Angel

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  When he finished the first song the response was deafening.

  Inclining his head, graciously accepting their accolades, he then held up his hand for silence and went straight into the next number. After doing two more with back-up singers he took the microphone and came down to the edge of the stage.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to the audience when the last round of applause died away. ‘It’s great to be here with you tonight.’ There was a short pause. Walking at a rapid pace along the edge of the stage he did not stop until he was immediately in front of Nell and Rosie.

  Staring out at the audience, he murmured into the mike, ‘This one’s for my lady,’ and looking directly at her he blew her a kiss.

  Rosie smiled up at him.

  The audience went wild for a few seconds. After he lifted his arm and began to hum, a hushed silence descended on the arena. Swaying to the music of the orchestra, he dropped his head, still humming, and when he finally lifted his eyes he focused them on her. His voice rang out, pure and clear, as he began to sing Lost Inside of You.

  He sang only to her and only for her.

  Sitting there watching him, listening to him, Rosie could not help but admire him as a great entertainer. And she also finally understood something else: just how truly serious Johnny was about her, how intent he was on possessing her; and completely; for always. Her heart tightened imperceptibly; a sharp sliver of fear pierced it. It dawned on her that he was obsessed with her. And to Rosie any kind of obsession was terrifying.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Morning sunlight streamed in through the huge plate-glass windows. It bounced off the stark white walls, the steel-and-glass furniture, and the collection of glass, marble and metal obelisks arranged on the glass-and-chrome étagère.

  Everything in the large dining room of the rented Trump Tower apartment shimmered and glittered, and Gavin was beginning to find this insistent brilliant light irritating.

  Pushing himself up from the chair, he went over to the wide expanse of windows at the far end of the room, intending to close the blinds. But he did not. For a brief moment he stood looking out at the skyline of Manhattan, momentarily awed by the extraordinary view. It was dazzling, really. There was nothing like it anywhere in the world. He knew that. The architecture of Manhattan boggled the mind; he thought it was beautiful. Anyway, it was his town.

  The dining room was situated on the Fifth Avenue side of the large apartment, and now, as he stood there at the windows, he was looking across Sixth, Seventh, Eighth and Ninth Avenues, all the way to the West Side and the Hudson river. Beyond the skyscrapers gleaming in the bright blue sky, the river looked like a sheet of silver stretching for miles.

  He blinked in the glare of the light and tugged on the metal string; the vertical blinds whooshed across the glass, instantly dimming the room, making it more comfortable.

  Back at the dining room table he flipped quickly through the New York Times, read Frank Rich’s review of a new Broadway play, turned to the movie section and then put the paper down as the phone jangled behind him.

  Rising, he strode across the floor to the white-lacquered sideboard and picked it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Gavin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Louise.’

  ‘I know.’ He glanced at his watch and frowned. It was nine o’clock. ‘You sound as if you’re just around the corner.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the Pierre Hotel.’

  ‘And where’s David?’

  ‘At home. In California—’

  ‘Louise, you know I don’t like us both to be away,’ he cut in. ‘I thought we’d agreed about that.’

  ‘We did. It’s all right. My sister’s staying for a few days, and anyway he has a nanny, let’s not forget that. We also have a housekeeper, a house man and a cook living in. He’s fine. Don’t worry so much.’

  Gavin sighed. ‘What’re you doing in New York?’

  ‘I came to see you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have done that on the phone?’

  ‘Not really, I came in last night. And I’m leaving later today.’

  ‘Going to Washington, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘No, Gavin, I’m not. I’m going back to the coast. Because you don’t like us both to be away from David at the same time,’ she pointed out, an edge creeping into her voice.

  ‘When do you want to meet?’ he asked.

  ‘How about in an hour?’

  ‘Okay. Will you come here?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine. I’ll see you at ten.’

  He stood listening to the dial tone; she had hung up on him. Grimacing at the receiver, he replaced it and returned to the table. Gulping down the last of his coffee, he crossed the marble-clad hall and headed in the direction of the bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, this was decorated with a great abundance of modern furniture, which he loathed, and there was so much white he was beginning to dislike that colour intensely.

  Glancing around, he muttered under his breath, ‘This place is driving me nuts,’ and went through into the white marble bathroom. After he had shaved, he slipped off his robe, took a shower, washed his hair, and stepped out of the stall, groping for a towel.

  Fifteen minutes later Gavin was dressed in dark grey slacks, a white shirt and dark navy blazer, heading in the direction of the small library.

  Here he sat down at the desk and made several phone calls about his trip to France; then he sat back and dialled his lawyer Ben Stanley, at home in Bel-Air.

  ‘No need to say rise and shine to you, Ben,’ he chortled down the phone when the lawyer answered on the second ring. ‘Like all the good guys in la-la land, you were up at the crack of dawn, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘Hey, Gavin, how’re you doing back there in my favourite city, my old home town?’

  ‘Pretty good, Ben. Postproduction’s finally finished on Kingmaker, and the picture looks great. You’re going to love it. My group left a few days ago for London, and we’ll be moving into Billancourt Studios in about a week.’

