George watched Susie slowly exit the kitchen before reaching for the envelope. He held it in his hands for several moments before forcing himself to snap open the top. He took a deep shuddery breath, pulled the contents out, and made himself look.
His head instantly filled with the roar of white noise. They were a thousand times worse than Michael had let on. George closed his eyes for a moment, ordering himself to breathe and then forced himself to open his eyes again. He stared in horror at the image in front of him, before placing it with shaking hands on the table. He then focused on the next. And then the next. Each picture was worse, more heart-wrenchingly damning than the one before.
They were all now laid out before him. He sat and stared. Not able to believe this could possibly be happening. He needed to be sensible here. This couldn’t be. But he wanted to scream longer and harder than he had ever screamed before and he didn’t know that he’d ever stop.
‘George?’ Susie said from the doorway.
No. Not now. He couldn’t see her now. He gulped and quickly started to gather the images up and put them back in the envelope. He needed time to get his head around things.
But he hadn’t been quick enough. She was at the table and picking up the one remaining picture his shaking hands had struggled to grasp. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then made himself look at her, to watch her reaction. She looked confused, which told him nothing. And now she looked horrified, but that could mean anything.
Susie couldn’t believe what she appeared to be seeing. It made no sense. It wasn’t real. She knew that. So why was …?
‘Show me,’ she said, her voice grating over a now bone-dry throat.
George made no sign of moving, so she snatched the envelope from his hands and emptied its contents onto the table. She grabbed at the images, spreading them out before her, her movements becoming more and more frenzied. Image after image showed a man and woman in varying stages of sex.
‘This makes no sense,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘These aren’t real. How could they …? Why would anyone …? Where did they come from?’
‘Michael. He’s trying to stop them running in tomorrow’s tabloids.’
The way George spoke made Susie look up. There was no inflection. His voice was completely toneless. She’d never heard it like that before. Rather than reverberating so pleasurably through her, it stabbed.
‘But George. These aren’t real. You know that. Rob and I have never—’
‘They are dated the Friday before last.’ She needed him to stop speaking that way. It was so alien. ‘The day I got back from Canterbury.’
She let the relief flood through her. ‘Well, there you go.’
‘The times on the pictures range from sixteen forty-six to sixteen fifty-nine.’
Susie covered her mouth as nausea swept through her. He believed them! He was sat with his head in his hands and his fists clenched so tightly in his hair, his knuckles were white. She shook her head frantically. ‘These aren’t real, George.’
‘I know we hadn’t made love at that point so perhaps you didn’t think it mattered, but—’
‘George! I have never slept with Rob. He’s like a brother to me! I was with no man for three years before you! I was already in love with you, for God’s sake. Look at me, George. Look at me!’
He very slowly raised his eyes to meet her gaze – dull, lifeless – and they were … soul destroying. He turned away and Susie swallowed the bile that had reached the back of her throat. ‘I didn’t do this. You have to believe me. Tell me you believe me.’
There was a pause before he spoke. ‘You’ve caught me at a bad moment …’
But he should believe her, unequivocally! He had to believe her! ‘Why don’t you believe me?’ she cried desperately.
George moved his chair back, its feet scraping noisily along the hard floor. ‘I need to sort this out with Michael … stop them going to press.’ He stood and began walking to the door.
Susie clutched at the table for support. This couldn’t be happening. She’d done nothing wrong. Loss, desolation, betrayal. ‘You can’t walk out of here, George. You can’t walk away from this. We need to find out why someone would do this. I didn’t do it. I love you!’
He paused in the doorway of the kitchen. There was a flicker of something in his eyes before he turned away.
Susie stood rooted to the spot, listening to the front door open, a mass of voices and shouting and then the door closing behind him. She didn’t bother reaching for a chair. She let herself slip down onto the cold marble floor.
My dearest Freddie,
Wake me up please, I beg of you! For this must be my worst nightmare. I know not what else it can be. But a moment ago, I was so blissfully happy – betrothed to the one who owns my heart, feeling like a fairy tale princess upon his arm – and now it is as if my being has been ripped into two.
Mr Richard Barratt is the brother of my dearest friends and, with our having grown up in close proximity, a brother to me, too.
Whatever wicked gossip your sister has heard, it is simply that. Should you need proof, then name a day, a time, a place, and I shall duly account for all my actions. But I implore you to remember, Freddie – this is me, Hannah. Your Hannah and I have to believe that your faith in me is as strong as my faith in you and your words were only a momentary aberration. I have always believed in you, in spite of Miss Prudence Argylle’s ongoing public comments.
I have remained true to you, Freddie. I could never not be, I swear.
Forever yours,
Hannah
Chapter Twenty-Four
Susie wasn’t quite sure how long she sat on the floor, but she had finally managed to make herself move, find her mobile and put a call into Rachael. She now sat at the table staring unseeingly at the images before her.
‘Suse? Suse? Where are you? There you are. We came as soon as we could.’
Susie slowly looked up from the table to take in Rachael, Cassie and Rob. She determined to remain in control.
