Chapter 29
When Juliet got back to the flat, she stood under a long, hot shower and tried to wash the afternoon away. Although she was glad that Frankie’s work seemed to be going well, that was the best that could be said for what she had witnessed that afternoon. But what could she do? Frankie was an adult and had to be left to make her own decisions, and after all, what would she, Juliet, think if someone turned up unannounced at her door, judged her lifestyle and announced that it didn’t pass muster? She’d be furious and flatly refuse any offer of help or attempts at persuading her to do things differently. She sighed as she dried herself and put on a cosy fleece robe. She and Frankie were cut from the same cloth in that respect, and as she had promised that she wasn’t touching hard drugs, there was nothing to do but stay in touch and hope for the best. She tapped out a quick message to Martha, assuring her that Frankie was fine and planning to visit Feywood that weekend, then having no appetite to resume the house hunt – maybe she would end up as Frankie and Dylan’s next-door neighbour, it was probably all she could afford – she once again opened the invitation she had been sent for that evening. It was for an art exhibition and cocktail party being held in a very smart office space in Spitalfields. She had no idea how she had got on their list, as it wasn’t being organised by anyone she knew and wasn’t her usual stamping ground. The art looked awful, and she suspected that the evening was, more than anything, an excuse for the bankers and hedge fund managers who used the offices to pretend they knew something about culture, tick a few ‘we support the arts’ boxes and pour cocktails down their throats before moving on to their private members clubs to talk about their next skiing holiday. She had initially deleted the invitation after a cursory glance but had pulled it back up more than once. Wasn’t she trying to embed herself more firmly in London? Wasn’t this what she had come back for? She didn’t have any other plans that evening and, execrable though it looked, maybe there would be – she shuddered at the thought – networking opportunities. If she was going to do this, she had to commit to it, and after the encounter with Frankie and Dylan, she could certainly do with a drink.
Juliet stepped out of the Tube at Liverpool Street, already regretting her choice of shoes. She didn’t even know why she had kept them, let alone brought them back from Feywood with her; they had a history of shredding her feet and had been an expensive present from Toby. But they were extremely glamorous with the barely-there straps studded with crystals and thin, silver stiletto heels and she thought they might fit the bill on the cool edge of the Square Mile. Of course, there was always the possibility that everyone else would be in board shorts and flip flops; that was the problem with London, styles changed dizzyingly fast. But she would always rather run the risk of being overdressed. She pushed through a huge glass door into a brightly lit foyer, stuffed with chattering people. She was secretly relieved to see that her outfit wasn’t out of place as the men were mostly in suits and the women in cocktail attire like herself, or smart work clothes. She made a confident beeline for the bar, as she had learnt to do in situations when she didn’t know anyone, and picked up a drinks menu. All the cocktails had been given rather tortured ‘artistic’ names, but eventually she decided to ask for a ‘Vodka Van Gogh’ and hope it didn’t come with extra ear. She leant on the bar as she scanned the room for a familiar face, eventually spotting a woman she knew in passing from the newspaper. She had decided to go over and join her, even though they had barely ever spoken, when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice said, ‘Lettie. So glad you could make it.’
Toby. Of course, that must have been how she had got the invitation, why hadn’t she realised? She summoned up a weak smile.
‘Oh, hello.’
‘You realised, of course, that I had you invited? This isn’t your usual scene, I know, but I was sure you would come. And wearing my shoes as well, how sweet of you. I must say, I was rather disappointed that you didn’t seem to want to discuss the flat and the job any further. I went to a lot of trouble to sort out those introductions for you and you left me looking foolish.’
Juliet automatically opened her mouth to apologise, then snapped it shut again. No, no, no. She was not going down this path again, taking his reprimands like a good girl, admitting she had been naughty, begging for forgiveness. And besides, he had clearly lied to her about the opportunity at RoundUp.
‘I did email, Toby,’ she said in as mild a tone as possible. ‘I said I needed more time to think about it. If you promised your contacts more than that, it isn’t my doing.’
‘I just thought you’d be rather grateful for my help, especially considering everything you put me through.’
Don’t rise to it. Deep breath.
