by Susan Lewis
‘No enemy in sight,’ Jeremy announced, coming back through the door.
‘Excellent,’ Ava purred, making him blush again. Then turning back to the others, who included three senior executives from sales, marketing and publicity, she said, ‘Thank you so much for making me welcome. I’ve enjoyed meeting you all.’
One by one they stepped forward to shake her hand and tell her all over again what high hopes they had for her extraordinary book.
‘I’ll be happy to walk down with you,’ Jeremy offered, his face turning crimson at his own temerity.
Ava’s amused eyes moved to Robin. ‘That would be splendid,’ she responded. ‘I’m being picked up by a friend, so I’ll just call and tell him I’m ready to leave. His office isn’t far.’
After using one of the conference-room phones, she kissed Stacey and Robin on each cheek, then inclined her head genially to Jeremy as he opened the door and waved her through.
As they walked along the corridor towards the stairs, she said, ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look very young to be such a senior designer. Have you done many book jackets?’
‘Quite a few,’ he replied. ‘I’m thirty next birthday, so maybe I’m not as young as you think.’
He was right, he wasn’t, which added to his attraction. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with for Carlotta’s Symphony,’ she told him. ‘Have you had any ideas yet?’
‘Several.’
When he didn’t elaborate she put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s OK, I understand how you artists don’t like to discuss your work until you’ve got something to show.’
‘It’s true,’ he admitted, putting his hand over hers as they started down the stairs.
The physical contact, though slight, was rather pleasurable and evoked some wonderfully potent imaginings. She really would have to drink champagne more often.
They parted at the foot of the stairs and walked out into the stifling heat.
‘You’re lucky going to Spain,’ he commented. ‘London’s so awful in this kind of weather.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to invite him, though of course she never would. She just liked the way she was teasing herself. ‘Maybe, when I get back,’ she said, ‘we can get together and discuss some of your ideas.’
He was almost shaking as he said, ‘I’d be happy to do that.’
‘Good.’ She smiled, and let her eyes roam suggestively from his eyes to his deliciously full mouth.
At the foot of the steps Bruce honked the car horn to let her know he’d arrived. Tearing her eyes from Jeremy, Ava went to get in the passenger seat, looking back at him as her skirt rode up over her thighs.
How liberating and exhilarating it was to be Ava. It was as though life had no barriers, and anything was possible: the publishing of a book, the flowering of her beauty, the game of seduction, the denial of Colin, even the shedding of Beth. For Ava there was no ugliness or pain, no rejection or betrayal. Ava’s world was a pure, untainted page on which she could write anything she wanted for the future.
Then the car door closed, and as Bruce drove away from the kerb, he said, ‘Colin’s committal proceedings have been postponed to the beginning of October.’
It was such a horrible, crashing return to reality that it almost felt like a physical blow. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Some new evidence has come to light.’
Her stomach turned over. ‘What kind of evidence?’
‘Fibres that haven’t been identified.’
Her head fell back against the seat. Her chest felt horribly tight and her ears were buzzing. ‘Oh, thank God, thank God,’ she murmured.
Bruce glanced at her. ‘Don’t get your hopes too high,’ he warned. ‘They don’t necessarily prove anything.’
‘No, of course not,’ she replied. She felt faint, weak, and in need of some air. ‘Have you told Colin?’ she asked, pushing a button to lower the window.
‘Not yet. He’s calling Giles Parker later. Giles will tell him then.’
Her hand went to her mouth, as though to stem the onslaught of emotion. ‘You’ll get him out of this, Bruce, won’t you?’ she said. ‘You have to get him out.’
‘Believe me, Beth, we’re trying, but he’s not doing much to help himself.’
‘I know. But why doesn’t he just tell you what’s going on?’
‘I wish I knew. It doesn’t make any sense, except he says he’s trying to protect you.’
‘From whom?’
Bruce sighed. ‘I wish I knew that too,’ he replied. ‘But we have some extra ammunition tucked up our sleeves that doesn’t depend on these mysterious fibres.’
‘Oh? What?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t discuss it yet,’ he told her. ‘But believe me, if we use it, you’ll be one of the first to know. Now tell me how it went with your publisher today.’
Somehow wresting herself from the stressful place she’d just been thrust into, Beth turned her mind around and began recounting the past couple of hours, starting with the ghastly encounter with Laurie Forbes at the front door. She made it sound almost amusing now, despite feeling bewildered and slightly out of kilter with the sound of her own voice. It wasn’t easy being Beth, then Ava, then Beth – back and forth, round and round … It was no wonder she was looking forward to going to Spain, even if it did mean having to deal with her mother. At least she wasn’t some sort of nemesis, like Laurie Forbes, who kept popping up at all the worst possible moments. What a horrible knack that was to have, though she had to admit that her mother’s talent for turning her into the villain of the piece would, without question, be far superior to any of the distorted facts or half-truths Laurie Forbes would end up sending to print. And she knew very well that was how Laurie Forbes would tell it, for having been married to a journalist herself all these years, she was perfectly familiar with the kind of tactics that beefed up a story to make it sell papers. A little nuance here, a fragmented quote there, and the sense of what had been said could be altered to suggest something else entirely without any risk of libel. So no, she wouldn’t have anything to do with Laurie Forbes, or any other reporter, because they were all of them, every last one, shamelessly self-opinionated glory-seekers with little or no regard for the truth unless it in some way served them, which immediately turned them into an avaricious, ruthless and conniving posse of soul-stealers who never spared a second thought for the lives they destroyed.
