Barbara Taylor Bradford - Hidden

Sasha was as petite and blonde as Claire was tall and exotic. She was one of the few female producers working on television commercials. In that world many men had mistaken her Barbie-Doll prettiness for softness or, worse, lack of intelligence. Few made that mistake twice.

‘Chicken soup from Gold’s Deli,’ Sasha announced, waving a shopping bag as she marched inside. ‘Better than Lemsip!’

Claire stood frozen in the doorway.

‘Where are we with Downton ?’ Sasha’s words trailed off as she entered the gallery and saw the flowers: vase after vase after vase.

Claire still hadn’t moved.

‘Dear God.’ The words came out in a whisper. ‘So many.’

Sasha turned back to her friend, fearing what she would see but knowing. ‘It must have been bad this time.’ Sasha tenderly examined her friend’s damaged face. ‘Very bad. Oh, Claire.’

‘I told you not to come.’ Claire fought back tears. She hurried past Sasha and into the gallery, trying to escape the worry she saw on her friend’s face.

‘Work again? He still wants you to give up your job, your career?’ Sasha didn’t wait for an answer.

‘He worries about me commuting,’ Claire murmured.

Sasha was following her. ‘Are you limping? Claire, you’re limping!’

‘It’s nothing. It was a small thing.’

‘A small thing ? You look like you’ve been through World War Three! What is wrong with him?’

Claire started to defend him, but stopped herself. She knew she was lying to Sasha – and to herself. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Please …’

‘Shhhhh.’ The words were muffled as Sasha sat on the arm of the chair and put her arms around her friend, stroking her hair with tenderness. ‘It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.’

They were both weeping now.

‘We have to find a way to stop him, Claire. We must . It’s getting worse. Each time, it’s worse.’

‘It’s just this Middle East thing he’s working on for the President! Things are out of control over there—’

Sasha cut her off, fighting to hide her frustration. ‘It’s not the Middle East, Claire! It’s him! Mark is the one who is out of control. And if we don’t find a way to stop him, one of these days he’s going to kill you!’

Dusk had its own strange colour in Connecticut during those first days of spring. After the grey winter, a pink haze began to steal over the gardens, promising better things ahead.

The two women sat side by side, trays on laps, watching the light show through the windows of the conservatory, which Claire had turned into a study. A vase, stuffed with two dozen pink and yellow roses, sat on the table that held a flat-screen television.

Claire used the remote to switch off the set. ‘Now that was really good,’ she sighed.

‘Which?’ Sasha asked. ‘Gold’s chicken soup or Lady Edith from Downton Abbey getting what was coming to her for gossiping about her sister?’

‘Both.’ Claire reached for her friend’s hand. ‘Thank you for staying with me.’

‘If you’d allow it, I’d stand guard over you with a shotgun until Mark leaves for Cairo.’

Claire looked out of the windows at the fading sunlight, desperate to change the subject. ‘Today is Deborah’s birthday. Twenty-one. Can you believe it?’

‘How could I forget? I’m her godmother.’ Sasha knew Claire so well, knew she needed a moment now, some space to think, so she didn’t press. But she was far from finished with the problem. ‘Have you spoken with our little musical genius yet?’ she asked.

‘She had classes all day, and then she and a friend have tickets to some big concert at the Albert Hall. I’ll call soon.’

‘What time is it in London?’

‘Four hours ahead. So I have time.’

‘Ah …’ Sasha moved so she could look at Claire. ‘I was just wondering. How would you handle it, if I told you someone was hurting Deborah?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Claire exclaimed.

Sasha fixed her with her laser-like gaze. ‘I don’t mean for real. What if someone was hurting her like Mark hurts you? What would you do?’

‘Don’t do this, Sasha. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Okay?’ Claire started to get out of the chair. ‘I just can’t.’

‘Don’t run away. We have to make a plan. Seriously Claire, we can’t do what we’ve been doing. We have to talk about this.’

‘Talk about what?’ The man’s voice was coming from the doorway. Neither woman moved.

Mark Saunders didn’t so much walk as glide into a room, bringing with him a heady mixture of good looks, charm and a certain danger that made him impossible to ignore. At forty-four, he still had the boyish blond looks that women love.

‘Hello, darling.’ He leaned down to kiss Claire, who was trying desperately to control her trembling.

‘Good grief, you look as if someone shot your dog. What’s going on?’ There was a smile on his face, but he was on full alert, taking the measure of the mood in the room. That was what he did for a living.

He turned his smile on Sasha. ‘You look beautiful, as always. How’s Jeff? How are the television ads? Still busy persuading the public to buy things they don’t need?’

Sasha held his blue eyes but did not return the smile. ‘I do what I can.’ She sipped her wine, not taking her gaze off Mark. ‘And Jeff is fine. I’ll tell him you were asking about him.’

Shooting her friend a pleading look, Claire was on her feet. ‘I thought you weren’t coming home till much later. I would have had dinner—’

‘Stop,’ he purred, putting an arm around her, the model of a devoted husband. ‘You’ll make Sasha think I keep you chained to the stove. So, Sasha, what is it you and Claire must talk about? I’m afraid I interrupted you two.’

‘Actually, you did,’ Sasha now returned his mega-smile with one of her own, equally charming and equally false. ‘I’m trying to persuade Claire to have this year’s Near and Far charity fund-raiser at Gilda, but the poor lamb is stuck in the past. She’s afraid people won’t want to drive home from the city late at night.’

Sasha put her wine glass down, and took Claire’s as well, so Mark would not notice that her friend’s hand was trembling. ‘Mark, convince your wife that just because we live in Connecticut, we don’t need a passport to cross the border into New York City.’

‘I wouldn’t try to convince Claire of anything.’ The tension in his jaw began to fade. ‘She’s a woman who knows her own mind.’

‘Oh Mark, I know now why you’re the star of Washington. Always the diplomat! Claire’s a lucky girl.’ She kissed her friend on the cheek gingerly so as not to hurt the bruises. ‘And, for Heaven’s sake, watch where you’re walking from now on. Mark, tell her! She walked into the door of the closet this morning, and look what it did to her face.’ Sasha made sure that Mark looked at each and every mark on Claire’s beautiful face.

‘My dear, how did that happen?’ he asked, sounding puzzled.

‘You know Claire. She has her head in the clouds and doesn’t see the danger around her,’ Sasha replied, keeping her voice even.

‘You know I’m clumsy.’ Claire managed to make her voice sound normal. She didn’t dare show Sasha how grateful she was for this little performance.

Mark put one of his perfectly manicured fingers on her cheek and traced the line of bruises. ‘This looks wicked. Poor girl. Sasha is right. You must take better care of yourself.’

‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’

Sasha looked Claire in the eye. ‘I’m going to hold you to that promise.’