by Susan Lewis
‘So, what do you think of our new office?’ she said, waving an arm.
‘Very nice,’ he replied.
There was a moment’s awkwardness, then she said, ‘Right, we need to talk. Here? Or shall we go over to Rhona’s flat? She’s at work.’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘Gino and Dan need to hear this too.’
Both Gino and Dan glanced at Laurie, then back to Elliot, as he said, ‘I know you’ve been trying to get hold of Patrice Bombola and I want you to stop.’
‘What?’ she cried. ‘But you know very well he’s one of our prime –’
Elliot cut across her. ‘I warned you the other night that he could be a dangerous man to approach,’ he said. ‘That hasn’t changed, if anything it’s become worse, so I’d rather you let me approach him first.’
‘And how are you going to do that?’ she responded, testily.
‘I’m going to Paris, tomorrow. There’s a chance one of his people will get me in to see him, not as a journalist, as a scientist. If it happens, then I could be in a position to learn a lot more than either of us would trying to go in as ourselves.’
Laurie’s eyes had become large and forbidding. He was going undercover and she hated it when he did that, for the risks were always too high. ‘I want to go with you,’ she said shortly.
‘You know you can’t,’ he replied.
Since she’d only make herself ridiculous if she argued, she said, ‘Then, at the very least, we need you on camera talking about this, I mean, if we don’t end up getting him ourselves.’
Though he didn’t answer, she could see the refusal in his eyes.
‘If we don’t manage to find out why Tim Hendon was killed,’ she said sharply, ‘then we’ll need people like you to talk about what might have happened.’
‘But he and Katherine Sumner were lovers,’ he reminded her. ‘The public knows that now, so is your programme going to look like a grieving widow concocting some incredible high-level corruption scandal, because she can’t accept her husband was unfaithful?’
Laurie’s mouth fell open, though of course he was right, it could all too easily be made to look like that. She glanced down at her computer screen, then back to him. ‘That’s all the more reason why we need you on camera, talking about this,’ she said. ‘People know your name; they respect what you say, so if you present this case, with me, it’ll have some credibility. No, you’ve got to do it, Elliot,’ she cried, as he started to resist, ‘because I’m just not prepared to let Rachel Hendon suffer the humiliation of people thinking all the fuss was because she just couldn’t let go – especially when I know there’s more to it, and so do you. So if need be, I want your word that you’ll back me up.’
His eyes moved to Gino and Dan, who, unlike him, showed how uncomfortable they were with the challenge. However, their silence spoke their solidarity with Laurie, so all he could say was, ‘Give me a couple of weeks. Let me see where this goes with Bombola, then maybe Max and I will be in a better position to see whether our own theories really are bearing up.’
‘OK. But if you’re not going to co-operate with us, I’m going to want to know why.’
His only answer was to match the harshness of her stare. Then quite unexpectedly he said, ‘There’s a chance Franz Koehler will be there too. In Paris.’
Though her gaze didn’t waver, her personal feelings were once again ambushing her professional self, for if Franz Koehler was going to be there, in person, she felt an extremely long way from good about Elliot being there too, posing as somebody else. On the other hand, she desperately wanted to meet Franz Koehler herself.
Dan said, ‘Can I answer that phone now? It’s driving me mad.’
As Elliot glanced at him, Laurie said, ‘I hope you’re not going to warn me off Patrick Landen too.’
‘Not at all,’ Elliot replied. Then, clearly realizing how annoyed she was at having to give up on Bombola, he said, ‘Look, you know you can trust me, and I’ll do whatever I can to get you some answers – but this just isn’t as simple as one man’s murder.’
Since she had no argument to that, she said, scathingly, ‘Next you’ll be reminding me that no one is all good, or all bad.’
At that a flicker of humour showed in his eyes, which momentarily reflected in hers, for it was a cliché they often teased each other with, then finally swallowing her pride, she said, ‘So when will you know if it’s all going to happen?’
‘By the end of the day.’
‘Isn’t someone likely to recognize you?’ Dan said.
‘On the whole, my face isn’t known,’ Elliot responded, ‘only my name, so obviously I’ll be using a false one.’ Glancing at his watch, he said to Laurie, ‘I have to go. Will you come out to the car for a moment?’
Sensing it was going to turn personal now, her heart skipped several beats as she followed him outside. When he reached the car, he turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry if I seem to be interfering,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry that I can’t be more explicit.’
She shrugged. ‘That’s OK. I know you would be, if you could.’
He kept his eyes on her face, even though she’d looked away. ‘So how are you?’ he asked.
‘Fine. Thanks,’ she answered.
He waited.
At last she met his eyes, then wanted to scream: no one she knew could mask their feelings the way he could. ‘OK, so now we’ve got that settled,’ she said. ‘I’m fine and I also have work to do.’ She started to turn away.
‘Laurie. Stop.’
Wishing she could refuse, she looked at him again, and said, ‘Why? You’ve got nothing to say. You’re not prepared to change anything …’
‘What do you want me to change?’ he demanded.
‘You. Us. I want to know how much you care …’
‘I’ve tried telling you, but apparently my word’s not enough …’
‘No, it isn’t!’ she snapped.
