Original Sin

In an attempt to get a grip on herself, Tess found a quiet spot in the conservatory at the side of the house and sent Dom to the bar to see if they could rustle up some coffee.

Outside in the blackness, a fountain sprayed silver ribbons into the sky; as she stared at it, Tess reflected that she really hadn’t been prepared for this trip. She wasn’t at all sure what she had expected, but Belcourt was certainly more grand and imposing than she had imagined. She supposed the trouble was that she wasn’t particularly experienced in society parties. She had been to a few swish press launches in her time, she had even been to 10 Downing Street for a briefing on women’s issues, but the only real party of this calibre she had attended was when she had browbeaten the Globe’s showbiz desk into getting her an invitation to Elton’s White Tie and Tiara ball.

Pull yourself together, Tess, she scolded herself. They’re only human. It really wasn’t like her to be so nervous in a social situation. Newspaper reporting didn’t allow for such delicate personalities. Doorstepping enraged politicians, interviewing bereaved families, witnessing murder scenes and accident sites; it all toughened you up. But this was something else. Inside this house, she had felt invisible.

‘Ossie Clark Nineteen Sixty-three,’ said an upper-class English voice behind her. ‘Which means you are British, making me wonder why we haven’t ever met before. I thought I knew all the interesting English people in New York.’

Tess turned to see a slim man of around seventy regarding her with amusement. His voice and appearance were in perfect harmony; he sounded like a Raj-era colonial viceroy and was dressed accordingly in a cream three-piece suit with a scarlet spotted cravat. He had two-tone spectator shoes on his feet and a gold pocket watch sticking out of his waistcoat. To complete the look, he carried an ivory-handled cane hooked over his arm.

‘Wow, yes. This is Ossie Clark,’ said Tess, smoothing down her dress. ‘How on earth did you know?’

‘The designer of your dress or that you’re a Brit?’ he asked, one eyebrow raised.

‘Both,’ smiled Tess.

‘The former because I knew Ossie and Celia intimately. The latter because New York girls generally don’t do vintage. Certainly not so tastefully if they do.’

‘Well, not all of us can afford couture,’ said Tess, blushing slightly.

‘No one with your legs needs couture, my dear.’

Tess knew she had only just met this man, but she liked him immediately. He was charming, open, and a little mischievous, a combination of qualities she felt was in short supply in New York society. More than that, with her journalist instincts, Tess immediately sized him up as being someone worth knowing.

‘Sorry, I’m Charles Devine.’ He extended a frail hand. ‘Interior designer. An old friend of the Billingtons, the Asgills, and well, everyone worth knowing.’

Tess shook his hand warmly. ‘Tess Garrett. Journalist. Friend of nobody in this room.’

‘Good Lord, a journalist?’ cried Charles with mock alarm. ‘Are you a gate-crasher? I thought the security was as tight as Fort Knox out there.’

Tess laughed and shook her head. ‘More of a last-minute invitee. I only arrived in New York this morning.’

‘How extraordinary,’ said Charles appreciatively. ‘I can see we’re going to be friends. It takes some people a lifetime of social mountaineering to score an invite to Belcourt, and here you are, straight off the boat. Now, you simply must let me show you around.’ He offered Tess his arm and led her back into the main house where the party was in full swing.

‘It is a fantastic party, isn’t it?’ said Tess, still wide-eyed at the spectacle.

‘Indeed,’ nodded Charles. ‘One of the best I’ve ever been to – and let me tell you, my dear, I have been to a lot of parties. In fact this one might even make my memoirs. I’m only sketching them out at this stage, of course; the problem is not what to put in but what to leave out.’

Tess was intrigued. Charles Devine was clearly a character; perhaps he could give her more insight into the family. She had a hunch that if Charles didn’t know about it, it wasn’t worth knowing. They sat down on two Louis XV chairs facing each other.

‘Brooke and David are a lovely couple, aren’t they?’ said Tess, fishing for gossip.

‘Indeed,’ he smiled. ‘Everyone has very high hopes for them, although personally I’d prefer New York’s premier power couple to be a little more interesting.’

‘Oh dear. So what’s David like?’

Charles laughed playfully. ‘Too good-looking to be dull, too ambitious to be fun.’

‘And what about her?’

