Someone Like You (78 page)

‘You’ve got star quality, babe. That’s what this business is all about.’

The condensation ran down the white wine glasses as Hannah stood inside the door and watched Felix ooze star

quality.

Freddie and Michelle giggled like schoolkids at his jokes, as did the other people in the room who’d gravitated towards him instinctively.

‘Were you taking those glasses of wine to anybody in particular?’ demanded the waitress.

A & E Catering had come up with two waitresses, one competent and friendly, the other a surly girl who wasn’t much older than sixteen and looked as if she’d been dragged away from a particularly brilliant episode of Friends to waitress at this boring party.

It was Ms Surly speaking.

‘It’s OK,’ Hannah said, smiling in the hope that the girl might summon up a smile in return. ‘I’ll bring them.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said the girl before stomping off.

‘Darling,’ called Felix, giving her a look she recognized as his ‘rescue me’ plea. ‘Come here with the wine before we all expire from thirst.’

She made her way over to the group and Felix handed out the drinks before wrapping his free arm around her waist in a gesture as much of pride as possession.

isn’t she wonderful?’ he said warmly. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

‘Wonderful,’ chorused the Felix acolytes.

It was Hannah’s turn to flush. She hated it when he did that, made her feel like a possession on display. She remembered a party at one actor’s house when she’d been heavily pregnant and Felix had pushed her round in front of him like a talisman, as if to say ‘Aren’t I a wonderful family man?’

Of course, he couldn’t really have been doing that. She’d been such a slave to her hormones at the time that she’d discounted her initial notion as pregnancy blues.

Yet it felt like it now. She was a part of Felix’s resume, along with his stint in badly financed theatre shows, his year in America and the rep Hamlet in modern clothes set in Chicago. Her place on the CV was that of sweet Irish wife who looked after their adorable little daughter and their cosy Clapham home. The domestic bliss section of every actor’s life, without which they ‘simply wouldn’t be able to cope’, as they told every interviewer.

‘I must answer the doorbell,’ she said hurriedly.

‘Did it ring?’ asked Michelle in surprise, ‘I thought yours made the same noise as ours, and I didn’t hear it.’

Blessedly, the bell rang loudly.

‘There it goes again,’ Hannah lied.

Freddie laughed at Michelle. ‘One sip of wine and she doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going!’

Hannah escaped to let the newcomers in and to rest her hot forehead against the cool wall in the upstairs bathroom.

There must be something wrong with her. She checked on Claudia and Mercedes. The baby was asleep, cherubic with those naughty eyes closed.

‘Would you like something to eat?’ she asked Mercedes, who looked shocked at the idea.

After nine, Mercedes never touched more than a crispbread. Which was why she was so slim, Hannah thought, a hand straying to her tummy, which had never quite regained its once-enviable slimness after Claudia’s birth.

The buffet went down a treat, along with the endless bottles of Roda wine. The acting fraternity turned up en masse and went through the food like a plague of locusts, especially enjoying knocking back the after-dinner champagne that Felix had apparently ordered without telling Hannah.

‘Good drink is the mark of a good party,’ breathed one of Felix’s pals drunkenly as he helped himself to another red wine-sized glass of champagne with the eagerness of a wino opening a new bottle of Thunderbird.

A waste of a good party, Hannah thought bleakly as she surveyed the scene of destruction that was the kitchen and thought of how much money the whole thing had cost them. Every time another cork popped, she winced and remembered their overdraft. It would have been bearable if Bill’s important friend had turned up to admire Felix and subsequently cast him in some career-making TV show or film. But she hadn’t arrived and now that it was after eleven, it didn’t seem likely she would.

The guests were almost all hard-up talent rather than wealthy, powerful behind-the-scenes people. The most powerful person in the room turned out to be a beautifully preserved actress who seemed to have been in every British film made in the previous ten years and who was clearly there because she fancied Felix.

To Hannah’s relief, he didn’t appear interested and even bitchily confided in her that the actress’s gorgeous young husband was in fact gay.

‘At her age, it’s the best she can get,’ he’d said dismissively.

Hannah was so consoled by the knowledge that Felix wasn’t interested in the other woman, that she never said a word about how ageist and sexist his remarks were.

