by Susan Lewis
‘We need to get this sorted out, Laurie.’
‘I know, Mum, and we will. I’ll call you back when I’ve had a chance to decide.’
‘There’s not just the church, there’re the tables at the reception …’
‘Mum, I can’t give you an answer now, because I don’t know what flowers I want. So I’ll call you back, OK?’ and before her mother could say any more she clicked off the line and began digging around in her bag for her keys. It was too much, just too much, trying to organize this wedding, move into a new apartment, uncover some monstrous human-smuggling chain, and work out how to find and rescue a group of helpless young women without getting them killed in the process. She was going to go mad – either that, or no, she was just going to go mad.
‘Hi! Anyone home?’ she called out as she let herself into the luxurious converted-warehouse apartment.
‘Over here,’ Elliot responded, from where he was putting together a coffee table in front of the wall of windows that looked out over the river and Tower Bridge.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked, dropping her bag and retying her hair as she picked a path through all the boxes.
‘Sure, why wouldn’t it be?’ he retorted.
Biting back a sarcastic response, she said, ‘We need to get some of this cleared up before everyone comes tonight. That looks good,’ she added, as he stood back to survey his handiwork.
She waited for him to look at her, but he didn’t. ‘So, anything happen while I was out?’ she asked.
‘Not especially,’ he replied, starting to clear up the tools he’d been using.
Dragging her eyes away, she looked up at the railings of the mezzanine where a workman was applying a second coat of stain. ‘Any messages?’ she asked Elliot.
‘They’re on the pad.’
Going to the large, glass-topped counter that was between the brand new Poggenpohl kitchen and Radiata pine bar, she checked the list, decided everyone could wait, then went to start sorting out some of the boxes. The fact that he hadn’t asked anything about her interview with the Indian girl was beginning to rankle, but she was prepared to wait, maybe it would be forthcoming at some point in the next hour or so.
Silence prevailed for at least another ten minutes, by which time the workman had gone and so had her patience. ‘I hope your mood’s going to improve by the time everyone gets here,’ she commented tartly. ‘If you go on scowling like that you’ll scare them all away.’
Elliot’s dark eyes flicked in her direction. She was dragging a heavy box across the designer-cracked concrete floor towards the entrance hall, where a door opened either side into each of their studies.
‘Don’t bother to help,’ she told him. ‘I can manage.’
Lifting a box onto the bar, he started to break open the sealing tape.
A moment later she reappeared from her study and stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Her blonde hair was tumbling out of its knot again, her lovely face was flushed red with anger. ‘That,’ she snapped, pointing to the room in the opposite corner, ‘is yours. I’ll leave you to sort it out.’
Still he made no comment, merely continued unravelling the bubble wrap that was protecting the glasses, while gazing blindly at nothing.
Wanting desperately to slap him, she somehow managed not to, and looked round for something else she could move without his help. Spotting a plastic sack full of pillows that needed to go up to the mezzanine, which would soon be a luxurious master suite, she grabbed it in both arms and started up the spiral staircase. It was time to get ready for the evening anyway, so she’d stay up there, out of harm’s way, or another furious row was certain to break out, and they’d had enough of them lately.
Dumping the pillows on the queen-sized mattress that was currently serving as their bed, she kicked aside a pile of clothes and stomped into the bathroom. It was childish to cry, but who cared? She was tired, stressed, and sorely tempted to walk out of this dream apartment right now and leave him to deal with the whole sodding mountain of moving in himself.
‘Bastard,’ she seethed into the mirror. ‘You could try a bit harder to be helpful,’ she screamed out loud. ‘It’s your bloody apartment too. And your wedding, in case you’d forgotten.’
Silence from downstairs.
