Secret Keeping for Beginners Page 9

  Simon had his shades on too. At least they weren’t as flashy as the car. They were rather fabulous actually. Heavy black vintage-looking frames. But then he was Mr Taste, so she didn’t know why she would be surprised. He’d just had some kind of a major lapse when it came to this object they were riding along in.

  ‘So, when did you win the Lottery?’ she asked him.

  He glanced at her, looking puzzled, before turning his eyes back to the road.

  ‘What are you talking about? My winning numbers in the lottery of life? Looks, brains, charm etc. …?’

  ‘No,’ said Rachel, ‘this New Money car of yours. It’s very out of your taste character. If you were going to have poncy wheels I’d expect it to be a Bristol, or something recherché like that. Maybe one of those lovely vintage Jags, or a beaten-up old Land Rover, not this Chelsea Tractor.’

  For a moment he was silent and she wondered if she’d gone too far. He was her boss after all, but it was such fun teasing him, she sometimes forgot. Then he laughed and she relaxed.

  ‘God, you’re rude,’ he said. ‘I love my car. I’m a boy and I love nice wheels. Plus, it’s practical. I can throw a chest of drawers in the back if I need to, I can drive it in town or the country, and it impresses clients. The more precious decorator and designer factions might despise this car, as you do, but they still know it was bloody expensive, which commands a different kind of respect, one that’s harder to bluff. And above all, it’s blissfully comfortable and very sturdy and I do a lot of driving. All right?’

  Something about the way he said it made Rachel decide not to pursue her point. She did know when to shut up sometimes.

  Simon pulled up at the junction with the King’s Road and turned to look at Rachel.

  ‘We’re heading down beyond Sevenoaks, is that right?’ he said.

  Rachel nodded.

  ‘You do know that means going south of the river, don’t you?’ said Simon. ‘I haven’t had any vaccinations or anything …’

  ‘I think you’ll live,’ said Rachel. ‘You shocking old snob.’

  She tapped him on his upper arm with her finger.

  ‘There,’ she said, ‘I’ve inoculated you against Clapham yummy mummy fever, OK?’

  He laughed, turning to look at her and saw that she was smiling in that cheeky way which made him feel so happy and muddled simultaneously.

  ‘Let’s do this thing, then,’ he said, quickly switching his gaze back to the road, and concentrated on negotiating the busy traffic and crazy pedestrians of mid-morning Chelsea, until they were away from the King’s Road and rolling smoothly along the Embankment. They sat in silence for a while, Simon focused on the driving, Rachel happy looking out at the gorgeous houses, until she began to feel a strange sensation in her nether regions. They were getting very hot.

  She looked over at Simon and saw a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as though he were trying not to laugh.

  ‘Simon,’ she said, ‘is this some kind of an ejector seat?’

  He turned to look at her, as he pulled up at traffic lights, the smile now broad across his face.

  ‘Bit warm are you?’ he asked.

  ‘You could say that,’ said Rachel, beginning to find it quite uncomfortable and lifting each of her thighs up off the seat in turn. She was wearing a summer dress and her legs were sticking to the leather. ‘Ouch! Make it stop. I’m getting all itchy.’

  ‘Well, if you’re going to insult my car, you’ve got to accept it’s going to demand revenge …’

  Rachel ignored him and peered down at all the buttons, knobs, switches, dials and gizmos on the raised area between the two front seats, looking for the seat warmer controls. It was like Apollo 12 and the only thing she was sure of was the cigarette lighter. Not helpful.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll call her off,’ said Simon, reaching over and turning a small wheel on her side of the dashboard and registering, as he did so, relief that the raised console was there, creating a kind of Berlin Wall between him and Rachel.

  Or more specifically between his hand and her legs. She’d been wriggling around in the hot seat and her dress had ridden up alarmingly.

  ‘Thank you, Simon,’ said Rachel. ‘Roasting the staff, very funny. Not. I’m going to look very professional to our important press contacts arriving in a muck sweat.’

