Page 50 of Duplicity

‘She’s, uh, pretty anxious. She doesn’t like lots of people. I don’t think she’d feel comfortable here,’ I say hastily.

‘Oh no! Poor little thing. And who’s this?’

Brendan points my phone at me, and my worlds collide. On the screen is a photo of my beautiful Tabby, golden and gorgeous last summer, her arms thrown around Daniel’s neck, and a huge gap where her adult front teeth are now half-grown.

I stare at the image, feeling sick to my stomach. It’s not a rational thought in the slightest, but, aside from the clear practical need to keep her a secret from Brendan, I don’t want this existence and my real life to overlap at all. I don’t want any of what I’m doing here with him to sully the innocence of my daughter’s childhood.

My brain shudders to a halt. ‘That’s my—um…’

‘You alright, love?’ he asks. He sounds concerned, which should be a red flag.

‘That’s my niece,’ I supply triumphantly.

‘She’s cute. So, do you have a sister?’

His dirty grin snaps me out of my panic. I deliver both the side-eye and the barefaced lie that kind of question deserves. ‘A brother. Listen, I have to go. We’ve got Seraph drinks.’

‘Jesus Christ, that’s a visual I don’t need,’ he groans, handing me the phone. I snatch it back with relief. ‘Every man in the bar must hit on you guys. Where are you going, and what do you guys get up to when you go out on the tiles?’

I stand. ‘One, I have no idea because I’ve never been out with them before, two, it’s none of your business where we’re going, and three, if I had to guess, I’d say we’ll spend most of the time sharing salacious details about our bosses.’ I wink at him. ‘Have a good weekend. Try to leave some fuel in the tank for me on Monday morning.’

And with that, I sashay out of his office like the brazen ho I now apparently am.

CHAPTER 25

Marlowe

Apparently, it’s Seraph tradition that a new hire puts her card behind the bar for the first team soirée she attends. Athena has made it clear to me that this is categorically not happening on her watch. She told me that the seraphim all know about my situation and that everyone has agreed to split the tab tonight.

I’m equal parts mortified and relieved. Much as I hate being a charity case, I know the guilt would kill me if I watched these women drink thousands of pounds’ worth of champagne and spirits. And it really would be thousands. Athena said the champagne they drink at this place is like seven hundred pounds a bottle for table service.

A bottle!

So yeah. When two bottles of champagne could fund a consultation with a cardiothoracic surgeon, then I’m more than willing to swallow my pride and save my cash. Besides, I’m not going to drink much tonight. I’m exhausted after the week I’ve had, and there’s no way I’m going to risk feeling crappy tomorrow when I get to spend quality time with my little girl.

I get myself across the river and meet Athena in Mayfair before we show up at the bar together. As usual, she looksimmaculate in a strappy black dress, her auburn hair styled in glossy waves. She greets me with a tight hug and an aggressively worded warning that she wants and expects a full debrief of absolutely everything that’s gone down (pun intended, I’m sure) with Brendan this week. Clearly, she thinks she’s above NDAs, and clearly I won’t hold back from dishing the dirt to her.

After all, she’s even more of a vault than her priest boyfriend.

This place is like an alternate universe. It’s on the top floor of a swanky hotel, with huge windows showcasing a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the London cityscape. It’sincredible.The weather is perfect this evening, and as the sun lowers in the sky, it bathes the beautiful people in a golden glow.

And the people really are beautiful. It’s a wealthy, shiny crowd for whom this is a standard Friday night. Confidence rolls off everyone in waves. These are not people who have a problem taking up space. It’s no surprise when Athena steers me to the glossiest, noisiest corner of the room, where the seraphim stand by a huge window facing due west. This must be the most sought-after corner of the entire bar. If I survive long enough, the sunset will be spectacular.

Despite the armour of my fabulous Miu Miu, the imposter syndrome kicks in immediately, because these women all look like supermodels who’ve probably moonlit at the UN and the White House, too. You know the type? Fiercely intelligent. So much panache. So accomplished. The kind of gilded darlings who float through life like it’s a lazy river.

I went to school with lots of girls like that, but a glance tells me that these women are in a different league. More worldly. More sophisticated. More competent. I take a moment to drink them in. They’re a bunch of gorgeous, glittering birds of paradise, and their sparkling laughter and glamorous looks are definitely drawing attention, but they seem oblivious.

Almost at once, I spot Sophia. She comes towards us, arms outstretched in glee, her smile wide. This woman is ridiculous. She’s indecently tanned and absolutely glowing, her long dark hair a shiny mane. She wears her fringe long and feathered so that her brown eyes peek seductively out from underneath it. Her dress is skintight, electric blue, and has her incredible boobs out on a platter.

It’s a wonder her boss gets any work done at all. She told me he’s in hissixties—some old, horny Greek shipping magnate. I can’t even imagine. I’m suddenly even more grateful that my dodgy moneymaking scheme comes with an outrageously hot man who serves up outrageously hot orgasms.

‘Ladies!’ she shouts. ‘The guest of honour is here! Let the festivities commence!’ I can’t tell if she’s already drunk or that’s just how she is. She’s one of those people who are so vivacious that their sobriety level is not always obvious. She lunges forward and throws her arms around both of us, air kissing me on both cheeks before hugging Athena. ‘I mean Marlowe, by the way. You shouldn’t even be here, you horrible little turncoat.’

‘Once a seraph, always a seraph,’ Athena replies blithely. ‘Even if I’m giving away the goods for free these days.’

Sophia gives a chic European shrug. Her accent is pure Oxbridge, but she’s apparently also from a big Greek shipping family. ‘Gabe’s a lucky fucker, but I’m far more interested in how Brendan Big Dick Sullivan is treating our little ingenue here. Marlowe, prepare to get drunk and spill the beans.’

I laugh. I can’t imagine sitting around with these women and casually swapping sexual exploits, or sexploits, as the seraphim apparently term them. Camille has explained that our NDAs purposely exclude our fellow Seraph members so that we have a safe pool of people with whom to be frank—critical in this job—but that doesn’t make me any less horrified at the prospect of openly sharing with anyone beyond Athena what Brendan and Ihave got up to. It’s disrespectful to him, for one, and it’s far too… complex, I suppose, for me to make light of it. It’s still fresh, still raw. Fabulously so, don’t get me wrong, but yeah. Nope. No beans will be spilt tonight. Not by me, anyway.

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