Struggling hard with the urge to go and fling something deadly down on his head, she cupped her hands under the cold tap and splashed water on her face. She’d calm down in a minute, she just needed to breathe deeply, dab her face with a towel, and concentrate on something soothing and peaceful and totally unrelated to the nightmare her life was turning into. The trouble was, no matter where she went in her mind, all roads seemed to lead back to the monster downstairs, whose long silences and moodiness these last few weeks was driving her crazy. Though she knew what was behind it, she was finding it increasingly hard to be understanding or sympathetic. Right now, in fact, she was feeling a good deal closer to murderous than selflessly supportive.
Snatching the band out of her hair, she began to undress. A shower might help, and a full-strength Martini followed by a nice, mellowing trip into marijuana nirvana, if anyone was thoughtful enough to bring some along.
Starting to relax at the mere thought of imminent rescue, she was on the point of running the water when she heard the phone. Immediately she stiffened. Don’t let it be my mother. Pleeeease don’t let it be my mother.
‘It’s Sherry,’ Elliot shouted.
Untold relief. ‘Tell her I’ll call back. Is she still coming tonight?’
‘Yes. She wants to know if we need anything?’
‘You mean apart from marriage guidance, or boxing gloves?’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Ask her to pick up some salsa and chips from the Mexican deli she told me about. And anything else she thinks we might like.’
She listened to him relaying the message, and felt annoyed by how pleasant he was to Sherry. He even managed to laugh at something she said, which was considerably more than he’d managed for her these past few days. After hearing the phone go down she turned the power jets on full. Thank God Sherry was coming tonight, she usually managed to put everyone in a good mood, and Chris Gallagher would be there too, one of Elliot’s favourite people since he’d been involved in the Phraxos scandal that was still, in spite of the investigation being over, dominating Elliot’s life, so with any luck the evening could turn out well. On second thoughts, the last thing she wanted was Elliot dwelling on that blasted scandal any more than he already was. And where was her head about Sherry? Only an hour ago Rhona had called to inform her that Sherry was hurt she hadn’t been invited to bring a guest to the wedding, so Sherry was hardly going to be in a good mood with her either. At the time of Rhona’s call Laurie had uttered a few catty remarks that she deeply regretted now, for Sherry certainly didn’t deserve them. Though, in her own defence, Laurie had to point out that since she’d never seen Sherry with a man, and since Sherry hadn’t mentioned a word about wanting to bring someone, it was hardly surprising she hadn’t thought to add the option.
‘I’m sure she understands that,’ Rhona had said. ‘I think it was just the reminder there was no-one that hurt.’
‘Jesus Christ, if I have to consider the petty sensitivities of every bloody person who’s being invited to this wedding I’m going to end up in the nut house,’ Laurie had cried.
‘I know it’s nerves talking, so I’ll forget you said that,’ Rhona responded. ‘She’s not making a fuss … This is just me …’
‘OK. OK. So what do you want me to do?’
‘Actually, nothing. I shouldn’t even have brought it up, so let’s change the subject.’
They had, but Sherry’s call just now was making Laurie feel guilty all over again, because the truth was, she had thought of putting ‘Sherry + guest’ and had decided not to, mainly because it had seemed almost spiteful when she knew very well that Sherry didn’t have anyone to bring. Now it appeared that no matter what she’d decided she’d been destined
to hurt Sherry’s feelings, which was the last thing she wanted when she was so fond of Sherry – in fact much fonder of Sherry than she was of certain other people she could mention right now!
Feeling the water starting to massage at least some of the tension from her shoulders she closed her eyes and continued to think about Sherry, who, she and Rhona had often agreed, was a bit of an enigma, for as much as they genuinely liked her, and had welcomed her into their lives, they knew very little about her. Of course, Sherry was always saying that there was nothing to know, just that she’d grown up in the States, had moved back to England seven years ago, after her parents died, and now her only family was an aunt living in Somerset. The rest, i.e. her career, where she lived and who her friends were, was an open book that made rather dull reading, she’d quip, and her love life was much the same, except it had no story at all. But apparently there had been a man, because she’d once mentioned him to Rhona. It was someone she’d been quite serious about, she’d said, until they’d broken up, which had been around the time she’d left LA. He was a journalist, by all accounts, whom she’d met while he was in California covering a story. Rhona couldn’t remember his name, and Laurie hadn’t liked to ask, since Sherry had never mentioned him to her.