She noticed, sourly, that he spent ages talking quietly in a corner with Sigrid, a Danish actress who’d had a small part in his last TV series. A taut and lean brunette with short spiky hair and a personality to match, she was amazingly dressed in tight suede trousers under which her body seemed to lean towards Felix as they stared deliberately over each other’s shoulders, talking fiercely.

Hannah chatted to other guests, laughed at old jokes and poured out wine, all the while watching her husband out of the corner of her eye. He and Sigrid never even looked at each other but there was something between them, some unmistakable sense that they were closer than mere colleagues. But they weren’t touching or anything.

Was she imagining it?

Even when someone spilled a glass of red on the tapestry cushion that she’d meant to hide because it wasn’t Scotch guarded, Hannah didn’t mind. She was too busy watching Felix, feeling nervous knots in her stomach.

When she returned from rescuing the cushion with a pound of salt in the kitchen, Felix was chatting to another group of people, one arm loosely round the shoulders of a woman she knew he disliked. Perhaps that was the clue, she thought with the shock of sudden comprehension.

He let himself publicly touch people he didn’t like and ostentatiously refrained from touching anyone he did.

She was relieved when Sigrid left shortly afterwards with the man she’d arrived with. But the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away.

‘Everything all right, darling?’ Felix asked casually when Sigrid had gone, patting Hannah’s arm.

‘Fine,’ she said.

He smiled almost maniacally at her: she was tired of the party and he was on a high, thrilled that these people had come to see him, buoyed up on a mixture of drink and excitement.

He kissed her on the cheek and was gone, flirting, charming, enchanting everyone. The golden boy who captured every eye in the room.

By ten past twelve, she was exhausted from the combination of being hostessy with worrying that the party would upset Claudia, whom she’d checked on all evening.

Most of the partygoers had gone except for the hardcore acting fraternity who were used to staying up late and who were now sitting round the kitchen table, stuck into the Scotch Bill had unearthed behind the tea towels in a kitchen cupboard.

When Hannah went into the kitchen after saying goodbye to some guests, the hardcore were happily ripping apart a period television series in which none of them had been given parts.

‘Derivative crap,’ sneered one.

‘I hate that corset and yes-your-ladyship stuff,’ said Bill.

‘I mean, didn’t they have sex in Jane Austen’s time? You’d never bloody know it.’

Hannah wondered if anyone would notice if she sloped off to bed.

Claudia had slept throughout the whole thing, in spite of the odd rowdiness, so she’d be awake as usual at half five. Hannah knew Felix wouldn’t have the energy to get up to her, and Mercedes, who’d been wonderful all evening and had taken Claudia’s cot into her room to make sure she was all right, was deservedly having the day off.

That was it, Hannah decided. She’d nip into Mercedes’

room and remind the poor girl that she’d take Claudia in the morning so Mercedes could have a lie-on. Felix must be in the loo or something, but he’d figure out she had gone to bed and would look after his guests without her.

She tiptoed upstairs, deeply grateful that the party was over. It had taken so much planning, mainly because of the inefficiencies of the caterers. And she’d been cleaning the house for a week. Mercedes was hopeless when it came to putting on rubber gloves and doing things with cream cleanser. She’d shuddered expressively when Hannah had even suggested it.

Poor Mercedes. She’d miss her Gallic charm.

Hannah was mentally working out how much they’d save by not paying an au pair when she came to Mercedes’

room. There was a lot of muffled noise coming from inside and she instantly assumed that Claudia was awake and demanding attention. Knocking perfunctorily, she didn’t wait as she usually did for Mercedes to say, ‘Come in.’

Hannah was extremely conscious that Mercedes was entitled to her privacy but this was the first time she had ever left Claudia’s cot in the au pair’s room for the evening.

Thinking that she’d relieve Mercedes of the baby was foremost on her mind when she pushed the door open.

Only it wasn’t an over-tired Claudia stretched out on Mercedes’ bed, wriggling as her nappy was changed and grizzling for her mother.

It was Felix, only a pair of boxer shorts covering his long, lean limbs. His Next boxers, Hannah noticed, astonished at the details which seemed clear to her at this traumatic moment.

