Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 44

'What is this?' said Miles, looking up at the hotel dubiously. It was shabby chic personified; a crumbling beau monde frontage with double-gla.s.s doors. 'Are you proposing to buy this too?'

'No, silly,' smiled Chrissy, hooking her arm though his and leading him inside. 'This is the surprise.'

Miles watched his wife speak to the manager in fluent French and the old man handed her a key.

'Is this a joke?' he hissed as they stepped inside the old-fas.h.i.+oned wrought-iron cage of the lift. 'Give me thirty seconds and I can call the Crillon and see if the penthouse is available.'

'It's not a joke,' said Chrissy, pulling open the concertina lift gate and leading him towards a pair of dark wood doors. Inside, it was like a miniature version of the king's chamber at Versailles. A huge four-poster bed with turned gold-leaf uprights and red, dusty velvet drapes. Gold plaster cherubs surrounding a large oval mirror and a cracked crystal chandelier. Chrissy stripped off her coat and dropped it on a chair.

'What are you doing?' said Miles.

'What do you think?' she said, a s.e.xy smile on her face. 'We have dinner booked at a little bra.s.serie just around the corner at eight. But first ...' She slid her hand inside his jacket and began to unb.u.t.ton his s.h.i.+rt, planting a kiss on his neck.

'In this s.h.i.+t-hole?'

She moved behind him and slid off his cashmere overcoat. 'It's romantic,' she whispered into his neck.

'It's revolting,' said Miles, looking at the bed and feeling his skin begin to itch. She pulled down the shoulders of her dress and let it slide down her lithe body. Underneath she was wearing a black push-up bra and stockings and suspenders no panties. She was slim, boyish, with b.r.e.a.s.t.s he could cover with the palm of his hand. Holding his gaze as she moved, she slid down his body and unbuckled his trousers, reaching inside for his c.o.c.k.

'We are a team, honey,' she whispered. 'In life, in business, in bed.'

She took him into her mouth and he gasped. It had been so long since they had done anything s.e.xual, but then it had been so long since he had felt a hint of the s.e.xual chemistry he remembered from those heady days in Thailand.

She gently pushed him towards the bed and straddled him, pus.h.i.+ng herself down on him, hot and wet.

'Oh G.o.d,' he moaned, falling back on to the bedcover.

'Relax, honey, just relax,' she whispered, undoing her bra and letting her hard nipples skate over his chest. 'Imagine we're back in Patong,' she breathed into his ear. 'We're in my little flat. We didn't get out of bed for days. We f.u.c.ked f.u.c.ked and and f.u.c.ked f.u.c.ked.'

Miles tried to remember; he tried to send himself back to that hot, cramped apartment, to that time when they had been so happy, so together. She was grinding herself down on him now.

'Come on,' she gasped. 'f.u.c.k me.'

But he couldn't. Suddenly he knew it was all wrong, and his erection ebbed away and slipped out of her.

'I'm sorry, Chris,' he said, pus.h.i.+ng her off and quickly pulling his trousers back up. 'I'm tired, tense. There's too much stress at the moment.'

He looked back at her, sprawled on the bed, hugging her arms around herself protectively, her eyes hurt and pleading. It was the first time he could remember seeing her look vulnerable.

'I'm going out,' he said quietly.

'Fine,' she snapped, putting her clothes back on.

'Don't be like that, Chris. I just need some s.p.a.ce.'

He got dressed and went out on to the street, where a taxi took him into the Marais. He was angry, frustrated and couldn't even put his finger on why. Wandering the back streets, he found himself at a club which, from the clientele hanging around outside, he guessed would suit his needs. He turned and stepped inside, looking forward to an anonymous Frenchman finis.h.i.+ng off the job that Chrissy had started in bed thirty minutes earlier.

48

September 2003

'Do you think this is too daggy for school?' asked Oliva, looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing tight jeans, a candy-striped T-s.h.i.+rt and hot-pink baseball boots.

