Chapter 10
10
‘Fabian, glad you were able to make it.’ A man I guessed to be in his late sixties, and instantly recognisable from the photos I’d googled of the Lord Chief Justice, was at the top of the steps leading to the front door. He was attempting to tie a blue striped apron round his rather rotund middle while keeping one hand on Boris, who was desperate to be off into the crowd of people gathered in the sunlit garden beyond. Sir Roland Carrington shot out his free hand in my direction, the apron draped loosely from around his neck.
‘Dad, this is Robyn.’
‘Good to meet you, m’dear. Do make yourself at home, have a drink, plenty to eat…’ He gave up the unequal struggle with Boris, who shot forward towards Fabian who caught him, instantly calming him down with a firm but reassuring hand. ‘Needs some training, does that dog.’ Roland smiled. ‘Right, apparently I’m on BBQ duty again. What is it about we men that women think we like nothing better than flipping a sausage over hot charcoal every time the sun comes out?’
‘You love it, Dad.’ Fabian smiled.
‘Which charity is today in aid of?’ I asked.
‘Oh, several, I believe. You’ll have to ask Gillian, my wife; she’s in charge.’ He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of a shaded copse of trees.
‘Hello, darling.’ A dark-haired whippet-thin woman – I’d seen more flesh on a toothpick – dressed in white cut-offs and a pink floaty top was air-kissing Fabian with some enthusiasm and yet never actually making contact with any part of him. She turned to me, scrutinising every inch of my face and dress from behind ridiculously over-the-top Victoria Beckham-type shades. Hang on, it wasn’t VB herself, was it?
‘Robyn, this is my sister-in-law, Claudia.’
Ah, not Victoria, then.
‘She’s married to Julius.’
‘For my sins, darling, and not sure for how much longer: I should have realised, once we were married, his work would take precedence over me.’ She turned to me. ‘Don’t ever marry a Carrington…’ She trailed off, looking me up and down once more as if to reassure herself that that was never likely to be on the cards. ‘Right, must go and help Gillian. Julius wants a word, Fabian, at some point. Told me to grab you when I found you.’
‘I can do without getting into work talk with Julius,’ Fabian said, shaking his head as Claudia disappeared into the gathered guests. ‘Don’t let him take me off to one side, will you?’
He took my hand (which I was pleased about – he might have brought me into the cradle of his family, but could have played down any relationship we were having) and we wandered through the groups of beautifully dressed women and confident, laughing men, Fabian stopping occasionally to chat to one or the other and to introduce me. Most were friendly, but several of them widened their eyes slightly – I was, as far as I could make out, the only woman of colour there – and, as we walked away, I heard one tell her neighbour in a too loud aside: ‘According to Julius, she’s some random reggae singer’s daughter. Reggae? Can you imagine? I bet Gillian’s had something to say about that…’
How did Julius know that? Had Fabian told him about Jayden?
I turned to ask him, curious rather than resentful – I was proud of being Jayden Allen’s daughter – but we were being approached by a couple I knew I’d seen before.
‘Fabian.’ The man drew him into a bear hug and I immediately recognised him as the little chap from Graphite the night Fabian had come in for his birthday celebration.
‘He-llo. I know you from somewhere?’ Fish Face actually closed one eye as she tried to work out where she’d come across me before. ‘Harrods,’ she eventually said. ‘You served me when I bought Mummy’s birthday present last week? The quite darling little pink cashmere Max Mara cardigan? Mummy loved it… No?’
‘Nope, try again.’ I smiled as Fabian struggled to extricate himself from the other man’s embrace.
‘Oh, you’ve got me,’ Fish Face trilled.
‘ Graphite?’ I smiled.
‘Oh, you were in Graphite? Were you on a table near us?’
‘I was serving you: I was your waitress that evening.’
‘You’re a waitress ? The waitress?’
‘Hello, Araminta, how are you?’ Fabian, having made a final bid for freedom, bent to kiss the girl’s cheek.
‘Well, I’d have been a lot better had you got round to answering my calls, Fabian.’ She was obviously cross. ‘I did tell you you’d been invited to Mummy’s birthday bash. She was most put out when you didn’t turn up.’
‘I’m so sorry, Araminta. I’m absolutely mowed down with work at the moment.’
‘Really?’ Araminta glared in my direction. ‘You didn’t tell us you were friendly with the… the waiting staff at Graphite.’
‘Only one of them.’ Fabian smiled, reaching for my hand. ‘This is Robyn.’ He was saved from any further comment by Boris bowling up, shooting his head lovingly into Araminta’s crotch before, having obviously fallen in love, attempting to mount her bare tanned leg.