He didn’t look upset. On the contrary, he looked mildly surprised, as if he’d just woken up in their own bed and it had been Hannah herself beside him in bra and knickers, instead of the nubile body of Mercedes looking wonderful in matching ivory undies.

Claudia was mercifully slumbering in her cot, cherubic face peaceful in sleep, one small hand clutching the cuddly black sheep she refused to be parted from. Hannah would never have forgiven Felix if he’d screwed their au pair with the baby watching. That would have been unforgivable.

Not that the current state of affairs was forgivable, but it was marginally more so because of Claudia’s slumber.

“‘Annah, I am so sorry,’ cried Mercedes, distraught. ‘I never meant to, I am too fond of you, you must believe me. There was no plan - it just ‘appen.’

I wonder how often it has ‘appened before, Hannah thought wildly.

‘How did it happen, then?’ Hannah asked coldly, looking at Felix instead of Mercedes, who was, after all, an impressionable nineteen-year-old and could hardly be blamed for her employer’s adultery.

Felix’s face went blank when he was in the wrong, a sort of bare canvas on which he could paint the correct expression. It was blank now, waiting to see what barbs his wife would fire so he could react correctly.

‘I’m waiting, Felix,’ Hannah said, ‘for an explanation from you.’

As if realizing that she wasn’t taking the traditional ‘blame the other woman’ line, Felix adjusted his face accordingly.

‘I’m

sorry, Hannah,’ he said. ‘I was drunk. I came in to check on Claudia and Mercedes was here. She came on to me…’

‘I did not!’ squealed Mercedes hotly. ‘You ‘ave been after me since I get here. I only give in because you pester me!’

‘Lying bitch!’ hissed Felix. ‘Don’t believe a word she’s saying, Hannah,’ he implored. ‘She’s been like a cat on heat ever since she arrived.’

At this, Claudia woke up and, on seeing her favourite people glaring angrily at each other, started bawling. Mercedes looked at Hannah briefly as if asking would she pick her up. But Hannah shook her head imperceptibly and reached for her squirming daughter.

‘How’s my pet?’ she crooned, snuggling Claudia’s curly head against her breast and marvelling that she could speak normally to her daughter after what had just happened.

The bawling continued.

‘Felix, perhaps you could move the cot into our bedroom.’

He smirked at Mercedes. I won, he seemed to be saying.

She believed me. Mercedes’ face fell and her full lower lip wobbled.

Hannah ignored all this and carried Claudia into what the estate agent had described as the ‘master bedroom’.

Slightly less box-like than the other two bedrooms, there was only room for a bed, a pine dressing table, two tiny bedside tables and a chair. The master must have been very small, Hannah always thought. She would never have described such a small room as the master bedroom when it sounded so stupid, she’d thought. With the cot in there, she wouldn’t have room to move.

Once Felix had transferred Claudia’s cot and all her belongings, he went to sit on their big double bed with its flowery yellow duvet.

‘Don’t even think about it, Felix,’ Hannah warned, keeping her voice low because she was trying to calm Claudia.

‘You can sleep somewhere else tonight. I’m sure there’s someone who’ll oblige - maybe Sigrid, if Mercedes is too pissed off to let you back in her bed.’

His head shot up and he looked warily at Hannah, speculating as to how much she knew or guessed.

‘How dumb do you think I am?’ she asked harshly. ‘No, don’t answer that because it’s obvious that I am a bit dumb.

I failed to notice what you were getting up to under my roof and I failed to notice you screwing probably half the actresses in London.’

‘I haven’t…’ he began.

‘Don’t bother either apologizing or making excuses.’

Hannah walked around the room, gently rocking Claudia.

‘Now get out and look after your guests.’

Knowing when he was beaten, Felix left. A few moments later, a soft knock on the door and a little voice signalled the arrival of Mercedes.

“‘Annah, can I come and explain?’

‘Go away, Mercedes, you can explain in the morning,’

Hannah said wearily.

When she went downstairs half an hour later to get some milk for Claudia, the kitchen was empty. The stragglers were in the living room playing charades, porn-movie title charades from the sound of it. Filthy laughter erupted when someone loudly guessed Dirty Cowgirls Do Downtown Delhi.

Hannah warmed milk for both herself and her daughter.