her, and he was a representative for a paper firm – he toured offices selling stationery and taking orders for individually printed advertising calendars. The flat was very crowded now and very noisy and the air was a blue haze of cigarette smoke. Squashed in a corner of the kitchen they were still chatting but Stuart's arm had crept around her waist and his mouth closer and closer to her ear and she had not objected. More than that – she was enjoying it!

Ironic, really, she thought – or perhaps a stroke of incredible good fortune. During the long and lonely nights Sally had made up her mind to stop objecting the next time a man who was halfway decent came along. Objecting was not the best way of making friends and influencing people. On the contrary it seemed a sure-fire way of driving them away. Sally had sat wrapped in Paula's old woollen dressing gown filing her nails and thinking of all the relationships she had ruined by being too much of a prude. There had once been a time when she had thought that men didn't respect girls ‘ who did'. Bitter experience had changed her mind. It was girls ‘who didn't' they despised because there was no station along the line that was acceptable as a stopping point. All very well for actresses like Grace Kelly to look glacial and regal on screen – a normal-looking girl behaving with similar frostiness would be written off, not relentlessly pursued. But after that first show of warmth then any girl who failed to deliver was labelled a cock teaser. Though she had not been a virgin for a very long time Sally had continued to behave in a way that parodied the virginal. Now, she had decided, it was time to let go a little and see if that produced any better results.

It was one thing, of course, to plan a retreat from innocence, quite another to carry it out. She had worried about it a good deal – and worried because she was worrying. Paula had never had such doubts, or if she had she had never showed them and since school age Sally had been ashamed to discuss her worries about her own sexuality with any of her friends. To admit to them seemed the very essence of failure.

Now, however, with Stuart's hand moving up to surreptitiously fondle her breast she began to experience the tingly heady waves of desire. Perhaps this time it would be all right. Perhaps this time she could forget she was a small-town good girl and actually enjoy being wicked.