From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) (4 page)

I’ve never tried it on with Juliet, mostly because she’s Bernard’s daughter and therefore out of bounds. But also because of her age and the fact that more often than not, we’re arguing.

“Why would I be ashamed, Juliet? You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I’m not at all ashamed to be here, but it’s not my scene. I’m not comfortable amongst these people; you know that.”

“They’re business associates! How can you not be? You work with most of them on a daily basis.”

Shrugging, I rest my shoulder against the clipped bush that had been modelled into a sleek oval. The movement draws her even closer to me, as our hands are still connected. “Exactly. You don’t think I like the people I work with, do you?  Damn it, Juliet, they’re all snobs. Why would I want to associate with them after hours? It’s bad enough enduring the work day rubbing shoulders with those tits.”

“Do they look down on you?” she asks, her fingers tightening.

In the shadows, I can’t really see her features, but a tautness to her voice has suddenly appeared. She’s pissed off on my behalf.

Grinning at the idea, I shrug again. “Yeah, but I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to! They’re just jealous, Joe. You know that, right? Whatever they do, or whatever degrees they have, that doesn’t count with my dad. We both know that. It’s the man inside that counts and he trusts you, where he trusts no one else with his business.”

“Save Cass.”

There’s a sour note to her voice at my introduction of Bernard’s PA. The mutual dislike wasn’t difficult to discern. “Hardly her. She’s just his gofer.”

“More than that, but I appreciate your trying to comfort me.”

Before she could speak, a harsh voice breaks through the bubble cosseting us from the outside world and the party. “Juliet! How could you consort with council trash? I expected better of you.”

“Hello, Poppy,” I murmur, refusing to let any emotion cloud my voice. I’ve learnt that the slightest fuel can have Poppy going up in flames. Sometimes it’s amusing to watch; but I’m in no mood to be slated down, when Juliet is in the immediate vicinity.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Poppy? My father might endure your bullshit, but I certainly won’t. Don’t you dare refer to me again; if I even think you’re judging me, I’ll toddle off to dad. He might endure your binge drinking, but as soon as I put in a complaint about something Poppy Delavigne has said to upset me, you’ll be out on your arse and don’t you forget it.” Juliet’s outburst shocks her audience. I’ve never, not in all the years, really heard her lose her temper or raise her voice.

And trust me, I’ve pissed her off many a time.

Poppy’s voice is harsh and strident. Even in subtle situations, the horse-like neigh of her tone never disappears. The reason for this was her affectation. I’ve no idea where she comes from, if she’s a Northerner or from the South, but somewhere along the line, she’s had elocution lessons. Now, she makes the Queen sound common. Each syllable is crystal clear, each word cuttingly harsh, as she spits, “I’m far too important to your father’s company for him to listen to his tattle-tail daughter, Juliet.”

Said tattle-tail laughs. “You keep on believing that, Poppy. Don’t forget, now I’m of age, your position isn’t as concrete as it once was.”

The sneer in Poppy’s voice slowly ignites my own temper. “You? You think you could handle my job? Don’t be ridiculous! You’re just a spoilt little miss, whose daddy has paved the way for her.”

“I know I could handle your job. And I may be spoilt, but I’m not stupid. You’d be surprised how many of your contacts are also my own. And unlike you, I’ve a lot of friends in the design industry. Why is that, I wonder? Why because I buy my clothes from them. Unlike you who dress from the high street.” It’s Juliet’s turn to sneer.

“It isn’t the design industry that counts,
darling.
”

“I think you’ll find it’s pretty important. And did I forget to mention my connections with the press? After all, one of my best friends is Harry Macabee’s son. You know him, don’t you? Or at least, you’d be a fool if you didn’t.”

The sound of Poppy gritting her teeth is quite audible. “I believe he owns at least three daily papers.”

“Yes. And
Style
,
Femme
as well as Moda TV. You name it, Harry’s finger is somewhere in it. Your time is short, Poppy. I’d make the most of it, if I were you.”

“I’d suggest that you toddle off to the drink’s tent, Poppy. Getting pissed is the only way to turn this night from sour to sweet.”

My recommendation has her huffing. “Such common manners, Joseph. Drink’s tent? It’s a bloody marquis and you think you can take on the directorship as though you were born for it? Bernard doesn’t have a clue of the mistake he’s making by hiring you. You piece of scum.”

“And what? He’d be better off hiring you?” It’s my turn to laugh. Her vitriol doesn’t hurt me. “You have zero experience. The only thing you’re good at is making sure all the right people are at any party you publicize. After that, you get pissed! Juliet’s right, I’d enjoy your status now while the goings good.”

In the backlit area, both Juliet and I watch as Poppy stalks off, nose in the air. The shape of her nostrils is perfectly delineated by the strobe lights that suddenly flash on as music begins to pump through the speakers and the guests start to dance.

“I’ll bet you a thousand pounds that she’s had a nose job.”

Grinning, I tug Juliet closer to me so that her back rests against my front. If she happened to feel the bulge at my crotch, then that’s her problem. “I don’t fancy losing a grand, thanks.”

“You can well afford it now. I saw the contracts daddy was drawing up. You’re going to be quite well off.”

My shrug jostles her a little. It’s a pity we’re stood in the shadows; I’d have liked to watch her tits jiggle. Alas, such a sight is denied me.

“I’ll survive.”

She snorts and as she shakes her head, her hair brushes against my cheek. So silken and soft with a delicate hint of pure Juliet.

Christ, she’s turning me into a romantic. Something my previous girlfriends would scoff at. Romance isn’t my forte. If I’m with someone, then I have a few rules. I won’t cheat, I’ll only make a date if I know I can act on it but there’ll be no flowers or chocolates. No pretence of emotion that I don’t feel. Sex. It’s always been about that. And while I’d love to put Juliet in the same pigeon hole, I can’t. Her very nature means that I can’t. She’s too
big
, she wouldn’t fit there.

