Untaming Lily Wilde (13 page)

A couple of relationships, thought Lily, and a few hundred orgy partners.

"Are you counting Ana as an ex?"

Seb reached an arm in front of Lily, who was wrapped in her own thoughts and oblivious to the oncoming traffic. "No, I'm not counting her at all. No, there's my first girlfriend, Josie, now married with four children; we get on great. I'm godfather to her eldest. And there's Maria: we were together two years, and it just fizzled. She moved back to Manhattan and bought the Sphere Gallery. We still click as friends. We keep in touch. Actually, I've got an exhibition opening in her gallery next week. My first solo show."

"You're going to New York?" She realised as soon as she’d said it that her reaction should have been more along the lines of ‘well done’, but she couldn’t help the instant disappointment she’d felt.

"Yes. I think you should come too.”

Lily stared at Seb, disbelieving.

“It’ll be fun. A month in New York. As a friend, I mean," he added. "All purely platonic." He stopped briefly to stub out his cigarette.

A band was setting up in the middle of Trafalgar Square, and an excited crowd spilled out onto Charing Cross road.

Seb grabbed Lily's hand. "Just so I don't lose you in this lot."

They eventually squeezed into the gallery’s rotating doors and emerged windswept inside the high ceilinged entrance hall.

"This way," he said.

"Tickets?" quizzed Lily, as they passed the booths.

"No, it's fine," he said, digging into his pocket to retrieve a green plastic card. "Free to exhibitors. So what do you think?”

“About what? New York? You’re not seriously asking me to go?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

It was crazy. He knew full well why not.

“And please don’t say Ana,” he said.

“Yes, Ana. And also work. I’ve only just landed this job. Doubt they’d give me holiday on the spur of the moment. But otherwise - you know - maybe. If you were single, and if I had a spare grand to blow.”

“I’d cover your bill, of course, but never mind. Another time,” he laughed. “Down here.”

He led her to the end of a white-washed corridor, lined with painted portraits. Salman Rushdie, Germain Greer and Terence Conran hung unmoving on the walls, eying the couple as they made their way to the photography exhibition. Lily felt suddenly hyper aware of Seb’s being here with her. Her pulse raced. He was quite a presence. Tall, beautiful, confident. Women were checking him out, left, right, and centre. For pity’s sake, Lily, he’s not yours, she told herself.
Stop getting so damn possessive.

“Did you just say you’ve got work here? Really?”

“Yep. Prepared to be won over by the depths of my artistic genius. Feel free to kiss my shoes.”

The words should have been smooth and droll, but there was an odd tightness to his voice. Like he was embarrassed.
Seb Harper, embarrassed!
Lily had to calm herself, she could feel her lips tweaking upward, compelled by his sudden adorableness. But it wasn’t Seb’s brief flicker of vulnerability that had her thighs clenching. It was that last bit he said. The bit about his shoes. Was it wrong that the idea of kissing his undoubtedly well worn Converses kind of turned her on? Was it wrong that her knickers suddenly felt wet and heavy between her legs?

Seb flashed his card at the lad manning the entrance, and swung Lily round to view the first few portraits. “I know, I’m a huge show-off, but I’ve got a good reason for bringing you here. Honest,” he said. “OK, so here’s the game. You’ve got to tell me which one’s mine without looking at the labels.”

Though still flustered by his proposal, she nodded. “Right, you’re on.”

“Of course this will require some honesty on your part, but I trust you not to cheat.”

“I don’t cheat.”
Unlike some.

“Good.”

Lily studied each of the 60 or so photographs in turn, and did her best to avoid reading the labels. She realised early on that she had very little to go on. There were none like the ones she’d seen back in his room. And the range was extreme. Snap-shot black and white reportage of war torn orphans; hyper-clear colour shots of aged Russian body builders; reconstructions of old masters; simple, beautiful, emotional close-ups; well known celebrities; unknown babies; paupers; priests; where to start?! Seb hung back, hands in pockets, whistling benignly whenever Lily tried to dig for clues.

