The Finishing Touches (15 page)

I opened my mouth to tell him that was nonsense and that men proposed the day they found their first ear hair, but as he lifted his wineglass to drain it, something in his expression made me stop. Jamie’s default setting was tie-loosened super-confidence, but I thought I could see a flicker of vulnerability about the way he half-hid his face with the glass and shot his cuffs slightly, something I’d never seen him do before.

Ooh, I thought, it’s personal. Maybe that was why he’d rushed home from New York with his tail between his legs.
Some girl’s turned
him
down, after all these years of playing the field and calling everyone “babe” to be on the safe side. First time for everything.

Liv glanced over at me, then looked at her brother. She was sitting between me and Jamie and had to keep bouncing her gaze back and forth as if she were at a tennis match, and the resulting neck strain seemed to be making her grumpy.

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a new teacher there,” she said to me. “Well, more a professor, really. You could do a whole course on Understanding the International Playboy, just using Jamie’s BlackBerry.”

I nudged Liv under the table. She obviously hadn’t noticed Jamie’s expression, or else she was still stinging from his brotherly lecture earlier.

“What?” she demanded. “I’m just saying. Let Jamie into the Academy and it’d be like putting an alcoholic in a brewery and asking if he wants to test the beer. Genius—until he falls into the vat, or whatever it’s called.”

“Stick to uncorking wine bottles, Olivia, and leave the metaphors to the grown-ups,” said Jamie, but I could tell she’d touched a nerve.

“Don’t joke about teaching, because I might take you up on that,” I said, trying to lift the mood again. “I need some experts. But you’d have to promise not to offer personal coaching. The current students are terribly charming and rich, and frantic to get themselves on the celeb party circuit. You’re the man of their dreams, in so many ways.”

Jamie looked up at me and saw I was joking. He was gratifyingly quick on the uptake about my jokes, unlike his sister. “Oh, really?” He pretended to rub his hands like a Victorian maiden abductor. “Tell me more. What delicious young debutantes are currently being finished?”

“Well, they’ve barely
started
to be honest, but at the mo
ment, there’s Clementine the Goth, Divinity the footballer’s daughter, Anastasia the Russian squillionairess, and Venetia the…”

I wasn’t sure how to describe Venetia. I suddenly realized I didn’t know much about her at all, other than that she had her extensions done at Richard Ward and intended to marry a man with his own landing pad.

“The trainee Bond girl,” I finished, and as I said that, my mind made a connection with some other, older trainee Bond girls, and I remembered Nell Howard’s phone numbers in my handbag.

My brain seized up instantly with “call her/don’t call her” arguments that had been plaguing me all day. I wanted to call her, but something in me kept putting off the moment.

“I’m going to powder my nose,” Liv announced, shoving her chair back. “I mean that in the finishing school sense, not in the London club sense, in case you’re wondering, Jamie.”

“Thanks for those two delightful images,” he said, and moved his chair so she could squeeze past. As he did, he leaned forward far enough to brush my hand with his arm, and an electric tingle ran right up my skin and into the inner depths of Liv’s borrowed dress.

Before I could even enjoy it, the tingle was replaced with a familiar ache as Jamie gave me a brotherly grin. Sitting here bantering with Jamie was one thing, but it was all done on the understanding that I was far too sensible to fall for his charms, and he was far too irresponsible and blonde-addicted to go for a hardworking math geek who grew her own tomatoes.

We knew each other too well—in every sense, I thought regretfully. If we’d met once as kids, when he was a bit tubby and I had a ginger Afro, then seen each other now, as adults, maybe it’d be OK to sweep the school years under the carpet. But I’d been best mates with his sister since I was eleven. He’d
witnessed every terrible haircut I’d had, and I’d seen him date every girl with a name ending in A between Cheltenham and Pimlico. Amanda, Diana, Isabella—all gorgeous.

The killer ironic blow was that when I wasn’t being a village idiot, I did make him laugh. And he had said that was a rare and precious thing…

“You look very stern—what are you thinking?” he asked as he pulled his seat back in. He ended up a little nearer than he had been before. I could feel his knee very close to but not touching mine.

I blinked. I couldn’t tell him exactly what I was thinking, so I skipped back ten seconds. Not a lie. “Um, I was thinking about calling this woman I met at Franny’s memorial tea,” I said. “Nell Howard. She was a student at the Academy when I was left on the step—she thought she might have known my mother. Without realizing, if you know what I mean. She knew the girls that were there then.”