'I know you don't have to wear uniform, Liv,' said Grace, 'but it's still school, not a fas.h.i.+on show.'

'I've got to look good on my first day, haven't I?' said her daughter. 'I bet you were the same.'

Grace frowned; now she thought about it, she couldn't actually remember. She had blocked out so much of her early years; some parts had been completely erased from her memory. Maybe it was just the strain of the day, she thought as she looked at her watch for the third time in as many minutes.

Where is Julian? she thought, walking to the window. she thought, walking to the window. Calm down, Grace, Calm down, Grace, she told herself. she told herself. It's not the end of the world. It's not the end of the world. But it felt like it. Ever since she had left Parador, Liv and Joe had been her world, the reason she got up every morning. And now they were leaving for Danehurst, she felt as if she was waiting for a hospital operation. She'd have much preferred them to go to a local day school near their new home, a farmhouse on her mother's Oxfords.h.i.+re estate. But the twins had been adamant that they wanted to go to Danehurst. But it felt like it. Ever since she had left Parador, Liv and Joe had been her world, the reason she got up every morning. And now they were leaving for Danehurst, she felt as if she was waiting for a hospital operation. She'd have much preferred them to go to a local day school near their new home, a farmhouse on her mother's Oxfords.h.i.+re estate. But the twins had been adamant that they wanted to go to Danehurst.

'It looks amazing, Mum!' Olivia had said when they had got the school prospectus. 'I can't believe you and Uncle Miles both went there.' Grace suspected her daughter was secretly rather more impressed that Sasha Sinclair had gone to Danehurst. Since their meeting at Freya's wedding, Olivia had taken out a subscription to Vogue Vogue and had declared her intention of becoming an 'international brand' like Sasha. Of course the children had not been told of Sasha's involvement in their grandfather's death, but Grace still found it galling that Olivia should regard her as such a role model. and had declared her intention of becoming an 'international brand' like Sasha. Of course the children had not been told of Sasha's involvement in their grandfather's death, but Grace still found it galling that Olivia should regard her as such a role model.

She looked over at Joseph, dark-eyed and moody, the perfect image of his father. He was leaning over his trunk the same one Miles had taken to Eton almost twenty years ago rummaging inside with one hand while holding his neatly written checklist in the other. Joe was the one she worried about. He was much quieter than Liv, more serious and deep, but with a dry sense of humour. Olivia on the other hand, currently letting Connie take her bags to the car while she read a magazine, was very much her father's daughter. Beautiful, charming, flamboyant, a little egocentric. She would do fine.

Outside the farmhouse a horn pipped.

'That must be Julian,' Grace said, jumping up. 'Now are you sure you don't mind if he takes us all to the school?'

'Don't be silly, Mum,' said Olivia, still flicking through her magazine. 'We like Julian and we're glad you've finally found someone who can put up with you.'

'I know, darling,' said Grace, stroking her daughter's hair. 'But it's your first day at school and it should be your dad taking you ...'

'Mum, we're eleven eleven!' said Olivia. 'We understand what's happened. Loads of parents get divorced, it's no big deal.' She got up and hugged Grace. 'Julian's nice and Dad lives on the other side of the world. What more do you need?'

Grace laughed. Getting relations.h.i.+p advice from her eleven-year-old daughter now!

'Anyone want to go to school?' shouted Julian from downstairs.

Grace and the children came downstairs into the farmhouse's chalky pink living room.

'I found a load of boxes outside, so I put them into the car,' smiled Julian, ruffling Joe's hair affectionately. 'I hope they're yours?'

'Hey, not the hair!' said Joe, dodging him and sloping outside.

'Sorry, I forgot. You need to look gorgeous for all the girls. Talking of which ...' He grabbed Grace and drew her close, kissing her on the lips.

'Eww,' said Olivia, pus.h.i.+ng past. 'Get a room!'