His eyes were suddenly impatient. ‘So you’re not coming back?’ he said tersely.
‘What’s the point?’
He looked at her, harshly.
‘No. I’m not coming back,’ she said, ignoring the way her heart was crying out for him to persuade her, to say the words that would convince her that he really did care. And maybe he would, because surely by now he must be missing her as much as she was missing him.
‘Then does this mean we’re free to see other people?’ he said shortly.
Her mouth almost fell open as his words hit her like a physical blow. Not for a single instant had she expected them, nor had she even imagined there might be someone else in his life – and now suddenly this was so frighteningly reminiscent of how he’d broken up with her sister, telling her that there was another woman in order to get her out of his life completely, that the shock of history repeating itself was making it hard to breathe, never mind think.
In the end, letting pride speak for her, she said, ‘Yes, that’s exactly what it means. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ and before he could stop her again, she stalked back into the office, knowing she’d handled it badly, but Jesus Christ, how did anyone handle someone like Elliot Russell?
For the next half an hour she struggled to immerse herself in other things and forget the awful scene outside, the dread of him going undercover, the anger that he didn’t seem to be missing her, and jealousy that there was already someone else … But it just kept going round and round in her head, an endless cycle of self-torment and worry, until she finally heard Gino say, ‘Laurie, are you listening to me?’
Collecting herself, she looked up to where he was, at the top of a ladder. ‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ she said. ‘What were you saying?’
‘I was telling you about the actress Stacey Greene’s husband,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you want some background on him?’
Frowning, since she’d all but forgotten why, she said, ‘Yes, but I thought I asked Liam from Elliot’s office.’
‘You did. I saw him earlier, so I’m passing th
e information on.’
‘So, does Pablo Escobar need to fear for his reputation?’ she asked, attempting some humour, as she clicked to go on line.
‘Escobar?’ Gino said, confused. ‘What’s he got to do with it? Anyway, he’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘Very,’ she confirmed, not especially interested in this now. ‘So what did Liam tell you?’ she said, opening up an email from Rachel.
‘Just that he’s some kind of mega rich art dealer, with some mega rich clients.’
She nodded, absently. There was no particular surprise in that, for even without Gloria Sullivan’s sugar-coated envy, she wouldn’t have imagined Stacey Greene married to anyone uncultured, or unmoneyed. She probably wouldn’t have imagined her having an affair with Robert Maxton either, but after the embarrassing episode in his office, combined with the interview she’d managed to prise out of him yesterday, and then with Anna, later in the day, there was obviously some considerable strain in the marriage. As she thought of it, Laurie couldn’t help but feel sad for Anna. This must be a very difficult time for her, trying to cope with the demands of two small children, her role as a producer, a husband who was besotted by another woman, and a sister who was pregnant, recently widowed and hell bent on finding out what had really led to her husband’s death. It was no wonder she’d appeared so uptight and distracted when they’d talked. Who wouldn’t when they were going through so much?
Sighing, she carried on reading the email. She hadn’t bothered to type up the notes she’d taken during Anna’s and Robert’s interviews yet, since they’d told her nothing she didn’t already know, other than the fact that they were both so completely wrapped up in the film, and their own lives, that they hadn’t even really connected with the fact that the people Rachel was so determined to expose would almost certainly rather see her dead than ever allow that to happen. But what was the point in alerting them, when the reality was that she, Laurie, was probably much more in the firing line than Rachel – and before her were Elliot, and his partner, Max.
*
Anna’s face was pale with shock as she stared down at the pages her husband had written. Were she not reading this for herself, she’d never have believed him capable of such imaginings, and maybe she couldn’t anyway, despite the fact that it was written in his hand.
Feeling weak and faintly nauseous, she sat down at his desk. There was no doubt in her mind that this was a depraved and diabolical version of The Geddons that featured only the poet and the mistress, and the poem she’d found earlier, tucked into the pocket of a sports coat, was obviously part of the same piece. It was finding the poem that had led her to search his desk, something she’d never done before, and bitterly regretted doing now, for she just didn’t want to know that her husband was capable of anything like this.
She looked down at the pages again, and started to shake. Any other woman would be as disgusted, even as frightened, as she was by this, but Stacey Greene, for whom it was presumably intended, just wasn’t like other women. She wondered if Stacey might even be encouraging it. If she was, and these scenes were anything to go by, then Anna had to believe there was no actual physical affair, for it only told of the woman enjoying the spectacle of the fantasy, while sometimes permitting the brief touch of her private parts, or a lingering kiss on the mouth. If that were the case, and in her heart she very much feared that it was, then he had fallen prey, not just to his own sexual urges, but to the most narcissistic and exploitative tease she’d ever known.
Unable to read any more, she screwed the pages into a ball and clutched them to her chest. In her mind’s eye she could see him gazing adoringly, slavishly, at Stacey’s naked body, as she posed for Ernesto’s portraits. She could see him on the set, struggling to focus on the proceedings, instead of just Stacey; sloping down corridors after her at the end of the day; submitting himself to her every whim, hanging on to her every word. She knew the scenarios, because many of them were there in the script, and her heart ached with jealousy that he could want another woman so uncontrollably that nothing else, not even his own wife or children, seemed to matter any more.
