The Forgotten Sister Read online

  I gasped, loud enough to catch his attention. He turned to me. ‘Rest easy, Amy,’ he said, with a tired smile, ‘for Robert is quite well.’

  He had assumed, unsurprisingly, that my concern had been for my husband. I caught his sleeve. ‘Your grace—’

  He was anxious to be gone like all men are when they have resolved upon war, but he turned back to me courteously enough. ‘You mentioned Sawston?’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ the Duke said. ‘The Princess had taken refuge at Sawston Hall but she was long gone when Robert arrived.’ His expression hardened slightly. ‘It seems Huddleston got her away to safety.’ I saw something change in his eyes as he remembered my connection to the place. There was pity in them now. ‘I have no news of your family,’ he said quietly. ‘I am sorry.’ Then: ‘Robert ransacked the hall and burned it to the ground.’

  I do not know how long I stood there staring at him, then I ran from the room, regardless of all those watching eyes, and just managed to stumble into the privy before I was sick with the little that was left in my stomach.

  Chapter 11

  Lizzie: Present Day

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Bill froze the frame on the picture of Lizzie supporting Dudley out of the nightclub, stumbling into a taxi together like a couple of drunks. ‘Talk me through it,’ he added, his tone deceptively soft. ‘Talk me through your thought processes here so that I can understand why it was a good idea for you and Dudley to be seen out in the early hours going home together from a club two days after his wife had died?’

  Lizzie didn’t say anything. She hated it when Bill was in one of his viciously sarcastic moods. It didn’t happen often; usually Bill was too aware of her value to him to let rip at her but she had seen the way he treated other people and had cringed. Today though she was his target and Kat wasn’t helping her at all, her face turned away from Lizzie as she scrolled through her phone messages, making the point that Lizzie had let them both down.

  ‘Well?’ Bill snapped. He had summoned her to his office that afternoon rather than come to her. Her career was definitely on the slide.

  ‘Dudley was upset,’ she said expressionlessly. ‘He rang me in tears and I went to fetch him home. He’s all over the place at the moment and needs a friend. Besides, I wanted to ask him something urgently—’

  Bill interrupted her before she had a chance to finish. ‘You know what the news sites are saying?’ He waved a hand towards the screen again. ‘That you comforted him with a night of torrid passion.’ He glared at her. ‘For fuck’s sake, Lizzie—’

  ‘He slept on the sofa,’ Lizzie said. ‘Not that it’s your business—’

  ‘It is my business,’ Bill corrected her, ‘because I look after your business, Lizzie. You won’t be surprised to hear that Life Changers have cancelled today’s event and dropped you from their campaign. You don’t fit the sort of image they want to project any more. And I had a couple of other charity events lined up for you but they’ve fallen through as well.’

  ‘It’s not my fault that people see scandal where none exists,’ Lizzie argued hotly. Her overriding emotion was hurt that people were so quick to think badly of her, but she knew that in the hothouse of celebrity, public opinion and mood could turn so quickly. There had always been people who hadn’t believed she and Dudley were just friends and now they had fuel for their fire. And it hadn’t even been worth it; Dudley had been as drunk as a skunk and when she’d finally got through to him that Johnny had disappeared he’d mumbled something rude and gone back to sleep. Only a very late message from Arthur via the front desk had reassured her that Johnny was finally home and safe. Arthur had left his number and she had immediately programmed it into her phone, feeling a bit like a teenager with a crush.

  ‘I’ve pulled you out of Stars of the Dance,’ Bill said now. ‘There was enough shit flying around before this happened, but now—’

  ‘You’ve done what?’ Lizzie sat bolt upright on the slippery leather sofa. ‘You had no right!’

  ‘They would have booed you off the floor,’ Bill said brutally, ‘and I doubt you could have taken that. You need to be loved, Lizzie. You can’t cope with rejection. Don’t worry – I’ve talked to Alessandro, told him it was for your own good. He understands.’

  Lizzie gaped at him like a stranded fish. There was so much in what Bill had just said, some of it too accurate for comfort, some of it breathtakingly arrogant, all of it objectionable, that she didn’t know where to start. On one point Bill was absolutely right, though. Three days had been all it had taken to transform her from celebrity sweetheart into toxic property and some of that was her own fault. If only she hadn’t gone to rescue Dudley.