Jamie opened his eyes wide, just like Liv did when she wanted to convey utter bewilderment. It was one of the few things they had in common. “What? Seriously? After all these years, and you’re
thinking
of calling her? Call her! Now!”

“I will! I just—”

“Just what?” he demanded. “And don’t give me the excuse you’re thinking up.”

I managed a small smile. “I
want
to, but I’m not sure what I might find out,” I confessed. The noise in the restaurant was getting louder as more customers drifted in from work, and I had to lean forward to avoid raising my voice too loud. He leaned forward too, to hear me, and I got a distracting noseful of eau de Jamie.

“You might find out who your mother is,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but what if she’s…I don’t know…a serial divorcée
with three other kids? Or a junkie, or a…” I wanted to say “not a ballerina,” but I knew that sounded stupid.

Jamie made a tsk noise. “Listen, she can’t be worse than the parents Liv and I
have
. A mother who cared about us so much she moved to Arizona because her new man wanted a ranch, and a father who’s just skipped town to avoid a nasty tax conversation, leaving poor dopey Liv trying to boil eggs in a kettle.” He twisted his mouth up at the corner. “If I could ring someone up and have another throw of the parental dice, I’d be on that phone like a shot, believe me.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Ken liked to wax lyrical about how Liv was “the image of my late mother, God love her,” but was furious that Jamie had inherited Rina’s canapé addiction and had no time for his “bloody pointless play-business.” Coming from a man who had started his fortune selling
I Shot J.R.
T-shirts out of the back of a car, this seemed pretty harsh, but then Ken had had high hopes for Jamie, the first one in their family to go to university.

“Have you got hold of Ken, then?” I asked. “Liv says his mobile’s off.”

“No, I got hold of the next best thing—his accountant. Literally got hold of him, if you’re asking. And he filled me in, as far as he knew. He’s fine, of course, just lying low while he liquidates some assets or something, but I don’t think he realizes what a mess Liv’s in, the selfish old…Listen, I don’t want to talk about Ken and spoil the evening.” He tapped the table with his finger. “Where’s that phone of yours? I insist you call this Nell woman right now.”

I started backtracking; I couldn’t help it. “But it’s late. I don’t want her to think—”

“No, it’s not. It’s between drinks and supper—perfect timing. What have you got to lose?” he demanded. “
She’s
not your
mother. It’s not like you have to take it further than a chat. Ring her, meet for coffee, see what she’s got to say. But don’t waste any more time.”

He paused and said something quietly, so I had to lean forward. “Sorry?”

“I just said, Betsy, you can’t put your own life on hold, worrying about what other people might think. You’ve got to do what you need to do. It’s something I’ve come to realize recently.”

I looked up, straight into his gray eyes, and wondered if he was talking about the girl in New York.

“Don’t you want to know who you are, really?” he went on. “Aren’t you curious?”

“’Course I am. Sort of.” I squirmed in my chair. Without realizing it, Jamie had put his finger on one of my sorest spots. I wasn’t worried about living up to what everyone else wanted—I could do that by working hard and flossing—but about discovering that actually, in my real flesh and blood, I wasn’t half as good as everyone hoped. Once I’d found my mother, what then? Might I have to go back to her life? And what if she didn’t want me in it?

It was easy for Jamie and Liv. They had a rough-and-ready dad and a posh model mother, but they flitted easily between every sort of environment, shifting their accents as they went. Beautiful people fitted in anywhere, especially if they had plenty of money. But what sort of background created mothers who abandoned their babies? What might come out in
me
?

“I
do
want to see her and ask questions,” I blurted out. “But there’s no going back, and I’ve got so much to worry about right now.”

“I’ll come with you, if you want,” Jamie said. “I’ll be your moral support—your boyfriend, if you want. I’ll ask the tricky
questions, if you don’t want to. But I do think you should do it, if not for yourself, then for any kids
you
might have. I’m not saying this to stir it up. I’m saying it as someone who’s known you for years and years…”

I bit my lip and got out my phone. Immediately, I felt my fingers freeze. “It’s very noisy in here,” I started, but Jamie was too quick. Before I knew what he was doing, he’d shoved back his chair, taken my hand in his, and begun hustling us through the crowd by the bar.