‘She’s sweet. So sweet I wonder if she can handle all this attention,’ said Charles. ‘Fair enough if she’s in it for the money, but one suspects Brooke is marrying America’s most eligible bachelor because she is in love with America’s most eligible bachelor. I’m always a little suspicious about those sorts of girls.’

‘I got the impression that Meredith is the ambitious one.’

Charles smiled coyly. ‘Darling, I’d love to give you more information, but first you must give me a little juice in return. Do tell: how did a journalist manage to get under the wire? I doubt it’s simply beginner’s luck.’

‘Actually, I’m being wooed for a job with the Asgills.’

He raised his eyebrows again. ‘As …?’

‘I’m not sure I can say any more,’ smiled Tess playfully, knowing it would be unbearable for him not to know.

‘Darling, just tell me. I’ll find out somehow.’

She shrugged. ‘They want me to be the family’s publicist.’

Charles laughed, a delighted, tinkling laugh. ‘Well, I suppose everyone in Manhattan has their own publicist now, don’t they – present company excluded, of course – I’ve really never felt the need given the reliability of the grapevine … I’m only surprised it’s taken the Asgills so long.’

‘I think it’s pragmatism in this case,’ smiled Tess. ‘They can’t have Brooke involved in any scandal that would stop them marrying into all this.’

‘Yes, I can see that …’ said Charles thoughtfully. ‘The hypocrisy of the rich at work once again, of course.’

Tess frowned, sensing a story. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, of course you’re right; David has a big political future and so Brooke won’t be able to put a foot wrong – that’s why they need someone like you. But it’s a little rich to say it’s all about Brooke’s behaviour. David dated someone five, six years ago, you see. Actress, beautiful girl. Photographed taking cocaine in some nightclub in LA. Terrible business. Six weeks later she moved to France to film some “art-house movie”.’ Charles framed the phrase in quotation marks. ‘She was never heard of in this country again. Then of course there’s Wendell,’ he said, pointing the handle of his cane in the direction of an older man with pewter hair, brushed white at the temples. Tess recognized him as Wendell Billington, David’s father, who had been pointed out to her earlier.

‘In my direct line of vision I see at least four women Wendell has had sex with, one a long-term mistress. Can’t keep his regal cock in his trousers, but of course that’s fine. Joe Kennedy was a terrible philanderer and it didn’t hurt his son’s presidential ambitions one jot. It’s a question of class, you see. The Billingtons are in a different class to the Asgills. They are more … how shall I put it? More bullet-proof.’

‘Class?’ said Tess. ‘I didn’t think that existed in America.’

Charles chuckled. He swept his hand across the room dramatically, only pausing to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter in one fluid movement.

‘This city is full of money, but what everyone wants is class. Obviously you can acquire class much quicker over here; you only have to look at the Lauders to see that. Old Estée Lauder was a Hungarian immigrant, but she builds a cosmetics dynasty and now they are one of the grand families of New York. But no, the Asgills aren’t the Lauders: they’re not rich enough and their business is not as prestigious. In fact, people still refer to Howard, Meredith’s late husband, as ‘the butcher’s son’. And then there was all that business at his wedding,’ he added, leaning in and dropping his voice. ‘The missing actress,’ he whispered.

‘What missing actress?’

Charles smiled a wicked smile. ‘Oh my dear, I thought you were their publicist? Surely a keeper of secrets has to know what they are.’

‘Hey, I haven’t taken the job yet, remember,’ she smiled. ‘Maybe you can persuade me.’

Charles stood up and gestured for Tess to follow. Glancing around like a stage villain, he led her into a quiet alcove and they sat down in a window seat upholstered in purple velvet.

‘Howard and Meredith got married at Meredith’s parents’ home in Louisiana,’ began Charles with relish. ‘In 1964, I think. Her family had money – new money, mind you. Father had bought one of those antebellum plantation houses from an old sugar-caning family that had lost everything, and that was where they got married. Think Gone with the Wind, only right down by the river. Anyway, on the night of the nuptials, one of their wedding guests went missing. An actress called Olivia Martin. A beautiful, vivacious girl. The best ankles in Hollywood,’ he added without a hint of irony.

‘How awful,’ said Tess.

‘It certainly was for poor Meredith and her lovely new husband, Howard, especially with all the allegations that were flying about.’

‘What allegations?’ asked Tess, hoping desperately that Dom would stay searching for coffee. She didn’t want anything to interrupt this story.

