Kiss Heaven Goodbye (24 page)

Unwelcome memories flooded back. When Grace had phoned with news of her pregnancy and impending marriage, her father had demanded she come home to ‘sort yourself out’. When she had refused, he had flown out to Parador with her mother and a hung-over Miles in tow for the wedding. Somewhere between his irate phone call and arriving at El Esperanza, he had obviously decided it would be good PR to put in an appearance at his daughter’s big day, especially as it would make the papers. Thankfully, a takeover bid in London had meant that he could only stay twenty-four hours in Parador and when Miles had made noises to return with him, Grace had actively encouraged the whole party to go and leave her to enjoy what was left of the celebratory weekend.

‘So where are the twins?’ said Caro eagerly.

Grace glowed with pleasure at the mention of her children. Finding herself married to a world-famous writer was strange enough, especially when you considered he might soon be president of a country she’d barely heard of before. But having children had been even more of a revelation. She’d never really thought about having kids; it was something that would happen much later in life when she’d travelled and had a career and was totally settled. But it hadn’t happened like that and she couldn’t say she had regretted it for a minute. Oh yes, of course there were times when she was so exhausted she had spent all day in her nightie, and despite the presence of servants and El Esperanza’s luxuries – swimming pool, tennis court, hammam – none of it helped with the isolation of raising the twins, especially with Gabriel barely there. But Olivia and Joseph had brought a joy of such depth to her life that sometimes she wondered if she deserved to feel so happy.

She led Caro into the nursery where the twins were sleeping in separate cots.

‘These are my babies,’ she said, leaning in and scooping up Olivia who yawned, blinking at the room.

‘She’s so adorable!’ cried Caro, taking the infant and sitting her on her knee, making goo-goo noises at her.‘Oh Grace, I can’t believe you’re a mummy.’

‘It’s mad, isn’t it? You know I found my first grey hair this morning? I’m twenty-three! No one warns you quite how knackering motherhood is.’

‘Maybe you should make your nannies work a bit harder.’ Caro smiled.

‘We don’t have one.’

Caro looked at her in disbelief. ‘You are kidding me?’ she said. ‘You have a man to put an umbrella on your cocktail, but you don’t have anyone to help with the twins?’

Grace shook her head. ‘Gabe is paranoid about the staff. As you’ve seen, the house is pretty secure but there’s still a danger someone might infiltrate the place. One of Parador’s top judges was killed at the weekend by his pool cleaner.’

‘Fuck what Gabriel thinks,’ said Caro with passion. ‘He’s not the one getting up at five in the morning, is he? If you want a nanny, you get a nanny.’

Caro bounced Olivia up and down on her lap where she gurgled happily. Grace watched her friend. Despite Caro’s hard-edged looks – the nose ring, the spiky hair now a rich maple-leaf orange – she was a natural with kids.

‘So what are your plans?’ asked Grace. She almost hadn’t wanted to ask, fearing that Caro would say it was a flying visit.

‘D’you mind if I stay a couple of weeks? The flight ticket wiped me out.’

‘A couple of weeks?’ said Grace with delight. ‘That’s brilliant! No, I mean, stay as long as you want. The house is big enough. Although you may change your mind when you meet Gabriel’s mother.’

‘After I get my feet on the ground, I guess I’ll head off to Palumbo, see what I can cook up there,’ said Caro.

‘Parador is a dangerous place, Caro. You don’t want to be roaming around Palumbo alone.’

Caro stretched out her toes. ‘Could have fooled me. From what I’ve seen it’s like bloody paradise – whoops!’ she said, covering Olivia’s ears.

‘I’m serious, Caro,’ said Grace. ‘The drug cartels have made it nasty and innocent people get caught in the crossfire.’

‘You know me, Gracie,’ replied Caro. ‘I like to walk on the wild side.’

‘This is serious, Caro. I’ll only really feel safe if you’re here at El Esperanza.’

‘Got any jobs then? Need any rancid prawn buffets rustling up?’ Grace looked at her friend for a moment and thought how happy she had been in Port Douglas, how carefree. She loved her husband and her children and she was smitten by the beauty of El Esperanza. At night, it was nothing short of magical, like a fictitious magic box dreamt up by Gabriel for one of his books. But it was also a lonely place.

‘Why not work here with me, with the kids?’ she said suddenly. She immediately felt stupid, arrogant even, suggesting that Caro might want to work for her. She was her friend, not the hired help.

