Paulo took her in his arms, and Jessica discovered another of his skills, undressing a woman while he was kissing her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, after her top and skirt had been deftly removed. She would have replied, but he’d already fallen to his knees and was kissing her again, this time on her thighs, not her lips. They fell back onto the bed, and when she opened her eyes, he was already naked. How had he managed that, she wondered. She lay back, and waited for what Claire had told her would happen next. When Paulo entered her, Jessica wanted to cry out, not from pleasure, but pain. A few moments later he withdrew, slumped back on his side of the bed, and mumbled, “You were fantastic,” which made her wonder if anything else he’d whispered to her that evening could be believed.
She waited for him to put his arms around her and tell her some more lies, but instead he turned his back on her, and within moments he was fast asleep. Jessica waited until she heard steady breathing, before she slipped out from under the sheet, tiptoed across to the bathroom, and didn’t turn the light on until she’d closed the door. She took some time tidying herself up, noticing she was still wearing her black stockings. Claire would no doubt explain the significance of that when she got home. She returned to the bedroom, wondering if he was actually wide awake and just hoping she would go home. She picked up her discarded clothes and got dressed quickly, crept out of the bedroom, and closed the door quietly behind her.
Jessica didn’t even stop to admire the paintings, as she couldn’t wait to get out of the apartment, fearing that Paulo might wake up and expect her to repeat the whole dreadful experience. She tiptoed along the corridor and took the lift to the ground floor.
“Would you like a taxi, miss?” asked the doorman politely. He was clearly not surprised to see a scantily dressed young woman appearing in the lobby at three in the morning.
“No, thank you,” said Jessica, giving the Ferrari one last look before she took off her high heels and set out on the long walk back to her little flat.
26
NO ONE WAS more surprised than Jessica when Paulo asked her out on a second date. She had assumed he would have already moved on, but then she remembered the girl who claimed to have slept with him half a dozen times before he dumped her.
She told Claire that she liked being driven around in a Ferrari, dining at Annabel’s, and sampling the finest premier cru champagnes, and even admitted to her friend that she rather enjoyed Paulo’s company, and was grateful to him for solving her “virgo intacta” problem, even if she hadn’t been overwhelmed by the experience.
“It gets better,” Claire assured her, “and let’s face it, not all of us are wined and dined by a Brazilian god before we lose our virginity. I’m sure you remember my experience behind the school pavilion with Brian, the second eleven wicketkeeper?” she added. “It might have been more enjoyable if he hadn’t left his pads on.”
The only thing that changed on the second date was the nightclub. Annabel’s was replaced by Tramp, and Jessica felt far more relaxed mixing with a younger crowd. She and Paulo went back to his flat around two in the morning, and this time she didn’t leave the moment he fell asleep.
She was woken in the morning to find Paulo gently kissing her breast, and he continued to hold her in his arms long after they’d made love. When she saw the clock on the bedside table, she shouted, “Help!,” jumped out of bed, and took a hot shower. Paulo clearly didn’t believe in breakfast, so she gave him a kiss and left him in bed. During her still-life class, Jessica found she wasn’t able to concentrate, her mind continually returning to Paulo. Was she falling in love?
Professor Howard frowned when he took a closer look at her drawing of a bowl of oranges, and even checked to make sure it was Jessica sitting there. Although her drawing was still superior to those of her fellow students, her tutor continued to frown.
During the week, Jessica visited three other nightclubs, where each time, Paulo was welcomed as a regular. Over the next few weeks she began to develop a craving for his favorite brand of cigarettes, which didn’t seem to come from a packet, and to enjoy the brandy Alexanders that always appeared moments after they’d drained their second bottle of wine.
As the months went by, Jessica started to turn up later and later at the Slade, occasionally missing classes and lectures, and then whole days. She didn’t notice herself drifting out of her old world and becoming a part of Paulo’s.
* * *
When the first letter came towards the end of term, it should have been a wake-up call, but Paulo convinced her to ignore it.
“I had three of those in my first term,” he said. “After a while they just stop sending them.”
Jessica decided that once he became bored with her, which she feared couldn’t be too long now, as she’d already passed the statutory half-dozen dates, she would return to the real world, although she was beginning to wonder if that would now be possible. It so nearly did end after she’d attended a lecture on the art of the English watercolor, and found herself falling asleep. When she woke, the other students were already leaving the lecture theater. She had decided that rather than head back to the flat, she would go straight to Paulo’s apartment.
She took a bus to Knightsbridge, then ran all the way to Lancelot Place. The doorman opened the door with one hand and saluted with the other as she got into the lift. When she reached the fourth floor, she tapped lightly on Paulo’s door, which was opened by his Brazilian maid. She looked as if she was about to say something, but Jessica brushed past her and headed for the bedroom. She began to tear off her clothes, leaving them in a trail on the floor behind her, but when she entered the room she stopped in her tracks. Paulo was in bed, smoking hash with Avril Perkins.
Jessica knew that was the moment she should have turned around, marched out, and never looked back, but instead she found herself walking slowly toward them. Paulo grinned as she crawled up onto the bed. He pushed Avril aside, took Jessica in his arms, and pulled off the only garment she was still wearing.
