The Santiago Sisters (29 page)

I
n summer 2012, Tess let herself into the Notting Hill love nest that her adoptive mother shared with Lysander and that no one was supposed to know about.

‘Hey—!’

Lysander leaped up off the couch, startled. The curtains were drawn, the room shrouded in darkness, and on his Mac screen—which he flipped shut as soon as he saw her, but not quick enough—was a woman indulging in a wholehearted blowjob.

‘Haven’t you heard of knocking?’ he seethed, clasping a cushion to his groin.

‘Sorry.’ Tess put down her bags. ‘Is Simone back yet?’

‘No.’ Lysander scowled, scooping up a box of tissues and kicking a jumbo bag of Monster Munch under the sofa. ‘I’ll be upstairs.’ He disappeared, and soon after a door slammed. Tess kept the curtains closed, and went into the kitchen to pull those blinds as well. She switched the lights off and wrapped her arms around herself.

She shivered.

It’s nobody. It’s nothing. It’s your imagination.

But fear was hard to shake. It wasn’t as if it had happened only once. Instead she was sensing it more and more, troublingly often, in LA and Paris and London, everywhere she
went, this sense of being followed … She told herself not to be stupid.

Then why am I here? Why am I hiding like a fugitive
?

She hadn’t meant to come by unannounced, but had seen no other way. All afternoon she’d detected it. A shadow, a rhythm of footsteps; watching, waiting … That crawling sense of persecution; eyes on her, scrutinising, from the moment she left the interview to the taxi dropping her here, the only safe place she could think of.

It was hardly uncommon for a woman in her position. Stars had attention on them twenty-four/seven. But this wasn’t normal. This was something else. A tingle on the back of her neck … a draught seeping under an attic door. A fatal instinct.

Last week Tess had been convinced that a man was skulking behind her as she departed a shoot in Vegas, but every time she turned, he was gone. Emerging from lunch with Natalie on Friday, she’d thought she caught her name being called. ‘Did you hear that?’ But Natalie heard nothing. At Steven’s mansion, security lights had twice flooded the front lawns, and a warning alarm rang out like a woman’s scream. Guards had assured her it was nothing, a glitch in the system, but it wasn’t enough.

Am I paranoid? Has this whole thing with Scarlet made me a nervous wreck
?

Admittedly, it had been a challenging time after the Vittorio split—made worse by the fact she could tell no one about it. Tess was haunted by the image of his wife lying in that hospital bed, knowing she had been the cause of such an act.

She was relieved when Simone arrived at the house, and diverted her from her thoughts. ‘Darling!’ Simone exclaimed, beaming. ‘This is a happy surprise.’

‘I thought I’d drop by.’

‘It’s awfully dark in here.’ Simone opened the curtains with a strict flick.

‘I had a headache. It’s better now. Lysander’s upstairs.’

‘Good.’ Simone smiled. Tess saw how her adoptive mother glowed at the mention of her lover’s name. Lysander was a contrast to the rakishly handsome boy Tess had met when she was fifteen—these days his pallor was milky, his hair thin, and there was a comfortable paunch circling his middle—but Simone didn’t notice. She was in love. With gut-wrenching envy, Tess realised she would never experience that kind of love. She would never be able to find it, even know where to look.

Simone sat on the chaise and removed her shoes. ‘I have a proposal,’ she said.
‘NY Mode.
Michelle and I are pitching an item: “Delectable Divas”. Ryan Xiao’s photographing—or, rather, that partner of his that everyone’s gone crazy about.’

Tess scanned through the plans on Simone’s tablet. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. She was put off by the fact that Ryan’s celebrated associate was called Cal Santiago. Cal could be short for any number of names, of course, but all the same it was too weird, too close, too much a ghost of her dead twin. Clearly Simone hadn’t made the connection. Her eyes were aglow.

‘Why not?’

‘I’d rather stay away from stuff like that …’ Tess confided. ‘For now.’

The suspicion of her stalker raised too many flags. She had heard horrible stories about actresses’ homes being broken into, their underwear stolen, their trash raided, or worse. Assaulted. Raped. The idea of putting herself out there, being visible, was the last thing on her mind. ‘I don’t want the publicity,’ she finished.