‘It was a kind thought, but I’m still figuring out my next steps.’ She decided to change the subject. ‘Do you know lots of people here?’
Toby waved a gracious hand in a sweeping arc.
‘Everyone. Would you like me to introduce you to some of them? And it looks like you need another drink.’
‘I will have another drink, then maybe look at some of the art. Most people seem to be ignoring it.’
He flicked an eyebrow at her and grinned.
‘Well, you know this lot, more interested in yakking and drinking than culture, but at least they can now tell their friends they’ve been to an art exhibition. Come on then, let’s go and look at some of it.’
This was the Toby she liked, the one that emerged every so often and had kept her working at their relationship for so long. When he was on good form, he was funny and observant, not to mention genuinely interested in art, unlike any of his friends. He handed her a fresh drink, then they slid through the crowd until they reached the far wall, where a familiar-looking canvas hung.
‘Not really my thing,’ said Toby, screwing his face up and staring at the thick swirls of black paint with unidentifiable lumps in places. ‘What do you think?’
Juliet pointed to the label.
‘I think I’ve seen one of these in progress this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Dylan Madison. He’s Frankie’s new squeeze.’
Recognition dawned on Toby’s face.
‘Lettie, you do know he’s an addict, don’t you?’ He sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Not really who you want your baby sister to be hanging out with.’
‘I know, I’ve been to see them. Martha’s worried sick, and I’m not much happier, even if Frankie does seem to be working well. She’s promised she’s not taking anything.’
Toby frowned.
‘Look, if you want any help, I’ll come back with you. Frankie’s a pain and she’s always hated me, but I don’t want to see her in trouble.’
‘Thanks. I think she’s all right for now, but I will ask if I need backup.’
Toby’s apparently genuine concern for her sister allowed Juliet to lower her defences further, and as the evening progressed, she found she was enjoying herself. After looking at some of the other pieces on display, they got talking to a few of Toby’s colleagues, and although the artworks were forgotten, the conversation went along at a fast clip so that when Juliet glanced at the time, she was horrified to find that it was nearly midnight. At least she’d slowed down on her cocktail consumption this time, despite the constant stream of full glasses that appeared.
‘Toby, I really have to head off now. It’s been a fun evening, thank you.’
To her surprise, rather than trying to persuade her to have another drink, or go on somewhere else, he said, ‘It’s later than I realised. I’ll come too.’
They strolled towards the station, the streets still busy with cars and pedestrians. Juliet was just thinking how unexpectedly successful the evening had been when Toby grasped her hand and pulled her to the side of the pavement.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’ve been wanting to do this all night,’ he said huskily, and slipped his arm around her shoulder, lowering his face to hers.
‘No!’ she shouted, pushing him away. He stumbled, then righted himself. ‘I’m sorry, but what are you doing?’
‘Only what’s been clear you wanted me to do,’ he said, his tone snide. ‘You’ve been flirting with me all evening, Lettie, don’t try to back out now.’
She felt tears come to her eyes at the injustice.
‘I haven’t been flirting, you’re wrong. I thought – bloody stupid me – I thought we were actually having a pleasant time together – as friends. We’ve been through this a hundred times, Toby.’
‘I don’t think you know what you want. Come on, let’s go and get another drink, and we can talk about it.’
‘No!’ She was practically shouting now. How could she make him listen to her? ‘I’m going home, alone. I’m sorry, Toby, but I’m not going to see you again, ever.’
His lip curled and his face took on the disgusted expression she knew so well, all trace of the pleasant, charming man she had spent most of the evening with gone.
‘How dare you raise your voice to me?’ he hissed. ‘You should be grateful that I still considered taking you back after the way you’ve behaved.’
There it was again, the demand for gratitude. Juliet realised now what it was she should have been grateful for, and it didn’t lie here.
‘Good night, Toby,’ she said quietly, and turned to walk down into the station hoping, despite everything, that she was not hobbling too badly in the ill-fitting shoes and ruining her attempt at a graceful exit. At the flat, the shoes went straight in the bin – she wasn’t going to pass them on and let someone else suffer – and she headed to bed.