Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
A llie didn’t have long to wait to find out. That evening Martin rang her again and despite thinking it would probably be best to let it ring through to voicemail, her lack of self-control meant she couldn’t. Evidently, Martin had confessed everything to Angie, including the writing relationship that he and Allie had devised. Allie considered having a go at him, reminding him that they had agreed to keep this a secret before she remembered that Martin had done one of the bravest things he could and that now wasn’t the time to be bringing up minor promises with which to beat him. And anyway, she’d already told Verity, so really she didn’t have a leg to stand on.
Martin told Allie that Angie had been furious at first, both with him and with Gigi, but had now calmed down and was actually keen to meet her.
‘Me?’ exclaimed Allie in consternation. ‘Why?’
‘Because, as I have now discovered, she’s read your books and is a fan and is trying to pretend not to be impressed by the fact I know you.’
Allie preened herself a little at Martin’s words.
‘And also, it might stop her thinking we’re having some kind of affair. So, will you come?’ he asked.
‘Come where?’
‘To our house, for dinner. Tomorrow night?’
And that was how Allie found herself on the doorstep of a beautiful white Regency villa the following evening, feeling foolish that she had presumed Martin lived in Hampstead, just because he was a rich, white literary male, but not quite as foolish as she felt agreeing to this dinner in the first place. And anyway, she thought to herself, this might just as well be Hampstead, given she was a stone’s throw from the heath that gave Blackheath its name, and that the house in front of her would probably set her back a few million. She took a deep breath, begged her imposter syndrome to take the night off and rang the doorbell.
The door swung slowly open giving Allie the chance to catch a glimpse of stunning black and white tiling and stairs sweeping off into the many other floors of the mansion.
‘You must be Allie.’ Angie was suddenly smiling at her as Allie tried not to gape. Angie was certifiably gorgeous, tall and curvy with dark luscious hair, which she had swept back from her face into a low chignon. Her skin glowed with a luminosity that came not just from what Allie would presume was an expensive skincare regime, but also from a genetic gift which left Allie feeling short-changed for herself and the rest of the average-looking sisterhood. She wore a dark blue, silk soft jumpsuit that clung to her in all the right places and Allie wondered just what alchemy was at work which led a mother of two in her sixties to look this good. And then behind her was Martin, bobbing around, looking just as uncomfortable as Allie felt.
‘Hi!’ Allie said and gave them both a little wave.
‘Come in.’ Angie swept the door wide open and went to hug Allie as she made her way across the threshold. Panicked by the sudden intimacy, Allie went stiff as a board before finally, gingerly succumbing to Angie’s embrace. And just as suddenly it was over and Allie was left wanting to inhale more of whatever the fragrance was that Angie was wearing.
‘Here,’ she said, thrusting the bottle of wine she had picked up on the way at Angie, ‘this is for you.’
‘You shouldn’t have,’ said Angie magnanimously and managing to sound as if she was truly touched by Allie’s gift. ‘But thank you. Martin, take Allie’s coat.’
‘Hi, Martin,’ Allie said, shrugging herself out of her coat and handing it to him.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he whispered. ‘I owe you one.’
Allie raised her eyebrow at him as Angie gestured for Allie to follow her deeper into their enormous abode. ‘You do,’ she confirmed. ‘You can pay me back in more ideas for my book, OK?’
Martin nodded and looked relieved to have got off the hook this lightly, before leading her into what was probably referred to as the drawing room in a house like this. It was high ceilinged with lamps placed at strategic points around the room, bathing the space in a warm golden light. Large windows at the back were covered with curtains that had yet to be drawn against the encroaching evening, and through them, Allie could see a sizable walled garden with tall trees at the back and a sweet little patio area just beneath the house itself. It reminded her of something out of Notting Hill , just in a different postcode.
‘Allie, what can we get you to drink? White wine? Red? A gin and tonic?’ Angie was stood framed in the doorway which looked like it led to the kitchen, if all the gleaming white marble behind her was anything to go by.
‘Erm, what are you having?’ Allie asked.
‘Shall we start with a G Allie felt a rush of emotion for this kind woman who had invited her into her home, showed her compassion, praised her books. She wasn’t sure that her own mother would have listened for long enough to grasp the issues at stake or to show such genuine concern for Allie’s well-being. Her voice got choked up as she tried to explain.
