Wicked Beauty

by Susan Lewis

  ‘We’ve been wondering how you managed to sort everything out,’ she said, leaning towards him and shouting to make herself heard.

  He looked surprised, as if not quite sure what she meant, then his eyes showed humour as he registered. ‘Oh you mean the Coventry thing,’ he said.

  ‘How did you do it? What did you say?’

  His eyes were still full of laughter, but for a fleeting moment they seemed to penetrate hers in a way that she found almost disturbing. ‘I gave them my word,’ he said, ‘that their secret would be safe with you.’

  She frowned. ‘What secret?’

  His face lit up. ‘You see, that’s how safe it is, and how easy it’ll be for me to keep my word. So don’t let me down, OK?’

  Shaking her head and laughing, since now was hardly the time to go into it, she turned back to her seat, and was just sitting down, when Zac began calling for quiet.

  ‘OK, we’re going to perform a new song of mine now,’ he announced, as everyone turned to listen. His youthfully handsome features and tousled curly hair appeared more romantic than ever in the candlelight that was flickering along with the dimmed overhead lights, and the sound of his voice, Rachel knew, was going to melt every female heart in the room, for the simple reason that it always did.

  ‘He looks like Rufus Sewell, don’t you think?’ Laurie whispered, as he leaned over to talk to Chris Gallagher.

  Rachel’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Yes,’ she said, wondering why she hadn’t noticed it before. ‘Younger, but yes he does.’

  Laurie took a sip of her drink, then said, ‘Did you ask Chris Gallagher how he got everyone over their problems?’

  ‘I did, though I didn’t exactly get an answer. I’ll tell you later.’

  Zac was talking again. ‘Right, well, what’s going to happen,’ he said into the microphone, ‘is Chris is going to sing, and me and Jake are going to be the backers.’

  ‘No! We want you to sing!’ his sister shouted.

  ‘See! That’s what I told him,’ Chris cried, throwing out his hands.

  ‘No, he does it better,’ Zac insisted.

  There were more cries of support and protest, until finally Zac just began strumming the opening bars, and kept going until Chris gave up and followed, at which point Jake started a gentle shake of the maracas. When everyone had settled down, the opening refrain really began, with a few seductive moments of golden-toned guitar, before Chris’s voice came in as a low, almost baritone accompaniment, that gradually asserted itself in such a smooth and melodic way that Rachel could feel the air starting to slow in her lungs. Laurie’s lips parted in surprise, as she too felt herself responding to the hypnotic cadence of the tone as it turned the beauty of Zac’s lyrics into something truly magical.

  The song was all about trying to make a woman understand that her heart was with the wrong man, and by the second time the chorus came round some were starting to join in.

  ‘“Can’t you see that it’s over?”’ they sang, ‘“He doesn’t want you any more; and though I know how much you’re hurting, I want you to know, that I’ll never go, no, I’ll never go. I’ll be here for you always; I’ll never cheat or lie; I’ll only love you, my darling, so please don’t keep telling me goodbye.”’

  At the end Chris’s voice reached such a pitch of emotion that Laurie found herself wondering if, like her, he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with unrequited love.

  For her part Rachel was more than ready for the song to end; it was simply too harrowing for her, in her present state, though she readily and warmly joined in with the applause and cheers, for there was no denying the song’s beauty, or the singer’s talent. And it seemed to know no end, because Chris and Zac were soon singing more of Zac’s compositions, livelier and much less tragic than the first, which then yielded to cover versions of old favourites by the Beatles, the Stones, the Back Street Boys, and even Madonna. Since most could sing along to those, the place was soon rocking, and it wasn’t long before Nick pulled his wife, Jenny, to her feet to start the dancing.

  Old Tom Drummond was Laurie’s first partner, while Rachel was claimed by Jake, and Beanie gave up on the curmudgeonly Vince Tucker to go and jive with Pinkie. In the end, it wasn’t clear who was dancing with whom, there were so many on their feet, and having got fed up with the way Pinkie was so cockily strutting his stuff with Beanie, Vince had now shuffled in front of her and was dodging about as though he were a goalie trying to stop her from scoring.