‘What, as a nanny?’

‘I guess,’ shrugged Grace, a little embarrassed now. ‘But I would understand if it was too awkward for you.’

‘Are you serious? That would be amazing!’ Caro said, jumping up and hugging Grace. ‘But are you sure Gabriel won’t mind?’

‘Gabe is never here,’ Grace said with a note of defiance. Gabe couldn’t object to having Caro as their nanny – she was one of her most trusted friends. ‘He won’t mind,’ she said. ‘And anyway, this is my house now. What I say goes.’

She hugged her friend again and thought that for the first time since she’d been in Parador, she finally felt at home.

22

November 1992

Sasha put her foot down and gunned her silver Mazda over the hill, the big houses on either side blurring, the street lights leaving trails behind her. ‘Calm down,’ she whispered to herself, hitting the brake as she saw the sign for the Hinchley Wood golf club. ‘You only have to stay a couple of hours.’ She twisted the wheel and practically skidded into the car park; she knew that two hours was going to pass very slowly indeed.

Already people were leaving the party: fifty-something couples in M&S suits and Debenhams taffeta climbing back into their middle-management cars, gleaming Rovers and Ford Mondeos. Strains of disco floated on the night air, and through the plate-glass windows she could see into the Orchid Suite, festooned with paper chains, balloons and metallic banners exclaiming
Happy Silver Wedding Anniversary!
. She could almost smell the warm wine and the sausage rolls without even entering the clubhouse. Sasha hadn’t been to a party like this since – well, since her parents’ tenth wedding anniversary – and fifteen years later the scene hadn’t changed; the people were just a bit more stooped, the dresses a bit more fussy, the cars outside upgraded a notch to the executive model with the walnut dash.

Picking up her present from the passenger seat, she took a deep breath and walked in, immediately spotting old faces: parents of girls she knew from prep school, neighbours from Esher, her father’s colleagues, an assortment from her mother’s tennis and bridge club circuit.
God, what a nightmare,
she thought. But then she caught sight of one face through the crowd. Instantly she felt guilty at her uncharitable thoughts.

‘Hi, Dad,’ she said with affection, kissing his papery cheek and wondering at what point over the last five years her father had become old. His hair was fully grey and thinning all over and the once-handsome features had sagged, as if they were giving up.

‘Hello, Pumpkin!’ said her father, clearly surprised and delighted to see her. ‘I’m so glad you could make it. I didn’t think you were coming, you’ve been so busy lately.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Sasha, resisting the urge to add a
darling
at the end of her statement, a word that popped out like a reflex now. ‘Where’s Mum?’

Her dad waved a hand.‘Off somewhere enjoying the social adoration. ’

Sasha thrust the present into his hands. ‘For both of you. From Paris. For twenty-five years of marriage.’

He shook the beautifully wrapped box vigorously next to his ear and Sasha flinched.

‘No, no. Don’t do that. It’s from Lalique.’

‘Is that one of your fancy fashion labels?’ he asked.

‘Beautiful glassware actually. Mum will be aware of it.’

‘If it’s expensive and from Paris I have no doubt she will.’ He chuckled. ‘By the way, you look absolutely wonderful this evening. Both my girls have done me proud,’ he said, gazing across the room at his wife.

Sasha knew she looked good: her dress was a Ben Rivera one-off and she was grateful that her father had noticed she had made an effort. Sasha might be contemptuous of the Surrey commuter belt she had come from, but she had still dressed to impress the parochial crowd she had left behind. The rumour mill in this neck of the woods was more efficient and more vicious than Milan during fashion week. All her old school friends and their parents would have heard about Sasha’s relationship with Miles Ashford – he was almost famous, after all – and they would have delighted in the news that it had ended. Hopefully her bespoke dress and her shiny sports car would show those tattle-tale bitches that she didn’t need a man to get on. And it was true: Sasha Sinclair was now one of London’s most in-demand stylists, not that any of this lot would know what a stylist was. Working on magazines, commercial shoots and private clients, she was making over fifty thousand pounds a year and was still only twenty-one. And to think she could be living here, working in a building society or something. The thought made her shiver.

‘You cold, love?’ asked her dad.

‘No, not at all.’ She smiled. The jazz band burst into their rendition of ‘Come Fly With Me’ and across the room Carole Sinclair, clearly a little tipsy, started motioning urgently at her husband to join her on the dance floor.

