Chapter 34 Cocktails
I’ve known for some time that Tor is hiding something.
She’s been curiously absent from several events, deeply unhelpful with Cait and a little more spiky than usual.
I ask if we should get a drink in town, and even though it’s a Sunday, she jumps at the idea, insisting that we should meet alone, which is quite out of character as I’m not important enough for one-to-ones.
According to the website, the Filthy Fours cocktail lounge is ‘a celebration of mixology known for its undeniably zany interior with downward-growing trees, hammocks galore and cosplay bar staff’.
As far as I can determine (and I don’t claim to be an expert), it’s an underfunded pantomime serving sweetened cocktails in a draughty warehouse with music at a volume to make your ears bleed, but the youth seem to like it.
‘How’s Cait?’ says Tor, dressed as though she’s been at an event at Kensington Palace. ‘Sorry to have been so out of it. I’ve been so busy with the building work.’
‘Did you hear they found Owen’s body?’ I say.
‘Bloody hell! Owen! That’s quite gruesome, isn’t it? Burnt to death. How awful.’
‘Yes, but it means Cait can move on now.’
We order negronis and talk about nothing in particular. I sense she has a secret as Tor is extremely tense – tightly crossed legs, suspicious glances and rudeness to the waitress.
By the third negroni, Tor’s legs uncross, her arms reach across the back of the velvet banquette, and words start to tumble from her expensive veneers and plumped lips. In order to master the role of the confidante, it’s important to model vulnerability yourself and reveal your own weaknesses.
‘We all have problems, Tor,’ I say. ‘We often hide them away. I know I do. Stephen and I don’t have sex any more.’
‘What, never?’ She looks at me momentarily like a vulture might regard roadkill, then she quickly smiles. ‘Same.’
We laugh, but only for a moment. Her face quickly sharpens as she catches herself in the mirror. I start to put the pieces together – new face, new clothes, new diet, sexless marriage.
‘Are you and Lawrence OK, besides the lack of bedroom activity?’
‘As well as anyone, I imagine,’ she says. ‘He’s deeply committed to his constituents. I don’t know how he does it.’
I listen carefully, but there’s no resentment there, no gibe or aside or tone. If anything, she’s far too kind to that portly self-indulgent Tory who has twice had to pay off junior advisers after some indelicate HR issues.
‘I’ve been worried about you,’ I say. Tor is naturally suspicious and deeply uncomfortable talking about feelings as with most of her milieu.
‘Me? Why?’
Now is the key moment. She can take the bait or close it down.
‘In the summer, you seemed happy and full of the joys of life, and now, you seem really on edge.’
‘I thought I was hiding it well.’
I sit back and open my hands. ‘I’m here for you. I’m a good listener.’
‘Lawrence is having a midlife crisis. He’s taken up with someone again,’ she says. ‘But that’s not the problem.’
‘So, what is?’
‘I’m having a midlife crisis too,’ she says. ‘He’s called Zac and he’s twenty-six.’
I lean forward, unsure whether I’m jealous or feeling just a little salacious. ‘A toy boy?’
She nods. ‘It’s embarrassing, I know, but deeply, deeply satisfying. The energy of the man.’
‘How long have you been seeing Zac?’
‘Since the summer. I’ve always been an absolute sucker for dark hair and blue eyes. I shouldn’t be superficial, but he’s bloody poetry to look at, and he’s got the body of a Greek statue.’
‘It’s completely understandable, Tor.’ I indicate two more cocktails to the waitress.
‘It’s not something I could tell the others. They’re quite moralistic. But I always get the feeling you’re more worldly-wise.’
‘We’ve all got to find a way to get by,’ I say, although I now know she chose me because she has so little respect for the views of Cait, Sophie or Aisha. But why tell anyone? There must be something more.
‘Is everything going well with your dalliance?’
‘Well, actually, not really. I made a mistake. Something you must never do if you stray. I fell completely and madly in love,’ says Tor, and she clasps her gold-entwined fingers together, and holds them to the place where a heart would usually sit.
‘Oops,’ I say. I conclude that Zac is unusually good in bed and she thinks it’s love. Easy mistake to make.
‘Head over heels, Lalla. I wasn’t in Switzerland, you know. I was in bloody Madrid with Zac, having the most glorious time.’
‘Well, it’s clearly as good as a spa, because you were glowing when you came back.’
‘He makes me feel amazing. I know there’s an age gap, but it feels so right. I think I love him.’ I look at her and wonder what this word love means to an over-privileged woman like Tor.
‘So what’s the issue? You want a divorce?’
‘No, there’s something worse.’
She is about to reveal her secret when my phone rings. I take it out, apologizing, and see Stephen’s name. I shake my head, silence the call, sip my drink and stare intently at Tor.
‘It’s only Stephen. He’s probably lost a sock or something. Do go on,’ I say, but I wonder if the testosterone gel has got him into trouble with Aimée, or Madeleine has told him about my visit.
Tor smiles nervously, drinks the rest of her negroni and says, ‘I’m being blackmailed.’
Although I’ve learned to control my expressions, my eyebrows rise in delight.
‘Tell me more,’ I say.
Tor is about to reveal all, when my phone pings. Stephen’s messaged me, and it makes my pulse race:
Urgent. Please come home. Bad news.