Simone perched next to her, concerned. ‘What do you mean, you don’t want it?’ She asked it in incomprehension, as if Tess were a drowning woman swimming away from a raft. ‘This is our life, darling. This is what we
do.
You’re
Tess Geddes.’

On impulse, Tess took her hand. ‘I know I am. Thank you.’

Simone was confused. ‘Darling …?’

‘I never said it before and I should have. Thank you—for that and so much more: for bringing me into your family and saving me from my own. For rescuing me from my future—for taking me in when no one else did. Thank you for educating me. Thank you for putting food on my table and clothes on my back. Thank you for putting up with me when I was a brat and I’m sorry I was difficult. I know everything you did was for my benefit and I was too young to see it then, but I see it now. Thank you. Nothing can repay the generosity you’ve shown. I value it more than you know.’

Simone’s eyes filled with tears. She hugged her. ‘Oh, sweetheart …’

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, but I never found the right time. I’ve done some thinking lately, and I’ve realised what’s important. It’s been hard for me to trust. I thought I’d found trust with Steven but …’ She paused. ‘I was wrong.’

Simone took her hands. ‘You can trust me,’ she said solemnly.

‘But you already know. You knew about him all along.’

A sigh. ‘I tried to warn you. I hoped he might have changed.’

‘He hasn’t. I want a divorce.’

Simone’s gaze hit her again, and when it did it shone like steel. ‘And you’ll get one. Don’t you worry for a second about that, Tess. If I can go through it and come up smelling of roses, you can too. And do you know what? It
will
make you strong. I
could have crawled away with my tail between my legs, never to be seen again, but no—I kept going. I adore Lysander and I stuck to my guns. A divorced woman isn’t a leper. Stand up for your rights. You must set the record straight. You’re a survivor, and we’ll get through it together. You and me.’

‘I know. You’ve never let me down. Ever. You’re one of the few people who have always been there for me. No secrets, no lies. You’ve always told me the truth.’

Simone pulled back.

‘We’ve always been honest with each other, haven’t we?’ said Tess. ‘That means so much. I don’t know what I’d do if that was taken away.’

Simone regarded Tess seriously, as if there was something she wanted to say. Then she wiped her eyes and the moment was gone. ‘Of course,’ she said.

‘But I’m still not doing the
Mode
piece.’ Tess smiled. ‘Sorry.’

Simone held her hand. She swallowed hard. ‘That’s OK,’ she said.

That night, back at the Kensington mansion that had once bustled with frictions and feuds but was now empty—pictures of Brian and Simone removed, Emily’s bedroom deserted and Lysander’s basement gym gone—Tess Skyped Mia.

In minutes, she was given the advice she needed to hear: her stalker fears were unfounded, no one was out to get her, it was all in her head and what she needed was some time to get over Vittorio. Tess would always be grateful to Mia for not saying ‘I told you so’, especially since she was the only one who knew about Vitto and so bore the brunt of the break-up. Naturally, Mia had been stricken by Scarlet’s actions. The
poor woman was still in recuperation and hadn’t been seen in public since the attempt.

‘Everything you’re thinking,’ Tess said, ‘I’ve already thought. I feel dreadful. It’s over with him. He was lying from the start. You were right.’

Mia, as always, gave measured and impartial counsel, told her to run a hot bubble bath, watch Usain Bolt run his hundred-metre final, and get an early night.

Tess padded to the bathroom and started the taps. She switched the blind down, shuddering when she thought of someone looking in. Someone waiting.

Waiting for what
?

‘What’s new with you?’ she asked briskly. ‘How’s the book?’

‘It’s OK …’ Mia trailed off into a leading silence.

Tess knew that tone in her friend’s voice and sat on the rim of the tub, smiling.

‘What is it?’ she pressed. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me!’

She could hear Mia’s returning smile and her own widened.

‘Well?’

A beat, before: ‘Tess, I have news. Alex and I are getting married.’

New York

‘
W
ill you marry me?’

Calida put down her fork. They were at his Glen Cove retreat, naked beneath their robes and eating ice cream on the couch. Vittorio was looking straight at her.

‘What?’

