by Susan Lewis
‘Just call back and leave a message,’ Anna said, pouring a slug of whisky into her tea. She looked strained and edgy, almost as though she wanted to grab the phone herself and scream into it.
Rachel didn’t ask any questions, not while the girls were there. She’d bring it up later, when they were alone. In the meantime, she resolved to make this the last time she asked Anna to come here, until she was certain that whatever problems Anna was having with Robert were completely sorted, because she couldn’t have her sister’s loyalties split like this, nor could she bear the shattering of her nerves every time the telephone rang.
But it was only Nick again, telling her where they were all going to meet on Sunday night.
‘I’m curious,’ Stacey said to her husband, from where she was lounging on the sofa, wearing only a short satin nightie and a thin gold ankle chain, ‘why would you say no, when we have a perfect relationship, more money than we could ever need, wonderful homes with more than enough room, and when you surely want someone to pass it all on to one day.’
In what he already knew to be a vain attempt to avoid the issue, he turned over a page of the paper and carried on reading.
Taking a half-smoked joint from an ashtray, she relit it and inhaled deeply. Her eyes were glittering and sphinx-like as she gazed up at the gently vaulted ceiling of the penthouse, while trailing a lazy arm along the floor. The rustic brick walls and huge funnel-shaped fireplace glowed rosily in the dying rays of sunset, while the large black leather sofas and scatter rugs and pillows cast long, shapeless shadows over the teak wood floor.
‘Just tell me why you’re so set against it,’ she said after a while.
Still he didn’t answer.
Taking another long pull on the cigarette, she held it for several seconds, then watched the small cloud of smoke curling around the dwindling strands of sunlight. ‘So is this a no for all time, or just for now?’ she ventured.
Finally he lowered the paper and looked across the room to where she was lying. ‘Why do you want a child now?’ he asked bluntly, raising a hand to refuse as she offered the joint.
Surprised by the question, she turned on her side to look at him. Then a playful smile started to shape her lips as she said, ‘I want your baby, my darling, because I love you, and because I want us to make that ultimate commitment of bringing another human being into the world, that is a part of us both. A symbol of our love.’
His eyes remained on hers, seeming to assess how serious she was, then with a sardonic tilt of his eyebrows, he said, ‘Which, loosely translated, means you want me to be at home more, and you’re hoping this will make it happen.’
Stung that he had seen through her so easily, yet amused by it too, she said, ‘Is there something wrong with wanting you to be at home more?’
‘Not at all. But it’s just not possible at the moment – and for the same reasons, nor is a child. But I do want one, very much, if that helps.’
She kept her eyes on his, watching his darkly handsome features as he stared back at her, then rolling on to her back she gazed up at the ceiling again and toyed with the idea of asking him, straight out, what had changed in his association with Franz Koehler that was making his absences so much more frequent, and often longer than they’d been before.
‘What’s happened to your painting?’ he asked, breaking a ten-minute silence as he reached out to turn on the arced chrome lamp beside him. ‘You don’t seem to have done any lately.’
Deciding not to answer, she continued to gaze through the skylight, watching the stars emerge in the growing darkness.
‘We had a studio put in here for you, as well as at the house,’ he reminded her. ‘Is there something wrong with them?’
‘No,’ she answered. ‘Nothing. But while I’m engaged in this project with Ernesto and Robert … Well, my own efforts seem rather feeble and amateur by comparison.’ She smiled drily. ‘I’ve never considered myself a talent in the field,’ she confessed, ‘but I do love to dabble, and I do love you for indulging me.’ She turned to face him. ‘It doesn’t make up for a child though, so I hope that’s not what you’re suggesting.’
‘Not for a minute,’ he replied. ‘I just like to watch you work, whether you’re painting, acting, or simply sitting at your desk answering correspondence and talking on the phone.’
She liked the answer because it confirmed he still found her interesting and beautiful, even though she knew it anyway. However, it didn’t go nearly far enough, when what she really wanted was to be reassured that she, and their life together, meant more than his work with Franz Koehler.