Finding her thoughts moving on to Sherry’s wonderfully poetic way of seeing the world and the people in it, Laurie’s eyes started to shine with irony, for she felt very far from anything even remotely as romantic as a Puccini aria, or morning sunshine streaming through trees. However, thinking of Sherry and her unique way of connecting people to places, art, nature, music, food, or whatever came to her mind, almost always had a calming effect. She really was an unusual person, and had added a whole new dimension to their group of friends since she’d moved into the flat next door to Rhona.
Abruptly remembering that there was a good chance she’d be moving in next door to Sherry if things didn’t start improving with Elliot, she quickly rinsed off her hair and reached for the conditioner. She’d stayed with Rhona once before when life had become intolerable with Elliot, so she could always do it again, and God knew the prospect of having fun with Rhona and Sherry was a lot more appealing right now than having to put up with Elliot’s silences and her mother’s hysteria for the next eight weeks.
Stepping out of the shower she wrapped a towel round her hair, and grabbed another as she wandered back into the bedroom where she glanced over the railing to see what was going on below. There was no sign of Elliot and she wondered with a moment’s unease if he’d gone out. He’d done that a few times lately, not saying where he was going, or when he’d be back – nor was she entirely sure where he went, though she guessed it was to his office. Hearing his voice she realized he must be on the phone in his study, so she carried on with what she was doing and tried not to read anything into the fact that he’d taken the phone out of earshot. It probably had nothing to do with being secretive, just that there was something on his computer that he needed for the call.
A few minutes later she heard him coming up the stairs. Immediately she turned her back so she wouldn’t have to look at him. OK, she wasn’t helping matters behaving this way, but for God’s sake, he wasn’t the only one round here who was all stressed out over the happy day, nor was it her damned fault that things had turned out the way they had with the Phraxos business.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
His voice was both gruff and tender, and feeling an instant melting of hostility she turned to face him. Then she loved him completely, for he’d read her mind and brought her up a Martini. ‘Me too,’ she said, taking the drink. She looked up into his shadowy face, so austere yet reassuringly familiar that her heart caught on another wave of love.
‘It’s not you,’ he told her.
‘I know.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘At least, I hope not.’
A flash of impatience showed in his eyes, then was gone. ‘You know what it’s about,’ he said.
After sipping her drink she put it down on the box that was serving as a nightstand, and looked at him again. ‘You have to let it go,’ she told him gently. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it, and you’re becoming obsessive.’
‘If you don’t have anything more helpful to say than that, say nothing,’ he retorted tersely.
‘Elliot, you didn’t have a choice,’ she cried. ‘As governments they’re infinitely more powerful than you, and you have to accept that.’
‘I took the money. They bought my silence.’
‘Then give the damned money back, if that’s how you feel. But you still won’t be able to tell the story, so stop doing this to yourself.’
His face was paling as the anger that was never far from the surface lately started to return. ‘OK, I’ll just forget the fact that certain individuals in both the British and American governments are actively involved in promoting war on innocent peoples …’
‘It’s not as simple as that!’
‘… for the sole purpose of making the defence industries even richer than they already are, and grabbing as much oil, or minerals, or territory for themselves as they can, and I’ll concentrate instead on this ludicrous circus of a wedding that you’re dragging me into. In the grand order of things I guess it comes above genocide and wholesale corruption.’
Laurie’s mouth was open. ‘How dare you?’ she seethed. ‘You bastard! No-one’s forcing you into this, least of all me, and if you think it’s all so bloody ludicrous, then why don’t you just call the whole damned thing off?’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘That’s it!’ she raged, slamming down the towel. ‘I’ve had enough. I can’t take any more of you. I’m calling my mother now.’ Grabbing the phone she started to dial.
