Wild Justice

by Liz Fielding

  'Please, Arthur. No, wait.' She picked up a bar of chocolate from the display and grinned self-consciously as she handed over her money. 'I'm in need of a little comfort. This is the closest I'm likely to get.'

  'That would make a good name for a chocolate bar,' he said with grin, walking with her to the door. He nodded down at the pier. 'It's a grand sight these days,' he said.

  'Yes, it is.' Her father and Michael Harries had set up the Pier Trust, both of them working so hard to restore it. Grants, money raising concerts anything to raise the funds. After she had abandoned her fledgling film career, running home to lick her wounds in private, her father had dragged her along to help, refusing to allow her to hide away at home, moping.

  She still remembered the ache of hands and back from painting what had seemed like miles of wrought iron tracery. But the hard backbreaking work had given her a purpose to get out of bed each morning and when the local radio franchise had been announced it had seemed to her the obvious place for it to be.

  Visible to the entire town, a constant reminder that the pier was not just some museum piece to be grumbled over as a costly reminder of bygone days, but a living part of Broomhill Bay.

  Fizz and her father had often joked that they each supported the other. The rent the radio station paid to the Trust for the pavilion that had once housed the Winter Gardens was used to keep the pier in good repair. And the pier held up the radio station. But for how much longer?

  She turned to the newsagent. 'Can I ask you a question, Arthur?'

  'Fire away.'

  'If someone offered to pay you to employ a really good looking girl-'

  'Oh, yes?' he said, heavily sarcastic.

  'No, listen. Someone really glamorous, a girl that would bring men out of their way to buy the morning paper from your shop, just for the chance of a smile. What would your reaction be?'

  Arthur looked at her a little oddly. 'Pay me you say?'

  'Give you her salary and some more money for yourself.'

  'Why would anyone want to do that?' She raised her eyebrows and he shrugged. 'No one ever does anything for nothing, Fizz,' he said. 'I'd have to ask myself what he was up to. What was in it for him. Is that what you mean?'

  'Yes, Arthur. I rather think it is. Thank you.'

  Once inside, Fizz flung off the unaccustomed suit, filled the bath and submerged herself in the deep scented water. A shower would have warmed her just as efficiently, washed away the disquieting scent of Luke Devlin that seemed to have seeped into her very pores. But she needed more than that.

  She needed to rid herself of his touch with its skin prickling sensation of heightened awareness. And a bath was comforting. She needed that. She reached for the bar of chocolate, broke a piece off and let it slowly dissolve in her mouth. Not that she was in any real danger.

  It was obvious that the man was utterly wrapped up in Melanie Brett. And why not? It was easy to see how she had captured what passed for Luke Devlin's heart but she wasn't particularly keen on letting him use her radio station as a toy, a plaything for his lover. Not if she could help it.

  Of course she would like to have Melanie in Holiday Bay. But on her own terms. She broke off another piece of chocolate. If she could raise the money some other way, maybe she could.

  Later, warm but guilt-ridden at her self-indulgent chocolate binge, Fizz made some tea and carried it to her small desk set in the bow window overlooking the sea. Then she took a deep breath and reached for the telephone.

  'Julian? It's Felicity Beaumont.' She wasn't used to phoning men and asking them out so she didn't give herself time to flunk it. 'I'll be in London tomorrow and I wondered if we might have lunch?'

  Julian almost fell over himself to accept. 'I'd love to see you, Fizz. Any time.' He sounded so eager that she felt a complete heel. It wasn't that she didn't like him. She liked him very much. He was good looking, charming, had all the attributes any girl might seek in a partner. The trouble was she wasn't looking for a partner. She knew he liked her and it was unfair to use him like this, but life wasn't fair and she didn't want him to back out. 'Where would you like to go?' he asked.

  'Oh, it's my treat,' she said, quickly. 'But could you suggest somewhere? It's a while since I was in London.'

  He mentioned a restaurant that Claudia had been raving about and she winced. It was bound to be horrendously expensive. But information didn't come cheap. 'That sounds lovely. I'll book a table for about half past twelve, shall I?'