Grace's relations.h.i.+p with Julian Adler had started slowly in the weeks after Robert's death. He had sent her a large bouquet of lilies with his condolences and a note reading: 'The one time people leave you completely alone is when you're standing in front of paintings. If you ever need peace and quiet, just call.'

The first time she called, he had given her a very personal tour of his exhibition. He had been funny and engaging, but he had also given her s.p.a.ce. So she had called again, just for a coffee, which had led to dinner, which had led to ... Well, eighteen months later, she found she couldn't imagine a time when he hadn't been there. He was part of her motivation for moving back to England full-time and his energy and joie de vivre joie de vivre were exactly what she needed to pull her out of her grief. She had lived with a creative man before, of course, but life with Julian was the direct opposite to the cloying, monitored, cosseted existence of Parador. Together they travelled to New York, Rome, Moscow, even the northern reaches of Finland, where they had swum in lakes under the midnight sun and camped in a teepee made of reindeer skin. He was a media darling invited to everything and he took her to s...o...b..z parties: premieres, gallery openings and wild soirees in boho lofts belonging to artists. Having lived a very gentle existence in Ibiza for eight years, he made her feel bolder, stronger, which was precisely why she needed him at her side today. were exactly what she needed to pull her out of her grief. She had lived with a creative man before, of course, but life with Julian was the direct opposite to the cloying, monitored, cosseted existence of Parador. Together they travelled to New York, Rome, Moscow, even the northern reaches of Finland, where they had swum in lakes under the midnight sun and camped in a teepee made of reindeer skin. He was a media darling invited to everything and he took her to s...o...b..z parties: premieres, gallery openings and wild soirees in boho lofts belonging to artists. Having lived a very gentle existence in Ibiza for eight years, he made her feel bolder, stronger, which was precisely why she needed him at her side today.

They squeezed everything into Julian's Jeep and Connie came to wave them off. Looking out of the back window, Joe nudged Grace.

'I guess this is it, huh, Mum?' He smiled.

'I guess this is it,' said Grace. It was time to go back to her past.The drive from Oxfords.h.i.+re to West Suss.e.x took less than two hours. As their car pulled through Danehurst's stone gates, two decades seemed to melt away. In many ways the pupils and parents gathered around the front doors counting suitcases and kissing goodbye didn't look that much different from when she had first started at the school back in 1980. The clothes were a little different, but there was the same polish and confidence in both generations, although there were more obvious signs of money now: the black helicopter by the tennis courts and the stacks of matching Louis Vuitton luggage. There was even a gold Hummer belonging to an LA rapper who was sending his son for an English education. It had always been a creative, media school, smiled Grace, watching Joe's awed expression as he saw the car.

Grace crunched across the gravel drive to embrace an old woman wearing a stiff tweed suit.'Still here, I see, Miss Lemmon.' She smiled.

'Just about,' said the head teacher. 'I'm finally retiring next year.'

The formidable Miss Lemmon had been a source of considerable fear for the pupils of Danehurst, but holding her shoulders now, Grace couldn't believe how small and fragile she was.

'Is that Julian Adler?' she whispered, looking behind Grace.

'My boyfriend, I'm afraid,' said Grace, a little embarra.s.sed.

'How exciting! Get him to doodle on a school programme before he leaves. We've got a charity auction coming up in a few weeks' time; might raise enough for a new roof for the library.'

'Oh, I'm sure we can do better than a few doodles,' said Grace, suddenly remembering the hours she had spent in that self-same library looking at books on Greek sculpture and laughing at the w.i.l.l.i.e.s.

'You're in the creative arts yourself, I believe?' said Miss Lemmon. 'I always thought you'd become a writer, but I saw your portraits of that Peruvian tribe in the Sunday Times Sunday Times the other week and thought they were quite wonderful.' the other week and thought they were quite wonderful.'