She stopped in front of a black and white, full-frontal nude woman, possibly mid-twenties, with extreme scarring along her entire right-hand side. She was beautiful though. Uninhibited. And she definitely ticked the ‘naked’ box on Lily’s very patchy list of Seb’s interests. She turned to Seb and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Nope. Bit issues-y for me. Great shot though,” he said. “My girl’s fully clothed.”

“But she’s a she!”

“She is.”

OK, thought Lily, got to be smarter about this. “So, fully clothed, female…”
What else?
She thought back to Seb’s crowd scenes. If she’d been less rampantly horny she might have paid a bit more attention. But they were long exposures - she knew that much - with one figure, in each, standing stock still. Frozen in time. Time.

“So ‘time’ is a theme, right?”

“Warmer.”

“So time equals action shot… maybe?”

“Colder.”

“Damn. OK, fine. No action. So time as in what…? Age?”

“Much warmer.”

An older woman? Who’da thought!

“Her! Is it her? That pic there?”

“That’s the one.”

The photograph showed a woman in her early 70s, well dressed in a bohemian blouse and skirt, with huge shell earrings. She sat in front of a wall, itself covered in photographs. On closer inspection, the photographs made up a time-line of sorts; baby photos on the far left blended into childhood snaps further right, which mixed with pics of a striking, red-haired adolescent girl. All the photos were of this one woman. They told the story of her life; her marriage, her pregnancy, her adventurous fashion sense, her love for her son. The ‘real’ woman looked to one side, away from the photos, to the small section of bare wall which sat to the right of the photo; the rest of her life. Lily read the label below the image:

Roza Faulkes, by Sebastian Harper: The late Dame Roza Faulkes, beloved fashion designer. Faulkes’ deep friendship with her photographer, Harper, is felt in this intimate portrait. Harper comments, “Roza believed in self-honesty. She was scared of dying but accepted the inevitability of it, and felt enormous gratitude for her tremendous life. A passionate and brave woman.”

“I’m amazed,” said Lily.

“In a good way I hope?”

It was easy to get lost in that photo. So many stories, stretching across a lifetime. “Of course in a good way,” she said, “It’s really… just beautiful. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You remind me of her,” Seb said, “Your expressions, the way you look sometimes. It’s why I wanted to show you. Honestly I’m not just showing off.”

“How did you know her?”

“She was our neighbour, when I was a kid. Her son, Elliot, was my age so we were always in and out of each other’s houses. Is my age, I should say. He’s still alive, happily married to that first ex I mentioned.” He smiled, perhaps to show that this really wasn’t a contentious issue. “Roza was the only one who really supported my photography. She had a massive falling out with my parents over it when I was young. I was meant to join the family business, you see.”

“But you had other ideas?”

“Damn right I did. They eventually got their heads round the idea I was going to Art school, but conned themselves I’d come back to the business afterward, once I’d got my ‘photography phase’ out of my system.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Get it out of my system? Well, no.” His fingers entwined with hers. She didn’t stop him. “Hence my ongoing status as black-sheep-Harper. Want a coffee?”

“Always.”

“Good. I want to tell you the whole story.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sick of skirting round the issue all the time.”

What issue? She had to be careful. It would be so easy to get drawn in. She couldn’t afford to be getting so emotionally attached. He was married.
Married
. But she didn’t let go of his hand as he led her downstairs into the busy cafeteria.

They pulled two metal chairs up to the only free table, and as Seb queued for coffees, Lily sat waiting, playing restlessly with packets of sugar.

A thousand years later, he sat back down, with two Americanos and a look of determined resolve.

“Thanks,” she said. “OK…”

“OK. So, I’ve made a decision. You’ve made it pretty clear that at some point I’m going to have to either trust you or get lost. So that’s what I’m going to do; I’m going to trust you with my story and you can decide whether I’m worth your trouble. The problem is - some of this is more about Ana than me. So I’m being a selfish prick, telling you. Thing is, I’m past caring.”

