A Scandalous Secret (4 page)

The eighteenth birthday party was to be held in the grounds of an old flour mill on the outskirts of Orpington. There were no houses around for at least a mile and the place had been favoured as a better party venue than both Sonya's and Estella's homes because, being so remote, it was the least likely to lead to neighbourly complaints. The party was going to be big too, with almost all of their classmates from Duke High invited, along with several of their boyfriends and girlfriends who went to other schools. Then, Estella's large brood of cousins from her Italian side had also wanted to come and so, all in all, about fifty teenagers were expected to descend on the mill this weekend. Both sets of parents had been prevailed upon to stay away, a stipulation they had agreed to only on the condition that Bob, the miller who stayed in a cottage on the premises, would be around to ensure that no illegal activities took place. Estella couldn't help feeling some relief at the thought that she wasn't entirely in charge. Curmudgeonly old Bob would ensure no prankster got into the mill to do something stupid like scatter flour everywhere or pee into the water wheel.

Partially to counter the quiet, rustic surroundings, the invitation had specified fancy dress. It was, after all, the last
chance to meet before everyone departed for universities all over the country. Estella had decided in her usual pragmatic fashion – and in the interests of her hostessing duties – to be a British Midland air stewardess, having borrowed a uniform from a cousin who was the same size as her. Sonya's boyfriend, Tim, was going to be Julius Caesar, complete with a plastic bag hidden on his person that would squirt fake blood if anyone attempted to assassinate him. As for Sonya, after much deliberation and wavering between ‘Indian princess' and ‘Bollywood heroine', she had finally decided on the former. Sonya had grown increasingly excited as she had put her costume together, borrowing a beautiful sari from Priyal that was a rich turquoise blue with thousands of tiny sequins sewn on. Priyal's mum had shown her how to wear it, and even helped take the blouse in as Priyal was at least half a stone bigger than Sonya. Quantities of fake gold jewellery had come from a shop in Tooting and, during a practice run with the sari and jewellery, Priyal had looped a gold chain around Sonya's head so that the large pendant hung down the middle of her forehead. Priyal had then stepped back to take in the full effect and the expression on her face had given Sonya goosebumps. It was more complimentary than any words would ever be. Priyal, who almost never used any compliment stronger than a rather desultory ‘cool', had shaken her head and let out a low whistle before muttering, ‘Awesome!' Then, in more typical fashion, she had added, ‘You look like a bloody maharani, mate.'

To complete the royal look, Sonya had forsaken her customary ponytail and had this evening been to a beauty parlour in town. The stylist had blow-dried her hair into a silky black curtain that hung to her bare midriff, and had also shown her how to apply eyeshadow to accentuate
her dark, sweeping brows and large eyes. Back in her bedroom and now in her full regalia, Sonya examined herself in the full-length mirror. The heavy smoky grey eye make-up did indeed make her look very sophisticated, regal almost, even if she said so herself! She did a delighted little twirl, looking coquettishly at herself over her shoulder and pouting suggestively. Was the look more Bollywood heroine or Indian princess? Sonya couldn't tell. Then her pleasure wavered momentarily as she felt a sudden clutch of nervousness at what Mum and Dad would say when she appeared downstairs looking as over-the-top ‘Indian' as this. She never liked to rub their noses in the fact that she wasn't their biological daughter, and choosing this outfit may well be misunderstood, given how anxious they were feeling about her India trip. It was stupid of her not to have thought of it before.

Her parents were watching
The Weakest Link
when Sonya floated silently into the living room, trying to be subtle and unobtrusive. She caught sight of her father cocking a glance in her direction before raising a quizzical brow at his wife. ‘I saw that!' Sonya warned.

Richard Shaw had the grace to look sheepish. He got up and kissed his daughter on her forehead before holding her by the shoulders at arm's length. ‘You look beautiful, darling. It's just that we don't usually see you with so much make-up on. It makes you look … well … older. Isn't that right, Laura darling?' He turned to his wife with a pleading expression on his face. Sonya realized how studiously he'd avoided mentioning the Indian look, even though she had been talking about her planned Bollywood costume for days and it was now staring them in the face. Laura Shaw smiled briefly at Sonya and nodded in appreciation, but she soon returned her gaze to the television
screen. Her rather anxious expression made it seem as though far more interesting events were unfolding in the BBC studio than in her own living room.