'Yes, it's all starting to work out,' Grace replied modestly.

'You're a photographer with two wonderful children, turning up with one of the world's greatest living artists. I'd say that was a little better than working out, Grace Ashford. And how's your brother these days? He seems to be doing well if the papers are anything to go by. I believe you also knew Alex Doyle and Sasha Sinclair? The pupils get very excited when they hear those two are ex-Danehurst.'

Grace gave a thin smile. 'Well, I think I'd better sneak off while the twins aren't looking,' she said. Across the driveway, they were both talking excitedly with other children. 'But do keep a watchful eye on Olivia. She can be a handful.'

'They always are, Grace.' The headmistress smiled. 'Give me the girl of eleven and I'll give you the woman.'

'That's what I'm afraid of,' said Grace.

[image]

Julian drove back, sitting in silence as Grace wept, waiting for the storm to pa.s.s.

'Sorry, darling,' said Grace finally as she wiped her face and blew her nose. 'It's been quite a day all in all.'

He squeezed her knee. 'Don't worry, I've got something to take your mind off it.'

'What is it?' asked Grace.

'You'll see.'

He took a detour around some smaller B roads, cutting across country back towards Oxford, driving through pretty chocolate-box villages and leafy glades. They pulled off the road and proceeded down a long winding drive, flanked with lime trees, which seemed to go on for ever. Grace could see no clues as to what this place might be. Not a farm too well kept; not a big hotel no golf buggies or helpful signs 'to the Spa'.

'It's ma.s.sive,' she said when she finally saw the stately home in front of her. A huge high-gothic mansion complete with castellations and stained-gla.s.s windows.'Very Brideshead,' she added appreciatively.

'At the risk of sounding like a geek, Brideshead was actually filmed at Castle Howard in Yorks.h.i.+re,' said Julian, pulling up a little way from the front. 'But Toddington Hall was designed by the same architect. It's Grade I listed, naturally. Thirty-five thousand square feet of s.p.a.ce.'

'Well, I think it's a work of art.'

Julian grinned. 'I'm glad you said that,' he said.

'Why?'

'Because I've bought it.'

She laughed with surprise. 'What?'

'Why not?' he said, shrugging.

'Well for one thing, look at it.' She giggled.'It's like the Taj Mahal. It isn't just a house, it's a national monument. It's not the sort of thing you buy on impulse, like a pair of shoes.'

'I did give it some thought,' he said, reaching into the glove compartment for some papers.

'I can see you've got a plan.' She laughed.

They got out of the car and took in the lazy September sun spilling across the honey-stone facade.

'I thought this could be a project. Our project,' he said putting his arm around her shoulder.

'Our project?' she said.

'We should renovate it together,' he said, unfolding the paper he was carrying and spreading it over the Jeep's bonnet. It was a set of blueprints for the revamp. 'I thought that whole east wing would be perfect as a gallery for my work and for other artists,' he said, pointing to the plans. 'We could make it as important as Tate Modern. I thought you could look after the living quarters. Add those girlie little touches you're so good at.'

'Hey!' she said, punching him on the arm.'But this will take years, won't it?'

'Not that long. Besides, as it's closer to the kids' school, you could see them at weekends.'

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He lifted her up on to the bonnet of the car, standing between her legs.

'So what are you suggesting?' she asked playfully.

'That we move in here together when it's completed. What do you say?'

He slid his hand up the back of her T-s.h.i.+rt and pulled her closer, rubbing his crotch against hers.

'Not here, Julian,' she whispered, glancing around.

'Why not here?' He smiled, now pus.h.i.+ng his hand up her skirt. 'No one's looking. Listen silence.'

He was right. No sight of anyone, anything around them, except the looming shape of the house. And no sound, particularly no lively children's chatter from the back seat. It was strange, but at the same time oddly liberating.

'Grace, relax,' he murmured into her ear. 'Remember you're not just a mother. You're a woman too.'