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‘It actually makes sense,’ smiled Charles languorously. ‘Howard had so many damn affairs you have to assume he wasn’t getting too much action at home. I’m amazed Meredith’s little secret hasn’t got out before now, though. According to Tony, a grubby journalist was sniffing around at one point. Asked him a few questions about Meredith and Gillian but he never heard any more about it. Reckoned Meredith must have paid them off to stop digging.’
Brooke’s eyes stared back to the photograph of Meredith and Olivia. One thing she had learned working with the paparazzi was that it was very difficult to fake intimacy. Certain things could not be staged convincingly. Those carefully stage–managed long–lens photographs of TV starlets ‘working out’ on a beach in very little looked real enough, but those ‘fake’ Hollywood couples, put together by their agents to promote a film or hide their sexuality, they never looked convincing. But Meredith and Olivia, now that looked real. Tess realized that that was what had jumped out at her when she had first seen the photograph. Intimacy; the way Meredith’s head was resting on her friend’s shoulder as Olivia laughed with carefree abandon.
‘You don’t think Meredith and Olivia were together?’ said Tess.
Charles shrugged and glanced at the picture. ‘I suppose it’s possible. Everybody was jumping in and out of bed with everyone that summer. Now tell me, what did think about chapter seven?’
*
Although the bed in her old room had been turned down and fresh flowers left on the nightstand in a Chinese vase, Brooke just couldn’t face sleeping at her mother’s. She couldn’t put her finger on why, it just didn’t feel right. She had managed to get through the day there, trying her best to enjoy all the traditional Christmas celebrations with the rest of the family, but now she felt hemmed in, trapped. She waited until Meredith went up to her bedroom and followed her up, leaving William, Sean, Liz, and Leonard in the media room watching Casablanca.
‘I have to go,’ said Brooke, standing at the doorway of her mother’s pale blue bedroom.
‘It’s Christmas Day,’ said Meredith, putting down the lipstick she had freshly applied. ‘You can’t be alone on Christmas Day.’
‘Mother, we’re leaving for Florida in thirty–six hours,’ said Brooke. ‘There’s so much to do and I’ve still not properly packed.’
Not bothering to hide her displeasure, Meredith sighed. ‘Very well. Is David coming round?’
‘No, he’s still at Belcourt. I won’t see him until we get to the Keys.’
Meredith’s shrewd eyes narrowed. ‘Everything is all right, isn’t it?’ she asked, walking over to Brooke.
‘Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?’
Meredith’s watery–blue eyes searched hers. ‘You know you had a lucky escape.’
Brooke froze. Did her mother know about Matt? She had a sudden sick feeling that someone had taken a photograph of them together on Brooklyn Promenade.
‘Lucky?’ she stammered.
Her mother nodded gravely. ‘Once that story about Olivia Martin was published in the Spy I thought Wendell might put pressure on David to reconsider.’
Relief washed over Brooke. ‘Wendell knows as well as we do that there’s no hidden scandal behind that story,’ she said, looking away. Meredith put a hand up to Brooke’s face.
‘You do know you can tell me anything, don’t you?’ she asked, searching Brooke’s face.
Brooke forced a smile. ‘I know, I just have such a lot on my mind at the moment.’
Meredith looked at her for a moment, then leant forward and kissed her. ‘Well, Happy Christmas, darling.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Brooke. Happy, she thought. If only that were true.
*
She was home for nine p.m., changing into her cream silk dressing gown before phoning David. Mostly she just let him talk; he was telling her about the Christmas gifts he had given and received, and snippets of Billington family gossip; horses they had recently bought; the new sailing boat Robert had on order; the pregnancy of his cousin Laura. The ordinariness of their conversation soothed her, and helped her blank out the turmoil that she had gone through over the past few days. When they had hung up, Brooke laid out her silk ivory shoes and Sabbia Rose underwear next to her Louis Vuitton cases, then put Guillaume’s wedding gown on the bed.
‘I’m going to wear it,’ she whispered to herself. She turned to look at Nicholas’s beautiful white gown, then quickly zipped it back in its dress bag, putting it away in the furthest part of her closet, trying to block out any memories she associated with it. She squashed the remaining items into her cases and snapped them shut. Just then her cell phone rang.
‘Have you made a decision?’
Her mouth went dry as she recognized Matt’s voice. ‘Decision?’ she croaked, feeling sick.
‘Are you at home?’ he asked, his voice sounded anxious.
‘Yes,’ she said, closing her eyes. Not now, she thought. Not now.
‘I’ve just finished my shift. Can I see you?’ said Matt. ‘I can’t stand not to see you on Christmas Day, not when I’ve been thinking about you for every minute since I last saw you.’