‘I know. I’m worried too to be honest. I’m already on the wrong side of Jake and if this doesn’t work and he gets wind of the plan or that I’m involved then it’s going to go very, very badly wrong for all of us. But I also can’t just sit back and do nothing. This man might be ruining my career but he’s also ruining a lot of other people’s too. And he’s doing it from a position of power and privilege with absolutely no recourse. I can’t let him do that.’ She looked over at Martin who was nodding too and then back at Angie who was no longer looking at her with concern but with something that looked quite a lot like admiration.
‘I love Verity, my editor,’ Allie explained. ‘She’s the reason I have this job, she has always believed in me, always done everything in her power to make my books successful. I can’t stand to see what Jake has done to her, and I won’t stand by and not do something if there is anything I can do to help. And Tessa, his assistant? I don’t know her at all, and perhaps she’s an awful person and deserves to have Jake as her boss. But perhaps she’s just a young misguided kid who doesn’t realise she is being used, and doesn’t know she has the power and the right to stand up to Jake. And if I can help but I don’t, I don’t think I will ever forgive myself.’
Before she knew what was happening, Allie found herself engulfed in Angie’s arms and Angie was saying over her shoulder to Martin, ‘I KNEW I would like her in person.’ She held Allie away from her and looked her in the eyes. ‘You’re very brave. And if there is anything Martin or I can do to help you must let us know. Isn’t that right, Martin?’
But Martin wasn’t there, Martin seemed to have disappeared off into the kitchen. Angie looked scathingly at Allie. ‘Powerful women showing emotion makes him nervous. Always has done. That’s why Gigi has always been able to walk all over him.’
‘Is that her?’ Allie pointed to one of the photos on the mantelpiece. It was a black and white head shot and Gigi was undeniably beautiful, like a younger Angie but with a likeness to someone else that Allie couldn’t immediately think of…
‘Yes. That’s one of her headshots taken for her portfolio. It’s a couple of years old now, back when she wanted to be an actor.’
‘She doesn’t anymore?’
Angie laughed hollowly. ‘Oh goodness no. I think she was through that phase before the photos were even developed. That,’ she pointed to the photograph, ‘is quite possibly the most expensive piece of artwork in the entire house.’ She smiled at Allie, ‘Oh don’t mind me. I’m used to Gigi and her ways. One day, she’ll learn, and maybe that day will come sooner now that her dad is going to stop bailing her out.’
Allie stood and walked over to the grand piano in the corner. ‘Martin told me you sang. Do you play too?’ She ran her hand over the smooth polished wood of the piano, feeling the coolness to her touch.
‘Occasionally, but Martin is the real piano player in the family, isn’t that right, darling?’
Allie spun round in surprise at this revelation that Martin’s talents stretched beyond the literary and into the musical realm. ‘You are?’
Martin was standing with his arm around Angie staring adoringly at his wife. He shrugged slightly at Allie as she asked him, ‘Would you play something now?’
‘Only if Angie agrees to sing.’
‘Oh Martin, no, it’s too early for that. We haven’t even finished our first drinks yet.’ Allie could hear what Angie was saying but the tone in which she was saying it screamed, ‘Please ask me again, and then I’ll say yes.’
‘Please?’ Allie asked plaintively, enjoying the way Martin and Angie were gazing at each other, pretty much oblivious to her existence right now.
‘Oh OK, if you insist.’ And before Allie could say anything more Angie was round the other side of the piano, flicking through the music on the stand and beckoning Martin to come and sit. ‘This one?’ she said, pointing to the page.
‘Whichever one you want, my darling.’ If Allie hadn’t been so invested in this relationship she might have thrown up there and then, what with the amount of PDA flying about the room. But she was a hundred per cent here for this and stared as Martin settled himself in, running his hands up and down the keys as a warm-up.
Allie was not a jazz afficionado. In fact, she didn’t know much about any type of music, which made the time she decided to write a romance featuring a musician as her lead a questionable choice and something which led to months of frankly unnecessary research when she could have just switched professions easily enough. Something that Jess had unhelpfully pointed out on the night of the book launch.