As he got up to go and refresh his drink, he looked at the table she’d had specially designed for him, and felt a rush of guilt at the way he was now going to use it to distract her. It hardly seemed fair to use her love of their sex life against her like this, when she was right to be concerned, because what he was undertaking for Koehler and Phraxos wasn’t at all as straightforward as he’d led her to believe.
After fixing himself another drink he stood gazing at Ernesto’s remarkable craftsmanship, the beautifully sculpted contours of her bottom and vulva, the exquisite curves of her thighs, the slender bones of her ankles and feet, the small mounds of her breasts beneath the table’s flat-topped surface. What an extraordinary gift it was, and so like her to have thought of something so intimate yet brazen. Of course it aroused him to look at it, yet, in a way, it made him feel vaguely melancholy too. Deciding it would be a cheap and unworthy exploitation of her feelings to use it now as he’d intended, he turned and walked back to his chair. ‘So how’re the portraits coming along with Ernesto?’ he asked chattily. ‘Was Robert there today?’
The thought of Robert brought the silky smile back to her lips, and stretching one long leg straight up in the air, she smoothed a hand over the faintly freckled flesh of her thigh. ‘Why ask about Robert?’ she said. ‘Are you concerned I might be having an affair with him?’
His eyebrows went up, as he swilled the Scotch round the ice in his glass then lifted it to take a sip, before saying, ‘Are you?’
‘Would you mind if I were?’ she countered.
He continued to watch her, then said, ‘If you’re waiting for the jealous husband to fly into a rage, it can be arranged.’
Her eyes darkened, and then she laughed.
He put his drink down and picked up another section of the paper. ‘So, are you having an affair?’ he asked, after a while.
Surprised, and pleased that he’d stayed on the subject, she considered the question for a moment, then said, ‘Well, he doesn’t touch me, exactly, and he knows how utterly devoted I am to you, but if one were to look at it from Anna’s point of view I’d say he was having an affair.’ She sighed pleasurably, and stroked a hand idly over one breast. ‘And the answer is yes, he was at the studio all day today, just watching me, as Ernesto worked. You know, it’s rather touching to have someone so besotted with you.’
A few minutes ticked by before he said, ‘You don’t think I’m that person?’
Satisfied that he was at least slightly irked, she sat up and removed her nightie. Lying down again, naked and semi-aroused, she said, ‘This is how I was, all day. I don’t know if he took his eyes off me once.’ She smiled dreamily, and hummed for a while, then turning her head to look at him was pleased to see that she still had his full attention.
‘Do you really have to go away again tomorrow? On a Sunday,’ she said. ‘You only got back yesterday.’
‘It shouldn’t be for long,’ he assured her.
She looked doubtful about that, then her eyes drifted to nowhere as she said, ‘Robert’s wife is away at the moment. He should have gone with her, but he stayed in London, he said, to be near me.’
Both amused and riled by the barb, he retaliated by saying, ‘Then maybe we should invite him over tonight.’
She shot him a look, then struggled to hide her smile, as she said, ‘That would be cruel.’
‘And cruel is somet
hing you’re not.’
With slanted eyes she turned on to her side and felt the sharpness of desire sliding between her legs as she said, ‘And what about you, mon beau mari? How cruel are you?’
His answer was to let his eyes roam her nudity while she watched him and felt the air charging with the tension of what was to come.
After a while he said, ‘Have you got rid of all the boxes?’
‘Oh yes. Did you think I wouldn’t?’
‘Not at all.’ Then after a beat, ‘I imagine you’ve made a lot of people very happy.’
‘I certainly hope so. I’m expecting another shipment soon. Would you mind unzipping your trousers so that I can see if I’m turning you on.’
Lowering his fly he obligingly removed his almost fully erect penis.
Smiling, and inhaling deeply, she curled up like a cat to watch her prey.
