The Santiago Sisters (14 page)

London

T
ess closed her textbook—
American Political History: A Concise Encyclopaedia
—and yawned. She reached over the bed for a cigarette and speculated on how any tome over eight hundred pages long could possibly call itself concise.

Final exams were hurtling towards her at breakneck speed. After a year of neglecting her studies, giving attitude to
les professeurs
and generally not bothering with school (Madame Hébert had insinuated that if it weren’t for
la réputation de sa famille
she would already have been expelled), she had to play catch up if she stood any chance of passing. Personally she couldn’t give a crap if she did or not, but Emily Chilcott had been swotting like mad and Tess refused to give her the satisfaction.

Blowing out smoke, she lay back on the pillows. Ordinarily she could count the seconds before Simone’s tread ascended the stairs and a sharp voice cawed, ‘Put that damn thing out!’ But, today, Simone was otherwise occupied. She and Brian were attending a restaurant opening in Marble Arch and so she was busy with stylists.

Instead, another stomp of footsteps approached. Tess was stubbing out her Marlboro when the door slammed open.
Simone had removed the lock at the start of the holidays. The other day, Tess had found a glossy in Simone’s bedroom, open on an article entitled YOUR TEENAGER AND YOU. Item one on a list of ‘Ways to bond with your child’ was ‘Remove barriers. Banish secrets. Open your door—and theirs.’

Emily Chilcott swept in. Her pastel-pink cut-off boasted a smooth, tanned belly, pierced with a diamond stud. At Tess’s dresser, she began ransacking jewellery.

‘Looking for something?’ asked Tess.

‘You shouldn’t smoke in here,’ carped Emily. ‘I’ll tell Simone.’

‘She knows anyway.’

‘Because you’re such a
grown-up
now …’ Emily smiled meanly. ‘Right?’

Tess decided her time at Sainte-Marthe had at least served some purpose. It had taught her all she needed to know about survival among bitches—and that with a little ingenuity and a lot of balls she could climb the greasy pole of social hierarchy as well as anyone else, wherever she’d come from. Simone liked to spout off about education but, as far as Tess was concerned, that was all the education she needed.

All the same, she couldn’t wait to get away from Emily and London. She was done with Europe; she wanted America. She didn’t intend to be like Lysander, inexplicably shackled to the mansion and raiding the family coffers despite failing to do any work of his own. Lysander talked about his plans to go abroad and pursue a career in landscape gardening, but so far nothing had come of it. Lysander talked well about a lot of things, Tess noticed, but did little about converting them into action.

‘It’s a waste of time, all that,’ commented Emily breezily.

At first Tess thought she was referring to Lysander. ‘What?’

‘Books. Exams. Getting grades. Simone’s got other plans.’

Tess enjoyed the note of resentment in her voice. ‘Maybe. But it’s my life.’

Emily snorted. ‘Bullshit. You’ll do whatever she says. You’re her pet, don’t you realise?’ How quickly a note became a symphony. ‘You’ll get everything. All this crap about how much Simone wants a daughter, blah-di-fucking-blah, and here I am all along and she never fucking notices because
I
don’t fucking count. She’ll make a star of you, Tess. But when
I
asked for acting lessons? When
I
told her I’d go to that junket thingy when you were away?’ She honked a laugh out of her nose. ‘Fat chance.’

‘You don’t need her permission.’

‘Bullshit I don’t. She’s beyond the law. I’ll never get anywhere in this or any other town. All it takes is a call and I’m dead meat. After all, I’m not her
daughter.
’

Tess shrugged. ‘Neither am I.’

‘You’d better not let her hear you say that.’ But Emily’s tone had waned and she regarded Tess now with a tentative solidarity. ‘Get on the wrong side of that witch and you’ve had it. Look at my dad. He might as well have his balls in storage.’

Tess smiled at this because she’d never heard Emily speak like this before. In fact, she’d never heard Emily speak at all without slagging her off.

‘He’s no help, but then what did I expect?’ Emily sat next to her. ‘I’ve always wanted to be an actress, and Dad’s, like, “One day, honey, soon.” He’s like a fucking dog on a chain when it comes to that bitch. Maybe she’s holding the BJs to ransom.’

Tess knew what it was like to dream of riches and celebrity. Before, they had represented escape. Now, they represented vengeance. She
needed
them.

‘You think you know half of what’s coming?’ Emily sulked.
‘You think going to a party or two qualifies you as a celebrity? Wait until you get to Hollywood and some fit A-lister’s screwing you in a bath full of Cristal and you’re high off your tits and you’re crapping hundred-dollar bills and then tell me it isn’t the most extreme, thrilling, fucked-up-bloody-amazing ride of your life. Dad got me a movie when I was twelve, some dumb thing about an alien dog. It was shit but it was enough to give me a taste. I
know
it’s the life I want.’ Emily reached for the pack of cigarettes and flicked two out. She switched the light and caught them both at once. She passed one to Tess.

Tess took it. The girls smoked in silence. Vera called up that supper was served and Emily ground hers out and made for the door, their confidence broken.

‘So there’s this thing called Facebook,’ Emily told Tess the following week. ‘All my girls are on it. It’s a way to connect with people, see what they’re doing, who’s dating who, that kind of thing.’ They sat in front of Brian’s Mac. ‘Here. It’s easy. Sign up.’

Tess began typing her name.

‘No, you idiot! Not your real name, duh.’

‘What, then?’

Emily typed in TITTY MCSHITTY and giggled behind her hand, before Tess smacked her and told her not to be a dick. She corrected it. ‘How about this?’

‘Tessa Chilcott,’ Tess read. ‘But no one’s going to know it’s me.’

