Beneath Beautiful Page 9

  “Ah, yes,” Cassie said, not caring to elaborate. “I have a question. Is it true about the lipstick? Is it really tattooed on?” She'd read in a newspaper once that Plum's lipstick was a specially designed shade of her own blood, tattooed onto her lips. The only reason it looked like lipstick was because of the gloss she wore on top of it.

  “Yes, that's true. And I'll tell you a secret.”

  Cassie raised her eyebrows. “What's that?”

  “It would scare the crap out of you the first thing in the morning. It certainly did me.”

  She raised her eyebrows further. “I'll take your word for it.”

  “So,” Cameron continued, “did she attempt to run you out of town? She does that.”

  Cassie didn't move her head. She couldn't, with her right ear currently being photographed. “I'm not entirely sure what she wanted with me. She didn't seem all that interested in running Freya out of town, though. Or even the room.”

  “No. And, trust me, Monica didn't interest her in the slightest. But you're the competition, aren't you?” Cassie did look now. She sought out Cameron's expression. She couldn't help herself. The pair locked eyes.

  “And what do you mean by that?” Cassie asked him.

  “Well,” Cameron stood back, crossing his arms, “you're intelligent, successful, you both graduated from the same university . . .” He trailed off.

  She frowned, realising something. “So if you knew we went to the same university, why didn't you ask if we knew each other?”

  “Because it didn't matter.”

  Her frown deepened. She didn't know what to make of this and she began to wonder if there was anything else he'd left unsaid.

  If there was, it was left hanging in the wake of Cassie's face being photographed and measured, an eyebrow hair swept into place, an eyelash plucked. Her eyes closed, Cassie sat for she didn't know how long, thinking about her encounter with Plum. It seemed that the longer she sat, the hotter she felt under the lights, the white heat disturbing even under her closed eyelids. As the minutes passed, she began to feel uncomfortable—restless and a little nauseous. She tried to talk herself out of the feeling, but the more she thought about Plum and Cameron and her father and that deep, blood-red lipstick, the worse she felt. It wasn't for a while that she pieced it all together to find what she was truly thinking about was the one thing she was suppressing in her mind altogether. When she did so, the thought hit her like an express train, and giddily she got up, pushing everyone's hands from her body, and almost falling over.

  “I've got to . . . stop. For a minute. Just stop for a minute.” She sat back down on the opposite side of the wooden block, not wanting to fall over.

  “Whoa,” Cameron called out from the other side of the room, though Cassie found she couldn't look up to see him through the lights. “Let's take a break, shall we?”

  He was over to her in a second. “Everyone out.”

  Cassie heard the room clear, though it took a few more deep breaths before she could glance up again without her head spinning. “Sorry about that,” she said when she finally lifted her head. Cameron was crouching in front of her, twisting open the top on a water bottle, which he duly offered to her. “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip.

  “When you're ready, I'll move you out of the lights.”

  “It's okay, I'm fine now.” Cassie stood up just that bit too soon and had to make an embarrassing grab at Cameron as she found her footing. “Oh, God. Sorry.” She found herself pressed up against him, horrified that he'd think she was stumbling on purpose: the helpless maiden.

  “Sorry for what?”

  Was it Cassie's imagination, or did Cameron hold her for slightly longer than he needed to?

  “It's fine. Now, let's go this way.” Cameron swiveled her around and took her by the elbow, his other hand steering her on her back. “Let's sit you down over here for a moment.” He led her to a metal seat near the table where her coat and book lay.

  As soon as she exited the lights, and sat down in the cool of the metal chair, Cassie began to feel immediately better. And after another few sips of water, she felt almost normal again.

  “Well, that was unexpected.” She finally glanced up at Cameron, hovering in front of her.

  “Was it too hot under the lights?” Cameron asked her.

  For a moment, Cassie considered lying, which would be easier, but then she couldn't do it. “No,” she said. “It was actually Plum that set me off.”

  “Plum?” Cameron said, crouching down in front of her again. “What did she say to you?”

  “No.” Cassie shook her head. “It wasn't anything she said, or did. It's just that . . .” She took a deep breath that filled her lungs to capacity, willing herself onwards. “We were talking about Plum, and well, I don't want to be rude, but her art is rather . . .”

