Chapter 46
CHAPTER 46
Beau was walking along Walton Street, whistling. Now he’d bumped into Juliet and had that nice chat with her, he felt he could come back to the shop and say goodbye to everyone, which he hadn’t been able to do when he left. And perhaps if he asked the guys in the studio to put in a good word for him, Juliet would relent and let him back in there to work for nothing after all. She’d said he was talented – that had been thrilling.
Most of all, though, he wanted to see Gwen. He’d made her a pendant – she wasn’t really a flashy ring kind of a person – and he wanted to give it to her in person, to thank her for being so kind and lovely to him while he’d been there.
He was surprised to see a man behind the counter when the shop door buzzed open. A sleekly dressed older chap with silver hair.
‘Hello,’ said Beau.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said the man smoothly, smiling with Arctic eyes. ‘What can I help you with?’
Beau saw him looking at his rings, probably thinking he was going to attempt a swap.
‘Well,’ said Beau, ‘I actually want to see Gwen. I used to work here.’
The man raised an eyebrow slightly, clearly still suspicious.
‘Is Luiza here?’
‘Luiza doesn’t work here anymore,’ said the man, not showing any signs of warming up.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Beau. ‘I know you can’t leave the counter – I used to work here, as I said, I know the score – so I’ll just send Gwen a quick text to see if she can pop up to see me.’ He turned his back on Mr Frosty and messaged Gwen.
After a couple of minutes, the door from the back opened and her head came round it.
‘Bob,’ she said, looking pleased to see him, but oddly nervous. ‘I mean – Beau. Come on through.’
She seemed more herself when they were back in her stuffy little office and Beau was happy to be back there as she bustled around making tea and opening the cake tin. Once they were settled, a large slice of banana bread on a plate next to him, he handed her a small box.
Her face lit up when she opened it. ‘Oh, it’s Puddles!’ she said, looking at the little ginger cat’s face, which Beau had created out of tangerine quartz. ‘You’ve caught his cross expression perfectly. How did you do that?’
‘Well, you do have quite a lot of pictures of him on your Facebook feed.’
Gwen laughed. ‘I can’t help myself. Thank you so much, I will treasure this. You’re so clever.’
‘It is what I really love to do,’ said Beau. ‘That’s what I came here for originally, to do work experience up with the boys – but I got sidetracked into the shop and then when I wasn’t needed there, the other thing seemed to get forgotten.’
Gwen smiled uneasily and then leaned across the desk towards him. ‘Will you help me put it on?’
He fixed the clasp and she got up to look in the mirror on the wall. ‘I love it so much,’ she said, turning with tears in her eyes. ‘I have several friends who I think will want something similar when they see this. Would you take commissions?’
‘For pet portrait jewellery? Absolutely. Give them my number. As long as there are enough photos, I don’t see why it would be a problem.’
‘Oh, there are photos,’ said Gwen and they laughed.
Beau ate the delicious cake and looked around the cramped, windowless space with the Wales calendar, dried flowers and filing cabinets. It was so humdrum compared to the glamorous shop, but really it was the engine room of the place.
‘It’s good to be back,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t here long, but I did enjoy it. How’s everyone else? Where’s Luiza?’
A dark look crossed Gwen’s face. ‘She had to leave,’ she said.
‘Was she lifting gear?’ Nothing would surprise him about her. So tough.
Gwen pursed her lips, looking strangely uncomfortable again and fiddling with the little gold crucifix she always wore round her neck.
Beau had never seen her look so grave before. He was about to ask if she was alright when she started speaking.
‘It was much worse than theft of property, Bob,’ she said, sitting up straight. ‘Beau. It was theft of privacy. She was blackmailing Juliet.’
His mouth fell open. ‘That’s horrible. But what about? Juliet hasn’t got anything to hide, surely?’
‘She has actually,’ said Gwen, quietly but firmly. ‘The parentage of her children.’
Beau frowned. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, though he’d read about it in the Style section.
‘Sperm donor, wasn’t it?’
Gwen looked down, playing with a bit of the banana bread, crumbling it on the plate and not eating it. What was this about? Beau didn’t like it.