  It wasn’t far off midnight by the time the music finally ended, and those who were still up flopped breathlessly back in their seats. Then spotting the nearly full moon outside, Nick shouted an invitation to anyone who felt like taking a stroll on the beach.

  ‘Well, that’s romantic, innit?’ Jenny remarked. ‘Asking everyone else to come too.’

  Nick looked chastened, until Chris Gallagher put an arm round his shoulders and said, ‘Count me in. And these two,’ he added, nodding towards Laurie and Rachel.

  ‘No, Vince! I’m not going!’ Beanie declared hotly. ‘You’ll only try getting saucy with me, and I’ll have none of it!’ Everyone burst out laughing at the look of utter bewilderment that crossed Vince Tucker’s face, before, realizing what was happening, he coloured to the roots of his few strands of hair.

  A few minutes later, Rachel and Laurie were following the others down past the old winch house and on to the pebble beach. The moon was thinly veiled by a cloud now, though its glossy white reflection shimmered across the waves and gave enough light to see the fishing boats, listing gently to one side as though resting, and the huge black outlines of the headlands that rose up on either side of the bay like outstretched arms.

  They were a few yards from the shore when the others stopped next to Nick’s boat, and began discussing some new equipment he’d just had installed. Neither Laurie nor Rachel was paying particular attention as they drowsily enjoyed the warm night air and listened to the muted sounds from the pub mingling with the swirling rush of the tide. Rachel was trying very hard not to think of how often she had done this with Tim, but as the persistent nostalgia swept over her, the need for him became so strong that she actually lifted a hand to touch him. Whether Chris Gallagher noticed she had no idea, she only knew that as he was standing the closest, it was his arm her hand found, before she gently pulled it away.

  Jenny’s eyes were gleaming in the moonlight as she said, ‘This is the kind of night you could expect to see Todd’s ghost.’

  Laurie turned to look at her.

  Jenny smiled. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you Rachel?’ she said.

  ‘We thought we did,’ Rachel answered. ‘About a year ago.’

  To Laurie Jenny said, ‘She walks out of the sea and up over the beach. Never hear the pebbles crunch. Just glides over ’em, silent as a cat. No idea who she is. Todd was the first one to see her, so that’s why we calls her Todd’s ghost.’

  Laurie glanced at Rachel. ‘It sounds as though there are a lot of ghosts around here,’ she said.

  Jenny chuckled.

  Rachel shivered, then realizing how close she was standing to Chris, she moved away saying, ‘Come on, let’s go back. It’s starting to get chilly.’

  Linking Laurie’s arm as they walked, Jenny said, ‘We can tell you some stories if you want to hear them.’

  ‘Do I?’ Laurie asked Rachel.

  Rachel smiled. ‘They’re worth it,’ she answered.

  Chris walked on ahead and opened the pub door.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jenny’s mother wanted to know, as they all started to sit down.

  ‘Nothing. Just thought we might catch sight of Todd’s ghost,’ Jenny answered. ‘D’you hear that, Todd?’ she shouted. ‘No sign of your girlfriend tonight.’

  Todd grunted and Jenny and her mother laughed. ‘Frightened the bejesus out of him, the first time he saw her,’ Jenny’s mother explained. ‘Didn’t have another drink for a week.’

  ‘Tell her about old Lorna, with the keys,’
Jenny prompted. ‘Or the horses we do hear galloping down from Roon Moor on Hallowe’en.’

  Laughing at the look on Laurie’s face, Rachel left them to it while she went off to the ladies. She’d heard all the stories before, so knew how wonderfully thrilling they were, though some, she suspected, were probably no more than tall tales for long winter nights. However, she’d never doubt the entirety of their veracity, for this was Cornwall after all.

  Laurie was so engrossed in the stories that she wasn’t sure what exactly finally drew her attention to where Rachel was standing, outside the ladies, she only knew that the tease of asking if she’d seen a ghost died on her lips as she realized the stricken look on Rachel’s face wasn’t a joke. She started to get up, but even before she could clamber free of the group around her, Beanie was at Rachel’s side.

