Page 10 of The Sisters
‘Me too,’ said Carlotta.
Violetta said nothing. She didn’t know what to say to her sisters who were like strangers to each other. They were so separate in their lives now. The last birthday they had spent together was when they turned eighteen and Birdie and Leon had thrown a party for them at The Plaza.
‘I think we have to keep this private, well as much as possible,’ said Grace, always mindful of the family’s reputation. She was, after all, most like her mother.
‘Yes, I agree. No media, no interviews, nothing,’ said Carlotta.
Violetta nodded and then felt sick, remembering the reality series. She would get out of it, she thought, making a note to tell Spencer to review the contract that lay on her dressing table in her apartment.
‘No problem,’ said Violetta, but she had a feeling it was going to be a problem, a big one.
*
Doctor Jeff Carson was 39 years old, one of the youngest neurosurgeons on staff at the exclusive New York hospital. He had gone through Harvard Medical School on a scholarship, working at a bar for cash to pay for his shitty rental apartment. Jeff was passionate about medicine and work. When he wasn’t at the hospital, he was reading medical texts and journals or online forums with peers overseas. Jeff was so wise when it came to work but completely ignorant of how to have a life. He had lost his virginity at college, to a young Chinese medical student; it was, as far as he could remember through the haze of beer and sweat, average. He had dated a few nurses while in his residency but he found them distracting and eventually his workaholic nature pushed them away.
Tall and with sandy hair, pushed back as he was always forgetting to get a haircut, Jeff gave the air of a young Robert Redford, which women found irresistible, until they found out his personality was more like Bill Gates. He was awkward unless he was talking about the brain and its function and mostly he left the bedside talk to his peers, particularly the female doctors.
Cordelia de Santoval’s daughters were not the usual types of family he had in the hospital. Especially the one who had asked his name. She was wearing odd clothing – sequins were rarely seen in a hospital and he could see a flash of toned bare midriff when she moved. A party girl, one of the nurses had gossiped when they were out of earshot. Birdie was the wife of a fashion king and the daughters were infamous in the New York social scene, Violetta being the most known.
‘Page Sixalways has her in it,’ one of the nurses said. ‘She’s about to do a reality series.’
‘Nothing more real than this,’ said another of the nurses wryly.
The doctor had listened and thought to go online and look up the family later. He never usually did this but there was something about the sisters that was intriguing to a man so far removed from their world.
He doubted the mother would survive and since he had been asked to start compiling reports for the police, he knew this was going to end up in a murder case. He felt sad for the heiresses, their lives would never be the same again. He vowed to make the mother as comfortable as possible, and be a support to her daughters anyway he could.
*
Carlotta had not driven back to Connecticut as she said she was going to. Instead she had gone straight to the Four Seasons where John was waiting for her, after she had called him from the hospital. There was no way she was going to be alone, and although sex with John was sure to be average again, at least she could spend the night next to someone.
John had left his wife and daughter at his townhouse and claimed he had a business meeting in Boston. John’s wife Chessy knew there was no such meeting – he was fucking someone else. Probably that horse-headed whore, Carlotta de Santoval. She’s seen them together at Jessica’s last gymkhana, flirting and gossiping.
John and Chessy Berconi played by all the rules properly, sending their daughter Jessica to the Caldwell Green preparatory school and then onto Preston, the most exclusive girls’ school in New York, although Chessy knew she hated it. Hell, Jessica hated everything. Jessica hated her mother, hated her father and hated herself most of all.
Carlotta had tried to bond with her over the supposed mutual love of horses but Carlotta found her sullen and dull and not as interested in horses as her father claimed. Jessica was an untalented rider and, even though she had a beautiful horse and the best equipment, she sat badly in the saddle, partly because of being overweight but also because she refused to heed the advice of her riding coach.
As Carlotta pulled up at the hotel in her black Range Rover, she threw the keys at the valet and went straight up to the suite John had booked. He was waiting for her with champagne and was wearing only a towel. ‘I just had a shower. I hope you don’t mind my casual attire,’ he said.
Carlotta smiled at him, he was in terrific shape for a man of fifty. Tall, lean and with a smattering of hair across his chest, he was textbook handsome, albeit with a receding hairline. He made up for his lack of hair with a devil may care attitude that Carlotta found the most attractive thing about him.
‘I don’t mind. Thanks for coming to see me.’
She sat on the bed and gratefully accepted the champagne he offered. It seemed strange to be drinking vintage champagne while her mother lay in a coma but alcohol might soothe her anxiety, she figured.
‘How is she?’ asked John as he lay on the bed, his head propped up by a pillow.
‘She’s OK,’ said Carlotta, not wanting to talk about Birdie. ‘Still in a coma. I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon. We’re taking it in shifts.’
John nodded, not seeming that interested. ‘Well, drink up and I’ll see if I can take your mind off your troubles,’ he said smoothly.
Carlotta felt butterflies in her stomach. She was surprised when John had quickly suggested that she come to the Four Seasons from the hospital. She hadn’t planned to see him. She had just wanted to tell someone, to make it real somehow, when she rang him from the hospital.
Carlotta pulled off her riding boots. She had come straight from the stables and was still in her breeches and a white Hermes shirt that she had taken from Birdie’s wardrobe months before and never returned. She had no time for shopping, she justified – actually, she hated shopping. Violetta was the one who liked trawling the shops and attending the fashion shows. And Grace liked shopping, but only for old things.
‘I might have a shower also,’ she said.
She went into the large bathroom, undressed and stood in front of the mirror. Her hair was wild; red, she called it. Auburn, Birdie used to correct her. Brown eyes and a strong face. ‘Horse-head,’ Violetta used to tease her. ‘That’s why you like horses so much, ‘cos you are one.’