‘I think you’re on,’ said Sasha.

Gerald touched her on the arm fondly. ‘If your dance card isn’t full, would you do your old dad the honour after I’ve taken your mother for a spin?’

‘How could I refuse Esher’s answer to Fred Astaire?’

She watched as her father took his wife’s hand and proudly led her on to the dance floor. Her mother’s dress was coral silk, well-tailored, expensive, probably Escada or even Oscar de la Renta. She guessed that that one dress had hit her father’s chequebook harder than the hire cost of the Orchid Suite. Then again, in her mother’s mind, she was not in the Hinchley Wood golf club, but in the ballroom of the Dorchester.

Carefully placing the Lalique on the table next to all the other presents, Sasha sauntered over to the buffet table.

‘Sasha! How lovely to see you.’

A plump young woman in a tartan dress was smiling at her. For a second, she struggled to place her, until she realised it was Jessica Bird – her father’s best friend’s daughter. They had been in the same class at prep school, parting ways at eleven when Jessica had scraped into Guildford High while Sasha had gone off to Wycombe Abbey.

‘Jessica!’ she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. ‘So what brings you here?’

‘Whole family was invited,’ she said, stuffing a cocktail sausage into her mouth. ‘Of course, I’m just round the corner from my mum and dad now. I finished my teacher training last year and started at St Vincent’s Primary in Woking.’

‘Wow, that’s great,’ said Sasha, wondering if the bar had any real champagne. She could see she was going to need it. A tiny diamond ring winked on Jessica’s left hand.‘And engaged already?’ she asked.

Jessica smiled, glowing from within. ‘A bit soon, I know, but I’ve been with Dan since sixth form, so why waste time?’

Dan from the sixth form
, thought Sasha, trying to imagine living in a world of such poor choices, but then she remembered the time she had been desperate for Miles Ashford to propose.
At eighteen! Thank God that didn’t happen.
Men were trouble, whether they came from Esher or Angel Cay.

Jessica leant forward, her boozy breath clouding into Sasha’s personal space. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your dad,’ she said, putting a sympathetic hand on her arm.

‘What about my dad?’ Sasha frowned.

‘You know, losing his job.’

Sasha felt suddenly cold. Looking across the dance floor, she could see her father was holding Carole in his arms. He’d lost his job? It was the first Sasha had heard of this, and she was angry they’d let some silly cow in plaid tell her first. Yes, she had been busy, out of the country half the time, but even so.

‘He told my dad about it on the train to Waterloo a few days after it happened.’

‘When was this exactly?’

‘It must have been about a month ago now. Of course you know he was still catching the train into the city every day to pretend to your mum that he was still working, which I think was so sweet. He just wants to protect her from the world, doesn’t he? I know my Dan is the same. Still, things can’t be too bad, can they? They’re still having the party and I’m sure your dad has got a lot tucked away.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sure we’ll be fine,’ said Sasha, making her excuses and heading to the bar, where she got a glass of cava and drank it quickly.

Did
he have anything ‘tucked away’? Sasha wasn’t at all sure, not with the way her mother spent money, using Harrods as her own private boutique. They had not financially supported her for some time, of course, but she was still worried what it meant.
They might have to sell the house
, she thought, suddenly realising how much she was attached to that stupid mock-Tudor semi. She had spent so many years feeling embarrassed by her home and her family, but she still hated the idea of her childhood home not being there to go back to. And would the house be the only casualty? Picking the icing off a thin slice of anniversary cake, she looked at her parents on the dance floor, wondering about the chances of them reaching their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Slim to none, she suspected, when her father could no longer keep Carole in Oscar de la Renta dresses.

‘You poor bugger,’ she whispered to herself, sitting down at an empty table and filling her glass from a half-empty bottle. Over the years Sasha had experienced many emotions about her father: pity, resentment, frustration at his lack of ambition, talent and sophistication, certainly compared to the Robert Ashfords of this world. But in spite of it all, she loved him and privately acknowledged that she owed him a great deal. Growing up, it had been her mother who had encouraged her to take riding lessons, tap, ballet, flute;
self-improvement is key,
she had always said. But it was her dad who had made it happen. The thought suddenly struck her that he must have been taking time off work to make sure she got to her classes, to ferry her back and forth. No wonder he hadn’t progressed in business.