  ‘You don’t want to look at Twitter, Lizzie,’ Kat said, not looking up from the screen herself. ‘Some of these comments are vicious.’

  ‘You’re your own worst enemy, Lizzie,’ Bill said heavily. ‘I don’t understand you.’ He brought his fist crashing down on the desk, making Kat drop her phone. ‘You’re headstrong, just like your father. Or perhaps it’s bad judgement. I don’t know. But you go too far and you don’t seem to care.’

  There was a long, appalled silence. Lizzie could feel the colour draining from her face and the angry tears burning her eyes.

  ‘Bill,’ Kat whispered. She was staring from one of them to the other, making no effort to retrieve her phone.

  ‘Never,’ Lizzie said, her voice shaking, ‘ever, compare me to my father, Bill.’

  Bill, apparently tone deaf to the atmosphere, merely shrugged. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘so I suppose you’re not a drunk or a druggie—’

  ‘Nor do I treat people like shit or send my young child away to school until I decide I want to exploit her as a child star,’ Lizzie said.

  Bill’s laptop pinged with a notification, breaking the tense silence. ‘Dodo Strange has landed the role of Elle in Legally Blonde for the new tour,’ he said.

  ‘Hooray for Dodo,’ Lizzie said. She’d really wanted that part. It was over a year since she’d done any singing because Bill had pushed her presenting career so hard. She missed the music.

  ‘Don’t be downcast, babes,’ Kat hurried into the breach. ‘You know how things go around. Everyone will have forgotten Amelia Lester in a few weeks’ time once the funeral is over. Besides, you’re a grafter; people know that and they love you for it. Throw yourself into your work and forget about everything else. You’ve still got Musical World and the travel dating show coming up in a few months—’

  ‘Musical World has been postponed,’ Bill said heavily.

  ‘I’d rather change direction anyway,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m sick of all this presenting stuff. I want to write and record some music of my own like I used to do.’

  That was if she could remember how to play the piano. It was so long since she had touched it, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the lid had sealed shut. But the idea had already taken strong root; she wanted desperately to escape the life that had been carved out for her. When she had wrested control of her career back from her father it had all been about the music, the singing and the songwriting. It had been fun. That was before Bill had told her that TV was the way to go and she’d allowed him to guide her. She felt a sudden, huge nostalgia for the way life had been, the way it was surely meant to be.

  ‘You can’t go and hide away, hon,’ Kat objected. ‘People will believe you really are guilty if you do that! Besides, if you write and record you could be gone for over a year. Everyone will forget about you!’

  ‘That,’ Lizzie said, ‘sounds idyllic.’ She jumped up, suddenly energised. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Bill!’ Kat appealed to him. She struggled to her feet, knocking her phone to the floor in her agitation. ‘Say something! Stop her!’

  But Bill wasn’t saying anything. He had a thoughtful look in his eyes, the sort of expression that Lizzie knew from long experience meant that he was planning something.

  ‘It might be a good idea,’ he said slowly. ‘Put it abo
ut that Lizzie has gone into a sort of exile, that she’s writing a collection of songs about love, loss and heartbreak, inspired by everything that’s happened. It would make her appear penitent…’

  ‘If you do that, I’ll deny it,’ Lizzie said flatly. ‘I’ve nothing to be penitent about. I’m going away because I want to write music and for no other reason.’

  Bill ran an exasperated hand through his hair. ‘How about you take a holiday instead? A couple of weeks in the Seychelles, some photo opportunities of you alone, reading, walking on the beach, looking sad and soulful. Hell, you could even pretend to be composing on the hotel piano—’

  Lizzie felt a hot rush of fury. ‘I am going to compose,’ she said.

  ‘You haven’t written anything for over three years,’ Bill said. ‘Your future doesn’t lie in that direction, Lizzie. We agreed.’