‘Olivia was last seen at the party after the ceremony. She was staying in a guest cottage on the estate. When they realized she was missing, the police were called and her cottage was found unlocked and empty.’

‘What do they suppose happened to her?’

Charles shrugged. ‘Suicide, perhaps. She was addicted to dolls, what we called barbiturates in those days. Every starlet was on dolls; it was part of the scene. And she was known to be depressed about something. Theory was she walked into the Mississippi – it was yards from the cottage.’

‘That’s horrible, but it’s hardly a scandal, is it?’ said Tess. ‘I mean, no one could blame the Asgills, could they?’

Charles smiled knowingly.

‘There were whispers – and they were only whispers once people had been paid off – that Olivia was murdered, and some people were pointing the finger at Howard Asgill. Apparently he and Olivia had been having an affair.’

‘From what you were saying about Wendell, that doesn’t surprise me,’ said Tess, feeling a sense of intrigue. ‘But it doesn’t mean to say he killed her, does it?’

Charles shook his head. ‘Of course not, and that was why the story went away. There was no body, no proof. No evidence of any kind, in fact. Stories appeared everywhere about the extent of Olivia’s drink and drug problem and how depressed she was. People believed that she had wanted to die.’

Tess let out a long breath. ‘Well, I had no idea.’

‘No, most people haven’t,’ said Charles. ‘After all, it was decades ago. Forgotten. But, bringing us back to the present day and to you, my dear … one dead starlet is enough scandal for the Asgills for one lifetime, especially when their daughter is marrying America’s bright new political hope. No wonder Meredith wants to hire a troubleshooter.’

‘Nothing to do with my abilities, of course,’ smiled Tess.

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll do a marvellous job,’ said Charles thoughtfully. ‘Trouble is, the appointment might well be forty years too late.’

‘Darling, how are you enjoying yourself?’

Brooke turned to her mother and embraced her. She smiled, knowing that Meredith had spent the evening having the time of her life, mingling like a statesperson. Brooke had to admit she looked the part too. Her hair was styled back into a champagne bun. She had on a long blue dress that Brooke recognized from the cowl neck as Oscar de la Renta and a large sapphire sat regally on a string of fat pearls around her neck.

‘It’s been a lovely night,’ said Brooke, ‘despite the fact it’s full of “close friends” I’ve never seen before in my life,’ she added playfully. ‘So who was that I saw you talking to earlier? The pretty girl in the sparkly dress? Good-looking man with her.’

Meredith looked over to the other side of the ballroom where she could see Tess sipping coffee while her boyfriend drank his champagne rather too quickly.

‘That’s Tess Garrett. She may be doing some public relations for the family in the run-up to the wedding. I must introduce you.’

‘Oh, Mom! What do we need a publicist for? I’ve told you, I want to keep things as normal as possible. For my sanity, please?’

‘Did I hear the words “public relations”?’ said a deep voice behind them. ‘Do you really think this lovely young lady needs any more publicity?’ laughed Wendell Billington, putting his arms around the two women. David’s father was an impressive-looking man, with dark, narrow eyes and a strong chin. He wasn’t tall, but he had a presence that seemed to overfill his space. ‘You needn’t worry, my dear,’ he continued in his gravelly baritone. ‘My office will be overseeing the communications side of the wedding, keeping a lid on it all. I’m sure we’ve all started thinking about the guest list, and there will obviously be security issues with some of the people attending.’

‘Of course, Wendell,’ smiled Meredith, putting a hand on his forearm. ‘We were just talking about someone working for the Asgill group. Hello, is that Alessandro Franchetti?’ she said suddenly, looking over Wendell’s shoulder. ‘Where on earth has he been all evening? I thought he might be a bit more noticeable, the amount we’re paying him.’

As Alessandro approached, Brooke kissed him lightly on both cheeks, but his expression remained grim.

‘I haven’t seen you all evening,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I haven’t been here all evening,’ he hissed back, leading her away from Meredith and Wendell. ‘I’ve been firefighting.’

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

‘Everything’s the matter,’ said Alessandro. ‘This afternoon I phoned the owner of the Hudson Lodge in Duchess County to tell him we definitely wanted it for the wedding. He said I should contact someone else about it – someone in Dubai.’

‘Dubai?’ said Brooke, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

‘Last week he agreed to sell it to some sheikh.’