  They were too far away, and Beanie spoke too quietly for Laurie to hear what she was saying, but she was already guiding Rachel to the door as Laurie reached them.

  ‘Sssh, it’s all right,’ Laurie heard Beanie soothing. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Laurie said anxiously.

  Beanie smiled up at her as though to say, ‘not now,’ then held Rachel steady while Laurie opened the door.

  As they stepped into the night Rachel turned to put her arms round Beanie’s neck, and sobbed into her shoulder. ‘Beanie, please don’t let this be happening. Please, please, make it stop,’ she begged.

  Beanie held her close, while Laurie gently rubbed her back as if in some way that might help too. Then the door opened behind them and Chris Gallagher said,

  ‘Can I do something?’

  Both Beanie and Laurie looked at him, then back to Rachel, as she broke out of Beanie’s embrace and started to walk on.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Beanie assured him. ‘We just need to get her home.’

  By the time they reached the cottage Rachel was calmer, though still very pale, and didn’t even try to object when Beanie insisted on seeing her into bed.

  Laurie waited downstairs, not sure what to do, and still in the dark over what had happened. All kinds of things were going through her mind, but not until the following morning did she learn the real reason for the suddenness and depth of Rachel’s distress. And that was when she finally understood, in a way that perhaps she hadn’t before, just how very, very hard these next few weeks and months were going to be for the woman she already considered a friend.

  It was two days later that a four-seater Rockwell swooped down towards a remote, private airstrip in the Western Sahara. As the pilot eased the throttle, readying to land, he glanced over at Rudy who was gazing out at the endless miles of rich, golden sand, undulating like a tide to the distant blue horizons. Behind them Franz Koehler was working on his laptop, apparently oblivious to the fact that they’d arrived, while far below a black limousine began moving out of the exclusive compound, ready to greet the new arrivals.

  After lowering the flaps the pilot made a slow circle of the strip, checking for wind direction and any obstructions on the runway. There were none. This would be easy: next to no turbulence, no awkward approaches, or air traffic controllers who hadn’t mastered English. He’d landed in similar locations before, so knew what to expect, and using the throttle to smooth out the sudden lift that greeted him as he crossed the threshold, he took her down. The runway was one of the smoothest he’d experienced, though with temperatures reaching the low forties, he needed all its length.

  A few minutes later he stepped down from the cockpit, wincing at the dry, fiery blast of heat that greeted him. He looked around. This place was like nowhere else on earth; an ungodly wilderness of sand and more sand, with the tantalizing promise of an exotic adventure seeming to exude from the golden domes and glossy white crenellations of the Topkapi-style palace nestled at the end of the runway.

  Behind him Rudy jumped down on to the blistering tarmac, while Koehler continued his assessment of the markets. The journey had been long, and in spite of the dark glasses, Rudy’s tiredness showed.

  ‘Nice wheels,’ Rudy commented, as the limousine glided towards them. ‘I have a feeling Professor Bombola’s new chum is going to be my kind of host. What do you say?’

  What he really wanted to say he kept to himself as Koehler came down from the aircraft.

  ‘A good flight,’ Koehler commented. ‘Should be a productive few days now.’

  Without waiting for a response he started towards the limo, leaving the others to haul the luggage out of the plane. ‘I’m guessing we’re going to fly out of here with the promise of at least ten mill,’ Rudy murmured.

  ‘Depends who else is coming to the party,’ the pilot responded. ‘It could turn out to be twice that.’

  ‘Then we’ll be throwing a couple of parties of our own,’ Rudy quipped, with a waggle of his eyebrows. ‘Once we’ve got it safely into Dubai, of course.’

  The mention of Dubai caused a muscle spasm near the pilot’s left eye, a small, physical manifestation of just how big a deal the Dubai operation was going to be. However, several phases of the project still had to be completed before he started worrying about that, not least of all this one, whose purpose was to provide at least some of the funding required by the opposition forces in their exiled host’s homeland.

  ‘Are we expecting anyone else from the Group?’ Rudy asked, as they started towards the limo.

