Killer Heels (39 page)

But a couple of hours later, over cocktails in the bar, Coco’s
mood had improved considerably. She had managed to visit
the spa, and though their appointments schedule was booked
solid, they turned out to have what they called a ‘meditation
room’. The sympathetic receptionist had taken one look at
Coco’s white, stressed face, its skin drawn much too tight
over the bones, and led her there. Coco, dreading a yoga
studio with mats and Pilates balls, had been hugely relieved
to find instead a softly-lit room with glowing, deep-red walls,
hypnotic, trance-like music playing, and three wide, deep
beds, two of which were already occupied by people who
seemed to be slumbering in perfect contentment. When she
took her boots off and lay down on the third bed, she realised
why: not only were they waterbeds, the water was heated to
blood temperature.

She sank into the mattress, its warmth enveloping her
through the sheets with which it was made up, the pillows
equally soft below her head. The receptionist placed a pillow
under her knees so that her legs could relax completely,
covered her with a blanket and tiptoed from the room. The
lights dipped from red to an equally-comforting purple, the
music rose and fell: Coco closed her eyes in bliss and went
out like a light. She would have been there still if Jacob, back
in their suite, hadn’t rung the spa to track down his girlfriend,
and the receptionist hadn’t slipped back in to gently shake
Coco’s shoulder and rouse her once more to the world of the
wakeful.

God, that was lovely, Coco thought dreamily, sipping her
VLT. I wish I had a room like that in my apartment. Maybe
one day . . .

‘Those skids were brilliant!’ Craig, her brother, was saying
animatedly.
An afternoon spent tearing around the racetrack, shooting
down a straight section at high speed while water fountained
over both track and car from sprays positioned on each side,
and sliding with great screeches of tyres around the equally
wet skid pan, had successfully dissolved most of Craig’s inhibitions around his sister’s extremely sophisticated and wealthy
older boyfriend. And the couple of pints he’d sunk already
were helping with the final stages.
‘Dad, did you see me?’ he said to his father. ‘I thought I was
going to spin right off the sodding pan!’
‘Yes, mate, I saw you,’ Mr Raeburn said, rolling his eyes and
smiling at Jacob in a ‘boys will be boys’ way. Coco’s father
seemed to have decided to cope with the fact that his daughter
was dating a man probably five years older than his own fiftyone by treating him as a peer, rather than Coco’s boyfriend.
‘Honestly,’ he said indulgently, still to Jacob, ‘it’s as if he’s
still seven years old, not twenty-seven. When he was a lad, he
couldn’t swing from the bars in the playground without yelling to make sure we were watching.’
Jacob beamed back. ‘It must be great to have a son,’ he said.
‘Shoot hoops with him, throw a ball in the park.’
‘Do you have any children, Mr Dupleix?’ Coco’s mother
asked politely.
‘Jacob, please!’ he said, giving her his best, most charming
smile. ‘And no, I haven’t been that fortunate. So far,’ he added,
squeezing Coco’s leg where his hand, as usual, lay.
Mrs Raeburn followed his gesture with her eyes, and then
looked up, taking in her daughter’s face. The waterbed had
helped, but Coco was still exhausted, her skin still taut over
her bones, and a mother’s eye couldn’t fail to miss the weariness in Coco’s expression.
‘Are you all right, Jod— Coco?’ she corrected herself, after a
quick jerk in the ribs from her husband. ‘Sorry, dear,’ she apologised. ‘I keep forgetting. It’s just hard to call you something
else, after all these years.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, Mum,’ Coco said quickly, smiling at her
mother. ‘I know it’ll take a while.’
Next to her, Tiff sniffed and muttered, ‘Oh, so it’s all
right when
Mum
does it,’ but Coco ignored her, continuing:
‘And yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired. You know, jet-lag – we
only flew over yesterday, and I’ve had a whole shoot to
coordinate today.’