‘Then why did we drive seventy miles to look at it yesterday?’ said Brooke, her cheeks burning and tears welling in her eyes. Alessandro looked at the floor.

‘I’d been dealing with his sister,’ he said. ‘She obviously wasn’t in the loop.’

‘Darling, what’s the matter?’ said Meredith, seeing Brooke’s distress.

‘There’s a problem with Hudson Lodge,’ said Alessandro. ‘The good news is that the new owner wants to renovate it to the standard of The Point in the Adirondacks.’

‘And the bad news …?’ asked Meredith.

‘Work on it won’t be starting for three months and renovation will take over a year. That means we’re looking at next fall at the earliest.’

Brooke took a deep breath through her nose and willed herself not to get upset. It’s only a venue, she reminded herself. It doesn’t mean anything. But suddenly she thought of the shooting star in Paris, only this time the glittering orb was obscured by a big grey cloud.

Wendell took a step forward and rubbed Brooke’s arm kindly. ‘Perhaps you should reconsider our place in Newport?’ he said.

Brooke had a sudden flutter of panic, feeling the wedding getting further and further from the vision she had always had of her perfect day: a relaxed, happy, perfect occasion with the barefoot bride saying her vows next to lapping water. Yes, Cliffpoint, the Billingtons’ summer ‘cottage’, as David liked to call it, was majestic, but it was like a museum, so manicured and painstakingly tended. Brooke wanted wildness, rawness, the romance of nature. She didn’t want Cliffpoint, or Lily Salter as her bridesmaid. Wasn’t planning your wedding supposed to be fun?

‘Surely Cliffpoint would be perfect for a spring wedding, don’t you agree, Meredith?’ continued Wendell. ‘We have to make sure we’re sending out the right signals. Family values are important to us.’

Meredith looked conflicted, although she was disguising it well.

‘Thank you for your suggestion, Wendell,’ said a deep voice, ‘but it’s all under control.’

Just then Brooke felt two warm hands on her shoulders and turned to see a handsome older man smiling down at her. It was her Uncle Leonard. Leonard was Meredith’s brother, younger by a couple of years, and he had taken on a fatherly role since the death of Brooke’s own father. Brooke smiled back at him gratefully; his was just the friendly face she needed when she was feeling under such pressure.

‘I’ve offered Brooke and David Jewel Cay,’ said Leonard smoothly. ‘We think it will be perfect. Keeps it in the family too. Didn’t you tell them Brooke? David and I have just been discussing it.’

Brooke caught Leonard’s lightning-fast wink, then took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne to cover her grin. David walked over and gave her a reassuring nod.

‘Jewel Cay? What’s that?’ said Alessandro, clearly searching his mental database for a mention of the venue.

‘It’s my house in the Florida Keys,’ replied Leonard. ‘I didn’t want to offer it before; didn’t want to butt in on the bride’s big day.’

‘Oh but it’s gorgeous,’ gushed Brooke, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it before. ‘It’s a beautiful big white conch house on its own little island, a few miles from Islamorada. We used to go every winter. It would be ideal, Uncle Leonard!’

David nodded. ‘And the weather is perfect from late November,’ he said, smiling at Brooke’s delight. ‘The hurricane season will be over. It won’t be too hot.’

‘A winter wedding,’ smiled Brooke, grabbing David’s arm and squeezing.

‘What about New Year’s Eve?’ he asked.

Alessandro raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the party. ‘Impossible. Half this crowd will be in St Barts or Palm Beach.’

‘Well, if they’ve got better things to do, then we’ll uninvite them,’ said Brooke happily.

‘Thinking about security,’ said Wendell, stroking his chin, ‘it might be a good thing if the world thinks it’s going to be at Hudson Lodge sometime next summer. I’ll speak to my contacts in Dubai. Get in touch with the new owner. See if they’ll be in on it.’

‘It couldn’t have worked out better,’ said Brooke, throwing her arms around Leonard’s neck. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

Leonard picked her up and laughed. ‘I take it that’s a yes, then?’