  ‘When are you going to Paris?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Ben, listen. I called you because Louise is in New York. She just phoned me. She’s coming over soon, says she wants to talk to me. I’m sure it’s about a divorce.’

  ‘I agree. Be careful what you say, Gavin, and don’t promise her anything, don’t make any commitments. If she’s got a lawyer, which you can be damned sure she has, tell her to tell him to be in touch with me. Remember, you’ve stayed in that marriage because of your child. Don’t blow it now.’

  ‘I won’t. And I’ll get back to you as soon as she leaves. In the meantime, I’ll be staying at the Ritz in Paris, as usual, and you know where to reach me during the day.’

  ‘I have the Billancourt numbers. Your secretary faxed everything to the office yesterday.’

  ‘Whoops, that’s the intercom from downstairs. I gotta go, Ben. Talk to you shortly.’

  ‘Be careful, Gavin.’

  ‘I will.’

  They said goodbye, hung up, and Gavin grabbed the intercom phone. He told security to send Mrs Ambrose up immediately.

  ***

  Louise had put on weight. It was very obvious. But this made her look much better. She was pale, nevertheless, and had dark rings under her eyes. Gavin couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her private life. He took her coat, laid it on the hall bench without saying a word. She was silent also.

  Ushering her into the living room, Gavin finally spoke. ‘Can I get you anything? There’s coffee in the kitchen.’

  She shook her head and sat down on the sofa.

  Gavin took a chair facing her.

  ‘What do you want to talk to me about, Louise?’

  Hesitating for a moment, she cleared her throat nervously and shifted on the sofa, adjusted the skirt of her suit.

  Gavin was aware that she was suddenly nervo
us, and so he said, ‘Come on, Louise, I’m not going to bite. I’m not really the ogre you’ve made me out to be these last few years.’

  ‘I want a divorce,’ she blurted out, staring at him, twisting her hands in her lap.

  ‘Okay. You can have one.’

  ‘Just like that? No arguments?’ She sounded surprised and a look of puzzlement flickered on her face.

  Smiling at her, Gavin said, ‘No arguments.’ He paused for effect. ‘But quite a few conditions.’

  ‘And what are they? To do with money, I suspect.’

  ‘No, I’m not going to discuss money with you, or community property, or anything like that, Louise. Our lawyers will deal with those things. My conditions are to do with our child.’

  ‘I expected you to pull David right into the middle of this situation,’ she snapped.

  ‘Then it won’t come as any surprise to you that I want him.’

  ‘You can’t have him!’ She sounded shrill; her face twisted in annoyance.

  ‘I’ll have joint custody, Louise, and with your agreement. Otherwise, no divorce.’

  ‘Were you a bastard when I married you, or have you just become one since you became a big star?’

  ‘Oh, Louise, here we go again! For God’s sake, stop being bitchy with me. You want a divorce. You fly to New York. You come here cap in hand, and then you start making nasty cracks. That’s no way to get what you want.’

  She sighed and leaned back against the sofa, studying him through her ice-cold pale-blue eyes. Deep down she was filled with hatred for him.

  Gavin stared back at her and laughed quietly. ‘I know you’re having an affair with Allan Turner, and that you wish to marry him. So come on, be reasonable.’

  When she did not answer, merely glanced at him, he continued: ‘I guess you’ll be living in Washington. That’s all right, since I have every intention of moving back to the East Coast, once this new movie’s in the can. That’s not a difficult commute for me. Or for David, for that matter. And incidentally, when do you plan to pick up stakes in California and move to DC?’

  ‘I never said I was moving to Washington!’ Louise exclaimed.

  ‘But you are,’ he asserted.

  Biting her lip, realizing there was no point in procrastinating, or lying, she nodded. ‘Yes, I will be. But not yet.’

  ‘Have you looked into schools for David?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of that. There are very good private schools down there, and there’ll be no problems getting him placed.’

  ‘Aside from wanting joint custody, what are your other conditions?’

  ‘Are you agreeing to joint custody?’

  Louise did not answer him. She glanced away, and then brought her eyes back to his. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m agreeing.’

  Gavin breathed a sigh of relief. ‘The other conditions are that he spends at least two major school vacations with me, either winter or summer. And that you do not prevent me from taking him out of the country for those vacations.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Does that mean you are agreeing to these two other conditions?’ Gavin asked, wanting to be absolutely clear on everything.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Community property has to be split down the middle, Gavin. That’s the law. What else are you giving me?’

  ‘Child support, obviously. But I told you, you must talk about finances to Ben Stanley. Or rather, your lawyer must do that. You do have a lawyer, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay then, so it’s settled,’ Gavin said.

  ‘It’s settled.’

  Gavin stood up. ‘I still don’t understand why you made the trip. We could have had this discussion on the phone.’

  Louise shrugged as she got to her feet. ‘I always believe in doing things face to face. It’s a point of honour with me.’

  He started to walk out of the room, deciding not to comment. He didn’t want a row with her; he just wanted her to leave now that the discussion was over.

  Louise followed him swiftly.

  In the foyer she said, ‘So, when are you going to Paris to start Napoleon and Josephine?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Then I just made it in time, didn’t I?’

