Chapter Fifteen
GEORGINA
“And pray tell me what in the hell is this?”
Georgina froze initially at the photograph stuck to the fridge with the Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch souvenir magnet. She was going to have to think, and she was going to have to think epically fast.
A glossy snap of herself and River in the rain-spattered front window of The Cocktail Bar stared back at her accusatorially; his arms around her waist, indicating she was very much his possession, her ridiculously short skirt almost showing her knicker line as she slid that stupid book club night poster higher up the window pane.
“Look, I was going to tell you sooner, I promise.” Her heart pounded in disbelief that she’d been found out. “I just didn’t want you jumping to the wrong conclusion, Blakey,” she continued without turning to face her brother, whose presence loomed larger than life in the doorway behind her.
“Do not Blakey me, and I have asked you a question, to which I expect a bloody fantastical answer. What are you playing at? You’re showing the family up… and with him of all people, he who hath screwed up my life!”
“Oh give me some credit, will you.” She turned ready to fight fire with fire, if that’s what it was going to take. “I have, as it happens, reason to believe he is up to no good again, no good for his customers this time, no good for this town. But what did I tell you about the enemy, Blake? Keep your friends close and your enemies even clo—”
“So you take that as carte blanche to jump in his bed!”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, your options look rather limited, shall we say?”
“I need a key, okay… a key to access a certain something. And if I can’t get a key, then I need to do something else, something drastic, something massive… to get him found out… all of which obviously requires an intimate knowledge of his daily life, movements, and his complete and utter trust. Then… once the job is done, and he’s paid me – us – for his silence, he is out of this town, out of our lives… everything can get back to normal. Justice prevailed.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t see me,” Blake seemed unnaturally satisfied, calm in an instant. “I was crouching behind a car boot on the opposite side of the street. Perfect shot, don’t you think? Maybe I’m in the wrong profession?”
And with that he disappeared upstairs.
Georgina exhaled deeply. What a sneak.
And yet part of her admired him for it. There was no mistaking they were siblings through and through.
She ripped the photo into tiny pieces, binned it and berated that small part of herself whose heart pined for River’s touch. They’d been damned fools with that little charade. Clearly anybody could have been watching – even in bad weather. And why couldn’t it have been the media who’d spotted them? Now that kind of coverage could have done her all sorts of favours… leading to a stint on Big Brother or Gogglebox perhaps. Oh, make no bones about it, she loathed these ridiculous lowlife shows, but you had to be cold, business-like about the opportunity to make a quick fortune. In and out, five minutes of fame, blending neatly back into mainstream obscurity but living a lavish life as the claim-to-fame-fix for the locals. What could be better for a girl’s self-esteem? That magical feeling of turning out the lights one by one, just like on Paddy McGuiness’s hellish show, all of the local men wanting a piece of Gorgeous Georgina, none of them succeeding.
And it turned out ‘Gorgeous Georgina’ was more than a smooth operator in the bedroom, or just with men. Women too, whom she had long kept at arm’s length thanks to her mother abusing her trust, were equally easy to manipulate.
For weeks now she’d been calling into Zara’s bakery, a couple of Cornish Pasties to take home for Dad and Blake’s tea/breakfast (organic of course, she was getting good at playing the Earth Mama game); a piece of carrot cake here, a pumpernickel bread there (yuk, she would not be making the mistake of buying that loaf of dried corrugated cardboard again), and Zara was almost in her pocket. Georgina was also supplying her with free cocktails on a Friday, smuggled over the backyard wall whenever River was meticulously building an operatic creation. That seemed to suit Zara well; she could waltz down her own backyard after she’d got everything ready for her early morning bakers, sip at her leisure and return the empty glass. Any trace of guilt Georgina momentarily felt for coaxing this unlikely friendship into bloom evaporated in a haze when she thought of all the pounds she was saving her, and all the moments of pure Caribbean-tinged relaxation she was providing her – with the exception of the deckchair, that was Zara’s own accessory.
Then one August evening after the bombardment of the book club brigade, when River suggested she go back to the penthouse early, for an evening of movies and takeaway because he was too exhausted for anything else, Georgina knew it was time to up the tempo. One: because something was clearly on his mind, and two: because if she procrastinated any longer, she’d start going down Lover’s Lane, a destination she was not prepared to travel to, despite the fact he’d recently started referring to their bedroom antics as ‘making love’, despite the fact every time she heard those words fly out of his mouth, it made her belly all warm and gooey inside.
“Hey Zed,” she’d greeted Zara, who was sorting out stale baguettes to drop off at one of the homeless charities nearby.
“Georgina, how’s it going? You look cream crackered, that’s gotta be a good thing, right? You’re certainly getting more customers than you were when we first met not so many moons ago!”
“Am I ever, and I shouldn’t complain, but my feet are ever-so-slightly killing me. I only wish River would put on a PJ and slippers themed night.”
“Well, why don’t you run it past him? He seems open to the weird and the whacky… talking of which, Heather was in here earlier buying me out of root ginger biscuits for the second time in a fortnight.”
“Oh don’t, the woman’s obsessed with that spice.”
