Original Sin

‘I knew it! You smell best–seller, don’t you?’ he trilled.

‘Just put the kettle on,’ said Tess. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can find a cab.’

*

Charles answered the door in a blue velvet smoking jacket and matching slippers, his initials embroidered in gold on both.

‘Single malt,’ he smiled, pushing a tumbler of amber liquid into her hand. ‘It is Christmas, after all.’

One delicate silver star propped up on the fireplace was the only sign of Christmas.

‘I find holiday decorations so vulgar,’ he said airily.

‘I have to say I’ve hardly bothered myself this year,’ said Tess, sitting on the chair opposite Charles.

‘Well you do have the wedding,’ he sighed. ‘My invitation never did show.’

‘It’s a fairly small affair, Charles,’ said Tess sympathetically.

He snorted. ‘More likely the Asgills have got too big for their own boots.’

Tess smiled politely. ‘Actually, it was the Asgills I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘What about my memoirs?’ he said, frowning.

‘That too.’

Tess took the book out of the bag and turned to the photograph of Meredith.

‘What was this event?’ asked Tess, moving over to sit next to him on the sofa.

Charles’s face softened. ‘Ah, Bunny Bartlett’s twenty–first,’ he said warmly. ‘The yacht belonged to her father, somebody terribly important in Hollywood, I believe. New money, but a wonderful party nevertheless. A six–tier coconut birthday cake, and Daddy had parked a brand–new Porsche for her at the harbour when we docked. Ah, happy days,’ he smiled sipping his Scotch.

‘So were Meredith and Olivia Martin friends?’

‘I assume so, although I only met them both for the first time that day. Talking of Meredith … ’

Charles put down his glass and looked at Tess mischievously. ‘You know I heard a delicious little rumour the other day about your employer.’

Tess felt a twitch of anticipation.

‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this,’ he continued, ‘but since I haven’t been invited to the wedding, I don’t see why it’s my place to be discreet any longer.’

‘What was it?’

‘I was talking to Tony Scalino, a fabulous chef who does private catering for Gillian Pope.’

Tess looked at him blankly. ‘You must know Gillian. Filthy rich Upper East Side grande dame, excellent face–lift, friends with Meredith. Anyway, apparently Meredith and Gillian aren’t just friends. They’re companions.’ Charles framed the last word with bunny–ear quotation marks, his voice in a theatrical whisper.

‘Companions?’ asked Tess.

‘Lovers,’ said Charles.

‘Lovers?’ coughed Tess, choking on her whiskey. ‘Meredith has a lover? A female lover?’

Charles laughed, clapping his hands with glee. ‘Darling, you’d be amazed how many people in New York society swing both ways, although it’s the women who always keep it the most secret, particularly the very rich, powerful ones. The clitorati, as I like to call them.’

Tess thought back to what Leonard had told her many months before, how Meredith had never taken another lover after Howard. If Charles’s rumour was correct, it seemed that she had, but she had chosen to keep it secret.