Tears filled her eyes, as she stared blindly at the walls of his study. She must fight this, there was no question about that, but her instincts were to handle it like the wife in the film, and that would be a disastrous route to take. She had to think of something though, because there was just no way in the world that she was going to allow everything she’d worked for, everything she held precious, to be destroyed by this crazy obsession, this abominable shadow plot that he was contriving for Stacey. She had to find a way of making him understand that to Stacey he was no more than a besotted fool, someone she could tease and torment with the fantasies he fed her, because it was all a game to her that fed her vanity and increased her female power.
‘What are you doing?’
Anna started.
He was standing at the door staring at her with cold, accusing eyes.
She stared back. Her face was stricken, and blotched with tears, her heart loaded with guilt at being found snooping. ‘I should be asking you that question,’ she said quietly.
‘That script isn’t for public consumption,’ he told her. His tone was as chilling as his expression.
The “public” hurt, a lot, but moving past it, she said, ‘This script should be destroyed.’
‘That decision isn’t yours to make.’
‘Then whose? Yours? Or Stacey’s?’
His face blanched and for a moment he seemed about to shout, or maybe storm off. Then his eyes were glinting like steel. ‘She understands it in a way I knew you wouldn’t,’ he snarled.
Anna’s heart twisted, for now there could be no doubt that Stacey was a party to this. ‘What is there to understand, but the delusional imaginings of a middle-aged man?’ she said.
‘Are you going to call me disgusting now?’ he challenged.
‘I don’t have to, you already know it.’
‘Then why not add debauched, depraved, sick in the head?’
She only looked at him.
‘That’s what you think, isn’t it?’ he demanded, his mouth starting to tremble.
‘I’m not playing the game,’ she replied. ‘I’m not one of your characters, and I won’t stick to the script.’
His eyes flickered to one side, and her heart ached, for she could sense the loneliness and confusion even though there were no visible signs of it. ‘I love you,’ she said, shakily, ‘and whatever you’ve done, you know I’ll forgive you, but you have to stop this before it goes any further.’
His eyes were glassy as he stared back at her.
‘Robert, if she has any poems, if she has anything written by you that … You have to get them back. Not only for your own sake, you have to do it for me, and the girls.’
‘They’re hers,’ he said shortly. ‘I wrote them for her, and now they belong to her.’
Anna’s eyes closed as a wave of fear stole through her. But she wasn’t going to let this happen. Somehow she was going to put a stop to it, because she just couldn’t bear to think of how destructive the disgrace would be to him, more than anyone else, should those poems ever fall into the wrong hands.
She spoke in a sharp yet quiet voice as she said, ‘I want you to let me finish directing the film.’
He frowned in confusion. ‘You think I’d walk out on my own project when it’s only half finished?’ he said, more surprised than indignant.
‘Darling, you have to,’ she told him. ‘You can’t keep seeing her, it’s only going to make things worse.’ Hearing herself quote almost directly from the script, her mind shied away in alarm. It was almost as though he’d foreseen all this in some mad, graphic dream, and now, like brainwashed puppets, they just kept returning to the lines he had given them.
‘You’re not going to stop me seeing her,’ he said, firmly, but she could hear the turbulence behind the words, telling her that if she fought he might, ultimately, back down. But she wasn’t going
to create a scene with the children upstairs, at least not tonight.
‘Are you in love with her?’ she asked, her voice faltering slightly.
His answer came with no hesitation. ‘I love you,’ he told her.
‘Then where is this going to end?’
He took a breath that shuddered deeply in his chest, then looking at her with as much sadness as resolve he said, ‘I have to have her.’
Anna’s eyes were shining with tears as she said, ‘The sexual acts you’re describing … Is that what you really want to do?’
He didn’t answer, nor did he meet her eyes.
‘If it is, then can’t you do them with me?’
‘Would you want to?’
‘No. But I don’t want you to do them with her either.’
‘I don’t do them with her. They’re only fiction.’
‘But you’re trying to make them real.’
His shoulders were unsteady, as his hands clenched and loosened at his sides. ‘Anna, please, try to understand,’ he said, his voice starting to break.
‘I do,’ she answered. ‘If I didn’t, do you think I’d be sitting here, talking to you like this? Do you think I could read what you’ve written and still want to be in the same room as you?’
He only looked at her, seeming lost, yet defiant; angry, yet afraid.
Getting up she went to put her arms around him. ‘Together we can get through this,’ she told him gently. ‘You just have to let me take over from here, because if you don’t …’
‘I’m the director!’ he snapped. ‘I’m not walking out on my own film.’
‘And that’s all it is, a film,’ she responded. ‘I’m talking about us, our marriage, our life together.’
His eyes met hers, and her heart grew heavy with dread, for she could see that she was failing to reach him. ‘I love you, Anna,’ he said softly. ‘I love you with all my heart, and I really don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not going to let you direct this film.’
‘Then I shall come to the set, every day.’
