She spun round, the knife glinting against the kitchen spotlights. ‘I know exactly where these questions are going, Zoë.’
‘Why the big secrecy around this necklace?’
‘I’m not being secretive. Benedict Bailey gave it to me. Though what it’s got to do with you I have no idea.’
‘Marcie thinks you stole it.’
Jess let out a hollow laugh. ‘Right, and whatever Saint Marcie says is gospel, is it?’
It had been a mistake to start with the necklace. I was here to try to build bridges between her and Marcie, not accuse her of anything. I hated going in cold, but I had to get this done fast. When Simon arrived he was bound to put the kibosh on this conversation.
‘I know what Marcie did to your career all those years ago.’
She ran the tap to rinse her knife. ‘Ancient history now.’
‘She feels terrible about it and she’d really like to make it up to you.’
Jess turned to face me. ‘Shefeels terrible? How fucking rich is that? Does she have any idea howImight feel about it?’
This was going from bad to worse. ‘She wants to make it up to you, Jess.’
She laughed, bitterly. ‘Can she turn back time? I’m thirty-five in a couple of months. Do you think there’s much demand for a female singer heading towards forty? I was twenty-five on that tour, it was myonechance. I wasn’t perfect, I made mistakes. I was young and foolish and flattered by Benedict’s attention. And yes, somehow you know that Benedict gave me that necklace. But that’s got nothing to do with Marcie. Do you know how many other people Marcie was sleeping with when she was supposedly being faithful to Ben?’
‘I’m not defending her. But she genuinely wants to make amends.’
‘Why is this so important to you? You’re acting like you’ve got something to lose.’
I reached for my glass to avoid her eyes. Had Simon told her? The idea stung, but I couldn’t stand here feeling indignant; it wasn’t altruism that had brought me to her door.
I tried a different tack: ‘Marcie has so much clout. Why not let her help you now?’
‘Helpme? She hates me. She wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire.’ She let out a breath and smoothed down her tank top, trying to calm her temper. ‘Let’s not fall out over this, Zoë. I don’t know what sob story she’s spun you, but there’s nothing she could do to ever make me forgive her and if you think I would, then she hasn’t told you the full story of what happened on that tour.’
She held my eye and I suddenly glimpsed the full depth of her pain. She was hurting about more than her career. Marcie’s sins had sounded so grave that it had never occurred to me that I’d been told the cleaned-up version.
Jessica was shaking. I poured her a glass of her punch and she took it with a wobbly hand.
‘I’m sorry. It was none of my business.’
After a couple of sips of her punch, she smiled. ‘It’s okay. Your heart was in the right place. But no more talk of Marcie – I’d like us to have a nice evening.’
The doorbell chimed, startling her. Was this Simon? She pointed to a peeled cucumber on the counter. ‘Could you chop this while I get the door?’
The knife handle was warm in my hand and the cucumber ice-cold under my fingers. I’d made a pig’s ear of this. Sticking my size eights into things wasn’t going to get Marcie her longed-for closure from Jess.
As I sliced I tried to make out the bits of conversation floating from the front door. It didn’t sound like Simon. Whoever had arrived seemed to be arguing with Jess.
Should I go and help?
Before I could move, a red-faced Jess burst into the kitchen. ‘I need my purse and keys.’
She didn’t make eye contact, and instead grabbed her bag from the back of a kitchen chair. ‘I have to go to the cashpoint. I’ll be ten minutes max.’
She barrelled out again and I was left to gape in her wake. After a stunned couple of seconds, I hustled to the front door and opened it. Jess was already revving her ancient Renault Clio, the exhaust rattling as she pulled away.
What the hell was going on?
A whiteBMWwas parked across the road. It was newer and shinier than all the other cars on the street. Its engine was idling and the driver had a tattooed arm hanging out of the window.