‘Stop it! Stop!’ he barked, snatching the receiver from her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I just …’ He put the phone down. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.
Still shaking she stooped to pick up the towel. As she started to walk away he turned her back and pulled her into his arms.
‘I shouldn’t be taking this out on you,’ he said. ‘I know it’s not your fault, and you deserve better.’
Putting her arms around him she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I understand why you’re angry,’ she replied. ‘I am too.’ She looked up at him. ‘Everyone is who worked on the story, but there’s nothing more we can do.’
He gazed long into her eyes, clearly wanting to vent more anger, but in the end, all he said was, ‘What time is everyone arriving?’
‘In about half an hour. I should dry my hair and start preparing some food.’
He nodded and let her go. ‘I’ll take a shower, then I need to call Max.’
As he went into the bathroom Laurie sat down on the floor in front of a mirror that was propped up against the wall and began to brush out her hair. She was bothered by how often he was calling Max lately, for Max was the American journalist he’d worked closely with on the Phraxos affair. She just hoped they weren’t cooking up some way of thwarting the agreement they’d made with the British and US secret services not to reveal what they’d learned, because she didn’t even want to think about what the consequences might be to them personally, never mind everyone else, if they did.
An hour later everyone had arrived, including Chris Gallagher and Rachel Hendon who’d driven up from Cornwall that morning. It was largely because of Chris and Rachel that Laurie was cooking pasta at home, for the attention the couple received when out in public was as intolerable as the snide comments that frequently appeared in the press the following day, about the ‘surprisingly short time’ it had taken Rachel to get over the untimely death of her Cabinet Minister husband, and how ‘very accommodating’ it had been of Chris’s wife, a fairly well-known actress, to meet with a fatal accident a mere few months after. The insinuations were clear, even if the accusations weren’t.
‘You look fantastic,’ Laurie commented, as Rachel wandered into the kitchen to join her, her short
, shaggy dark hair framing her face in a way that made her seem much younger, and more frivolous, than she actually was – rather more like the TV news producer she’d been before marrying Tim Hendon. ‘Motherhood definitely agrees with you. How is the love of my life?’
‘Adorable – and loud!’ Rachel replied, cocking an eyebrow.
Laurie grinned. ‘Is he six months yet?’
‘Almost, and already trying to walk. I’ve left him at my sister’s tonight. Much like his father, he’ll enjoy all the female attention.’
Laurie continued to smile. It was good to hear Rachel talking about Charlie’s father in such a natural way, though Laurie knew that she was still far from over the terrible tragedy of his murder, and the investigation that had followed, for it had totally torn her life apart. It was how she and Laurie had become friends, since Laurie had helped to uncover the truth behind the murder.
‘So how are things going with you and Chris?’ she asked Rachel, pouring more wine into their glasses.
‘OK, I think,’ Rachel answered with a smile. ‘We’re still taking it slowly, but he’s wonderful with Charlie, and we’re spending so much time at his house, down in Cornwall, that I’m thinking of renting out my little cottage.’
‘You’ll always have takers in us,’ Laurie commented, beginning the hunt for a garlic press. ‘So how long are you going to be in London this time?’
‘Chris is arranging an exhibition of Andraya Sorrantos’s paintings so it could be a while.’
‘Is this an artist I should have heard of?’ Laurie asked.
‘She’s Brazilian and her work is amazing, if you like that sort of thing, which both Chris and I do. She’s arriving next week, from Rio, staying in an apartment belonging to the Brazilian Embassy, then we’ll probably take her down to Cornwall for a quick weekend’s break before things really hot up.’
‘Lucky her,’ Laurie commented, glancing over to where Elliot and Chris were standing in front of the picture windows quietly talking. ‘I could do with a spell in Cornwall myself right now,’ she said. ‘Elliot’s really uptight. He can’t let go of the Phraxos story. He’s desperate to get it out there.’