‘Come here, you damned dog.’ In his wake came a tall dark-haired girl in torn jeans and white vest who, after apologising to Araminta for the dog’s bad manners, flung herself into Fabian’s arms.
Not another one? Were they all in love with Fabian Mansfield Carrington?
‘Thank God you’re here, Fabian,’ I heard her whisper. ‘I’m just about to turn to drink with this lot.’
‘This is my little sister, Jemima.’ Fabian grinned, turning to me while hugging her. ‘Come on, let’s get a drink…’ and then, realising the little chap, and certainly Araminta, appeared to think the invitation included them too, said, ‘I’ve not seen Jemima for weeks and the three of us are going to head off for a drink and a catch-up. Lovely to see you both,’ he added somewhat dismissively, taking my hand and pulling Jemima’s arm through his own before we all set off at pace across the lawn.
‘Right, Jemima,’ Fabian said when we had put some distance between ourselves and the other two, ‘this is Robyn.’
‘Robyn, golly, we meet at last. I feel I know everything about you.’ She gave me a hug. ‘Never known this big brother of mine to talk so much about any woman.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ I grinned, instantly liking this sister of Fabian’s.
‘Oh, you must, you must. Let’s get a bottle of wine and sit under the willow and get rat-arsed.’
‘Well, one drink would be lovely,’ I conceded.
‘There’s Pimm’s actually,’ Jemima said. ‘Let’s have Pimm’s, shall we?’
‘I’ve been off work for four days with a dicky knee,’ I explained ruefully. I felt I could down a whole pitcher of Pimms. ‘I’ve been let off this afternoon’s matinee, but I have to be back at the theatre for the evening’s performance. I shouldn’t drink at all really, but I don’t suppose one Pimm’s will hurt: it’s just a fruit cocktail, right?’
‘One it is, then.’ Jemima smiled. ‘And I suppose you’re driving Robyn back to London in a couple of hours, Fabes?’ She sighed. ‘Looks like it’s just me, then… Oh, hell, hang on, Mum’s on her way over.’
‘Fabian? You made it?’ The approaching woman glanced at Jemima. ‘When did you arrive, dear? Any chance you could have dressed for the occasion?’ Jemima raised an eyebrow and shrugged before heading off in the direction of the Pimm’s, and Gillian Carrington turned to me, extending her hand. ‘Hello. Thank you for attending this afternoon?—’
‘Mum,’ Fabian interrupted, ‘you’re being a bit formal. This is Robyn.’
‘Robyn.’ She nodded almost dismissively. ‘I believe you work in the theatre? You’re an actress?’ She said the word with as much disdain as though she’d been saying ‘sex worker’ or ‘layabout’.
‘I think we’re probably all called actors these days, but yes, I’m currently at The Mercury in the production of Dance On .’
‘Right, right…’ She trailed off, seemingly unable to think of anything else to say on the matter of my work, and instead turned back to Fabian. ‘Fabian, Lucinda is here with her parents. She’s just been called to the bar and I know she’d love to have a word with you.’
I realised, despite what I’d just been telling Jemima, I could do with being called to a bar myself, but I stood stoutly in front of this red-haired, raw-boned woman, a fixed smile on my face.
‘If I bump into her, Mum, of course, but, to be honest, we’ve only just dropped in for an hour or so. I’m taking Robyn for afternoon tea at The Fat Duck .’
‘Oh?’ Gillian Carrington frowned. ‘Are you? A special occasion, is it?’ She gave me a hard stare before demanding of Fabian, ‘You’ve managed to get a table? That was very clever of you.’ She turned once more to me. ‘So…?’
‘Robyn,’ I prompted.
‘So, Robyn, where are you from?’
‘Well, I’m living in Soho at the moment, but I grew up in Beddingfield – it’s a village in West Yorkshire.’
‘West Yorkshire? Really? The industrial part of the county as opposed to Harrogate in the north?’ She sniffed slightly. ‘No, I meant, where are you really from?’
Oh, dear God, not this again. Surely, surely , people didn’t still ask this of people who didn’t look just like themselves? ‘Where am I really from? Well, I’m reallio, trulio, from Yorkshire, although,’ I said, putting on a slight West Indian patois, ‘ma big man’s half Jamaican and my mum is half Indian – but actually that could be half Pakistani: she was adopted at birth and has no real inkling as to her true background . I believe the rest of me is pure Yorkshire but, as you say, urban West Yorkshire as opposed to the more leafy-avenued North Yorkshire…’
If Gillian Carrington had actually put up her two hands to stop my monologue, I wouldn’t have been surprised but, well-brought-up woman that she allegedly was, she simply cut me off by pointedly and meaningfully turning her back on me.