  “Graphic?” Cameron tried.

  “Sure, let's go with graphic. She also mentioned my father to me. And then everything else—the white, the heat, the poking, the prodding . . . Ugh, especially the white. It reminded me of this time my mother was sick . . .”

  “Oh,” Cameron nodded. “Oh, I see.”

  Cassie sighed. “She was living in Portugal then, and she really was very sick. I think my father thought she might actually die, you see. So he pulled Jo and me out of boarding school, and we went over there, and . . . ugh . . . it was so hot and bright, and the hospital wasn't air-conditioned for some reason. For days Jo and I watched her get poked and prodded, and she had this doctor who looked about fifteen, who couldn't seem to find her veins for blood tests . . .” She paused to take another sip of water.

  “It sounds awful,” Cameron offered.

  “Yes, that's because it was,” Cassie replied, wanly. “It was. She got better, though, despite the hospital. That is, she got better until the next episode with her liver.”

  Cameron watched her carefully. “I'm so sorry, Cassie.” He reached out and put a hand on her leg, half on and half off the white tunic.

  Cassie prayed her skin wouldn't goose bump. “Pity Plum doesn't do a line of daisies in resin and pink lip gloss instead. That wouldn't have reminded me of that time in Portugal at all.”

  Cameron laughed. “That,” he said, “is never going to happen”.

  “No. Didn't think so.”

  “I think we might start again tomorrow,” he said, standing upright. “I'll change things around a bit.”

  Cassie shook her hands. “No, no. I'm fine now, really. I don't want to waste your time.”

  “And I don't want to send you crazy. Let's do tomorrow morning at ten.”

  Through the noise of the shower, Cassie only vaguely heard the knock on the door of the bathroom before Alys burst in. “I have news!” she called out, already halfway inside the small, tiled room.

  “It couldn't wait?” Cassie said at the ceiling as she rinsed her hair out.

  “No.”

  “Well?” Cassie gave an exasperated sigh.

  There was a momentary pause, then, “James wants to ask you out!” Alys said, grinning. “He asked for your number and everything, and checked to see if we were doing anything tomorrow night in the hope that you'd be free.”

  Surprised, Cassie stuck her head around the shower curtain. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. At least one of you has some sense,” Alys huffed.

  It all happened exactly as Alys had said it would. The very next morning, James had called Cassie and asked her out for the following evening. His whole approach had surprised her into agreeing to go. She couldn't remember being asked on a real, proper date before. All the guys she had been out with had done so in the sort of situations where there were a group of people she knew, and she simply ended up with the one guy somehow—doing things together without the others. She wasn't entirely sure where she and James would be going, or what they would be doing. James had been rather vague about it all, though he did tell her he'd need to pick her up early, at five o'clock, and that she should wear som
ething warm.

  All through that day's session at Cameron's studio Cassie hugged the thought of tomorrow's date with James to her chest, both excited and nervous at the prospect. When Marianne came to fetch Cameron from their session in the late afternoon Cassie barely noticed him leave, though she certainly noticed when he came back.

  “I have news.” He burst into the room, which, at the time, only Cassie was in, everyone else having taken a break. “I just sold a piece. A big piece. We're going out for dinner. We always do when one of us has some good news. Marianne's arranging. You'll love where we're going. Two Michelin stars. It's quite the experience.”

  “Who's ‘we’?” Cassie said, twisting her mouth.

  “Oh, a few people.” Cameron flipped his hand. “Why don't we finish up for the day? I'll send a car for you at eight.”

  “You don't want to keep going?” Cassie frowned, thinking of the time pressure they were supposed to be under.

  “Don't be such a spoilsport. Go and have a nice bath or something, and get ready. And for God's sake, don't eat anything. It's usually at least ten courses.”

  “Well, okay then . . .” Cassie replied, heading for the door. “If you're sure.”

  “I'm sure. See you at eight.”

  “Wow!” Alys said, when she arrived home that evening. “Where are you off to wearing that? It's gorgeous.”