“I would never say anything to anyone,” she said, “with or without the crazy-arse thirty-two page document. You can trust me.”

He seemed thoughtful, studying her as she spoke. He nodded a fraction. “I met Ana at University. We were best mates the whole way through. Totally on each-other’s wavelengths. And yes, I was attracted to her at first, but that lasted all of a few days. We were too similar. We liked the same artists, music, jokes… liked the same girls…”

Huh?
Lily did a double-take as she replayed Seb’s words.

“Same girls. Ana’s gay? Your wife is gay.”

He nodded. “Other than the odd moment of hetro-experimentation, yeah I’d say she’s pretty much one hundred percent a girls’ girl.”

Lily’s mind was racing; trying desperately to squeeze this round new peg of information into a square and logical hole. It just wasn’t going to happen.

“But, why on earth…” she started, then thought better of it. “No - go on - I’m listening.”

“It was a massive secret. Her family are the most ridiculously pig-headed, bigoted people I’ve ever met. ‘Homophobic’ doesn’t even come close. Plus her inheritance depended on her marrying. I guess they thought wanted to ensure there’d be little Pancheva babies. She was expected to settle down, take on the ‘baronesa’ title, act like a ‘lady’. And well, we were both pretty young, and we both needed a way to dodge our parents’ expectations. So we got married. Big sham. My parents could hardly insist on my becoming a lawyer when I was marrying into major money, and hers finally stopped hassling her about moving back to Spain. It was win win. Grayson, knew from the beginning. Now he is a lawyer and a half. One of Harper Cane’s finest. I’ve known him for years, and - believe me - he’s totally benefited from our odd little set-up.”

“And Ana’s gay? You’re sure about this? It’s just, she told me she loved you. And all that stuff she said about not wanting to loose you- what was that?”

“Manipulation. She’s scared. She doesn’t want to risk losing her money. She’d do anything to keep the sham going, and she’s freaking out because she knows I’ve had enough. Ever since Roza got really ill, it kind of re-grounded me, put a sharp focus on what I wanted in life. I want what she had; real passion, not just endless fucking about. As I said before; the sex eventually gets boring when it means nothing. It’s addictive mind you, but after a while it’s just a quick empty hit.” He tilted his head back and sighed. “Anyhow, then I saw you working at dad’s dinner party and I’d been feeling pretty shitty. Ana and Gray were back home entertaining, and I was making myself scarce, wondering why the hell I was bothering trying to change, and there you were. Beautiful, shy, funny, and - as I said - looking a lot like Roza.” He lifted his mug to his lips, watching Lily for her reaction.

“Did you fancy her?” The words left Lily’s lips before she had a moment to edit them.

Seb nearly spat out his coffee. “Christ no! It wasn’t like that. No, I didn’t fancy her. But I see where you’re coming from though - that must have sounded weird. Oh God. No, what I meant was that seeing you there - it just seemed to set me back on course. You reminded me of what I wanted,” he said. “And then - well - the more you talked, the more I wanted to jump your bones.”

Oh and there’s that red-hot flush again - so attractive.

“Because I’m so eloquent and articulate,” she mumbled, realizing that had been the most eloquent, articulate thing she’d said in a long while.

“Exactly,” he laughed.

Lily shuffled in her seat, not quite knowing where to look, but feeling the heat of his stare. “I still don’t get it,” she said, “Why would Ana lie to me? I mean, sure she might not want to tell me you guys aren’t really together, but why does she need to involve me at all?”

Seb frowned. Close by, a coffee maker rumbled into action and the cafe clammer notched up a level. He leaned in a little. “Ana’s got this idea that she can use you to tempt me back into the fold. And let’s face it, it worked the other night.”

“Ah.”

“Precisely.”

“You could have told me all this before.”

Seb sighed. “I didn’t know if I could trust you. To be honest, I still don’t,” he said. He sat back and looked at her, long and hard. “But I’m going away for a month and I was hoping that - if I came clean - you might want to see me when I get back.”