‘You heard. I want to marry you. I want to make you my wife.’

She was shocked. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Scarlet’s sorting herself out—or so I hear. I can begin divorce proceedings.’ Vitto touched her face. ‘We’ll be free. I know it’s fast, but what’s the point in delaying? Scarlet only pulled that selfish prank because she’s as miserable as I am. You believe me, don’t you?’

Calida had turned that woman’s plight over and over in her head. Scarlet was troubled; it wasn’t Vittorio’s fault. He was a victim as well, afraid to cut ties for fear of what she would do next. Calida had stuck by him through the thrashing media, staying silent in the wings, knowing the real reasons for the breakdown: mental instability, a history of psychosis. She had to trust him. ‘Of course I do,’ she said.

‘Focusing on a wedding would be exactly the start I need.’

‘Yes.’

‘I know it’s not the most romantic proposal,’ he said, as if he were apologising for an over-cooked steak before dumping it in front of her, ‘but there it is. If Scarlet sees me engaged, she might finally realise that I cannot help her any more …’

‘Did you hear me, Vitto? I said yes.’

A smile broke over his face like sun across an Italian field. ‘You will?’

‘For the third time, yes.’

He kissed her, as ardently as he had when they had first met.

‘You won’t regret it,’ Vittorio murmured, easing her back on the couch, the ice cream forgotten apart from the cold slip of his tongue as it found hers.

I know I won’t,
thought Calida, picturing Tess Geddes’ face when she read the news and saw her long-lost sister’s picture alongside the famous tycoon’s.

The notion was electrifying.
You bet I won’t.

‘What the hell?’ Lucy asked on Friday evening, after Calida told her about the proposal. ‘What is he thinking? His wife nearly died!’

‘I know.’

‘Calida, I mean it—I get that he’s hot and rich and whatever, but
marriage
?’

‘I have my reasons.’

‘Is love one of them?’

‘I wouldn’t want to marry him if I didn’t love him.’

Lucy frowned. ‘That’s not an answer.’

‘Give Vitto a break, he’s been through a tough time—’

‘Nuh-uh, I’m not buying it,’ said Lucy. ‘I’m your best friend and I wouldn’t be much of one if I weren’t honest with you.
This is the rest of your life we’re talking about, and you need to know where you stand. Have you even met his family?’

‘Not yet.’

‘His friends?’ she pushed. ‘Do you even know that much about him? How can you be sure he hasn’t been stringing you along? That there’s nobody else?’

‘You’re over-thinking,’ said Calida. She didn’t want to hear it. In her soul she already knew, but she was strapped on to the ride and there was no way she was getting off. It had taken years to secure her ticket. This was too precious to let go.

I won. You lost. He’s
marrying me, not you. He chose me.

‘So he’s left Scarlet,’ said Lucy.

‘He’s leaving her.’

‘And how exactly are you going to appear when it comes out he’s got engaged two seconds later? When Scarlet’s still on suicide watch?’

‘She isn’t.’

‘I heard she was.’

‘Vitto told me different.’

‘Right.’

‘Don’t look at me like that!’

‘Like what?’

‘You know what.’

‘If I was getting engaged to him,’ said Lucy, ‘what would you tell me?’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘It’s totally fair.’

‘OK.’ Calida thought about it. ‘I’d tell you to be careful, but that it’s your life and your decision, and I’d support whatever path you took.’

Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘Focus on the be careful part.’

Lucy’s words stayed with her as she travelled across town for a shoot. All the way through the job she was unable to focus. Marrying Vitto was a means to an end. It marked deep satisfaction, a payoff at the end of a long, hard-fought match.

But then what?

She couldn’t think that far ahead—but it wasn’t that far, not really. After the glitz and sparkle of a wedding, Calida would have this man in her bed until the day she died. Would he be faithful to her? Would she make him content enough never again to stray? No, she admitted, probably not. And why didn’t she care? Why didn’t she care if Vitto slept with dozens of other women while they were together?

Because she didn’t love him: she had axed love out of her life.

Love came at the expense of revenge. It was as clear-cut as that.