  'Great. Are you staying in town? I've got tickets for a new show.' He was like an eager puppy scenting a treat and she wasn't prepared to take the responsibility for raising Julian's hopes any further.

  'I'm not quite sure of my plans, Julian,' she said. 'Can I let you know tomorrow?' After lunch he might not want to speak to her ever again.

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  But when she walked into the restaurant at a little after twelve-thirty the next day Julian looked less like an eager puppy than a disgruntled basset hound. He rose to his feet as she approached the table, but his smile was perfunctory.

  'You've heard,' she said, without preamble, sinking into the seat the waiter held for her.

  'About the Harries takeover? Yes, I've heard. And I imagine this lunch is not because you wanted to see me, but because you wanted to talk about your loan.' He was stiff with hurt pride.

  'So, why didn't you telephone and cancel?'

  'I tried, but you had already left your office.'

  'Oh.' Then, 'Oh, do sit down, Julian, everyone's looking. We can have lunch surely? And if you insist I won't say a word about the takeover.' He sat, but with an ill grace. 'But you did say that I was to ring you, night or day, if I needed advice or help,' she reminded him. 'You appointed yourself my personal banker, remember?' She put her hand over his on the table and for a moment he stared at it. 'I'm asking for your help now.'

  'Then why didn't you tell me what you wanted when you phoned?'

  'I'm sorry. The truth is I wanted to see you face to face. It is important, Julian and if we get into trouble ... well, you did recommend acceptance of my proposals to your board.'

  'You mean it's my head on the block as well?'

  The idea did not seem to bother him much. But then he bore the same name as the bank, even if it was at some remove. Instead he surprised her with a sudden grin.

  'What if I pay for lunch and we forget business? Who knows, I might yet dazzle you with my wit, stun you with my charm, tempt you into bed with my winning smile -'

  'Your wit and charm are undeniable, Julian.'

  He turned his hand and grasped hers. 'Then come with me to the theatre tonight,' he urged. 'You can catch an early train back in the morning -'

  He'd missed out the bit in between. The important bit. 'Your wit and charm are undeniable, Julian,' she repeated, 'but I'm not so sure about your plan to tempt me with your winning smile.'

  'You've got to give a guy a chance.'

  'I can't think why.'

  'Well, forget the winning smile. I won't put a hand out of place if you'll come. Promise.'

  'That rather depends on your definition of "out of place",' she pointed out. 'And I'm staying with my sister tonight. She wants to talk.'

  'That won't take all evening.'

  He was right about that. When she had phoned to tell her sister she would be town, Claudia had been almost desperate for her to stay over so that they could have a long talk. But she had probably already forgotten and Julian deserved something for being treated so shabbily. 'All right, but I'll hold you to your promise to keep your hands to yourself.'

  'You do realise that tickets for this show are like gold dust? You've no idea what I could get the girls in the office to do for them.'

  'I've a fair idea,' she said. 'Perhaps, after all, you'd better save them for a rainy day.'

  'Actually I think I'd rather have your company even with the embargo on hands. Of course, if you should suddenly feel so overcome with gratitude that you change your mind
, just say the word.'

  'And what word is that, Julian?'

  For a moment their eyes locked and then Julian shook his head, releasing her fingers as he admitted defeat. 'I don't know who broke your heart, Fizz, but if you don't pick up the pieces and at least try to glue it back together he's won.'

  'Love isn't a contest, Julian. There are no winners or losers. And sex is no substitute.'

  'But it's fun,' he assured her, eagerly. 'Try it, you might like it.' It was odd how he reminded her of some soft little puppy. A golden Labrador.

  Luke Devlin on the other hand was pure Doberman.

  The waiter sensing a hiatus in the conversation stepped in. 'Are you ready to order, sir?'

  Julian ordered for them both and insisted on treating her to champagne, refusing to talk about business until they had eaten. Afterwards, as they warmed themselves on brandy she brought up the subject of the takeover again.

  'Look, Fizz, if you want to talk about rescheduling your loan I'm warning you now that you are wasting your time.' He sounded genuinely sorry.