  ‘Two guys from Phraxos US, I believe, and three from HQ in Zurich.’ Even as he answered Rudy’s question, his thoughts were moving on, taking him in the direction of Paris, where another big meeting was planned three weeks from now, which in turn reminded him of the body that had been fished out of St Tropez harbour a week ago. His own Establishment sources had informed him that the British police had received an anonymous tip-off a few days ago, alerting them to the fact that the dead man could be connected to the murder of Tim Hendon. He’d immediately passed the information to Franz Koehler, but as yet he wasn’t aware of Koehler taking any action. He almost certainly would though, because the Hendon murder could, in the end, prove the David they all dreaded, for in spite of the fact that there were few mightier Goliaths than Phraxos, the murder of a prominent British politician and subsequent disappearance of Franz Koehler’s girlfriend provided not one, but two, potentially fatal stones for the slingshot.

  ‘Any news on how the search for Katherine’s going?’ he asked Rudy, just before they reached the car.

  Rudy shook his head. ‘Nothing doing. No sign,’ he replied.

  ‘Do you believe Koehler doesn’t know where she is?’

  Rudy’s eyes flicked in his direction. ‘The last I heard he’s got a team of over a hundred out there looking for her, and the trails are running drier than a Sudanese well.’

  ‘But do you think it’s a sham?’

  Rudy shrugged. ‘Who knows? But what seems to be bugging him most right now, like he said on the way over, is whether Mrs Hendon will make the transfer without a fuss.’

  His tone was impatient as he said, ‘Why doesn’t he just let it go? Four million’s nothing to him.’

  Rudy’s incredulity showed. ‘You’re forgetting, Katherine knows all about it,’ he reminded him, ‘which suggests he really doesn’t know where she is. And if he doesn’t, and she decides to come out of her little hidey-hole, wherever that might be, to spill the beans, it’s going to be a whole lot easier to discredit her if no trace of that money is ever found.’ Handing the luggage to the chauffeur, he turned back and grinned. ‘I’m just glad I’m not in your shoes, my friend,’ he muttered, ‘because if she don’t pay up, it’s going to be your job to make her, and getting heavy with ladies just isn’t nice.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘SO TAKING EVERYTHING I’ve told you into consideration,’ Laurie said, watching Elliot’s hands as he uncorked an expensive Californian Voignier, ‘what do you think Rachel should do about the money?’

  ‘Well,’ he answered, after tasting and approving the wine
, ‘if it were me, I’d do exactly what she’s doing, and try to find out more by hanging on to it. But whether that’s what she should do, as a woman, on her own …’

  ‘You’re being chauvinistic.’

  ‘Realistic,’ he corrected, filling their glasses. Then putting the bottle down he began to serve the food.

  Letting the subject rest for a moment, she stood quietly watching him, noticing that tiredness was making his ill-matched features seem even heavier than normal, though despite the shadows under his deep, grey eyes and two-day stubble around his jaw, he was still, to her mind, the most attractive man alive. He was also, for all sorts of reasons, the most fascinating human being, as well as one of the most successful journalists of his time – and if it were possible to love someone more, she’d want none of it, because this was quite painful enough, thank you very much.

  When they were both sitting down, he helped himself to a mouthful of the delicious sea bass in soy and ginger sauce, then after taking his time to savour the delicate flavours, he picked up his wine. ‘OK, here’s what I think she should do,’ he said. ‘She should hold off making this particular transfer, just to see what happens. I doubt anyone will get too heavy at the first refusal, and there’s always a chance it might yield up at least some of the information she’s looking for. But the minute any signs of ugliness start showing up, she should let it go faster than she can say her own name, because if Franz Koehler, or anyone from Phraxos, is behind this, she definitely won’t want to be messing with them.’

  Laurie nodded, for that was more or less what she and Rachel had agreed on before she’d left the cottage that morning, when Rachel had still been looking alarmingly pale after the threatened miscarriage last Saturday night. What a dreadful experience that had been for Rachel, even though the doctor had been quick to pronounce an all-clear. It had given Laurie an even greater insight into just how much this child meant to Rachel; not that she’d ever really been in any doubt before.

  ‘By the way,’ Elliot said, adding a twist of black pepper to his meal, ‘you got my message about the chap they pulled out of the St Tropez harbour?’