His hand was dry and warm clasping mine, and I could hear people saying, “Hi, Jamie!” as we went, but he didn’t stop to reply. Suddenly we were standing outside, in the cold street.

“Ring,” he said firmly, and his breath made faint puffs of white in the evening air.

“Cold,” I said, for the second time that evening.

He rolled his eyes, but kindly. “Excuses, excuses. I’ll keep you warm, just dial the number.”

I got the piece of paper with the numbers on it out of my bag and began to dial. As I fumbled with the phone, I felt Jamie shrug off his jacket and drape it over my shoulders. I was still registering the still-warm lime-green lining against my bare neck, smelling of his aftershave and warm skin, when I heard someone pick up at the other end.

My heart leaped into my mouth.

“Hello!” caroled a woman’s voice. “Nell here.”

I glanced at Jamie, who nodded me on.

“Hello!” I shoved aside my nerves and switched into my polite telephone manner. “It’s Betsy Phillimore; we met at Lady Phillimore’s memorial and—”

“Betsy!” Nell sounded thrilled, although that might just have been her excellent finishing. It
was
cocktail hour too. “Darling, I’m so glad you called; I was hoping you would. I’m
such an idiot; I forgot to take your number, then I was in Morocco, doing up a house for a shoot—did you want to meet up for a proper gossip?”

“Yes,” I said bravely. “I’m in London until the end of next week, and—”

“Cut to the chase, how about tomorrow?” she suggested. “I’m away again on Thursday, and I’ve dug out something for you—something that you might find rather
intriguing
.”

“Oh, really?” I said. “Yes, well, tomorrow would be fine.”

Jamie was leaning over my shoulder now, trying to listen in, but he was putting me off my concentration. I could feel his warm breath on my neck.

“Fabulous! Whereabouts are you lurking at the moment?”

“I’ll be at the Academy,” I said. “I’m working with Lord Phillimore to update it a bit.”

“Rarely?” Nell was a “really/rarely” kind of posh woman. “Fabulous idea! Do you have a local? Last time I was there all the pubs were full of prostitutes and dukes, and Miss Vanderbilt wouldn’t even let us stop outside them, let alone go in. Probably all made over now, I expect. I’m in Notting Hill, if it helps.”

I thought quickly. “How about somewhere in between. Do you know Igor’s?” I gave her directions to the bar where Liv worked. She’d be able to get us a nice quiet booth.

“Sounds extraordinary! Five-ish suit you?” she went on.

“Yes, fine,” I said, amazed at how easy this was turning out to be.

“Darling, no—not the
rhino
head! The other one…yes, that’s the fellow!” she yelled, then said to me, “So I’ll see you there, then.”

I hung up. One phone call and all the little cogs had started to move. My hands trembled—with excitement, or cold, or maybe both.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“I’m seeing her tomorrow, for a drink. And something intriguing. Here.” I offered him his jacket. It was a nicely heavy jacket, and I saw the label as he swung it back on—Richard James. “We should rescue Liv. She’s probably being chatted up by a waiter as we speak, and you know how keen she is to stay on her man detox.”

“Indeed.” Jamie put a hand on my back as he pushed his way gently through the crowded bar area. “Want me to come with you?”

I stopped and looked at him, to see if he was being serious.

“For moral support?” he went on. “I can imagine it might be a bit weird. I don’t mind pretending to be a boyfriend, give you a second opinion?”

“I should be fine,” I heard myself say. “But thanks.”

Damn!
Why did my brain take over like that? Was it like a safety switch or something? I’d have
loved
Jamie to pretend to be my boyfriend.

“If you’ve got Liv hovering around, I suppose you don’t need any more O’Hare backup,” he said, twisting his mouth. “One of us is more than enough. But I meant it about the classes. Sounds like a great idea. If you need any help, advice, PR, you know…call me.”

He said it really sweetly, but then he made a phone gesture with his thumb and little finger that was so cheesy I couldn’t stop myself.

“But you’re so busy with work,” I reminded him. “Weren’t you telling Liv ten minutes ago that Party Animals isn’t just an excuse to test champagne and meet every gorgeous woman in London throwing a twenty-first? That it’s a serious business that takes up twelve hours of every day?”