  ‘No.’ Lizzie was astonished to realise that she was so outraged she couldn’t catch her breath. ‘We didn’t agree. I don’t remember anyone asking me what I thought. You told me that TV and presenting was the way to go and for a while I did agree with you, but now—’

  ‘What?’ Bill roared, making them both jump. ‘Now you’ve fucked it all up through your own stupidity so you’ve decided you’re a singer/songwriter after all? Lizzie, you’ve got a nice enough voice but you were in a second-rate girl band and your songwriting will never amount to much. You’re about as good a pianist as someone down the pub. You had a lucky break, that’s all, because your father had some influence in show business and was able to give you a start. But don’t think you got this far through talent and don’t throw the TV stuff away because you’re pissed off with everyone hating you! Kat’s right – they’ll forget about it soon. You just have to play the game. Hell, the celebrity magazines will all be calling for you and Dudley to get together in a few months, as though none of this had ever happened.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m doing it,’ Lizzie said, trying to keep a grip on her temper. Bill always exaggerated when he was angry; she was used to it although it always stung. ‘I want to write music, Bill. I want to do something different. And,’ she added, ‘I don’t want to get together with Dudley so don’t even think about lining that up as a publicity stunt for the future. It makes me feel sick.’

  Bill strode across the room – sending the papers fluttering from his desk with the violence of his passing – and came to stand in front of her, arms crossed, legs braced apart, intimidation in every line of his body.

  ‘You’re such a princess, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘You have no idea how hard I work to line up all this stuff for you and now you’re talking about throwing it all in. And the idea of you going off on your own somewhere to write is insane. You wouldn’t last a moment. You can’t cook. You haven’t driven for years. I don’t know where you’re planning to go but there probably won’t even be a mobile signal. You can’t organise yourself out of a paper bag and you’ll come running back begging for help.’

  Lizzie heard Kat give a little gasp. She was shocked too, completely taken aback by Bill’s harshness. He was often irritable and on a short fuse but he had seldom tried to bully her in so transparent a manner and she hadn’t realised that he held her in quite such contempt. There was a very long silence.

  ‘Well,’ Lizzie said, meeting his eyes, ‘thank you for making your opinion so clear, Bill.’

  Bill’s gaze fell first. ‘I apologise if I sounded unsympathetic—’

  Lizzie brushed the pseudo-apology aside. ‘It’s been a stressful time,’ she said. She took a deliberate step back and watched as he unfolded his arms and softened his stance. ‘We’ll all benefit from a break from each other,’ she added pleasantly. ‘And thank you for your concern, but I’m sure I’ll cope fine, wherever I go. I hate all this metropolitan shit about everywhere but London being stuck in the dark ages.’

  ‘But everywhere outside London is so boring,’ Kat wailed. ‘I’ll hate it! Can’t we go abroad? Or—’ she spun round, gesturing to Bill, trying to draw him in to support her, ‘let Bill find you a house in the country with staff, so you can concentrate on the music. Somewhere other celebs hang out, like the Cotswolds, where we won’t feel too isolated and there’ll still be plenty of stuff to put on social media.’

  Lizzie felt a flash of irritation at Kat’s assumption she would come too. How had she failed to notice before how tightly the tentacles of Kat and Bill’s control had wrapped about her life? Yet she knew she had been happy enough to go along with their ideas when it suited her and to let Kat organise everything. She had been very self-absorbed.

  ‘I don’t want to hang out with celebrities,’ she said firmly. ‘I want a change. You don’t need to come with me, Kat,’ she added. ‘It’s about time you took a break too, isn’t it? You’ve been working so hard. We’re all exhausted, as this morning proves.’

  There was a silence. Kat was looking hurt; she hadn’t been taken in by Lizzie’s attempt to parcel her dismissal as concern. Bill was uncharacteristically quiet too, simmering, Lizzie thought, but for once keeping his temper.

  ‘Well,’ he said, after a strained moment, ‘if that’s what you want. Keep in touch, wherever you go, and good luck with the songwriting. Let me know if the police call and you need the lawyers again.’

  Lizzie ignored the heavy sarcasm and gave him a polite smile. ‘Thanks, Bill.’