At the close of the day, she made a decision, and directed the cab away from her usual route and towards Central Park. Vittorio had given her a key, once, to his apartment. She headed there now, wrapping her coat around her to shield her from the cold. A harsh wind was building. In the taxi, radio reports clamoured about the incoming Hurricane Sandy, instructing citizens to stay indoors, warning of floods and electrical cuts. Calida could sense a pressure in the air, of something tense about to break.

Debris whipped and rolled and flipped on the sidewalks. Stores were bolted shut; their windows closed. The air howled like wolves.

She reached his building and turned the key. Inside, the shelter was absolute. The foyer was cool, the marble indifferent, and a glossy bank of elevators offered to take her to the penthouse suite. On floor 37, she stepped out into the carpeted
hall. She came to his number and stood in front of it, looking at the gold figures: 501.

This high up, she could hear the gale take on a new pitch, like singing. A bulb flickered overhead. There was a rattling shudder from the floors below.

Calida inserted her card. For a crazy instant she expected Vitto to be here and felt a frisson shoot up her spine at the possibility—of fear, excitement? But the place was deserted. The maid had been. Through the immaculate atrium, the bed was made, linens pulled tight and pillows plumped. Calida thought of all the ways Vitto had taken her in this room and suddenly it felt sordid. Had he brought other women here?

She began in his study. Files, cabinets, desk drawers, she skimmed through them all, careful to arrange things as she had found them. What was she searching for? Evidence—for or against, it didn’t matter. Knowledge. Certainty.

All was neat and meticulously ordered. Everything smelled of leather and ink. The bathroom yielded little, just a cupboard containing a toothbrush, painkillers, an empty phial of Xanax and some dental floss. In the living area, a glossy antique globe was filled with cut glass and, beyond that, a brushed granite bar boasted an array of bottled liquor. Finally she sat, exhausted, feeling foolish for her misgivings.

Supposing he’s
truthful … and I’m spying on him? My husband-to-be.

She resolved to go. Before she did, on a final whim, she went to the bedroom. Idly she flicked through a few drawers but was more concerned with the accelerating wind that was moaning against the windows. Spats of rain patted the panes, streaking at first then threatening to burst. Grey clouds rumbled and churned in the distance; flashes of light glowing and sparking between. It wasn’t a New York sky. It looked as if New
York had been lifted and put down in another location, even on another planet. The metropolis, with its zing of cash and thrum of life, belonged to people and galleries and sushi bars. The sky, huge and Biblical, belonged to an ancient, savage anger.

Then, Calida saw it. She tugged one of the drawers too hard and something glittering spilled into view. It appeared to her like something from a dream.

A gold chain, puddled there, with an oval at its centre.

It was the size and shape of a pebble. For a weird moment Calida thought it was hers, it had to be hers, and had to touch her neck to remind her that it wasn’t.

It was someone else’s. A matching one, exactly the same … A locket.

Teresita’s locket.

Calida blinked. She stood still for a very long time, trying to wake from this illusion, it had to be an illusion, but each time she opened her eyes it was still there.

She experienced a flashback, bright and quick as lightning: Teresita being driven away in the car that day, her face through the window, hopeful and sad, searching for her twin’s and never finding it. Calida had stayed out of sight, and then, as now, had touched the locket at her throat just as Teresita’s had glinted in the light.

The question sailed towards her like paper on the wind.

Had her sister been wearing her necklace all this time?

Had she kept it, cherished it; worn it with Vitto, with Steven, with Simone?

Why hadn’t she got rid of it? Why hadn’t she thrown it away?

The Tess Geddes Calida knew—or rather didn’t know—would have melted it to liquid and forged gold coins from the pool.
I don’t have a sister,
she’d said.

But that didn’t make sense. Not if she’d kept it. For this wasn’t just jewellery: it was a bind, a declaration of their sisterhood, two halves of a whole, from the day Diego had given them, wrapped in tissue, and they’d helped each other tie the catch.

The locket flashed. Calida fought to join the dots, to add the sum, her brain tripping over itself to decipher what it meant. Outside, a hurricane ignited.

Pocketing the necklace, Calida fled the apartment. The elevators were out of order so she took the stairs, two or three at a time, running, unable to believe what had happened, and emerged on the street, straight into the eye of the storm.