‘Cassady and Hettie did have a father,’ she said, looking up. ‘The same father – and it’s not something Juliet ever wanted anyone to know, because he was married and already had children.’
A bit tacky, but nothing he hadn’t heard before. Most of his friends had divorced parents and patchwork families with half-siblings, step-siblings, other women, other men, both. All the normal betrayals. Why was Gwen being so weird about it?
She leaned forward. ‘I’m not sure how it has fallen to me,’ she said, ‘but I have come to the decision that I have to tell you who the father of Juliet’s daughters is, Beau, before someone else does. For your sake, for those dear little girls and for Juliet, it’s time for everyone to know the truth.’
Now he was feeling a bit freaked out. This was properly weird.
Gwen reached over and put her hand on his. ‘It was your father, Beau,’ she said.
Beau stumbled back out onto Walton Street feeling like he’d been tossed around in a tumble dryer. Water boarded. Run over by a tank. Ten tanks.
Gwen had been incredibly kind and had wanted to call a car to take him to the station, but he’d just had to get out of that building. What if Juliet came back? He’d seen his father’s drawings of her nipples. And worse.
He stumbled again as the realisation hit him and he had to lean against a wall. He closed his eyes, then opened them again immediately, as those images appeared vividly in his memory. That’s why Matt was suddenly obsessed with auction houses. It was where he’d met her.
He hung his head at the horror of it all, but then there was the other thing. The thing that was terrible and amazing at the same time. He really did have a mystery sibling – and it was Cassady. No wonder they had the same sense of humour – and the same bloody hair. No wonder she was so good at drawing. No wonder he loved her. They were family.
He slapped his hand onto his forehead. Cassady was a Crommelin. A girl Crommelin. And Hettie was too. There were now two girl Crommelins. The first girls for three generations, at least. It was a miracle. Tom and Bella could finally have the party. Or not.
He felt as though his brain cells were doing some kind of complicated square dance, as so many things moved around and fell into place – and out of it.
All those ‘G’s in his father’s phone had stood for Giuliette he realised, code for Juliet.
And then, remembering all the other drawings of the mystery woman – not the grim ones he was going to have to burn – but the ones with the deliberately vague facial features, he could see now they were all Juliet. Her way of standing, her way of dressing, her hair. Her handbags. She had a bloody Birkin bag.
His father must have been absolutely mad about her. Which was horrendous, but at the same time, understandable. Juliet was an amazing woman. She was beautiful, but there was so much more to her than that, and although he hated himself for it, Beau understood why his father would have been attracted to her.
Good-looking women were everywhere and artists at Matt’s level had their share of groupies, if they wanted them, but people as interesting as Juliet were much harder to find. Which made Beau reach for his phone. He needed to tell someone what had just happened, to help him process it, to help him work out what to do with this nuclear bomb of information.
But who? Who could he tell? Jack was the obvious person, but he didn’t feel up to it. His own shock was hard enough to deal with – and he’d known something weird was going on even before his father had died. It would be a deadly asteroid from outer space for Jack. Rey wasn’t the right person either. Too close to Mum. Uncle Seb? Too close to Dad.
The person he really wanted to tell, he realised, was Tamar. Maybe it was because she’d been through so much awful family stuff herself, he thought she might be less shocked than most people, but how could he launch all this at her? It wouldn’t be fair. Especially as she was about to start another project with his mother.
His mother. Beau felt as though the blood was draining from his body. What would this do to Sophie, on top of everything she was already dealing with?
He shoved his phone back in his pocket and turned his face to the wall, groaning quietly. People walking past probably thought he was a nutjob. He didn’t care.
Sighing deeply, he forced himself to leave the comfort of his wall and turn left, in the direction of Charing Cross station. He’d walk there, through Knightsbridge, across Green Park, along the Mall at the top of St James’s Park, Admiralty Arch, Trafalgar Square.
Imagining the route and all the monuments and landmarks along it occupied his mind for a bit as he managed to get one foot moving in front of the other.
For the time being, it was the most he could manage.