‘Guys … there may be a little problem on Susie and George’s cloud nine and …’ Her voice broke and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recover herself. Hugging herself tightly, she finally managed to beg on a sob, ‘You have to help me.’
‘They’re not running it,’ Michael finally said, hanging up the phone on his desk. George let out the breath he’d been holding and immediately stood. It had taken far too long to sort things out. He glanced at his watch: 9.00 p.m. The whole day had gone, but he’d had to stop the story. He couldn’t have Susie go through that.
‘What are you going to do?’ Michael asked.
‘Beg for forgiveness,’ George replied, crossing the room.
He knew the images weren’t real. His gut had told him that from the start. When Michael first mentioned it on the phone, he’d not for one moment considered there to be any truth to the story. Then he worried only about its impact on Susie should the pictures hit the press. It was seeing the images that rocked his world. Susie in the arms of another. Real or not. He’d lost all sense and reason.
‘I may have stopped the story, but you can’t still trust her after—?’ Michael cut his words short at George’s furious look.
Oh he could trust her. Did trust her. One hundred per cent. He just prayed he could restore her faith in him. It was the images that had rendered him temporarily … He’d never experienced anything like it before! He’d scared even himself with whatever was raging through him. It was beyond fury. He hadn’t trusted himself to be around Susie. Certainly hadn’t wanted her to see him like that.
And it had had to be ‘Rob’. He’d kept seeing his hands all over her on the dance floor. He clenched his fists now and took a deep breath. He’d only just regained control. He was not going to lose it afresh.
He had to make
things right. He couldn’t damned well live without her.
‘Porsche Sutter-Blythe – welcome!’
George froze in the doorway.
Michael had evidently turned on the television.
George’s stomach nosedived. It was Sunday night and Porsche’s turn on The Jonathan James Show. He should be with Susie! She should not be listening to Porsche on her own.
He frantically went through his options. But even leaving now, driving like a bat out of hell, Susie was going to be watching this without him. He’d totally screwed things up. How the hell had he let this happen? He heard the words, ‘Well how fantastic do you think he is, Porsche?’
He had no choice. He walked back into Michael’s office and prepared for the worst.
Susie sat on the edge of one of the sofas in George’s television room, arms and legs crossed. She knew she was sitting defensively, but they were lucky she was sat there at all.
Watching Porsche Sutter-Blythe was the last thing she needed. She needed George. She needed this whole nightmare to be over. She bit her lip, willing herself not to give in to the urge to roll herself up into a ball and bawl her eyes out. That was another reason she was determinedly sat in her current position.
Rachael, Cassie and Rob were presently sat around the room on sofas and beanbags, with bowls of popcorn and peanuts on hand, as if it were movie night. But they were making her uneasy, even with everything else going on in her head. Despite their efforts at appearing casual, they kept exchanging glances, and Rachael and Cassie were currently whispering urgently to each other on the sofa they shared. At least Cassie was now sat and not pacing around with her phone to her ear, partaking in sometimes heated conversations, as she’d been for much of the time since her arrival. Rachael momentarily raised her voice enough for Susie to overhear. ‘They have to be stopped! You were right, okay. You were right! They don’t just have the motives, they’re acting on them! And what if the protection isn’t enough? You’d have thought our not being involved would be an obstacle, but it’s still repeating. There must be—’
And it wasn’t just this. They hadn’t seemed surprised at all when Susie had finally recovered enough control to relay what had happened between her and George. And she would never forget that look that had appeared on their faces. They had almost looked … haunted. Or at least Rachael and Cassie had. Rob had simply looked horrified. Once they’d recovered themselves, they’d then proceeded to dismiss all of her concerns about what had happened. They were confident George would return home with his tail between his legs, begging for forgiveness. That it was just the shock of it. That he was without doubt, a ‘complete toss-pot for ever believing it. No matter what’s going down here’ (Rachael) and ‘a fuckwit of a brother. How could he fall for it all over again? And if he doesn’t start returning my calls he’ll have hell to pay!’ (Cassie). But they were confident he would come to his senses. Overly confident, she’d thought. Almost smugly so. Although that wasn’t quite the right word because they didn’t seem at all happy about it. It made no sense.
Susie narrowed her eyes at Rachael and Cassie now. They were up to something. As long as it didn’t involve her, she was fine. But she had a horrible feeling it did.
Despite their presence, Susie had never felt so alone. And it wasn’t the paranoia. It was George. She gulped hard. Without him, she was … It was pitiful.
And she didn’t know how to make things right. She could attempt to account for her whereabouts at the given time; Rachael and Rob would support her and she’d certainly made enough of a scene in the dry-cleaners for their shop assistants to remember her.
But what if he didn’t give her a chance? What if he still didn’t believe her? And most significantly – why did she have to? He should have believed her. It felt like betrayal … and loss. And her brain was screaming. Had she lost him? She crossed her arms tighter around herself in the hope of providing some physical comfort. He wasn’t around to zap the sensations! He was, predictably, their cause.
She shouldn’t still be here. ‘Guys, I’d like to leave,’ she said for the umpteenth time. She wasn’t strong enough to hear George’s voice like that again or see that soul-destroying blankness in his eyes.