  She tried to ignore the small cold spot in the pit of her stomach that the brandy couldn't seem to reach and invested her voice with good humoured banter.

  'Before you've even heard what I have to say?' He didn't answer. She tried a small laugh. 'Come on, Julian. You would have loaned Pavilion Radio twice as much when we originally came to you. Money in the bank you said.'

  'I know that.'

  'Three months delay starting repayments. Two even. It's not much to ask. With Melanie on board the advertisers will be begging us for air time.'

  'But you could have it all. Devlin's sponsorship and the advertising.'

  'Maybe I just don't trust my luck. Maybe I just don't trust him.'

  'I don't understand why. The guy's rock solid, gold-plated.'

  'I have this feeling. Nothing I can put my finger on.'

  'A gut reaction that there's something up?'

  'I was going to say feminine intuition, but I suppose gut reaction will do just as well.' But it was more complicated than that. She couldn't trust her own judgement where Luke Devlin was concerned.

  'It's human nature to distrust generosity from an unlikely source, something to do with having the story of the Trojan horse drummed into us at school, I expect. But the truth is, I can't help you, Fizz. When I realised why you were coming I made some tentative moves to reschedule. They were blocked. Your first repayment is due next Friday and the bank won't take no for an answer.'

  'You mean they had already decided? Before I even asked?'

  He shrugged. 'Harries were your major sponsor. It had to be a possibility that you'd come back to us.'

  'It's still a bit quick off the mark isn't it?' He didn't deny it. 'What is it? Does someone on your board fancy starting his own media empire at a knock-down price?'

  He stiffened. 'I couldn't say.' Back in his banker's hat, he was deeply affronted by such a suggestion. Perhaps she had gone a fraction over the mark, but she still couldn't believe what she was hearing.

  'Oh, come on, Julian, don't be pompous, it doesn't suit you. I wasn't really suggesting dirty work on high.' She hadn't expected Julian to leap with joy at the suggestion she reschedule the loan but although it was a lot of money to her, it must be peanuts to his bank; refusing to even discuss the possibility sounded, well, unusual.

  'I'm really sorry, Felicity. It's been lovely having lunch with you, but there's nothing I can do about the loan.'

  'At least you're being honest with me.'

  'Tempting as it is to try, I'm not stupid enough to think you'd fall into bed with me if I promised to help.' His smile reappeared. 'And I prefer not to have my eye blacked for suggesting it.'

  'Oh, Julian!' she declared, moved to laughter despite her worries.

  'Not all us City folk are as black as we're painted,' he said. And that, at least, gave her an opening to ask a favour.

  'There is one thing you can do for me. Nothing to do with money,' she added, quickly. 'Can you get me a full list of your directors?'

  'Why?'

  She didn't know. 'It's not a state secret, is it?'

  'We're a private bank, Fizz.'

  'And I'm a customer. It must be on record somewhere, surely?'

  'If you know where to look. Oh, what the heck. I'll get it for you and bring it when I meet you this evening. You are still coming to the theatre with me?'

  'Only if you're paying,' she said, as despite his protestations, she insisted on signing the credit card slip for lunch.

  *****

  Claudia was in a foul mood and made no effort to hide it. She never bothered to put on an act for her sister, Fizz knew her too well to be fooled, but even she was surprised by such an open display of temper.

  'The man is a vertically challenged jerk,' she declared, before Fizz had even drawn breath to ask what had upset her.

  'Who?' she asked, barely managing to suppress a sigh and she followed her sister into her sitting room. Whenever Claudia had problems, she never accepted that she might bear some of the responsibility, preferring to load the entire blame onto someone else's shoulders.

  'Who?' Claudia turned to face her, throwing her hands dramatically in the direction of the ceiling and groaned. 'Don't you ever listen? Sean Deveraux. That's who.'

  'Oh.' Sean Deveraux was the hottest thing in tight pants on the box, a cover pin up on every television magazine since a smouldering portrayal of Heathcliffe a few months earlier.

  Claudia had been drooling on about him ad nauseum since she'd landed a plum part starring with him in a bodice ripper designed to show his tanned torso to its best effect. He was a little too self-conscious in his manliness for Fizz's taste, but if he'd offended her sister, she pitied him.