But tonight, Allie would officially declare herself in love with jazz. Angie’s voice alone would have convinced her, it was rich and low, with a resonant quality which echoed around the room and seemed to strike Allie right in her heart. And then there was the way Angie’s hand rested ever so lightly on Martin’s shoulder, tensing at the high notes and relaxing as the song made its way through the sentimental crescendo. Martin obviously knew the piece off by heart, he didn’t need the music in front of him, he didn’t even need to be looking down at what his fingers were doing, all he needed to do was to look up at Angie, which he did often. And the two of them would smile at each other, a secret, private smile which Allie could just tell held the multitude of their memories and their life together. She sighed deeply, and wondered if Will played the piano, or sang. And then remembered that she did neither and so it wasn’t likely that she would find herself reenacting a similar scene and anyway, musical duets did not fit into her arm’s length strategy she reminded herself sternly. She broke into enthusiastic applause as the song came to an end.
‘That was amazing!’ she gushed, walking over to the piano. Angie and Martin smiled at each other and then at her.
‘It’s our party trick.’ Angie said.
‘We’ve been playing that piece for years,’ Martin confirmed.
‘I keep telling Martin we should find new music but he won’t have it. Doesn’t like change…’ Angie rolled her eyes at Allie who glanced quickly over at Martin to discover that he too was rolling his eyes at Allie. And just like that the spell was broken. These two were adorable, thought Allie, but also perfectly normal and flawed, just like every other couple in the world.
‘Is that your son?’ she said as she peered at some of the photo frames facing outward from the piano. The boy had dark hair, beautiful eyes and Allie could see the resemblance both to Angie and to Martin as well. She wondered what he looked like now, he was a good-looking child who had hopefully fulfilled his potential and grown into a good-looking adult.
‘Yes, but those ones are ancient. The kids look so young in them. There are more recent ones this side.’ Angie pointed to the frames which faced towards the keys of the piano, ones that Allie couldn’t yet see. ‘Here he is, this one was taken just last year at my niece’s wedding…’ Angie turned the photo around just as Martin said, ‘Actually, you’ve met him…’
Allie stared at the photo, not fully understanding what she was seeing. She was well versed in the tropes of an out-of-body experience, but while she couldn’t put her finger on whether her own individual brand of dissociative state was to feel as if she was underwater, or floating over her own body, what she did know, was that neither her body nor her brain were doing what they ought to be doing. Martin’s voice had gone all strange and slow and echoey, and while she recognised that what Martin was telling her was important, her ears didn’t want to hear it, her eyes wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen it and her brain sure as hell didn’t want to deal with the implications. Which all resulted in the feeling that her body wanted to be somewhere very far away and very quickly.
‘Are you OK?’ Whether Martin had truly seen the real state she was in was debatable but he had definitely noticed something was up. ‘Allie? You’ve gone very pale.’
‘Here, come and sit down.’ And now Angie was taking her by the arm and steering her back towards the sofa, which she should never have left the safety of. Allie looked up blearily but could still see the offending photo turned towards her.
‘Martin,’ Angie was now all authority, ‘go get some snacks. Maybe she needs something to eat. Allie, dear, when was the last time you ate?’
Allie shook her head, she honestly couldn’t remember. And why was eating so important anyway when her world was spinning upside down and back to front?
Martin was hesitating in the doorway. ‘Now, Martin,’ snapped Angie, completely destroying Allie’s brief image of them as the perfect couple.
Martin was obviously familiar with the tone of Angie’s voice because he was back incredibly quickly, carrying a bowl of something and a glass of water, both of which he put down on the table in front of Allie.
‘Here, drink some of this.’ Angie placed the glass of water in her hands and then eyed the contents of the bowl before shooting Martin a questioning look. He shrugged and picked it up to offer it to Allie, and the fact that it contained a mixture of Hula Hoops and Twiglets went some way in making Allie feel a little better about the mess of a situation she was just beginning to uncover.
‘What did you say your son was called?’ she stammered, putting the glass down and sloshing half its contents over the side.
‘William. We call him Liam, but his friends all call him Will.’