Rachael diverted her attention from Cassie. ‘Suse, we’ve gone through all this. You’re over reacting. He will be back. Trust me on that one. And anyway,’ Rachael nodded her head in the direction of the door. ‘Tom, Dick and Harry won’t let you. Not without them. There’s truck-loads of press out there.’
The theme music for The Jonathan James Show blared out of the giant flat screen television making Susie jump violently.
She instinctively hugged herself yet tighter. How could George leave her to deal with Porsche’s venom alone?
‘Let’s just watch this and then talk again, okay? And don’t look so worried. Remember, whatever she says you take with a sack full of salt. But you need to see it, to be prepared. It’s all part of their sick game and …’
Susie tuned out Rachael’s words. Rachael kept asserting Porsche and Michael were baddies, no doubt behind the photos, and that, whatever Susie might one day remember, she and Cassie were the good guys. Conversations with Rachael were getting even more nonsensical these days. She’d braved asking for more on Michael, breaking her cardinal rule about never asking Rachael for an explanation. Someone had manufactured those pictures and when she thought of her adverse reaction to the man, and his conversation with her on the bus …
‘He’s a baddie. They don’t get any worse. Do not trust him! And Porsche is one, too. If you ever encounter them – run. Seriously, Suse – run. But not towards water, okay. Never towards water!’ That’s what Rachael had said, refusing to elaborate. Susie had known her rule was there for a reason.
When it came to Porsche … Susie already knew Porsche was ‘a baddie’; she wanted George. She reckoned the woman was in love with him. She saw the way she looked at him. And then there were her words in the newspaper. And the horse! The horse was all down to Porsche. Not her. She refused to blame herself for that little incident. She’d have been absolutely fine if Porsche hadn’t turned up to gloat.
As audience applause sounded, Susie tentatively focused on the screen and wished she hadn’t. Porsche was dressed to kill in a miniscule red dress and matching killer heels. She had legs up to her armpits. The wolf whistles were not surprising and all of Susie’s insecurities came flooding back. How could she ever compete with that? And George was a man. A full-blooded man at that.
Susie caught an appreciative sound from Rob, sprawled out on the beanbag in front of her. She so wasn’t in the mood. She shot him a look that would have made the one given to Joseph Robinson on the coach appear angelic. She’d have kicked him, viciously too, if she hadn’t needed to uncross her legs to do so, severely threatening her physical composure. She was comforted a little as a cushion, thrown by Rachael, hurtled across the room to hit him hard in the face.
‘How are you liking England?’
‘Well it’s cold … but you people are just soo warm and friendly.’
Blurgh! Susie’s disgust was shared throughout the room.
‘You are here filming Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth, the female lead of course, to George Silbury’s Darcy.’
Audience clapping and whistling. Susie’s stomach lurched at the mention of George’s name. Oh God, she missed him. She missed him so much. How could things have gone so wrong? This time last night she was on his arm, feeling precious … whole. Now … The next question sounded.
‘We had him on the show a couple of weeks ago. A sensational show I must say and a fantastic guy. Great to have him back in the country. How fantastic do you think he is, Porsche?’
‘Oh. My. God,’ from Rachael.
‘Not good. Not good at all,’ from Cassie.
Rob shifted his position to sit up, with his back against the sofa.
‘This is going to be … interesting,’ he murmured, turning to shoot a worried glance Susie’s way.
Susie shut her eyes and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. She had a really, really bad feeling about this.
When she opened them, Porsche was playing the audience, raising her eyebrows before returning her attention to the host. ‘Fantastically fantastic of course!’ And the floozy actually leant forward to touch his knee … and Jonathan James grinned like a Cheshire cat.
‘So how did you take being dumped, Porsche?’
Ooooooo from the audience.
‘No. No. No!’ from Cassie.
‘Flaming hell!’ from Rachael.
Susie felt sick.
‘I’m sorry?’ from Porsche.
‘Well, George dumping you for one of our own.’
Rachael groaned into her hands.
Cassie cried, ‘He’s got to stop provoking her. He can’t do this!’
Rob let out a low whistle.
Susie silently wept.
Porsche cackled.
‘Well, hasn’t he?’
‘I really don’t think it would be appropriate to talk about our personal lives, Jonathan.’
Emphasis on ‘our’ Susie noted on a painful gulp.
‘George didn’t seem to mind.’
Cackle. Cackle. Cackle. ‘You’re forgetting, Jonathan, that we are actors. We make films and our contracts ensure we promote them. We do so in a number of ways. Some clearly more imaginative than others. George currently has a number of films out which he’s promoting over here in England and …’
Oooooooh from the audience.
‘Bitch!’ from around the room.
Susie closed her eyes. She hadn’t thought of that. Why hadn’t she thought of that? That would explain so much.
George leapt up from his seat in Michael’s office over-turning the chair in the process. He snatched the nearest thing at hand – a mug – and hurled it at the wall. Flakes of plaster flew as it shattered.
Romancing the Soul Page 26