Sonya threw her eyes upwards. ‘C'mon, guys, it's just a fancy dress party, for God's sake!' she cried in exasperation. ‘You'd have thought I'd seriously gone native, the way you're behaving!'

‘Don't be dramatic, darling,' Richard said, going across to the sideboard in the hall to search for the car keys. ‘You must admit, though, that it's quite strange seeing you dressed like that, given everything.'

‘Given
what
?' Sonya asked, flouncing after her father into the hall, ‘that I'm off to India? For Chrissake, Dad, it's a two-week holiday, not a religious conversion!'

‘I know, darling,' Richard said, coming up to Sonya to tap her arm with the back of his hand. He dropped his voice. ‘And Mum knows it too. However, you must understand her distress at this sudden decision of yours to go to India, Sonya. It has come out of the blue a bit. Go on, darling, go in there, beg a compliment off her and you'll both feel the better for it.'

Sonya hesitated for a moment before returning to the living room. She stood at the door for a second before walking in. ‘I'm off, Mum,' she said in a small voice. ‘Wish me luck. Stel's even lined up a prize for best costume, you know.'

Laura roused herself on the sofa and looked up at Sonya again. Taking in her daughter's exotic beauty with nervousness she was eventually unable to prevent herself from melting at Sonya's sheer loveliness. Laura patted the sofa next to her and said, ‘Come here, you.' As Sonya approached, she added, ‘You really do look lovely, Sonya darling. Dad and I don't mean to be nasty. It's just that you don't look like our little
girl when you're dressed up like that, you know … and, to be honest, I really can't bear such a harsh reminder. Not at this time anyway. Just before you go off in search of
her
… you know what I mean …'

‘I know, I know, Mum,' Sonya said, kneeling before her mother. ‘But it's only a spot of fun, dressing up like this. It certainly doesn't mean I'm trying to become someone else. Or make some kind of bid for acceptance by my birth family. Remember I'm always and only
your
little girl. I don't need to keep telling you that no one else will ever matter to me as much as you and Dad, do I?'

They held hands briefly as Sonya rested her cheek against her mother's knee. Then she got up, fumbling awkwardly with the folds of her sari. ‘I'd better go easy with this thing,' she said, ‘there's about a million safety pins stuck around me to keep it in place and I must return it to Priyal without tearing it!'

‘Yes, I bumped into Priyal's mum at Asda this morning … Mrs Guptee?'

‘Gupta,' Sonya corrected.

‘Yes, Mrs Gupta. And she did go on a bit about how lovely you looked when you first tried these clothes on at her house. She kept saying “Stunning,” and that English women generally didn't look right in saris. Well, she's obviously never seen Princess Di and Jemima Khan when they wore them, has she? Why, even Cherie Blair didn't look half bad in Indian costume, despite being a bit ungainly, so I don't know what Mrs Gupta was on about.' Laura hesitated for a moment before asking her daughter, ‘By the way, she doesn't
know
, does she?'

Sonya restrained herself from rolling her eyes upwards in exasperation again. She knew exactly what her mum was talking about and it both amused and saddened her
to think that her beloved mother was feeling so threatened, even by a passing compliment from someone as harmless as Mrs Gupta. ‘No, she doesn't know, Mum,' she lied firmly, ‘and nor does Priyal. I've told you, apart from Stel and Tim, no one else knows why I'm going to India.'

Laura looked marginally reassured. ‘Best keep it that way,' she said, ‘after all we don't know yet what's going to happen once you're there, do we?' Then, taking a deep breath, she put on a bright air that did not convince Sonya at all. ‘Well, off with you then,' Laura said. ‘Don't forget to take the salads out of the fridge, and the marinated lamb chops. I've added extra Tabasco, just like Estella said. And have a lovely time, won't you.' Laura nodded gratefully at Richard who was standing in the doorway, already carrying the two large plastic boxes full of salad. ‘Oh, and let Dad know when you want picking up from the mill?'

In the car, Sonya leaned over to give her father a peck on his cheek as he started the car. ‘What's that for, Princess?' he queried, although Sonya could see how pleased he was with the unexpected display of affection.

‘For always being such a skilled peacemaker. And for knowing exactly how to make both Mum and me feel instantly soothed.'

‘Ah, long years of practice,' Richard said. ‘Don't forget I grew up in a house full of women. Three sisters is enough to drive most fellers around the bend but, golly, what an education that was!'