  ‘Call me, sweetie.’ Kat had evidently decided to forgive her too. Neither she nor Bill moved. It was as though they were daring her to walk out on them, Lizzie thought, as though they were certain she couldn’t do it. For one long, terrified moment she wasn’t sure she could. She’d relied on them for so long. The silence stretched and then she heard the sound of voices and the clatter of a door in the office outside and it broke the spell. She walked over to the door and went out, closing it softly behind her.

  There was a taxi waiting outside; there was always a taxi waiting at Bill’s offices. The driver recognised her and greeted her with a smile which warmed Lizzie’s bruised heart a little.

  ‘You all right, Miss Kingdom?’ he asked, looking at her in the mirror as he pulled out into the traffic. ‘You look a bit pale.’

  ‘I’m good thanks, Gary,’ Lizzie lied. ‘How are you? Did you and your wife enjoy the long weekend in France?’

  ‘It rained all the time,’ Gary said without a hint of regret. ‘It was great to get away, though.’ He looked at her again. ‘You should try it. Looks like you could do with a holiday. I’m sorry about all the stuff they’re saying about you at the moment. They haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Thanks, Gary,’ Lizzie said again. She looked out of the window. London in October matched her mood, at least on this particular day. The pavements were wind-scoured and the trees looked bare and fading. The sky was pewter grey. Dull.

  Depressing. She felt the dark shadow breathing down her neck like a stalker.

  She wondered what Bill and Kat were saying about her. It was almost as though she could hear them: she would change her mind because she was so flighty, she wasn’t strong enough to go it alone, it would all come to nothing and tomorrow they could go back to how things had been and pretend this tantrum of hers had never happened…

  Or perhaps they weren’t talking about her at all. Perhaps she had become so self-obsessed in her celebrity bubble that she assumed she was more important than she really was.

  The taxi stopped at traffic lights and someone thrust a camera phone towards the window. The flash went off, making Lizzie blink, waking her from her absorption. A family was crossing the road ahead all wrapped up against the chill in woolly hats and padded jackets, the children’s gloved hands clutching those of their parents. They were laughing as the leaves tumbled about them and a fine drizzle of rain started to fall.

  The taxi pulled up outside her flat and Lizzie paid it off with thanks and went inside, from one protected cocoon to another. There was no one in the foyer and no one in the lift. The quiet seemed deathly, the flat a tomb. With a sigh Lizzie went thro
ugh to her bedroom and started to pull a suitcase out of her wardrobe. It was one of the heavy-duty ones that she used for overseas trips and it caught on the corner of her shoe rack and tumbled half a dozen pairs to the floor. The scent of her favourite perfume caught at her senses as the racks of clothes shifted and whispered together. There would be no need of those gala and premiere dresses for a while.

  It was like sloughing off an identity. She picked up a random pile of T-shirts and jeans and threw them into the case. Then the enormity of what she was doing hit her like a blow and she crumpled to sit down rather heavily on the floor. Where the hell was she going to go? She knew loads of people and she was sure most of them would welcome her with open arms but they weren’t proper friends, they were business acquaintances or other celebs or just people she knew… She didn’t trust any of them not to run to the press with the sort of story Bill had talked about: Lizzie Kingdom running away, Lizzie Kingdom having a breakdown, Lizzie Kingdom stricken with remorse… She felt like crying. Her mood teetered on the edge of self-pity and she wanted to give up the whole stupid plan and go back to all the things that were easy and familiar. Bill had been right. She had no grit, no sticking power.

  She opened the wardrobe and groped through all the party dresses for the one that hung at the back, a nineteen fifties dress in cream, splashed with a pattern of red roses. It had belonged to her grandmother, Jocelyn; Lizzie had seen a photograph of her wearing it to her graduation, smiling proudly as she was introduced to the Queen Mother. She had looked like a film star.

  Lizzie’s fingers brushed the stiff cotton of the dress. Now, more than ever, she needed the comfort these familiar objects could give her. She closed her eyes. The images came: Her grandmother with her college friends, their excitement and pride as fizzy as the champagne in the glasses in their hands. Jocelyn’s emotions were hers too, the dizzy sense of achievement and the idea of limitless possibilities for the future.