  Without a word Gavin lifted her sable coat from the bench and helped her into it. He stared at her intently. After a moment, he said in a kind voice, ‘We went through a lot of emotional stress, you and I, when we were younger. In fact, we went through a lot together, really. I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Louise.’

  Gavin sighed, and there was regret in his voice when he repeated, ‘Yes, I’m sorry. For both of us, actually. We’ve wasted a lot of good years of our lives that shouldn’t have been wasted. But at least David hasn’t suffered. And I want to be certain he doesn’t. Let’s try to be amicable about the divorce, Louise. Please. For David’s sake.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said and opened the front door, stepped out to the elevator. Turning her head, she announced quietly, ‘I loved you, you know. And God knows, I wanted it to work. But our marriage didn’t stand a chance, because you never loved me, Gavin. Never. You only married me because I was pregnant.’

  ‘Louise, I—’

  ‘Please don’t deny it. I’ve always known, ever since that awful tragedy with the first baby, that you’d never be mine, that you’d never commit to me. Not when your passion lay elsewhere.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, momentarily baffled. ‘Are you talking about my acting?’

  ‘If you don’t know what I’m referring to, then I’m not going to tell you, Gavin Ambrose.’ Surprising herself and him, she reached up, kissed him on the cheek. ‘So long,’ she murmured, and there was no rancour in her voice when she added, ‘I’ll see you in court.’

  The elevator door opened and she stepped inside, and Gavin noticed again that she looked plumper than he had seen her in years. As he walked back into the apartment it hit him like a bolt of lightning. Louise was pregnant. No doubt about it. Love her though he did not, he nevertheless knew her very well after all these years. Louise would not have another man’s child without being married to him. Certainly not after what happened with their first baby. Besides, she more than likely loved Allan Turner. They were well suited. No wonder she had been so co-operative, had agreed to everything about David. Obviously, she was in a hurry to marry her senator.

  So be it, he thought. He wanted his freedom now. Just as much as she wanted hers.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Henri de Montfleurie had never presumed to understand women, finding them too complicated to fathom. However, he was a man blessed with insight and an understanding heart, and he did know when someone, be it a man or a woman, was in distress.

  And tonight he was well aware that Rosie, whom he loved like a daughter, was troubled. It showed in the paleness of her face, her unusual quietness, and in her distracted manner. Several times she had asked him to repeat something he had said only a split second before. He knew she had not been listening, had been far away, thinking of something else entirely.

  Henri was sitting with Rosie in the small red-and-green library in her apartment having an aperitif before going out to dinner. He and Kyra had come to Paris for a few days on family business; at the moment Kyra was visiting an aunt. Later she would go to Le Vieux Bistro on the rue du Cloître-Notre-Dame, where they were to meet her at eight-thirty.

  Having talked to Rosie about her beloved Montfleurie, and answered her questions about the staff, Lisette and Yvonne, Henri said, ‘I understand from Hervé that your divorce should be final in September.’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘I’m so glad, Rosie. It’s time now for you to be free, to get on with your life. It pains me when I think of all the wasted years and—’

  He stopped as the phone shrilled.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Rosie said and went to answer it. ‘Oh hello, Fanny dear,’ she mu
rmured into the receiver. ‘No, it’s all right. Just explain the problem to me as quickly as possible. Hopefully, I’ll be able to solve it. Otherwise it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.’ She stood with her ear pressed to the phone, listening attentively to her assistant at the other end of the line.

  Henri went to refill his glass with whisky, then strolled over to the window and glanced out. It was almost the end of March and a blustery night. A sudden gust of wind rattled the window panes and there was a crack of thunder in the distance that sounded like gunfire. A bad storm was brewing. This thought had no sooner entered his mind than heavy raindrops began to splash against the glass. He turned away, shivering slightly, and made his way back to the warmth of the fire.

  Taking the same chair, he sipped his drink and thought about Rosie. What he wanted for her was—happiness, the kind he had with Kyra. He wished he could give it to Rosie, just hand it to her, but he couldn’t. Only one man could give her the joy and contentment she deserved. Unfortunately, she didn’t know that; perhaps the man didn’t either. Henri sighed. Rosie was so blind to her feelings. If she were more in touch with them she might have made a move in the right direction years ago. Oh, the complexities of the human heart.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, putting the phone down. ‘There’s always a problem with the costumes.’

  ‘Come and sit here with me, Rosie. I want to talk to you about something. Something important.’

  She hurried to join him, and he was pleased to see that he now had her full attention.

  ‘Is something wrong, Henri? You sound worried.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘You.’

  She had settled back in the chair and picked up her drink. But now she put it down again on the small side table. Leaning forward, her arms on her knees, her attention was riveted on him. ‘Why are you worried about me?’

  ‘Because I love you like my own child. You don’t look at all well, Rosie. You’ve lost a lot of weight, your face is drawn, pinched almost, and your colour is quite awful—you’re ashen. But these physical manifestations of your problems are the least of it. Ever since I arrived this evening you’ve been a little edgy, preoccupied, lost in thought. You seem depressed, which is most unlike you. It’s not in your nature to be gloomy. In short, you are troubled, my dear, terribly troubled, I’d say.’