as possible. Simone would have paid handsomely. Everyone was happy.
But it hurt. It hurt. Julia had lied.
She didn’t want me.
‘You’ve had a nice time here, though, haven’t you?’ Simone was saying, nodding at her encouragingly. ‘Would it be so bad to live with me, in London?’
Something stuck. Something wasn’t right.
‘Speak, sweetheart.’ Simone squeezed her hands. ‘Please … say anything.’
There was only one word that made sense: ‘Calida.’
It took a second for Simone to connect the dots. The sister. The twin. The one she hadn’t chosen. Her expression faltered a moment before righting itself.
‘Calida knew about this, too,’ Simone explained gently. ‘She and your mother both made this decision. Together. For everyone’s benefit.’
Vera’s rendition confirmed it. In a reel of sun-kissed images, her childhood with Calida flashed before her eyes. The closeness, the connection … the drum of her twin’s matching heartbeat … the horses, the land, the dust, the laughter.
She had run from it all. Run far and run fast and never looked back.
I wish you’d just disappear.
‘They don’t want you,’ Simone said again. ‘Your sister chose to give you away as freely as Julia did. I’m your new mother now. I’m your new family.’
A flood of emotions washed over her.
Here it is, she thought, your new life.
She had prayed for this outcome, and now it was here.
So why was there this glaring hole in the centre of her heart?
‘You’re Tess Geddes now,’ Simone said. ‘My daughter.’
All night—that long, lonely night—the stranger’s name floated in her half-consciousness like a phantom, daring her to step into it, to let it swallow her up.
To hell with you both, she thought. I don’t need you.
I’ll show you just what I’m made of—and then you’ll be sorry.
‘Looking great, everyone. And … action!’
Simone, or rather her character Miranda Fenchurch, stepped out of the Royal Courts of Justice in a navy pinstripe suit, faced the wall of cameras, and delivered the gut-wrenching oration that would conclude the most anticipated political thriller of the year. As with all Simone’s scenes, they canned it in one.
‘You’re a special lady, you know that?’ the director told her afterwards, as the first spots of rain began to fall and an assistant ushered her under cover.
‘Don’t patronise me, Greg.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘What a dreadful sycophant that man is,’ Simone muttered to her aide, once the director had skulked off. ‘Calling me a lady—who does he think he’s talking to, Camilla Parker Bowles? God forbid.’ Privately, however, Simone knew that she was special. Playing Miranda Fenchurch in An Eye For An Eye was a departure from her usual: she was embodying a cutthroat, hard-nosed barrister who wasn’t afraid to rattle the cage. The awards cabinet at home had better make way for a shiny new addition.
On the way to her car, a female co-star flagged her down. ‘It was wonderful meeting Tess at the party,’ the woman said. ‘What a beautiful girl.’
‘Isn’t she?’
‘When will you be announcing the adoption?’
‘When the time is right,’ Simone replied. ‘It’s a complex process, you understand.’ She could picture the headlines already: SELFLESS SIMONE RESCUES TEEN FROM POVERTY. GEDDES GIVES GIRL A CHANCE. Any star could traipse halfway across the world to buy a baby, but there was something unusual and intriguing about Simone’s decision to make that difference for an older child.
The media would lap it up like piglets at a watering hole.
‘It must be,’ said the woman. ‘Is she finding it hard to adjust?’
Simone thought: None of your damn business. But she felt compelled to say, ‘Not a bit. She loves it here. She loves her new life. She loves me.’
With that, she climbed into the Mercedes and shut the door.
The mansion was quiet, which meant no Emily. So much for Brian’s pledge to ground her. She found her husband in his office. ‘Where’s Tess?’
Brian turned in his chair. ‘Still in her room,’ he replied.
‘No change?’
‘No change.’ Brian got up. He looped his arms around Simone’s waist and she did her best not to wince. She could feel Brian’s gut pressed up against her gym-toned stomach, and endeavoured to focus instead on the wall-mounted shots of him mixing with the power set. That was what had drawn her to him in the early days—how was she to know that underneath the façade lurked an overweight spineless doormat? No wonder Brian’s first wife had left him for a woman. If it weren’t for Brian’s bi-weekly ruts she would begin to doubt if he possessed anything between his legs at all.
Simone went upstairs and knocked softly on Tess’s bedroom door.
‘Tess, sweetheart?’ she called. ‘Can I come in?’
It had been like this for weeks. Tess emerged only to wash and eat. She didn’t speak. She didn’t engage. She held herself stiffly, as if she were made of glass. What was going on in her head? Anger, sadness, shock; which was the overriding emotion?
It would take time, Simone knew. A bit like training a dog. She was able to close her heart to Tess’s plight because once, many years ago, she too had been forced to make a sacrifice, one for the good of a child, and it had made her tough. If she could get through it, then the rest of the world ought to be able to as well.
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, to stop herself gagging on the past. When she thought of it, she could still feel the weight of the baby in her arms.
The baby …
Taking Tess was karma. Simone deserved her child.
‘Still pissed with you, is she?’ Lysander passed her in the hall. He wore peppermint shorts and a polo shirt with the collar turned up, and looked offensively handsome. Wasn’t he meant to be at college? ‘Can’t say I’m surprised.’
‘You know nothing about this, Lysander.’
‘I know it’s abduction dressed as Armani.’
‘It
