Betrayed(8)

Fran said the get-together would help bring her out of herself. She was wrong. All these shuffling people made her feel more isolated than ever.

The little boy snuggled against her, his eyes drooping a shade, a tiny smile on his lips. The house was crowded with bodies and noise, the party existing on two independent levels. At the top it was populated with laughing, drinking adults, speaking in loud voices and not listening to what others said. At the bottom, by children dodging between adult’s legs, or stuffing food into whatever crevice they could, ears, mouths...

Kat preferred the lower level with the children. It seemed safest. Kids she could cope with, adults were a different matter. They might make inquiries, and she didn’t want to share her thoughts. Predominant among those thoughts were Las Modas Ibéricas. Dad had taken Rafael around the factory yet Rafael hadn’t contacted them to take it further. What the hell was the matter?

Was there a problem? Were they going to back out?

“Fancy a drink? I saw you hiding, and squeezed the last drop of chardonnay from the box.” Francine squatted by Kat’s side. She wobbled little. “Phew! I’ve had too many cocktails.”

“You’ve a right to. It’s your party.”

“I think I shall rinse some glasses soon. This is the last one.” Fran waggled the wineglass for her to take. “Why are you down here? You’re usually letting it hang out by now.”

“I’m enjoying the kids.”

“Meaning you’re already pissed. Everyone else is.”

“Not really.” Kat’s lips fluttered into a smile “Your parties generally end that way though. You’re way too generous. I’ve noticed most people drink more than they bring.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way… Now what’s the problem with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Must be something. Not enough male bottoms to squeeze?”

“More than enough.”

“So?”

“I can’t stop thinking about work.”

“Well you should. Work isn’t the be all and end all, you know.”

“It is when it’s the only thing you’ve got. I’m worried Ibéricas might withdraw from the equation.”

“Ah! We’re talking Rafael?” Fran patted her hand. “He’s an absolute hunk isn’t he; though he can be a tartar. He phoned me the other day. I hadn’t realised you were dealing with him. You never mentioned it was our Rafael.”

“Our Rafael?”

“Our man of the moment.”

“He phoned you… about me?”

“Of course not, idiot. Why should he phone me about you?”

“How do you know Rafael?”

Francine propped her back against the wall against the wall. “Rafael, I’ve worked with him several times. He’s talking about using me to source models for a catwalk, back in Spain. He might want me to stage-manage the whole show.” She sat back thoughtfully. “I think that’s the way I want to go, a total package. What’s the new buzzword… turnkey? You know the thing.”

“You never told me you’d met.”

“Was I supposed to?” Francine eyed her curiously. “Is there something I should know?”

Fran was right, of course, there was no reason she should have mentioned it. Since Kat found Rafael was involved with Las Modas Ibéricas, he’d got inside her skin. She fiddled with the toy car. “Come on,” she said abruptly. “I’ll help you wash a few things. I know there must be stacks.”

Francine waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “And crap to that. There’s a dishwasher to handle dirty glasses.”

“I’ll help collect them.”

“Now this smacks of trying to steer the conversation away from where I want to go.”

“Of course, it isn’t.”

“Are you up to something with our Rafael? If you’ve got a yearning to fondle the inside-leg of his trousers, be warned; think shady characters. He can be decadent.”

“You sound like you have first-hand experience.”

Fran gave a laugh. “I’ll tell you some time!”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Come to think of it, you might just be the challenge he needs. You could be a match for him. You two could go well together.”

“Like gas and sparks, you mean?” Kat grimaced. “Boom!”

“It could be exciting. He’s very sexy.” Francine gave a wistful smile. “It could be endless exhilaration until the explosion. Just think. Unadulterated pleasure all the way then whoosh! Bits of excitement and sex splashed all over the place.”

“And bits of broken heart too. I’ve been down that road. I really don’t want it.”

“Are you sure? That’s the problem with us women, we’re pitiful creatures really. We persuade ourselves we want security; we tell everyone we’re looking for a nice little house and a nice safe partner; when what we really want is rip-roaring sex.

“Speak for yourself.”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love to have bodice-tearing pleasure all day. We want it on tap, twenty-four hours a day. We want to be too sore to walk. We crave exhilaration. You find me a woman who wouldn’t exchange every bit of her safe life, for dangerous, body-gutting decadence, and I’ll show you a liar.”

Kat screwed her nose. “Sometimes, Fran, you talk absolute garbage. Come on, I feel like doing things. Let’s get the washing collected and out of the way.”

“Forget that and dole the dirt.”

“There’s no dirt to dole. Come on, let’s tackle those glasses.”

Francine put her hand on Kat’s arm. “I’m going to change the subject before I forget. If you’re putting on a catwalk for this Ibéricas lot, I’d like to volunteer my services. I understand how to squeeze the titillating best out of things. Sex sells, you know. Forget explaining niceties to them. They aren’t interested in how clever you are. Show your stuff as raunchy, and you’ll sell. I’ve a few girls hoping to get on the books. They’ll do it for peanuts to get the experience. I might even show a leg myself.”

“I’d love you to. Thanks Fran. Mind you, Ibéricas have cooled, but if they want a show I’d be grateful for your input. I haven’t a clue how to go about it.”

“My pleasure.” Francine caught her hand. “Look Kat! If you’re getting tied into with this because you believe in it, fine. If you’re doing it to save your dad’s arse, then it isn’t. Don’t sell your soul to save his.”

Katrina glanced at her sharply. “It isn’t like that.”

“Isn’t it? Remember, you are important as well. If it’s for the right reasons, then give it everything. I’ll be right behind you. But I believe you spend too much of your time running after your father. You’re always doing what others want.”

“It isn’t like that. You’re wrong, Fran.”

“Well, whatever, I hope you’re careful, especially when dealing with the lascivious Rafael.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Take advice from an experienced woman. A sex-god Rafael might be, but don’t cross him. Be an indecent bitch, be a real strumpet if you like, but make sure you stay in control.”

“Come on.” Kat jumped to her feet. “Let’s see to those glasses.”

She threaded her way to the kitchen, politely smiling and nodding to friends and strangers alike. At one point she had to disengage herself from a man she barely recognized, who for some curious reason carried a spare glass of wine and insisted on her tasting it.

When she got to the kitchen, it was empty except her and Francine. She started to pile things into the dishwasher whilst Fran stacked glasses and side plates. Kat held a plate up between her thumb and forefinger as if contagious. “These are too grungy, they need a rinse first.”

“They’ll be all right. Shove them in.”

“It’ll be better if I rinse them.”

Francine shrugged. “As you wish.”

Kat dumped them into a bowl and filled it with hot water and squirted dishwashing detergent over. The dish mop made a satisfying swirl as she sloshed it in the soapy water. She didn’t see the need for a dishwasher; it was just as quick to do things by hand.

She stared out of the dark window. Was Fran right? She hadn’t wanted to drink the wine the man had pushed at her, but she had. Why? Did she really spend all her life doing what others wanted? The idea was preposterous. Surely she was her own woman, always had been, she just didn’t like upsetting people for no good reason.

Francine broke into her thoughts. “There isn’t another soul here who would dream of doing this, you know.”