Laurie was sitting in the chrome-and-ebony-appointed office of Laurence Goldman, her editor-in-chief. It was rare for anyone of her lowly status to be invited into the hallowed territory of the executive floor – in fact, this was the first time she’d ever set foot here. The great man, whose balding head, vanishing chin and diminutive frame were strikingly at odds with his professional stature, was staring at her across the desk with impenetrable glassy green eyes as the tape recorder between them finished playing the Long family interview. Once or twice she glanced back, but no more than that, for it would seem disrespectful to hold his gaze. She didn’t look at Wilbur either, who was perched casually on one corner of the desk, head bowed, hands deep in his pockets. For Laurie, the only good part about being here was that it was helping to distract her from that hideous encounter with Beth Ashby earlier. What an unutterable cockup she’d made of that. It was so excruciating she’d just wanted to run off down the street screaming gibberish at the top of her voice to prove she was mad.
Not even two hours had passed since then, and already two pretty monumental things had happened. First there was the summons to the mount regarding the Long tape, and second, just before Wilbur had come to escort her on the dead man’s walk, she’d received a call from Giles Parker, Colin Ashby’s lawyer. She was so stunned that at first she’d thought it was Gino or Flaxie playing a joke.
Goldman reached a well-manicured hand towards the tape deck and pressed stop. She knew, because Wilbur had told her, that this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the interview, but f
or some reason he’d wanted to listen to it again with her in the room. She wondered if she was supposed to look nervous, or contrite now, or proud or simply expectant. It was hard to know when his eyes, like transparent peas, were so uninviting.
‘How did you manage to come by this interview?’ he asked, resting his pinstriped elbows on the desk in front of him.
‘I … uh,’ she glanced at Wilbur, ‘I was given a lead.’
‘One that you pursued after Wilbur instructed you to return to the daily news.’
She wasn’t sure whether it was a question or statement, so she merely looked at him.
‘Has Elliot Russell listened to it?’ he said.
‘No,’ she answered, not quite sure what had prompted her to lie.
He nodded thoughtfully, though whether he believed her she had no idea. ‘What is it about this story that so fascinates you, Miss Forbes?’ he said.
Did she dare to mention a cover-up to him when there was a good chance he was a part of it – after all, Wilbur had admitted his orders had come from ‘way up there’ and this office was pretty high. Not that she at all considered it the final stop. ‘It’s just that there seems to be more to it than we’re being told,’ she responded.
Goldman’s eyebrows rose. He looked over at Wilbur, then sat back in his chair and steepled his hands. ‘What would it take to convince you that you have all the facts?’ he asked.
Surprised by the question, she was momentarily flustered. ‘If I were allowed to investigate further,’ she said tentatively, ‘and if I found that nothing panned out … maybe then I’d be more willing to accept that nothing’s being held back.’
He frowned curiously. ‘But what exactly do you think is being held back?’ he asked. ‘As I understand it, Colin Ashby was found at the scene, and no evidence has come to light that suggests anyone else was there. I don’t believe Mr Ashby is even claiming that anyone was.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the unidentified fibres, but instinct advised her to hold on to that for the moment. ‘I’m not saying he didn’t do it,’ she responded, ‘I just think there’s more to it, and my chat with the Long family more or less confirms that, as you heard.’
‘Mmm.’ He tapped his forefingers against his chin for a second or two, then said, ‘I’d like to keep this tape, if you don’t mind.’
Yes, she did mind, because, fool that she was she hadn’t made a copy. ‘Can I ask why?’ she responded.
‘I’d like to listen to it again.’
She could hardly press him any harder, considering who he was, but she couldn’t give up so easily. ‘I hope, sir,’ she said, ‘that you’re not intending to give the tape to one of my more senior colleagues. I don’t think that would be fair.’
‘You’re right, it wouldn’t,’ he agreed. ‘And no, that isn’t my intention.’
So what is? she wanted to demand, but didn’t quite have the nerve.
‘Do you like working here?’ he asked.
Her eyes grew slightly wider. ‘Yes,’ she answered.
He smiled suddenly. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘then you’ll have no problem adhering to Wilbur’s instructions from now on.’ He looked at Wilbur. ‘OK,’ he said.
Wilbur got to his feet, gestured for Laurie to do the same, then opened the door for them to leave.
Laurie waited until they were in the lift going down, then said, ‘Was that a threat? It sounded like a threat. He’s going to fire me if I don’t back off?’