  Simon chuckled to himself, clearly delighted with his joke. What an odd man he was, thought Rachel. So sophisticated in his dress, taste and habits, all big cigars, bespoke suits and vintage sunglasses, then this flashy car. He could be very sarcastic and quite harsh in the office and then he plays a practical joke like a schoolboy and sits giggling about it. And that was before you even got onto his private life, which was such a delightful source of secret entertainment among his staff.

  There’d been a leaving drinks a few weeks before, which had turned into a bit of a booze-up and the minute he’d left, conjecture about Simon’s sexuality had dominated the conversation. One woman said he’d been at school with her brother and they’d all been ‘at it like knives’ in the dorm, but then she’d added that her brother was married now with four kids, so who knew?

  Another one had a GBF – Gay Best Friend, or Grievous Bodily Fun, ha ha ha, she’d shrieked – who was a decorator and he swore Simon was totally gay. His gaydar lit up like the Las Vegas strip whenever he saw him, he’d said. And no straight man could ever dress that well.

  Then there was another faction who were convinced he was straight, but some kind of perve, which meant he never had a normal girlfriend, but met up with other kinky people to do group kinky things in kinky outfits.

  And there was one romantic who was sure he’d had his heart broken terribly when he was young and could Never Love Again. They’d all screamed with laughter, pelted her with peanuts and told her she’d read too many Mills & Boons.

  Still very new at the company then, Rachel had just listened and laughed at the appropriate moments, wondering if perhaps he was one of those people who just aren’t very sexual. He seemed to put all his energy into his work and his image, so maybe that was enough for him. Not everyone sat around thinking about sex all the time.

  She had quite a few girlfriends who certainly didn’t since they’d had children, all interest in hanky panky completely gone. She might have been one herself if she’d stayed married to Michael – in fact that was one of the reasons she’d divorced him. She simply hadn’t fancied him any more, however fit he was with all his squash playing, and he hadn’t been very happy about it either.

  No problem in that department now, she thought, settling back into the leather seat, which was gloriously comfortable now it wasn’t griddling her butt, and smiling to herself as an image of Link popped into her head.

  Link lying back on the pillows, bare chested, sheets tangled around his hips. Mmmmm …

  Simon glanced over and saw the smile. Whatever she was thinking about, she liked it. It made him want to ask her that dopiest of questions – ‘What are you thinking?’ – but he restrained himself.

  What kind of thing was that to say to an employee? Holding the steering wheel a little tighter, he cast around for a work topic to bring up. Preferably something very dull.

  Rachel got in first. It didn’t feel right sitting next to her boss having X-rated thoughts about Link, it was supposed to be a working day after all, so she made herself sit up straight and asked Simon what he thought of the re-design of one of the leading interiors magazines, which had come out just the day before.

  Simon was so relieved to have the distraction he answered in great and pompous detail, aware he might be boring her to death, but not caring. After that they chatted easily about work for most of the journey and it was only once they started to see Cranbrook on the road signs that he began asking her more specific questions.

  ‘So tell me, who is going to be down here today?’

  ‘Well, my sister Tessa and her husband, Tom – or Tim Chiminey, to use his ludicrous TV name … but he’
s really called Tom.’

  ‘I’m glad you reminded me of that,’ said Simon.

  ‘Have you seen the show?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Of course,’ said Simon, ‘I’ll watch anything about houses. I never tire of a home makeover and I love that one with the hoarders and the OCD cleaners. I could probably be one of those cleaners actually. I love getting the bleach out …’

  Definitely gay, thought Rachel.

  ‘… but the chimney thing your brother-in-law does is actually rather interesting because you get some proper historical stuff, too. Not just new curtains and scatter cushions, proper bricks and mortar, structural stuff, what it’s all based on.’

  Maybe not gay.

  ‘That’s great,’ said Rachel, ‘you two will get on famously then. Tom is mad about bricks. The salvage yard has acres of them. So he’ll be there with my sister Tessa …’

  Simon thought for a moment. ‘What’s your brother-in-law’s surname?’ he asked. ‘Not Chiminey, I presume.’