‘Exactly. Look.’ Emily clicked her profile. ‘This is how it works. You find people you want to link with then you message them to say who you are. Otherwise you’re going to have every fucking sad case in England checking you out.’

Tess was pleased to see Mia pop up.
Check out my pics of St Tropez!!!

Tess suppressed a shudder when she scrolled through them: her and Felix, drunk at Plage d’Aqua, Mia and Henri kissing … She had never been honest with Mia about what had happened on the beach because she couldn’t work it out herself. After she’d lost her virginity she’d felt used and filthy, and had gone back to Mia’s parents’ house and shut herself in the bathroom and cried silently into so much loo roll that Béatrice had asked next morning if anyone had disagreed with the seafood. Only when she was back at Sainte-Marthe, lying awake one night in the dorm, did it occur to her that Felix Bazinet had raped her. Clearly, she remembered saying no.
Please stop …
And he hadn’t. She’d sourced a pregnancy test from a girl in the top year in exchange for writing an essay on Foucault and thank God it had come back negative.

‘Shit a brick, is that Felix Bazinet?’ Emily’s eyes turned to saucers.

‘It’s no one.’ She closed the picture.

‘You know, Tess, you should totally ditch Mia. She’s a loser. I was talking with Fifi and Claudette and we agreed you could join us … so long as you ditch her.’

‘Piss off.’

Emily didn’t ask again.

On cue, Facebook threw up Fifi’s profile. They were met by dozens of images of the flame-haired princess posing and pouting in a variety of outfits. In some she was dining with her parents on
Le Grand Mystère,
her mother’s arms draped around her corpulent, indifferent father, while Fifi sat by with only an untouched paella for company. Tess decided that Fifi had an unhappy life. How weird popularity was.

‘You’ll live your whole world through this,’ Emily promised sagely.

A week later, a message flashed up in Tess’s inbox. It was from Alex Dalton. His name made something flutter inside her, but she quickly clipped its wings.

Tess scrolled through his photos. Alex had a ton of friends. There weren’t many pictures of him, which surprised her because most rich boys spent their lives taking pictures of themselves. A couple of Alex with a man she supposed to be his dad. One of him as a kid, which made her smile, dressed
as a wizard and missing one of his front teeth; and one of him as a baby, being held by a woman, his mother.

So sorry, dude,
read the comments below.
Didn’t realise it was today, thinking of you. Gone but never forgotten. Call if you need anything
.

Tess digested this. She returned to the message and was about to tap out a reply when a voice startled her from behind. ‘You thinking of moving in here?’

Brian was in the doorway to his office, an affectionate leer on his face.

‘Sorry.’ Tess clicked the computer off.

‘The girls at Ace are arriving any minute,’ he advised. ‘Best get upstairs.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ She was accompanying Simone to tonight’s awards ceremony, a hot-pit of paparazzi and fans. Team Geddes, Simone’s harem of make-up and wardrobe gurus, would be descending. She went to the door but Brian blocked her.

‘Not talking to boys on there, are you?’ he said.

‘No.’

Brian’s watery eyes appraised her. She could see tiny veins around his nose and mouth, and there were sweat patches at the armpits of his shirt. ‘The internet’s a dangerous playground. I don’t want you getting mixed up in anything nasty.’

‘I won’t.’ Tess tried to push past but he stopped her. Suddenly, his body was uncomfortably close. She could feel his belly pressed up against her side.

‘You’re a beautiful woman now, Tess.’ Brian’s voice was strained. ‘A sexy woman … Men will want you. They won’t be able to help it. Especially those whose wives have lost interest.’ Tess kept her eyes trained on the floor. Coffee breath gusted into her face. ‘Those who still have so much to give but their
wives are getting it elsewhere. Older men, experienced men who could show you a trick or two …’

‘I have to go,’ said Tess. But Brian didn’t move. Instead his hand brushed across her bottom, at the curve where it met the backs of her legs, and squeezed.

At last, he stood back. ‘Have fun,’ he murmured.

Tess bolted from his office and didn’t look back.

Despite missing out on her Best Actress award to a twenty-something newbie who made a long and embarrassing speech about her ‘timeless rock’ of a husband, Simone considered the night to be a success. Tess had easily been the most fabulous creature there (the only living person to whom Simone would concede the title) and the press had gone manic for her, fascinated by her resplendent looks and her tragic story.

My daughter,
Simone inwardly glowed,
is set to be a star.

Thankfully, her plan to get rid of the twin had worked a treat. They hadn’t heard a peep since Simone had forged that triumphant letter, using Vera’s findings in the diary as bait. That entry had been platinum; the sisters’ fight exactly the kind of fuel she needed to explode their relationship once and for all. It had presented some challenges, namely revising Vera’s Spanish vernacular into authentic Argentinian, and the accuracy of the writing, but it was worth it. Tess was absolutely hers, with no one threatening to steal her back. What’s more, she believed they were dead. Perfect.

Afterwards, Michelle Horner persuaded her into the bar. ‘Two dirties with extra olives,’ she instructed her PA. ‘Pimento-stuffed—and keep the riff-raff
out
.’

Simone was musing on a problem. ‘Tess needs a boyfriend,’ she said.

Michelle polished her spectacles on her shirt. ‘Why?’

‘She never talks about boys. I’m starting to wonder …’

‘Plenty of girls don’t talk about that with their mothers. I didn’t.’

Simone took a moment to savour this truth. She loved to hear the maternal relationship corroborated: it made it real. Occasionally she liked to forget Tess was even adopted, just edit that whole part out. ‘But look at her, Michelle. She’s
divine.’