  'You begin shooting in Spain in a couple of weeks, don't you?' She'd have to check the scheduling, make sure that the recordings for Holiday Bay were made before Claudia left the country. As if her life wasn't complicated enough at the moment.

  But Claudia was demanding her full attention. 'I was shooting in Spain with Sean-bloody-Deveraux as my leading man,' she said. 'He still is shooting in Spain. With someone else as his leading lady. Some totally unknown, talentless trollop he's fallen in bed with,' she said, claws at full stretch.

  'But he can't do that. What about your contract?'

  'There was a delay in signing. My agent wasn't quite happy with one or two of the details.' The defensive toss of the head spoke volumes. Claudia had probably been holding out until the last moment, hoping to squeeze a better deal when it was too late for the film company to change their minds. 'Do you know what excuse he made? Why he's insisting on a different leading lady?'

  'No.'

  But she was going to be told. At length, with all the actions and for that she would need the fortification of a strong cup of coffee. As she filled the kettle, Fizz grinned. Luke Devlin had described her own performance as melodramatic. If her sister ever stormed his office intent on making her opinion felt the man would discover the true meaning of the word.

  She quickly straightened her face as Claudia loomed in the doorway. 'He said ... he said ... I was too tall.'

  'Too tall?' Fizz frowned. 'But surely that's not a problem? Sean Deveraux's -'

  'You don't think so?' Claudia laughed, unpleasantly. 'Everyone thinks he's six foot two. It's in all the press handouts. But he's not an inch over five feet eleven. I swear it,' she proclaimed, angrily, as Fizz looked doubtful. 'He's just been lucky so far. He's had shrimps to play opposite. I'll bet they've scoured the casting books looking for short men, too, just to make him look good.'

  Then they had succeeded, but Fizz, who suspected there was more to the recasting than height, knew better than to say so. Claudia however, was waiting for some response.

  'Why doesn't he just stand on a box?' she suggested. Her sister stared at her. 'Or get the rest of the cast to stand in a trench?' Fizz enquired. 'Isn't that what they used to do in the good old days in Hollywood?'

&
nbsp; 'You're not taking this seriously, are you Fizz? Don't you understand? I've lost twelve weeks of filming work. I turned down other roles just so that I could do this. It was going to be really big, a chance to break into feature films.'

  She sat down quite suddenly on the kitchen stool and began to cry. Not noisy, unpleasant, eye reddening tears, but huge drops that rolled with controlled pathos down her cheeks and made one want to cry in sympathy. It was an effect she had used to stunning effect on many occasions and although Fizz should have been immune, she still found herself sniffing.

  'But surely everyone knew how tall you were when you were cast?'

  'Of course. It's just an excuse to get rid of me and get that woman on the set. Twelve weeks in sunny Spain, bonking at the expense of the production company.'

  Fizz hid her exasperation. The last time she had been home Claudia had declared Sean Deveraux to be gay. It was, after all, the only possible reason why any man she set her cap at could resist her. Female pride as well as the damage to her professional career was fuelling this outburst.

  'Oh, Claudia, look I am sorry, truly. But there'll be other parts. Better ones, you'll see. Everything happens for a reason.'

  'Well this happened because that little prick didn't want to be shown up for what he is.' She stood up as suddenly as she had collapsed on the stool and turned off her tears with equal facility. 'Oh, what do you know about it, Fizz? I can't expect you to understand. You've never understood, it's just a waste of time talking to you about the theatre.' She swept into her bedroom to check her reflection, repair the damage. 'All you're interested in is that stupid little radio station.' Satisfied with her appearance, she pulled a coat from the wardrobe. 'At least David will understand.'

  David Hart, a lovely man with a private income that allowed him to play at being an actor without having to worry about where the next meal was coming from, glowed in the reflected glory of Claudia's friendship and never failed to provide her with a sympathetic ear when she needed her ego massaged. She used him shamelessly. And he loved it.

  Now, having apparently forgotten that she had begged Fizz to stay overnight so that they could have a good long talk, she waved in the direction of the kitchen.