  Rachel snorted. ‘Chenery. They renamed him Tim Chiminey for the program … You know, like the song from Mary Poppins …’

  She sang it. ‘Tim Chiminey, Tim Chiminey …’

  Simon laughed. ‘That is a bit grim,’ he said.

  ‘You should hear my sister on the subject,’ said Rachel.

  ‘So your sister’s name is Tessa Chenery,’ said Simon. ‘That’s what I was wondering. Isn’t she a muralist?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rachel, quite surprised. ‘Well, she used to be, she only does it around their house now.’

  ‘The penny has only just dropped,’ said Simon. ‘I know her work. She did the most beautiful walls for the dining room of a friend of mine’s house years ago. Views of old Hong Kong harbour, in a rather Regency style. I enjoy it every time I go round there. And I’ve seen her murals in Interiors as well, were they from this house? All up the stairs? She’s really good. What a shame she doesn’t do it professionally any more. Perhaps we should add that to our list of missions for today?’

  Rachel was so surprised Simon knew Tessa’s work she didn’t know what to say. The only thing that came into her mind with a firmness that rather surprised her was: No.

  No, because Tessa didn’t need to work. She had a husband who did it all, being on the telly and overseeing the salvage business on the side, bringing in lots of lovely money, while Tessa had her nice little hobby painting wild flowers on the skirting boards.

  The next thing she knew Simon would be expecting her to place a story about Tessa’s muralling somewhere and she’d be organising another shoot for that. No, thanks.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think she wants the bother,’ she said. ‘She’s happy just doing it at home. Every time I go down there she’s covered another bit of wall. The house is starting to look rather like a tattooed lady, no surface undecorated.’

  ‘Sounds extraordinary,’ said Simon.

  Whatever, thought Rachel. She preferred her own walls, the matte charcoal on anaglypta wallpaper. Moving right along …

  ‘So they’ll be there,’ she continued, getting back to Simon’s original question, ‘and, of course, the photographer and the art director from You. I don’t know if they’re sending a fashion stylist as well … and my sister Natasha, she’s doing the make-up. She’s a make-up artist – rather a famous one actually.’

  ‘Is she the one who lives in New York?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rachel, surprised again.

  ‘I heard some of the girls in the office talking about her,’ said Simon quickly. He didn’t want her to think he was keeping a dossier. Even if he slightly was. ‘They were very impressed she’s your sister … it’s a big deal is it, what she does?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rachel, feeling fiercely proud of her little sister, ‘very big. She does Paris fashion shows and the ad campaigns for some really major designers, as well as editorial for Vogue and all that – US Vogue.’

  ‘Handy for your other sister that she’s over here then.’

  ‘Very – and my mum’s there as well actually.’ Rachel started giggling, she couldn’t help it. ‘Tessa’s drafted her in to do the food. She’s a wonderful cook. All vegetarian, but not the crocheted bran kind, more Middle Eastern and Indian, a big delicious mix … you’ll see. She’s made a living as a caterer since my dad died.’

  Simon’s head flicked towards her for a moment.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, ‘when did it happen?’

  ‘I was only three,’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t really remember him, but he was a Labour Cabinet Minister, so there’s quite a lot of old telly footage. Better than nothing.’

  ‘Gosh, what a rich tapestry your family is,’ Simon said, hurriedly continuing on in case she felt compelled to ask him any returning questions about his. ‘So how did the camper van in Australia thing fit in?’

  ‘Oh yes, I told you about that, didn’t I? When we were talking about shades of terracotta, I remember now, I got rather carried away about the raw earth of the Red Centre … Anyway, that was with my step-dad. He’s Australian. Mum met him here and then we all moved to Brisbane with him and Natasha was born there. Tony’s great. I wish they’d never split up, but with five of us in that van for so long, while he was trying to take serious art photographs of rock formations and gnarly old trees, it was a miracle they lasted as long as they did.’