They drove to the outskirts of Orpington in companionable silence, Richard humming along to a Phil Collins track on Radio 2 while Sonya straightened her smudged eye make-up in the car mirror, unused as she was to wearing kohl rather than the customary eye-pencil. ‘So, what are you listening to these days, sweetheart? I notice
you've put all your old Kurt Cobain CDs in that pile for Oxfam,' Richard said suddenly.

Sonya smiled. Dad tried with such sincerity to be matey and she had never had the heart to tell him that she wouldn't be able to get through naming half the bands she listened to without having him keel right over in shock. She had, in fact, carefully hidden the new Fuck Jesus CD under her bed to minimize the chance of offending her very innocent and strait-laced parents. ‘Oh, nothing special, just this and that,' she replied vaguely, looking out at the streetlights on the Sevenoaks Road. ‘The mill comes up somewhere here, Dad,' she added. ‘We'd better slow down.'

Richard peered through the dusk. A few stray raindrops were falling on the windscreen. ‘Oh dear,' he said, ‘it's been spitting and spotting like this all evening. I do hope it doesn't start to pour and ruin your party! Now, if I remember, there's a sharp bend in the road just before you see the sign for Wentworth Mill.'

‘Good memory!' Sonya said. ‘It was at least six years ago that we all came here for that bread-making course.'

‘Well, I was here more recently with the Council on one of our team-building days so I should know where it is, really. Ah, and bingo, there we go!' Richard swung the car onto a small dirt track that wound its way through an open field in which a few sodden sheep were grazing. They drove past a pond that sat next to the water mill and pulled up in a small yard where Estella's Polo was already parked. Sonya disembarked, holding up the edges of her sari to prevent it from getting muddy.

‘Hey Bollywood princess, don't you look just gorgeous!' came a cry from the door where Estella was emerging in her stewardess cap and uniform.

‘Actually not such a great idea on a wet evening,' Sonya replied, ruefully looking down at her shimmering clothes. She cast an envious look at Estella's short skirt and flat-heeled pumps, ‘Look at you – not just smart but sensible too!'

‘Ah, but then that's me all over: smart and sensible! Oh, and surely you merely forgot to say “sexy” too,' Estella replied, twirling a plump leg in what she imagined was a coquettish manner before yelling a cheery greeting to Richard who was getting out of the far side of his car. Richard blew a kiss at her and then turned to get the salad and lamb chops out of the back seat. Someone – possibly one of the Wentworth cousins – came running out of the mill to help. He was dressed as a bishop but, as he heaved the boxes over his shoulder and carried them into the building, a pair of stout and very unbishoplike Doc Martens was revealed under his robes.

Richard turned when another car pulled into the yard. Its four occupants – Spiderman, Wonder Woman, a vicar and a tart – emerged amidst a hail of raunchy greetings. It was definitely time to go. Richard waved to Sonya and Estella before climbing with haste back into his car, grinning widely as he reversed. ‘Have fun, girls, and be good!' he said, rolling his window back up before driving off.

Sonya followed the others into the bakery part of the mill, which is where the food and drink were to be laid out in the event of rain. Estella's mother ran a small artisan bread business from the premises, supplying local restaurants and delis with her popular sourdough bread. Mrs Wentworth had obviously been baking furiously for the party as Sonya could see piles and piles of crusty rolls and her famous giant white bloomer loaves at one end of the table.

Unable to sustain the demure Indian look for very long, Sonya was swigging her second can of Corona when Timothy arrived. His face brightened as it always did when he saw her but, because his Roman toga was too long, he stumbled on the top step of the mill while stepping over the threshold in a pair of outsized gladiator sandals. What would have been a nasty tumble was fortuitously stopped by his colliding with Wonder Woman, which led to both of them falling in a giggling heap onto a few bags of wholemeal flour. It was a funny sight that had all the observers bursting into affectionate laughter, but Sonya looked away from her boyfriend making a spectacle of himself, mortified. Tim was unfazed, however, and Sonya guessed that he was probably already a little drunk. Being a naturally shy sort, he often downed a bottle of beer before leaving for a party. ‘A pint of Dutch courage,' he had once said while waving a lager glass of Stella Artois in a pub, and Sonya was sure he had meant it. She watched the burly Benedict pull Tim up now and stick him back on his sandaled feet. Benedict, who had gone by the name of Big Ben since Year Seven, twinkled across at Sonya. ‘I know I just said you were a fabulous eyeful tonight, Ms Shaw, but I failed to realize this was the effect you would have on poor old Tim!'