For a long time they merely looked at each other, allowing the eroticism to dance through their minds and thicken the air, until finally, he crooked a finger to summon her over.
Her pulse quickened, for she knew what he wanted, and slipping on to her hands and knees she crawled over to his chair, and with no preamble at all, took him deep into her mouth.
His hand was in her hair, stroking her with his fingers as she performed pure magic with her lips and tongue, when to his intense annoyance, the mobile on the table beside them started to ring. Stretching out an arm he lifted it to one ear, while holding her head down to prevent her from stopping. But she had no intention of stopping, for she loved nothing better than when he treated her crudely like this, and only wished he’d do it more often.
As he listened to Rudy’s voice his eyes were closed in an effort to help his concentration, though it was hard to think about Mrs Hendon and her four million dollars when his wife was launching such an assault on his senses. Then Rudy said something that made his eyes open. ‘Run that by me again,’ he said.
‘They reckon they’ve traced this Xavier Lachère guy,’ Rudy repeated.
Easing Stacey aside, he got to his feet and began striding across the room. ‘Who is he?’ he said.
‘Franz didn’t say, but he’s convinced Lachère knows where Katherine is, which kind of confirms that he doesn’t, don’t you think?’
‘So when you say they’ve traced him, does that mean they know who is he, or where he is?’
‘Pass on both. I’m just telling you what Franz told me, but you’ve got other issues to deal with right now.’
As he disappeared into the bedroom Stacey got to her feet and sauntered over to the sideboard where she kept other methods of satisfaction, some of which he didn’t entirely approve of. But since he’d left her so abruptly, and in such a state of arousal, what did he expect? And these special little panties with their joyful appendage would keep her going very nicely until he came back. So stepping into them, she pulled them up over her legs, inserted the most special part where it was intended to go, then pushed the little button at the base. It caused such a sudden and formidable onslaught of sensation that she actually moaned aloud, then found herself thinking of naughty Robert, and how it would blow his mind to see her like this. She wondered if he was parked in a street nearby, staring up at her apartment, the way he’d told her he had last night. She’d ask him on Monday, and if she found out he was, she might tell him what she’d been doing while he was gazing up at her windows, because, in fact, it was something she really ought to be punished for, when her husband was right there in the next room, with no idea that she was pleasuring herself to an orgasm while thinking of another man.
But the very instant the door opened, all thoughts of Robert fled, for there was no man on earth who meant more than the one coming towards her now, or ever would. He was, quite simply, the beginning, middle and end of her existence, and all the little games she played with anyone else were just that, games, to while away the time he wasn’t here.
‘I think this can go now, don’t you?’ he murmured, reaching a hand between her legs.
‘Whatever you say,’ she responded.
She stood still as he slid the panties down over her legs, then melted against him as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. She wanted to tell him then that she didn’t care how insecure or vulnerable the Koehler connection made her feel, and that she didn’t even care how often he had to go away, because none of it was ever going to make a difference to the way she felt about him. But he knew that already, and as his own clothes were coming off now, she really had no intention of discussing anything as mundane as the Phraxos Group, when it was already laying claim to enough of his life, so the hell was she going to let it spoil the rest of this rare, relaxing evening at home.
Chapter 14
THE WEEKEND’S STORMS had passed, leaving the cove damp and glistening in the sunlight that was casting slick puddles of light on the rocks, and dancing like diamonds on the idly chopping sea. The gulls seemed restless and raucous, as they swooped around the cliffs and rooftops, while the warm, sluggish air was thick with the scent of wild garlic and wet grass. Everything was perfectly normal and benign, yet to Rachel there was an eeriness to the calm that was making her doubly glad that Chris and Nick were around, helping clear up after the torrential rain, for it was late on Monday morning, and the Swiss banks had already been open for several hours, so it must have been discovered by now that she had ignored the transfer instructions.