  ‘So, just to recap, down at the house today we have the photographic team, your brother-in-law, two sisters and your mum. Have we missed anyone? No other relatives or siblings going to stroll in? Second cousins? A great aunt?’

  Rachel giggled again. ‘Well, there are my three nephews, but we should be finished before they come home from school.’

  And my darling daughters, she thought, but you’ll be long gone before they arrive. She was going to make sure of that.

  Cranbrook, 1.24 p.m.

  Natasha had completely forgotten to tell her mum that Rachel’s boss was coming down with her. She’d been so caught up with the shoot, keeping a sharp eye out for wayward strands of Tessa’s hair becoming vertical, and chatting to Mattie – who’d given her some great gossip from the London fashion scene.

  But when Rachel walked into the dining room accompanied by a man in a very well cut suit, Joy wasn’t at all surprised. The moment she saw him she felt like she’d been expecting him.

  ‘Hello, Rachel darling,’ she said, getting up from her lunch, which she was having in peace, while the others were out taking pictures in the garden.

  She went over to them, kissing her daughter and smiling at the man.

  ‘Mum, this is Simon Rathbone, my, er, boss,’ said Rachel, feeling oddly shy and formal. ‘Simon, this is my mum, Joy Younger.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Younger,’ said Simon, putting out his hand.

  Joy took his hand, noticing first how strong it looked. He was dressed like a smoothie, but he had a strong core. A very firm handshake. Joy put her other hand on top of his and patted it, to prolong the connection.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Simon,’ she said. ‘Do call me Joy and come and have some lunch, there’s so much and the rest of them aren’t going to have theirs until later.’

  While she was talking, her brain was somewhere else entirely. Simon’s energy felt very tight. Positive and benign, but bound up, as though he could never relax.

  She let go of his hand, smiling at him. She liked this Simon, but as he smiled back at her, saying something about how he’d come down to help Rachel with some furniture, Joy’s face suddenly fell.

  His aura had become visible to her. It happened very rarely, and she could never predict it or make it happen, but sometimes when she connected with someone, tuned into their particular frequency, a halo of coloured light appeared around them, following their outline. It was always a bit of a shock.

  She blinked and it was still there, not a trick of the light. Simon’s aura was a very good colour, rather a beautiful golden green, but then she saw there was a big dark hole on one side of it, like a nasty b
lack-and-purple bruise.

  It looked painful and made her want to hug him, to tell him everything was going to be all right. She restrained herself and tried to paste the smile back on her face, but it was hard. There was something so dark there, she closed her eyes for a moment to block it out.

  Luckily, Rachel hadn’t noticed Joy’s expression, she was over at the table, putting out plates and cutlery. Joy knew she’d be furious if she’d known her mother had tuned into Simon like that. She and Natasha hated all that ‘joojie moojie nonsense’ as they called it.

  Simon was looking at her closely, his head lowered towards hers. ‘Are you all right, Joy?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, recovering herself and feeling relieved when the aura snapped off as suddenly as it had appeared, as though someone had flicked a light switch. ‘Just a little dizzy spell. I think I may have overdone it with all the cooking this morning. Not as young as I was, despite the name. I’m fine now. Do come and eat.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ he said, ‘it looks amazing.’

  He put his hand very gently under Joy’s elbow and steered her over to a chair.

  Rachel watched out of the corner of her eye, rather touched. Simon could be so arrogant, but he was being very sweet to Joy. Still, the sooner the shoot was over and he left, the better. It was just too weird having him there and it would only get more peculiar when she had to introduce him to everybody.

  She ate a few mouthfuls, but, delicious though her mother’s salads were, she didn’t feel hungry, it was all too anxious-making, and she really did want to see what was happening with the pictures. Simon had cleared his plate and was going back for seconds, so she grabbed her opportunity.

  ‘Excuse me a minute,’ she said, getting up from the table and legging it with no further explanation.

  Joy was glad to be left alone with Simon. The dissonance between the good vibe she’d had from his hand and that horrible wound – that was the only way she could think of it – in his aura was intriguing. She wanted to look at him a bit more.