  “A work dinner,” Cassie said. “Do you like it? It was Jo's.” She twirled around in the black, white and mint asymmetrical hemmed Proenza Schouler leather and silk mini dress, now extremely glad that she'd thrown it into her suitcase at the last minute. Paired with opaque black tights and her black ankle boots, it was perfect for the evening out.

  “She gave it to you?” Alys's eyes boggled. “If I were her, I would never have taken it off. It's gorgeous. It must have cost an absolute fortune.”

  “It did,” Cassie said. “But it doesn't fit anymore. Not after two kids. She practically cried when she gave it to me.”

  “Ouch.” Alys's nose crinkled.

  “Yes, I think it did hurt a bit.” Cassie tried not to laugh. “She almost killed Jeremy when he sighed about it.”

  “I bet.”

  “You don't have a black coat of any kind I could borrow?”

  Alys's face perked up. “I have just the thing. I'll be back in a second.” She ran off, returning within a minute or two with a black woolen cape.

  “Oh, perfect. Thanks so much, Alys.” Cassie draped it around her shoulders, and grabbed her clutch from the table. “I'd better head down. They're sending a car at eight.”

  “I won't wait up.” Alys waved her off. “Have fun, and think of me eating ramen noodles!”

  Cassie's car arrived slightly late, and traffic meant she didn't arrive at the restaurant until almost eight thirty. As she was led through the room to the table, she took in the clean, minimalist lines of the wood and steel interior, the long white pendant lights giving a fresh, clean glow, spotlighting each table. She'd been surprised to find the restaurant served Norwegian food, of all things, and honestly had no idea what to expect. She'd only been to Norway once, as a child.

  As Cassie was swept through the restaurant, she saw that she was the last to arrive, the five other chairs at the table already filled. The men all stood when she appeared, and while Cassie was flattered, the gesture immediately and irrevocably demonstrated the chasm of age between them.

  “You look lovely.” Cameron stopped her and kissed her on the cheek as she passed by to her seat. “Now, Ms. Cassie Tavington, let me introduce you to everyone. You know Plum, of course.”

  Plum inclined her head. “Proenza Schouler,” she guessed correctly. “Excellent taste. One of my personal favourites.”

  “How do women do that?” the man next to Plum said.

  “She can pick a suit at twenty paces. It's uncanny,” Cameron replied.

  Plum merely smiled a knowing smile with her ever-glossy, ever-red lips.

  “Here we have Simon, a Chelsea gallery owner and failed artist,” Cameron continued.

  “Oh, charming. Yet, true.” Simon took no offence as he shook Cassie's hand with a smile.

  “And this is Simon's husband, Marcus, a structural engineer. And just so you know, none of us have any idea what 'structural engineer' means.”

  “Also true.” Marcus shook Cassie's hand as well. “Though they're all getting better at smiling and nodding a lot.”

  “And finally, we have Neil, an investment banker, and yet another failed artist.”

  “The city is full of them. Also failed dancers, if you're looking. You'll need to go out to LA for a truly good supply of failed actors, however.” Neil shook Cassie's hand.

  “I'll keep that in mind.” Cassie smiled.

  “And, as I said before, Plum,” Cameron gestured, “purveyor of all things dead . . .”

  “And almost dead,” everyone at the table piped up together, making Cassie jump. As they laughed she took her seat, already decidedly worried about stepping into a group situation where everyone obviously knew each other very well. Not to mention, she was sure she had done a double take when Marcus had been introduced as Simon's husband. She had no problem with this at all, of course, but it had been noisy and she'd thought she had heard incorrectly and . . . she simply felt so awfully naïve. None of her friends, gay or straight, male or female, were married at all. She'd simply misheard, and now who knew what they were thinking about her?

  Plastering an awkward smile on her face in the hope of covering her gaffe, Cassie glanced around the room. As it turned out, this didn't help matters. Not one, but two tables were pointing their group out. So much for flying under the radar in NYC.

  “Cameron hasn't told you the whole story.” Plum leaned forward on the table with her elbows conspiratorially. “Cassandra here is sitting for him. He's quite obsessed with this new piece. And, as you know, that is not a word I use lightly.”

  “Obsessed, eh?” Simon leaned forward in his seat.