Her mother sucked in a long, disapproving breath. Plump
and pink-faced, like her husband and two other children, she
looked well-fed and well-rested, her skin lovely and shiny from
her afternoon facial and massage.
‘Honestly, the way they work you in your job,’ she tutted.
‘I’m sure I’m sorry, Mr – Jacob – but ever since she went to
London, we’ve barely seen her. And I miss her, I really do.’ She
leaned across the bar table to touch her daughter’s hand affectionately.‘She’s my baby, you know? We had all three of them
very close together.’ She giggled. ‘Once we started, we couldn’t
stop! But though I love them all equally, I do miss my baby.’
‘It’s me working myself hard, Mum, not Jacob,’ Coco said
swiftly. ‘And now I’m editing
Mini Style
’ she blushed with
pleasure, still not used to the thrill of announcing, casually,
that she was the editor of a magazine, ‘I’m going to be even
busier for the next couple of years.’
‘Oh no,’ her mother said in distress. ‘Really? I was hoping
that now you’re doing so well, we’d see a bit more of you. You
weren’t back for your birthday, or for Christmas.’
‘Sue, give it a rest, love,’ her husband said, elbowing her
again. ‘Coco doesn’t want to hear you giving her a hard time,
does she? Remember what I said – if you go on at her like this,
she isn’t going to fancy coming back any time soon, is she?
Sorry, love,’ he mouthed apologetically at his daughter.
‘Well, why don’t we host you all for Christmas next year?’
Jacob offered expansively. ‘I have a great chalet in Aspen. I’d
love to fly you all over there for the holidays.’
‘Cool,’ Craig said happily.
‘Where’s Aspen?’ Tiff asked.
‘I’m sure that’s very kind of you, Mr – Jacob,’ Mrs Raeburn
started, ‘but really, I don’t think—’
‘Another round?’ The handsome Italian waiter leaned over
their table, smiling flirtatiously at Tiff, who lit up immediately,
sitting up straighter and waggling her bosom at him; the cocktail she had just finished had been her third of the evening. ‘Or
would you like to go to your table,
signori
? It is all ready for
you in the brasserie.’
‘We’re still waiting for my wife,’ Craig said to him, lifting his
glass. ‘She’s driving over after work – couldn’t get away earlier.
But I’ll have another Peroni when you get a chance, mate.’
‘I’d love another Italian Job,’ Tiff said, giggling. ‘Mum, you’ll
have another as well, won’t you? Yummy! And that’s not the
only thing that’s yummy round here.’ She licked her lips at the
waiter, who grinned back at her.‘What is it again?’
‘Frangelico and Amaretto,
signorina
,’ he said.
‘Ooh, I’m not sure if I should have another one,’ her mother
said nervously. ‘They’re a bit strong. And Jacob’s treating us,
very kindly, but I don’t want us to take advantage. Brian and I
were thinking we should be getting dinner, really, all things
considered.’
‘Absolutely not! No way.’ Jacob shook his head vehemently.
‘I won’t hear of it. You’re all my guests here.’
‘Jacob, I agree with Sue,’ Brian Raeburn said bravely. ‘You’re
being very kind, but I don’t think it’s right for us to let our daughter’s boyfriend treat us like this. Dinner’s going to be my shout.’
‘Aw, Dad,’ Craig said, rolling his eyes just like his father. ‘Let
the man pay if he wants. He’s got tons of dosh!’
Mr and Mrs Raeburn looked absolutely horrified, but Jacob,
to his credit, burst out laughing.
‘You know what?’ he said, looking at the assembled
Raeburn family. ‘I do have, uh, “tons of dosh”. Hope I said
that right!’ He smiled at Craig. ‘And Brian, I get how you’re
feeling. Believe me, I really do. But there’s something you
haven’t heard yet.’ He took Coco’s hand in his, lifting it above
the tabletop. ‘I’m not just your daughter’s boyfriend. I’m
madly in love with her, head over heels, and if Coco does me
the honour to accept my hand . . .’