* * *
The next letter Jessica received from the Slade was signed by the principal, and had the words “Second Warning” boldly underlined.
Mr. Knight pointed out that she had missed her last six drawing classes, and had also failed to attend any lectures for over a month. If this continued, he wrote, the board would have to consider withdrawing her scholarship. When Paulo set fire to the letter, Jessica burst out laughing.
During the following term, Jessica began sleeping at Paulo’s apartment during the day and spending most of her waking life accompanying him to nightclubs. On the rare occasions she and Paulo dropped into the Slade, few people recognized them. She became used to a string of different girls coming and going during the day, but she was the only one who spent the night with him.
The third letter, which Professor Howard handed to Jessica personally on one of the rare occasions she did get up in time to attend a morning drawing class, could not be ignored. The principal informed her that as she had been caught smoking marijuana on the college’s premises, her scholarship had been rescinded and would be awarded to another student. He added that she would be allowed to remain as a pupil for the present, but only if she attended classes and her work greatly improved.
Professor Howard warned her that if she still hoped to graduate and be offered a place at the Royal Academy to study for an MA, she would have to build a portfolio of work for the examiners to consider, and time was slipping away.
When Jessica went home that afternoon, she didn’t show the letter to Claire, who rarely missed a lecture, and had a steady boyfriend called Darren, who considered a visit to Pizza Express a treat.
* * *
Jessica made sure that whenever she visited her parents or grandparents, which was becoming less and less frequent, she was always soberly dressed and never smoked or drank in their presence.
She made no mention of her lover, or the double life she was leading, and was relieved that Paulo had
never once suggested he would like to meet her family. Whenever one of her parents raised the subject of the Royal Academy, she assured them that Professor Howard was delighted with her progress, and remained confident that the academy would offer her a place the following year.
* * *
By the beginning of her second year at art school, Jessica was conducting two lives. Neither of them in the real world. This might well have continued if she hadn’t bumped into Lady Virginia Fenwick.
Jessica was standing at the bar of Annabel’s when she turned at the same moment as an elderly lady with her back to her and spilled some champagne on her sleeve.
“What are the young coming to?” said Virginia, when Jessica didn’t even bother to apologize.
“And it’s not just the young,” said the duke. “One of those new life peers Thatcher has just appointed had the nerve to address me by my Christian name.”
“Whatever next, Perry?” said Virginia as the maître d’ guided them to their usual table. “Mario, do you by any chance know who that young lady is standing at the bar?”
“Her name is Jessica Clifton, my lady.”
“Is it indeed? And the young man she’s with?”
“Mr. Paulo Reinaldo, one of our regular customers.”
For the next few minutes Virginia made only monosyllabic replies to anything the duke said. Her gaze rarely left a table on the far side of the room.
Eventually she got up, telling the duke she needed to go to the loo, then took Mario to one side and slipped him a ten-pound note. As Lady Virginia wasn’t known for her generosity, Mario assumed this could not be for services rendered, but for services about to be rendered. By the time her ladyship returned to the duke and suggested it was time to go home, she knew everything she needed to know about Paulo Reinaldo, and the only thing she needed to know about Jessica Clifton.
* * *
When Paulo took Jessica to Annabel’s to celebrate her nineteenth birthday, neither of them noticed the elderly couple seated in an alcove.
Virginia and the duke usually left the club around eleven, but not tonight. In fact the duke dozed off after a third Courvoisier even though he had suggested on more than one occasion that perhaps they should go home.
“Not yet, darling,” Virginia kept saying, without explanation.
The moment Paulo called for the bill, Virginia shot out of the stalls and made her way quickly across to the private phone booth discreetly located in the corridor. She already had a telephone number and the name of an officer she had been assured would be on duty. She dialed the number slowly and the phone was answered almost immediately.
“Chief Inspector Mullins.”
“Chief inspector, my name is Lady Virginia Fenwick, and I wish to report a dangerous driving incident. I think the driver must be drunk, because he almost hit our Rolls-Royce as he overtook us on the inside.”
“Can you describe the car, madam?”
“It was a yellow Ferrari, and I’m fairly sure the driver wasn’t English.”
“You didn’t by any chance get the registration number?”
Virginia checked a slip of paper in her hand. “A786 CLC.”
“And where did the incident take place?”
“My chauffeur was driving around Berkeley Square when the Ferrari turned right down Piccadilly and drove off toward Chelsea.”
“Thank you, madam. I’ll look into it immediately.”
Virginia put the phone down just as Paulo and Jessica passed her in the corridor. She remained in the shadows as the young couple made their way up the stairs and out on Berkeley Square. A liveried doorman handed Paulo his car key in exchange for a five-pound note. Paulo jumped into the driver’s seat, eased the gear lever into first, and accelerated away as if he was in pole position on the starting grid at Monte Carlo. He’d only gone a few hundred yards when he spotted a police car in his rearview mirror.
“Lose them,” said Jessica. “It’s only a clapped-out Sierra.”