  “Quite,” Plum reiterated. “Though he'd never admit it. You know what he's like.”

  “Very interesting,” Simon continued, looking around the table, particularly at Cameron who only shrugged, giving nothing away.

  “Also, I'll have you know I went to university with Cassandra for about five minutes,” Plum added.

  “Please, it's Cassie.” Cassie attempted to catch everyone's eye. She couldn't bear a whole evening of being called Cassandra.

  “No. Surely you're way too old for that!” Neil turned to Plum.

  “Very droll.” Plum flicked him a look from underneath her long, black lashes. “Though you'll have to do better. Cassandra is very posh, and very English. And you know English humor is famed.”

  “Posher than you?” Neil replied.

  “Sweetheart,” Plum shook her head, “I might have been to Cambridge, but I'm Eurotrash, remember? The nouveau riche.”

  “Stop teasing, Plum,” Cameron chastised. He glanced down the table at Cassie. “Ignore her. Now, it's a fixed menu. Is there anything you can't eat?”

  “No, I'm fine.” Cassie nodded. She had looked up the restaurant on the way over on her phone, and had to admit the menu looked incredible. As it should, considering, with wine, it would cost more than $400 per person. She had been slightly shocked by this, which again made her young and naïve, she was sure. Was it even right to spend that much money on food? It wasn't something she had ever considered doing before, not ever having had enough money to do so.

  They began with not one, but eight amuse bouches, rather like hors d'oeuvres, or tiny appetizers. They were unlike anything Cassie had ever encountered before. The first was three tiny bite-sized creations of tangy cream cheese sandwiched with salty orange roe that sat upon a small rock. By the eighth—several slices of crispy potato held in a large silver bowl, that were to be dipped in an egg emulsion—Cassie was no longer questioning each arrival, or the money being spent, as everything was so delicious.

  The evening progressed i
n a whirlwind of dishes and matching wines, and the longer she sat at the table, the harder it became for Cassie to follow everyone's intimate banter. They spoke about the modern art world, which she knew a little about, though not enough it seemed, because she found herself often confused. At one point Neil admitted to having a daughter just a few months younger than Cassie, which spoke volumes about why she felt so out of place. But it was more than just the years that highlighted the differences between them. What she felt most keenly was how comfortable they seemed in the skin of their opinions, their ability to argue a point eloquently. How quick they were. How smart. And so witty. Occasionally, Cassie felt Plum's eyes upon her, and each time she did, she forced herself to add something to the conversation, though all she really wanted to do was to crawl under the table and hide.

  At one point, after a dish of burnt halibut and wildflowers, whilst everyone was loudly discussing politics, Plum turned to her. “Aren't they dull?” she said, over the top of them. “I've been here for two years now, and still have no idea what they're talking about. Politics is so different in the UK.” She turned to the group with this. “Cassie knows all about that, however. Her father is an M.P., you know.”

  “Really?” several people said at once, their gaze resting upon her.

  “Yes,” Cassie said, instantly cross at Plum for putting her on the spot. She knew very well she was trying to keep this information quiet. “It's true. It's more of a lifestyle choice than a job. Getting there and staying there is quite the ride for the entire family, I'm afraid.”

  Perhaps Cameron saw that she didn't want to discuss the topic, because after a few questions had been asked he steered the discussion away. “Cassie has her own talents. She's a famous children's author.”

  Cassie wanted to do more than crawl under the table then. She wanted to crawl under the table and die. She was quite sure everyone there had large, intellectual tomes resting on their bedside tables, and here she was about to be made to discuss her adorable stories about talking wild animals gamboling in the woods. Even as she thought this, she knew that this want to run away immediately was about her, not them. About her insecurities, rather than what everyone else was thinking. Because the truth was, she saw quite clearly that no one was thinking anything amiss at all. Everyone was perfectly kind and pleasant, and had been asking her interesting questions all evening as they began to do again now, quizzing her as to how she had gotten her start in publishing, how many books she'd published, and so on. Thankfully, within a minute or two, an absolutely spectacular dish that included a pine infusion being poured over dry ice came along that had everyone oohing and aahing, and Badger and Hare were forgotten.