‘Oh my God!’ Tiff squealed. ‘He’s only fucking
proposing
!’
‘I’ll be your son-in-law!’ Jacob finished, taking Coco’s
other hand and pressing them together in his larger ones.
‘How about it, honey? You know I love you to death. Say
you’ll make me the happiest man in the world! Oh, hang
on . . .’ He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a pale
blue box.
‘Aaah!
Tiffany
!’ Tiff yelled, as Mrs Raeburn cooed, ‘Ooh,
that’s lovely . . . isn’t that lovely, Bri? Did you hear what he
said?’
‘Of course I heard it, Sue! I’m right here!’
‘What’s going on?’ Craig’s wife, Kelly, had arrived by now,
and, spotting her husband and in-laws in a cluster over a bar
table, had rushed over, not wanting to miss out on anything.
‘Oh my God, will you look at the
size
of that thing!’ she
screamed, as Jacob clicked the box open with his thumb,
revealing a gigantic princess-cut diamond. ‘Is it
real
?’
‘Course it’s real, Kell. He’s fucking loaded,’ Craig scoffed at
her.‘What d’you think, he’s going to give her cubic zirconia?’
‘Well, Coco, honey? What do you say?’
Jacob smiled at her, his dark eyes lit up with love, his teeth
flashing white. There was no hint of concern on his face, not
the faintest fear that his proposal might be turned down. Coco
felt a wave of panic rush through her, a panic immediately
followed by dizziness. The world seemed to be pressing in on
her; everyone was staring at her, leaning towards her, their eyes
wide, their teeth bared. They were caught between smiles and
shock, not aggressive but still overpowering, a level of attention that bore down on her like a force field.
It was Mrs Raeburn who saw her daughter start to sway,
who said quickly: ‘Love? Are you all right?’
‘I just need . . .’ Coco managed to get to her feet, to take her
mother’s outstretched arm, leaning on her for support. ‘I need
to get to the loo for a moment.’
‘Wouldn’t fresh air be better?’ Mrs Raeburn said, as she
bustled her daughter away from the ring of staring faces.
‘No – please, the loo . . .’
Coco did want fresh air, but the whole front of the hotel
was glass; she couldn’t collapse, as she was desperate to do,
without being observed by multiple sets of eyes. The toilets
were closer and safer. She made it into the handicapped
one and sank onto the seat, her mother gently pushing her
head down between her knees so that she hung over,
doubled up, her breathing slowing down to something
resembling normal.
‘That’s night, get some blood to your head, love. You looked
like you were about to faint,’ Sue Raeburn said, going over to
the sink and dampening some paper towels. ‘Here.’ She put
one on the back of Coco’s neck; it felt wonderful.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Coco muttered.
‘Ssh, now. Just keep taking long deep breaths. Oh dear, look
how thin you are! I can see every bone in your back through
your top! This just isn’t healthy, love. You’re as skinny as those
nice little girls who were jumping on those trampolines for
your photos.’
All Coco heard from this was:
You’re as thin as the models
.
‘When’s the last time you ate solid food?’ her mother was
fussing. ‘That Jacob seems nice enough, but he’s so old, dear.
Old enough to be your father. I’m sorry, but I can’t help
saying it. I pictured you with a nice boy your own age, not a
grown man who’s got no business, really, with a young girl
like you. And why isn’t he saying anything to you about
eating proper meals? Is he not even noticing how thin
you’ve got?’
Oh, Mum . . .
Coco raised her head slowly, putting one hand to the paper
towel on the back of her neck, so it didn’t slide down.
‘Here,’ her mother said efficiently, taking it from her and
replacing it with a freshly-dampened one, deliciously cool.
‘When you can, get up and run your wrists under the cold tap.
That always helps when you’ve had a bit of a turn.’
