Chapter 31
31
He didn’t see the punch coming. He faltered backwards, putting a hand to his lip.
‘You fucking moron! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Have you lost your mind?!’ Roger screamed at the top of his voice.
‘What the hell?! I don’t know what you’re talking about?’ Quinn responded tentatively.
‘Don’t you patronise me, you little bastard! Sit down!’ Roger ordered.
‘Hi guys. Sorry I was gone a while. I got all the way to the supermarket and then there was a change of plan. Apparently, the bachelors are having takeaway tonight instead – what’s the matter?’ George asked.
It was three hours since she had left the catering wagon. Now she was hot and flushed from the sun and the sex and covered in sand. Marisa, Adam and Helen were all looking at her, anxious expressions on their faces.
‘Nothing, everything’s fine. We’ve almost finished the vegetarian canapés and we were going to make a start on the prep for the wedding,’ Helen spoke quickly.
‘Mother, you have to tell her!’ Marisa exclaimed .
George removed her sunglasses and put them on the counter. Her stomach was already contracting in anticipation of what was going to be said.
‘Tell me what?’
‘Roger Ferraro wants to see you. He came here in person, looking for you. He looked really, seriously pissed off,’ Adam filled in.
She felt sick. It could only be one thing. He wouldn’t have visited in person to discuss culinary matters. That was Michael or Pixie’s job; this was about her and Quinn. He knew. She swallowed the feeling down and stuck her finger in a bowl of mixture in front of Marisa.
‘This is good. Did you make this?’ George asked her, eating it.
‘George? Did you not hear what I said? What’s going on?’ Adam asked.
‘Nothing. Nothing’s going on. Why are you all looking so serious? It will be some stupid detail about serving green beans as well as mixed leaves with the main course or something. You know how they all faff about over things here. I mean, Michael was practically having a heart attack over the napkins being a shade too cream the other day,’ George gabbled.
‘That’s what I said! I expect Taylor’s stamped her feet and got Daddy running around for her, chivvying everyone up and…’ Helen started.
‘Marisa’s got a theory about your mystery man. She thinks it’s Quinn Blake,’ Adam stated, his eyes fixed on George.
‘I thought you were convinced it was Eddie the drummer,’ George responded, dipping her finger into another bowl of mixture and tasting it.
‘Well, it all adds up now. All the secrecy, the designer clothes, the three grand watch, Roger Ferraro looking pissed,’ Marisa said energetically .
‘Have you seen Quinn Blake’s fiancée? Isn’t she something like number five in America’s hottest actress poll in Star Life magazine? Aren’t we catering their wedding?’ George asked them.
The scratches on her back were smarting against the thin material of her t-shirt as she avoided the accusations. This was not a good situation.
‘She’s mental though and spends days on end at beauty parlours, I mean you, you…’ Marisa began.
‘Spend all day making sandwiches and treating OAPs for binge drinking,’ George offered.
‘So your mystery man isn’t Quinn Blake?’ Adam asked directly.
‘Look, I’ve been seeing Paco, OK? You know, Paco, the one?—’
‘In charge of tablecloths! No, George! Not him! He’s so, Spanish looking, with facial hair and there is like no way he could afford a watch like that,’ Marisa said, pointing to George’s wrist.
‘His family actually run a linen empire. They’ve got factories all over Europe. Not that his finances are any of your business. And while we’re on the subject, neither is my love life,’ George exclaimed.
With that comment made, her mobile phone began to vibrate in the pocket of her combats.
‘That’ll be him. That’ll be Quinn saying the game’s up. Is it him? Let me see!’ Marisa squealed as George got her mobile out of her pocket and checked the display.
‘Marisa! Will you leave George alone before she decides to sack you!’ Helen reprimanded.
It was an unknown number but she knew who it was.
‘Hello,’ she greeted quietly.
‘Is that Miss Fraser?’ Roger Ferraro’s voice enquired.
‘Yes. ’
‘Miss Fraser, its Roger Ferraro. I’d like to meet. Shall we say conference room three in ten?’
‘About the catering?’ George asked, her team’s eyes on her.
‘I think you know this call has nothing to do with the catering. Ten minutes,’ the now enraged voice said. The call was rapidly ended.
George quickly smiled at Helen, Adam and Marisa, replacing the phone in her pocket.
‘Who was it?’ Adam wanted to know.
‘Roger Ferraro. Something about salad dressing. There’s a meeting in ten minutes,’ George said, picking up her bag and sunglasses.
‘Ten minutes. Well, I need to redo my lipstick. Mother, can I borrow your mirror?’ Marisa asked, dropping the fork in her mixing bowl and turning to Helen.
‘It’s not for everyone, just me,’ George said, swallowing.
All this pretence was killing her. Roger must know about her and Quinn. The shit was going to hit the fan, she was going to lose the man she loved and the lucrative catering contract. She had lied to her closest friends and Adam for months. What would they think of her? Whatever was going to happen in conference room three was going to change everything.
‘Of course it is! I mean, why would he need the whole team to talk about salad dressing? I said about dressing the other day, didn’t I? I said, I expect they will want some sort of vinaigrette. That’s what they’re like, these Americans. Can’t have anything plain, can they? Everything always has to be slathered in something,’ Helen babbled, distracting Marisa as George prepared to go.
‘He didn’t look like he wanted to discuss salad dressing earlier. He actually looked like he wanted to kill someone – slowly,’ Marisa said, looking straight at George.
‘Right well, on that note, I’d better go,’ George said, her hand on the door.