Once upon a time, it would have pained me to admit that she’s unique. But I admitted that to myself long ago.

“You’ll do more than survive.”

“Maybe. I don’t need much.”

“Just the trappings of success?”

“Yeah and I only need them, because your father told me I had to have them.”

She laughs and the pealing sound had my own lips twitching. “That sounds like something he’d do.”

“To me, the clue is in the title. Trappings. But Bernard said I needed them so now, I have a four grand a month apartment that I hardly live in, because most of my time is spent at the office. It’s filled with expensive furniture I never use. I pay for a garage for a car that cost me a bloody fortune and one that I don’t drive, because London traffic is a nightmare. And all at your dad’s suggestion.”

“To survive this world, you need to be like one of them,” she murmurs, her head nudging forwards, indicating the throngs of people enjoying Bernard’s hospitality and the free champagne.

“I know. And I act the part as much as I can. But don’t ask me to enjoy it.”

“I think daddy’s the same. All of this is just something he has to endure. His real love is the business. I think that’s what sent mum, my
real
mum,” she clarifies, “off the rails. She was beautiful, you know? That’s why dad married her. She was one of those trappings and she produced Bo and I.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her before.”

“There hasn’t been an appropriate moment. But my point is that dad lives for the business. And I think you’re the same.”

The faint criticism implied in her words had me frowning a little, but there was nothing I could do to counteract it. After all, I have no long term, permanent relationships. No real life outside of the office. How can I change her opinion of me, when my life is empty of anything truly important?  

Until now, I never really considered that as being a bad thing. But Juliet’s criticism makes me think twice.

Unsure of how to continue, I decide to change the subject. “Did you mean that? What you said about taking over Poppy’s job?”

It was her turn to shrug. “I don’t see why not. I’m quite capable. I have more contacts than she does and on top of that, she’s a class A bitch. It depends if daddy will let me do it. He has his heart set on my being a traditional wife. He doesn’t know that’s never going to happen.”

“When do you plan on telling him?”

“I don’t know. When the time’s right I guess.”

“In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think you’ve ever exploded like that. You’re quite the little tigress, aren’t you?”

She chuckles. “Some people just grate on me. And that accent does it every single time. It’s like she’s running her nails down a chalkboard then decides to test a microphone. The moment she utters one word, that’s it. I’m agitated.”

“I wonder how many people she affects like that?”

“Everybody. But she’s been smart. She knows the right people and that keeps her safe.”

“Not for long, if you have your way though, eh?”

My comment has her humming with pleasure. “Exactly.”

Laughing at the satisfaction in her voice, I lean down and rest my chin on her shoulder.

“What are you doing, Joe?”

“What does it seem like to you?”

Her bum wiggles against my hips and my dick does the honour of making its presence felt. “Oh, I can hazard a guess.”

“And you’re not averse to anything that guess might contain?”

“To a point.”

“Where does that point come to an end?”

“Outside my bedroom door.”

“Ah.” Disappointment runs through me.

“I’m not Bo. She’s my sister and I love her, but I don’t approve of how she determined she was gay. I have no problem with her sexuality. Her promiscuity is another thing. She embarrassed daddy, when she started fucking everyone in sight. I’m determined that I’d never be like that.”

“And until then, you wear a chastity belt?”

She snorts. “Don’t be stupid. I just want to wait that’s all.”

“For marriage?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out, when the time comes. But whatever I
do
do
,
it has to mean something. It has to count. I won’t be some easy lay.”

“Did I say that you would be?” My own annoyance bleeds into my words.

“No. But I know how men work.”

“I doubt that,” I retort, once again irritated by the ferocity of her declaration. She has principles, I can admire. After Sandra, someone who practices caution can’t be anything but a good thing. But that doesn’t mean to say I appreciate being lumped in with the rest of the male sex.

Her throwaway statement of how men
work
really grates on my nerves.

“Come with me. I’ll show you exactly what I mean.” Her grip on my hand is tight as she pulls me out from between the bushes and up the gentle slopes of the front lawn. We veer away from the party and head to the front entrance of the manor house.

As beautiful as it is, it’s not my cup of tea. At some point, Bernard has had a decorator in and once where tradition reigned, the Georgian house is now a slave to modernity. Stark, white walls, where once, rich wooden panels would have rested. Freakishly formed furniture in shapes that boggle the mind, where a Chesterfield would have sat before a carved fireplace. I can easily imagine two enormous Irish wolfhounds slumbering there, but not anymore. Now, it’s as clinical as a hospital and the look isn’t appealing. I’m not a traditionalist, but I’d prefer the hunting lodge look to a contemporary museum for a home.

She drags me from the front of the house, past the lounge and the salon; she ignores the dining room and heads to the back half of the manor to an area I’ve never been. The back of the house has always been considered private and I’ve always abided by that. In a white hallway with a large metal statue that looks like a sacrifice to an ancient God, there are five doors running along one side.

She stops there, her heels sinking into the white carpet, meaning that I have to support her and provide her with stability.

“I love my daddy, Joe. Don’t think I don’t. But I know what men want and what they’re like.
He might as well have killed mummy. I was young, when she died, but I can remember some parts. I can remember the arguments and the screaming and the bursts of sobbing. I can remember daddy working all hours Godsend, either here or at the office. Being barked at, when I dared to open his office door. Mummy hugging me, telling me that he loved me but work was more important…” Her smile’s sombre, as she walks to the first door and cracks it open. She peers through the crack and pushes it wide open. “This is what men are like, Joe.”