Still Allie clutched on to the hope that she was mistaken. That there was more than one Will who looked identical to the one she had kissed, the one who made her heart beat faster, the one who made her catch her breath when she saw him, laugh loud when he teased her, fall hard when she should have been keeping him at arm’s length. Because the idea that her Will, the one who was going to save her writing career along with a lovely side order of some, as yet to be delivered, smashing, was the same Will who was posed in the family photographs up and down the piano was unconscionable. It didn’t compute, it couldn’t compute, she wouldn’t let it.
‘And you said I’ve met him?’ Her voice sounded thin and wavery, asking a question she wasn’t sure she would like the answer to, while all the time running through the conversations she had had with Will, her Will, about his job.
‘Yes, he did the catering for the summer party, you know where we met at the V&A, or more accurately, outside the V&A!’ Martin chortled to himself while Allie felt like throwing up. ‘He was the one who showed you the way back in?’
‘But, but,’ Allie gabbled, ‘you said he owned the company? The man I met was a waiter, wasn’t he?’
Martin frowned at Angie and then they both smiled indulgently at the memory of their darling boy and his japes, how amusing it was to get writers all confused as to his job and his parentage when showing them the way back into a party.
‘No, no Liam likes to be involved at all stages. He isn’t always as hands on at the actual events, but if they’re short-staffed, or he feels like it, he’ll help with handing out canapés, setting up and clearing up. That kind of thing.’ Martin paused and Allie felt the cold wash of dread run over her. She was going to have to tell him, wasn’t she? And she wasn’t sure whether she meant Martin or Will. Both eventually would need to know, wouldn’t they? But which one first, and how should she break this piece of libido-quenching news? And why hadn’t her Will told her that he owned the company? Why had he left her thinking that he was waitstaff? And if he hadn’t let her in on this pretty damned important part of his life, what else was he keeping from her? Was he keeping her at arm’s length, just as she was supposed to be doing with him?
‘Actually, I keep meaning to ask Liam whether it was at that party he met his new lady friend.’ This was directed at Angie. Allie shuddered when she realised that the ‘lady friend’ Martin was referring to, was, in fact, her.
‘Oh do you think so?’ Angie mused.
‘Well he hasn’t said as such, but I think he might have met her there. Bet he was glad he decided to help out that night! Finally, his workaholic tendencies might have paid off!’ Angie and Martin chortled contentedly and for a brief moment Allie felt like punching both of them and probably would have done so if it had meant that the nightmare she now found herself in would end, and she would wake up in her own bed and laugh at the ridiculousness of her own sub-conscious coming up with stupid ideas about Will, her Will, being the son of Martin and Angie. But no amount of physical violence would turn this real-life situation into a dream, and so she sat on her hands instead.
‘Well, we’ll be pleased to meet her, won’t we?’ Angie said to Martin who nodded enthusiastically. ‘He’s always so secretive about his love life.’ This last was directed confidentially towards Allie who was hoping that this secretive nature might continue long enough for her to figure her way out of this mess.
‘Anyway, how are you feeling now you’ve got some Twiglets inside you?’ Martin asked as Allie stress stuffed half the bowl into her mouth in one go. ‘Do you think we should eat dinner?’
‘Yes, good idea,’ Angie said, standing up. ‘I’m sure that’s why you felt faint, dear. Low blood sugar. You need to be careful. Now you don’t have any food allergies, do you? I know Martin said he checked but you never know with him. Liam called in earlier on today and dropped off some new dishes he’s trialling for his business, we thought we could have those. I know he’d be grateful for some unbiased feedback, sometimes I think he doesn’t really trust me and his dad to be objective.’ She laughed brightly.
Allie really wasn’t sure how unbiased she could truly be given the circumstances. Nor was she sure how much of anything other than Twiglets she would be able to consume given the nausea which kept rising in her throat. But she allowed herself to be led through to the dining room, and seated in a chair while she fought the urge to run screaming from the house.
When Allie looked back on the rest of the evening, which she tried not to do, she really couldn’t recall how she had got through it. She had little recollection of the food, only partial recall of the conversation and absolutely no idea how she had made it back to her own flat. Later, the only thing she could truly, hand on her heart, swear had really happened, was her release of the howl of foreboding which had been building up inside her, ever since Angie had turned that photo to face her, and which she just about managed to muffle with her hand as she slammed her front door behind her.