All her life, Tess had wanted money. Not in the way Dom liked money: to keep up with or show off to his coterie of privileged public-school friends. Tess wanted money because she had never had it growing up. The bankruptcy of her father’s business had not only destroyed the family, it had destroyed his self-worth because the bank – and your fellow men – judged you on your ability to pay your bills. Her father had died unhappy because he felt he had failed his family, failed as a man. Tess never wanted anybody to make her feel inferior, and it had fed her ambition like petrol on a bonfire. The red soles on her Louboutin shoes were a statement that she could afford nice things, but also that she could take care of herself. She loved ticking the ‘Over seventy-five thousand pounds’ income bracket on magazine questionnaires, and was one of the few people who actually enjoyed getting accosted by the charity muggers on the high street, as when she signed the direct debit form, she felt she was in control. So, if she was honest, when Meredith Asgill had offered her the job of family publicist, the only thing that had really stopped Tess taking the job immediately was that niggling feeling that the job was a mirage. After all, this was a clever, influential family who had no qualms about offering Tess a large bribe to make a story disappear. QED, there was a strong chance that the high-paying job in New York – a city that every ambitious twenty-something wanted to work in – was simply a more acceptable bribe.

During dinner at the Connaught the previous evening, Meredith had certainly spun some wonderful tales about life in Manhattan that were clearly designed to whet a young girl’s appetite for the glamorous excesses of living in New York. But Tess was still concerned that the ‘job’ was the equivalent of the ‘project development’ room at the Globe, the sideways promotion given to troublesome or failing executives. It was not a proper job, just a well-paid purgatory to keep the marked person busy until the CEO and their team of lawyers had worked out an inexpensive way to fire them.

But now, after Charles Devine’s revelations, it looked as if Tess had been mistaken about Meredith’s offer. There really was a job to be done protecting the Asgills. There were secrets. Plenty of secrets. And Tess’s gut feeling – a reliable instinct honed on the tabloid frontlines – was that there were plenty more skeletons still rattling away in the cupboard.

Tess looked out over the crowd and spotted Meredith on the other side of the ballroom. Catching her eye, Meredith began to walk across the dance floor towards her, gliding like a peacock, her chin lifted, her back straight, the silk skirt of her gown rustling as she walked. She looked like a czarina, the most refined sixty-something Tess had ever seen.

‘Tess. Are you having a good time?’

Meredith looked composed as she played with the stem of her martini glass, but her eyes had the jubilant look of a lottery winner.

‘Incredible party,’ nodded Tess. ‘I heard someone say that David’s mum pulled this all together in a fortnight?’

‘She’s very experienced at get-togethers,’ said Meredith gracefully. ‘I only wish she could have persuaded David to say a few words. He’s such a wonderful speaker. But the pair of them wanted to keep things as informal as possible.’

Tess smiled crookedly. ‘If they wanted informal, they shouldn’t have had it at Belcourt. Buckingham Palace would have been more low-key.’

Meredith just nodded.

‘So is Sean here?’ asked Tess.

‘He’s in Minnesota,’ said Meredith evenly, holding Tess’s gaze. ‘Rehabilitating.’

‘Good. I’m glad to hear he’s getting better.’

Meredith nodded over towards Dom, who was laughing with a group of young girls and waving a bottle of champagne about in illustration of some story he was telling. ‘Is your boyfriend enjoying himself?’

‘He likes it here,’ said Tess, carefully covering her annoyance at the jibe. ‘He was wondering – if I took the job – whether a visa could be sorted out for him too?’

‘It’s not impossible,’ said Meredith. ‘If you took the job. If things work out.’ She straightened the pearls around her neck. ‘But I can’t hold the job offer open indefinitely.’

‘Well, on that subject, I’ve just had an interesting insight into the family. It’s given me a greater idea of the challenges of the role.’

‘Really? Who from?’

‘Charles Devine.’

Meredith laughed gaily. ‘Dear old Charles. How on earth did he get an invitation? He’s not terribly fashionable these days, contrary to what he thinks. What nonsense has he been telling you?’

‘He told me about Olivia Martin,’ said Tess, looking straight at Meredith.

There was a minute’s pause as Meredith blinked and swallowed.

‘What about her?’ she asked.

‘About her death.’

Meredith’s expression clouded over.

‘Charles Devine is just a silly busybody,’ she said with force. ‘He’s Manhattan’s biggest gossip. Half of what he says is a figment of his imagination. He …’

Then Meredith seemed to stop herself, closing her eyes in an effort of self-control.

‘Whatever he has said to you …’

‘I have to know everything, Meredith,’ interrupted Tess. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything. And I mean everything.’