“But not as obsessed it seems as she is with your dad.” Zara flashed Georgina a toothy grin. “A baker is like a taxi driver… or even a receptionist, you know. Oh yes, we hear all the little and not so little secrets of our customers, they all come voluntarily spilling out when there’s no-one in earshot. There’s something about the sight of cake,” she ran her hands along the bakery counter, “the smell of fresh bread besides, that makes grown men and women forget themselves, think of us as their Agony Aunts,” she laughed.
“Well you’ve got to spill the pinto beans now,” said Georgina, wishing she hadn’t made mention of those hideous ‘legumes’ Zara took it upon herself to unnecessarily stuff in her chocolate cakes. “Come on, talk about a carrot cake dangle.”
“All right, all right, all I know is she is ‘simply too busy to bake the weekly root ginger grounders’.” They both sniggered.
“That makes sense. Dad is claiming to be taking on more work to pay for this Prague Christmas market trip thingy organised by the travel group – I invented that idea.” She smiled at her own intelligence. “But now you’re telling me this, I’m half wondering if he’s doing something else with those extra hours he claims to be working instead.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we are talking about another type of spice, going on the look of lurve in her eyes, at any rate.”
“Oh great, I’m beginning to think I preferred Dad when he’d lost his swagger.”
“Well, I think it’s great, not only is the bar making money and introducing the town to a taste of the exotic, but it’s spreading the love bug too, what could be better? I only wish some of it would rub off on me. There doesn’t seem to be a half-decent man left in this town… with the exception of River, of course.”
“While we’re on the subject of bean spilling,” Georgina briskly redirected the conversation drumming her beautifully French polished nails on the counter to create something of a build-up effect, “I have a little secret of my own.” She quit the tapping and pulled a paper from her wallet, wishing she’d secured Zara’s word before she displayed the evidence. “But I need you to take an oath.”
“Can I think about it for five minutes?”
“Um, okay then… but I was kind of hoping we were friends, as well as me being your star customer… not to mention almost your personal travel agent.” Zara cracked up at this point, Georgina grinned too, her narcissistic self in complete and utter egotistical adoration of her wit and timing.
“Oh, what a story that was about those two from round the corner. Why did I have to leave the bar so early that night? Do you know, I might well book my next holiday the old fashioned way rather than through my regular airbnb, just to sit in front of them in their shop and drop several hundred hints that the rumours about their behaviour have done the Glasto rounds… Oh dear, what a place we live in, hey? Sorry, Georgina, that was rude of me to interrupt, you were saying?”
“Nothing much really, just that I was assuming I wouldn’t even need to ask you to volunteer to be sworn to secrecy.”
“Of course you don’t, kiddo. I was only messing with you, spill away.”
***
So that was that. Zara was officially on board. Not only a fully-fledged member of Team Georgina, but keeper of a very beneficial secret herself; a secret way sweeter than any of her organic stevia and chia seed stuffed pastries put together.
Georgina simply couldn’t hide her grin as she exited the bakery, made her way back to The Guinevere for her insipid movie night with River, wondering what takeaway decision they’d debate tonight. He always wanted a Chinese or a Thai, something stinky, garlicky and spicy to pong out the room, while she’d opt for a sweeter smelling pizza or chips. Travel to far-flung places and jumping on the Waitrose-foodie-bandwagon-express had never been her thing, no man on Earth was going to change that now. Not even River.
She paused to check her purse was zipped shut, saw that the paper translation was poking out enticingly, buried it deeper into her bag and pushed open the door to walk in on quite the scene.
“In slightly the wrong position to play whizzing down the banister now, boy,” said a monstrous looking figure as he rose from the throne next to the fireplace, slapped his broadsheet down on the table, and followed his statement up with a beastly chuckle. “We’re going to stay here until we sort this out.”
“Excuse me, love,” he muttered under his breath.
Oh, she did indeed love that commandeering effect that her presence cast on males like him: priceless.
She was quick enough to do the maths. This was some ‘acquaintance’ of River’s and now was not the time to pledge her allegiance to her beau. So she blanked him completely, acknowledging instead the stranger who un-capped his frizz of a hair-do, as if she were The Queen, walking on imaginary red carpet, and marched right past him and on up the stairs, leaving the fragments of their conversation to dissipate in a haze behind her, echoes of “Has he paid you or something?” rebounding in the reception’s hallway.
It was at this point that she realised she was not alone on the stairs. Someone else, it seemed, had been listening in on the debauchery below. A snappy burst of tumbling strawberry blonde curls, an expensive china doll face, one of those haughty-taughty posh shawls draped around her size zero frame, and then she was gone, the only clue of her presence a door closing gently overhead. Georgina wondered if she was half asleep. The day had been long after all, the scheming with Zara had clearly over-stimulated her senses. Maybe a film was just the tonic to calm her livewires? The words “press”, “paps” and “contract” pinged through the air as she hunted in her bag for her key, shutting the door on the madness. River would free himself soon enough, congratulate her for playing dumb, not giving their relationship status away.
Unless of course, the very reason Mr Hideous down below had been put on her path was to mesh with her plan? And now those cogs in her brain really started turning.