‘Mum,’ Fabian warned, obviously embarrassed at his mother’s rudeness, ‘we’re going to get a drink and catch up with Jemima.’
‘Well, it’s of the utmost importance you speak to Julius before you go, Fabian,’ Gillian Carrington said, almost crossly. ‘You know what about. He’s looking for you.’
‘I’d really quite like to have some time off work…’
‘You know as well as I do that the Carringtons pride themselves on always being available for their clients.’
‘Not today they don’t,’ Fabian said firmly. ‘I’ve shown my face here, Mum, and I’ll mingle and be polite, but I’m not extending that politeness to any work business?—’
‘As you wish, Fabian,’ Gillian interrupted icily. ‘Your mind is obviously on other things this afternoon, but I would appreciate your having a word with Lucinda, and you absolutely have to speak with Julius. Now, I need to get back to overseeing the food – people will be becoming hungry. And, do not forget, Fabian, you’ve the speech to make re the charity for which you’re the patron.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Shall we say in an hour? Over by the pergola?’ And without another word, or eye contact, she walked quickly away from us.
Fabian was angry. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ he snapped. ‘I’m sorry to put you through that. She’s insufferable – always has been.’
I shrugged. ‘You can’t go anywhere. You’ve your speech to make. Look, I don’t mind anyone asking about my heritage – it’s something I’m very proud of and more than happy to explain – but, unfortunately, it’s the way that some people – including your mother – use the question to belittle as well as to reveal their ignorance and prejudice. And,’ I went on as Fabian put out a hand to me, ‘I’m sorry if on first meeting your mother I’ve ended up calling her ignorant…’ I trailed off. ‘It wasn’t my intention.’
Fabian put both arms around me, kissing the top of my head, obviously upset at his mother’s behaviour.
‘Fabian, it’s fine,’ I said, ‘really, but you need to know that your continuing in a relationship with me is not going to be easy. Already, I’ve encountered quite unpleasant disapproval from your brother, and now your mother as well. All I’m saying is that you’re probably better off with a private-school-and-Oxford-educated southerner whose father’s something in the City.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop it, Robyn, you’re doing it again: Pride and Prejudice could have been written about you – you’ve got both in spades. Ignore my brother and my mother. They’ll adore you once they get to know you, and if they don’t…’ He broke off as Julius Carrington appeared in front of us.
‘Hello, Robyn, how lovely to see you again.’ He slurred the words. ‘And, goodness, don’t you look stunning?’ Julius’s hand was immediately on my backside, alcohol-laden breath on my cheek. ‘I can certainly see what my brother sees in you,’ he whispered wetly into my ear, ‘although I bet you’ve not got round to telling him?—’
‘Get your hands off her,’ Fabian snapped, pushing Julius roughly away so that some guests standing nearby turned and stared.
Julius stumbled slightly but stood his ground, both hands held upwards in apparent supplication. He moved further towards Fabian, one finger now pointing and almost touching his half-brother’s collar, determination emanating from every aspect of his stance and voice. ‘Fabian,’ he growled, lowering his voice to exclude me from the conversation, ‘you appear not to be answering my phone calls. I need to know – we, the family, need to know – what your intentions are regarding Henderson-Smith…’
Henderson-Smith? My head shot up instantly at the name that had been splashed across every newspaper. Rupert Henderson-Smith, who had finally been tracked down and arrested after the savage rape and murder of six women in London.
‘Henderson-Smith?’ I stared at Fabian. ‘The Soho Slasher? You’re not going to be defending Rupert Henderson-Smith?’
‘Not now, Robyn.’ Fabian took my shoulder to steer me away from Julius.
‘How interesting, Fabian, that she of all people appears quite horrified at the thought of you?—’
‘“She of all people”?’ I hissed furiously, all the pent-up nervousness from the afternoon now morphed into the anger I was feeling, not only at the treatment of myself by both Gillian and Julius Carrington, but also the utter dismay that Fabian was even considering taking on the defence of this high-society alleged murderer. ‘What the hell do you mean, “she of all people”?’
‘You need to ask that?’ Julius sneered. ‘With your family history?’ He shook his head in apparent mock despair.
‘What family history? What are you talking about?’ Fabian turned to me. ‘Robyn?’
I closed my eyes for a second before taking Fabian’s hand in my own.
And waited for the sky to fall in on me.