Paulo moved into third and began to dodge in and out of slow-moving traffic. Jessica was screaming obscenities and cheering him on, until she heard the siren. She looked back to see the traffic moving aside to allow the police car through.
Paulo glanced in his rearview mirror as the traffic light in front of him turned red. He shot through it, turned right, and narrowly missed a bus as he careered down Piccadilly. By the time he reached Hyde Park Corner, two police cars were in pursuit and Jessica was clinging onto the dashboard, wishing she’d never encouraged him.
As he swerved around Hyde Park Corner and onto the Brompton Road, he ran another red light, only to see a third police car heading toward him. He threw on the brakes and skidded to a halt, but was too late to avoid crashing head-on into the squad car.
Jessica didn’t spend her nineteenth birthday in the arms of her lover in his luxury Knightsbridge apartment, but alone on a thin, urine-stained foam mattress in cell number three of Savile Row police station.
27
SAMANTHA WAS WOKEN just before seven the following morning by a telephone call from Chief Inspector Mullins. She didn’t need to wake Seb, who was in the bathroom shaving. When he heard his wife’s anxious voice, he put down his razor and walked quickly back into the bedroom. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen Sam crying.
A cab pulled up outside Savile Row police station just after 7:30 a.m. Sebastian and Sam stepped out, to be met by flashing bulbs and shouted questions, which reminded Seb of when Hakim was on trial at the Old Bailey. What he couldn’t understand was who could have alerted the press at that time in the morning.
“Is your daughter a drug addict?” shouted one.
“Was she driving?” Another.
“Did she take part in an orgy?” Yet another.
Seb recalled Giles’s golden rule when facing a pack of hacks: if you’ve got nothing to say, say nothing.
Inside the police station, Seb gave the duty sergeant at the front desk his name.
“Take Mr. and Mrs. Clifton down to cell number three,” the sergeant instructed a young constable, “and I’ll let the chief inspector know they’ve arrived.”
The constable led them along a corridor and down some steep steps into the basement. He inserted a large key into a heavy door and pulled it open, then stepped aside to allow them to enter the cell.
Sebastian stared at the dishevelled girl hunched up on the corner of the bed, her face smeared with mascara from crying. It took him a few moments to realize it was his daughter. Samantha crossed the room quickly, sat down beside Jessica, and wrapped her arms around her.
“It’s all right, my darling, we’re both here.”
Although Jessica had sobered up, the smell of stale alcohol and marijuana still lingered on her breath. A few moments later they were joined by the case officer, who introduced himself as Chief Inspector Mullins and explained why their daughter had spent the night in a police cell. He then asked if either of them knew a Mr. Paulo Reinaldo.
“No,” they both said without hesitation.
“Your daughter was with Mr. Reinaldo when we arrested him this morning. We’ve already charged him with drink-driving, and possession of three ounces of marijuana.”
Seb tried to remain calm. “And my daughter, chief inspector, has she also been charged?”
“No, sir, although she was drunk at the time and we suspect had been smoking marijuana and later assaulted a police officer, we will not be pressing charges.” He paused. “On this occasion.”
“I’m most grateful,” said Samantha.
“Where is the young man?” asked Sebastian.
“He will appear before Bow Street magistrates later this morning.”
“Is my daughter free to leave, chief inspector?” Samantha asked quietly.
“Yes she is, Mrs. Clifton. I’m sorry about the press. Someone must have tipped them off, but I can assure you it wasn’t us.”
Seb took Jessica gently by the arm and led her from the cell, up a well-trodden staircase
, and out of the police station into Savile Row, where they were once again greeted by flashing bulbs and hollered questions. He bundled his wife and daughter into the back of a taxi, pulled the door closed, and told the cabbie to get moving.
Jessica sat cowering between her parents, and didn’t raise her head even after the cab had turned the corner and the press were no longer to be seen.
* * *
When they arrived back home in Lennox Gardens, they were met by another group of photographers and journalists. The same questions, but still no answers. Once they were safely inside, Seb accompanied Jessica into the living room, and before she had a chance to sit down, he demanded the truth, and nothing less.
“And don’t spare us, because I’ve no doubt we’ll read every lurid detail in The Evening Standard later today.”
The self-assured young woman who’d left Annabel’s after celebrating her birthday had been replaced by a stammering, tearful nineteen-year-old, who replied to their questions in a quivering, uncertain voice that neither of her parents had ever experienced before. Between embarrassed silences, Jessica described how she’d first met Paulo and became infatuated by his charm, his sophistication, and, most of all, she admitted, the endless flow of cash. Although she told her parents everything, she never placed any blame on her lover, and even asked if she might be allowed to see him one more time.
“For what purpose?” asked Sebastian.
“To say goodbye.” She hesitated. “And to thank him.”
“I don’t think that would be wise, while the press will be dogging his every step and hoping you’ll do just that. But if you write him a letter, I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“Thank you.”
“Jessie, you have to face the fact that you’ve let us both down badly. However, one thing’s for sure, nothing will be gained by raking over it. It’s now in the past, and only you can decide what you want to do about your future.”
Jessica looked up at her parents, but didn’t speak.