She still hadn’t mentioned anything to either of them about the situation, mainly because she hadn’t wanted to spoil the celebration last night, when Nick had treated them all to dinner at the Mullion Cove Hotel with his newfound wealth as an artist. He’d been so thrilled by his success that it would have been unforgivably selfish to turn the evening into something about her. And later, when Chris – who she now knew had galleries in Mousehole, Fowey and London – had driven her and Beanie home, Beanie had taken the front seat, so she hadn’t been about to spill it all out from behind him, and when they’d got back, she just hadn’t felt right about inviting him in so late at night. Maybe if Beanie hadn’t been so tipsy and eager to get to bed, she might have suggested they all have a nightcap, but she had vanished faster than her pixie friends, and because the mild, moonlit night had unsettled Rachel with its air of romance she had said good-night perhaps more abruptly than she should have, and hurried into the cottage.
Once inside she’d felt foolish for rushing off so fast, especially when she hadn’t even thanked him for walking them up the footpath. Though she didn’t imagine he’d lose any sleep over it, it had bothered her enough to make her go back outside in the hope of finding him still close enough to call out to. But he was already as far as Tom Drummond’s cottage, at the bottom of the path, so unwilling to make herself absurd by trying to attract his attention, she’d merely stood watching him walk down past the pub, then on to the upper part of the beach where he’d left his car.
‘OK, I’m taking this down to the bins,’ Nick announced, startling her from her thoughts. ‘Then I’m going home for some dinner.’
Rachel’s unease instantly welled up again. ‘Are you coming back this afternoon?’ she asked.
‘No, I’m going to sea this afternoon,’ he replied, manhandling a large plastic dustbin through the gate. ‘But everything’s fixed here. Shed’s as solid as a brick whatsit.’
She looked round. ‘Where’s Chris?’ she asked, seeing only blue sky above the shed roof, which was where she’d last seen him.
‘He just jumped over the wall to take Beanie’s ladder back.’ The bin was through the gate now, and he was starting off down the path. ‘OK, see you!’ he said.
‘Nick! Wait!’ she called after him.
Stopping, he turned round, but then someone shouted up from the cove and he laughingly waved his arms, shouting back that he was on his way.
Realizing she couldn’t just blurt it out, as though it were some small favour she was asking, she gestured for him to go on, saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s nothin
g. Is Chris coming back?’
‘Dunno. Said he was going over to Penzance later, but whether he’s already gone …’
Hoping he was still in with Beanie, Rachel put down the cutters and wire she was holding, and was just about to go and find out when the telephone shrilled from the sitting room.
‘Oh God,’ she groaned, pressing a hand to her mouth as her mind started to reel. But it wouldn’t be them. They thought she was in London, and if they couldn’t get hold of her there they’d contact Michael Jarrett, her lawyer. That was what she and Laurie and Michael had deduced on Saturday morning, during a conference call, so at worst it would only be Michael …
‘Hello?’ she said, praying it was going to be Laurie or Anna.
‘Mrs Hendon?’
Immediately her insides froze, for the voice was both male and accented. So they did know where she was. The very thought made her almost dizzy with dread.
‘Who’s speaking, please?’ she responded, tersely.
The reply was silky smooth. ‘Mrs Hendon, we had hoped to receive a certain transfer of funds from you on Friday,’ the voice said. ‘Today is Monday, and it has not arrived. Please assure me that it is merely delayed and will be with us by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ she said, a quick anger holding her firm, despite the weakness in her legs. ‘I don’t know who you are, and until I do that money is going to stay where it is.’
‘That would not be a wise course to take,’ he told her calmly.
She was shaking, badly, but still managed to keep her voice steady, as she said, ‘I hope that isn’t a threat.’
‘It is merely advice,’ he corrected.
‘Then let me advise you,’ she responded, her face paling with outrage as much as fear, ‘that until I know who you are, and how my husband managed to acquire so much money …’
‘Mrs Hendon, you will please initiate the transfer by the end of the day today.’
Her hand was so tight on the phone she might crush it. Briefly she noticed Chris coming in through the gate. ‘And if I don’t?’ she demanded.