‘It all just got too much,’ Coco heard herself say.
‘Well, of course, it did.’ Her mother patted her shoulder
sympathetically. ‘What a time and place for him to choose!
Men just don’t think about the way we feel, do they? Anyone
with an eye in their head can see that you’re exhausted, poor
lamb. You’re worked off your feet, aren’t you? And girls like a
romantic proposal – not being ambushed in front of their
whole family when they’ve just finished a hard day’s work.’
Coco drew a long breath, standing up again, going over to
the sink. Mrs Raeburn was quite right – cold water on the
wrists was a great pick-me-up. She dabbed some on her
temples, too, careful not to smudge her foundation.
‘Jo—
Coco
! What’s happening? Are you all right? You’re not
pregnant, are you?’ Tiff bounded into the handicapped loo,
hyped up on rum cocktails, tactless as always.
Coco stared at her in the mirror, horrified.
‘No,’ she said firmly. That, at least, she was sure of. ‘Do you
mind
, Tiff?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t exactly be a disaster if you were,’ Tiff said,
quite unabashed. ‘Oh, Coco, he asked Dad for your hand in
marriage this afternoon – isn’t that lovely? He said he wanted
to do the proper thing.’
‘He never! Ooh, I can’t believe that Brian never breathed a
word to me about it,’ Mrs Raeburn said indignantly. ‘Honestly,
men!’
‘He’s well hot,’ Tiff said, ignoring her mother. ‘Silver fox or
what?’ She nudged her sister in the ribs. ‘Nice going, Coco! I
didn’t see you as the sugar daddy type, but if that’s what you
fancy, you couldn’t do better. Jacob’s stinking rich!’
‘Tiffany Raeburn!’ her mother hissed, in such a terrible tone
of voice that her errant daughter’s stream of words crashed to
a halt like waves breaking against a sea wall. It was one thing
for her to criticise Jacob, alone with Coco, quite another for
Tiffany to break in and start a flood of vulgarity about his
financial status. ‘How dare you talk that disrespectfully about
Mr—
Jacob
? He’s being more than generous to us, and he’s
clearly very much in love with your sister!’
‘Sorry,’ Tiff muttered, abashed.
Coco smoothed down her hair and turned away from the
mirror. ‘I need to get back outside,’ she said. ‘Jacob will be
getting really worried.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Tiff asked, agog. ‘What are you
going to say? Because—’
‘
Tiffany
!’ Her mother grabbed her arm, holding her back to
let Coco pass. ‘Give the poor girl a moment of peace, can’t
you? She’s got enough on her plate without you badgering
her.’
Coco stepped back into the bar. The buzz and bustle of a
busy room calmed her, surprisingly enough; she felt like a part
of something bigger than herself. No one turned to look at her;
the smartly-dressed clientele were all deep into their own
conversations, the waiter, hurrying past her carrying a tray with
two wooden trenchers on it, each bearing two stuffed, fried
courgette flowers, tipped artfully to lean against each other
like little teepees, was balancing his prettily-arranged load
much too carefully to bother about her.
I can do this
, she told herself. And when she rounded the
long leather bar in the centre of the room, rejoined her table,
the light in Jacob’s face as he saw her was hugely reassuring.
He didn’t look angry that she had humiliated him by running
out on him, making her look foolish in front of her family.
He jumped up, arms open wide, saying, ‘Baby! I’m so sorry
I sprang it on you like this. Believe me, I wasn’t planning to. I
was just telling Brian – and Craig and Kelly,’ he smiled charmingly round the Raeburns still seated at the table, ‘I had this all
planned out. I was going to do it over dessert, get some champagne, make a speech, build up to it, make it special.’
Jacob embraced Coco, his big arms wrapping right around
her slender frame.
‘Baby, forgive me,’ he said against her hair. ‘I was way too
enthusiastic – I know that’s not how a girl wants a proposal.
I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me? Say you will. Say yes!’