‘Just a second. Here, take a bottle of water, it must be over a hundred degrees out there,’ Helen said, grabbing a bottle and going up to her.
George took it and it was then Helen whispered in her ear:
‘I know about Quinn and you have seaweed stuck on the back of your trousers.’
Conference room three had a brass name plaque with black writing stating what it was. The door knob was scratched in two places, and the kick plate had half a dozen small rubber lines on it, where people had thumped it with marking soles. She could see ugly troll faces in the grains of the wood and there was an indistinguishable orange stain about three quarters of the way up. It reminded her of the insides of a York Fruits sweet.
Should she knock? Who was in there? Just Roger? Roger and Quinn? Taylor? She balled her hands into fists and took her hundredth deep breath. Not only did she have to face whatever was going to be thrown at her from behind the door; now Helen knew the truth, she was going to have more explaining to do later. At least she would have something to do on the plane ride home once she was unceremoniously booted out of La Manga.
She lifted her hand, knocked hard on the door and opened it, biting down on the inside of her cheek. She bravely stepped into the lion’s lair.
The ice-cold, air-conditioned atmosphere hit her as soon as she set foot into the room, giving her immediate goose bumps on her arms. It made her instantly ill at ease and even more uncomfortable. If that were possible .
Roger and Quinn were sat behind a table, facing her. There was a cream-coloured tablecloth covering it and a large urn of orange lilies to Roger’s left. All that was missing from this press conference arrangement were the journalists, the row of microphones and the name cards. Quinn’s head was hung. His eyes were focussed on the floor. Only Roger met her gaze and his expression wasn’t pretty. His brow was furrowed deeper than a ploughed field, his olive complexion was glistening with sweat and he was drumming his fingers on the table.
‘Sit down,’ he barked, pointing at the chair in front of them.
She wished Quinn would just look up. She knew what was about to happen. She knew she was about to lose the best job Finger Food had ever had. But that faded into insignificance because she also knew, unless he made his stand now, she was going to lose him too.
She sat down in the chair and maintained eye contact with the music mogul. The man was a bully. He had some hold over Quinn but she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.
‘You know why you’re here,’ Roger said, his drumming fingers increasing in intensity.
‘Actually, I don’t. Should I?’ George asked bravely, still wanting Quinn to do something.
At her reply, Quinn’s shoulders seemed to arch even more, and his head sunk lower. His left shoulder turned in and he shifted uneasily on his seat.
Roger scoffed. Air seemed to shoot out of his nostrils as he threw an A4 manila envelope onto the table in front of her.
‘Open it,’ he ordered.
George reached for the envelope and slipped her fingers underneath the self-seal top. She pulled out the contents and held them in her hands. There was a pile of photographs. On each one were her and Quinn. They were all stills from that very afternoon when they’d been together on the secluded beach. The heat crept up her neck as she looked at them. Apart from the fact they were both naked and engaged in more than picnicking, the thing that stood out more than anything else was the intensity on both of their faces. It was passion and desire worthy of a Hollywood film.
George finished looking at the photos, put them back in the envelope and placed it back on the table.
‘I was couriered these. You have no idea what I had to promise to keep them out of the public domain,’ Roger informed her.
George didn’t speak. She just held his gaze and waited for what was coming.
‘This stops now. You get me? I am well aware of Quinn’s inability to fend off overzealous fans, but this public display is an outrage!’ Roger continued.
‘Overzealous fan,’ George spoke, looking at Quinn, who was still engaged in studying his Havaianas.
‘I am not prepared to let someone like you ruin this wedding. So let’s strike a deal. You stay away from Quinn and make no mention of this dalliance to anybody, and you get to keep the catering contract, plus a little bonus of say – ten thousand dollars?’ Roger negotiated.
‘You’re going to pay me to keep quiet,’ George said, shaking her head.
‘OK, twenty thousand. But that is my final offer and it’s far more than you’re going to get from any magazine deal,’ Roger continued.
‘I find that insulting,’ George told him.
‘Take the money,’ Quinn said, finally raising his head and looking at her.
‘Take the money? I don’t want the money! And I can’t believe he is going to let his daughter marry you when he can see from these photos that you don’t love her,’ George said anger rising in her.
‘George, please. Just take it,’ Quinn begged .
‘Tell him the truth. Tell him you don’t love her,’ George said, her eyes pleading with him.
‘This discussion isn’t about love. It’s about the wedding. A wedding we’ve been planning for a long time, a wedding that will be going ahead as long as there’s breath in my body,’ Roger informed her sternly.
‘You know he doesn’t love her? Oh my God! Is this for real? You know he doesn’t love her and you’re making them get married!’ George exclaimed.
‘This conversation is over; I’ll have a cheque sent over to your accommodation. You may leave,’ Roger said, holding his hand out and indicating the door.
‘I don’t want the money. But I’ll take these,’ George said, snatching up the envelope.
‘I can’t let you do that! Put them down!’ Roger exclaimed, getting to his feet and flapping his arms about.
‘Look at them, Quinn. Look at your face; look at mine. Are you really going to let him make you say goodbye to that?’ George asked, fanning the pictures out in front of him.
Quinn looked up at her, tears on the brink of falling from his eyes. He shook his head.
‘We’re done here. The next time I see you, I’d like it to be fully clothed, carrying a plate of chicken and rice,’ Roger told her.
She took a last look at Quinn and turned on her heel. She marched from the room, full of anger, despondency and desperation. It was over.
He was in freefall now, internally tumbling through the darkest, deepest ravine. He had lost her, the one person who got him, whoever that was. The one person who made him feel real. Why was he so weak?