Wilbur sighed. ‘I don’t know what it was,’ he answered.
‘He’s a part of it, isn’t he?’
‘Laurie, just don’t go there,’ he warned. ‘You’re making this difficult enough for yourself, and for me …’
‘I’m sorry, Wilbur, but I can’t just pretend nothing’s happening.’
‘Then try, for God’s sake.’
‘I’ll never see that tape again, will I?’
‘I doubt it.’
The lift doors opened, but before they started down the corridor he took her arm and drew her aside. ‘Don’t go on with this,’ he said quietly. ‘For your own sake.’ His normally jumpy eyes were boring straight into hers. ‘Sophie Long’s dead, remember?’
Laurie’s blood turned slightly chill. ‘Was that another kind of threat?’ she prompted.
‘Read into it what you will,’ he answered, ‘but remember it.’
As he walked away she remained where she was, still stunned and vaguely unnerved. It didn’t seem quite real that anyone, no matter how indirectly, would be threatening her physically just for trying to get to the truth. Though it had to be said that history showed, over and over, the kind of lengths some people went to to keep the truth hidden, and prisons the world over were full of those who had failed. Anyway, nothing that had been said here today was going to stop her pursuit, especially not now she had a meeting with Giles Parker lined up for next Monday. She had no idea yet what might come out of it, nor had she quite got over the shock of her calls finally being returned, but if she did learn anything worth knowing, then the fact that she could be forced to turn to Elliot Russell to get it printed could prove the least of her problems – though the very thought of ever seeing him again, after that disastrous episode at the pub, filled her with all kinds of horrible feelings. She knew she’d hurt him that day, and she was glad, because she’d fully intended to, but it hadn’t resulted in making her feel any better, in fact quite the reverse.
Anyway, she’d deal with that when it came to it. Meanwhile, she’d just have to be careful to whom she told what, and keep a check on whether or not she was being phone-tapped or followed. Bizarre, but she certainly wouldn’t be the first reporter ever to have had his or her movements tracked, or to come under this kind of pressure to back off. It was probably happening to Elliot Russell all the time, though she doubted he’d have lost a crucial tape the way she just had.
Still, there was always this little exclusive about Beth Ashby having a book published under another name to give her heart. In the grand scheme of things it might seem rather a minor detail, but she’d stake her entire two-thousand-pound fortune that there were several people out there who’d dearly love to get their hands on that book before it hit the shelves, this mysterious Marcus Gatling no doubt being one of them. Needless to say she was another, though she didn’t hold out much hope of Rhona doing the deed, not after the débâcle earlier, when Rhona had had to come up with an alibi fast in order get them both off the hook. Which circled her right back to Elliot, who’d no doubt have several cat-burglar contacts who could scale walls in the dead of night and manage to slither through barred and locked windows to claim the prize. But there was just no way she was going to him for help, and the very fact that everything, not to mention everyone, seemed to be pushing her in that direction, was just making her more determined than ever not to.
*
Bruce couldn’t help noticing that Colin Ashby’s face was becoming more and more drawn with each visit, and his shoulders seemed almost to slump under the weight of his ordeal. For a man who had always been so upright in his posture and self-possessed in his manner, it was hard seeing him like this, though, thank God, today they at last seemed to be making some headway in persuading him to do something to help himself.
He was sitting in his usual place for these visits, at the scratched central table with his back to the door. Giles Parker was seated opposite him, while Bruce stood against one cooling stone wall, watching and listening, and waiting as Colin mulled over the fact that Giles Parker had talked to a reporter, and was prepared to disclose what little information they had on the case, with Colin’s permission. Better still would be if Colin himself would agree to see the reporter, and the fact that he hadn’t, so far, dismissed either suggestion, was providing some cause for encouragement.
In the end, Colin’s eyes remained fixed on the table as he said. ‘So who is this Laurie Forbes? I don’t know that name.’
‘But you know the paper,’ Parker res
ponded.
‘Of course. Laurence Goldman’s –’ He stopped, and changed tack. ‘I worked there myself, a long time ago. It’s got substance. Goldman’s done a good job.’ He rubbed his hands over his badly shaven face. ‘Elliot Russell’s asking to see me too,’ he said.
‘It’s up to you who you talk to,’ Parker told him, ‘but I would strongly recommend you talk to one of them.’ He had no particular loyalty to Laurie Forbes just because he’d met with her on Monday to check how far she was prepared to go for this story. Her answer had been encouraging, but his only real interest was in his client, and the preparation of a defence case that would eventually contain all, rather than just some, of the facts.
Colin’s face reflected his inner struggle.
‘Look,’ Parker said, ‘these unidentified fibres tell us that someone else was in the flat. That alone is cause –’
‘But when?’ Colin growled. ‘Midday or midnight? Fibres don’t tell the time, and matching them –’
‘If they can be linked to someone who has no alibi at the time of the murder …’
‘All right, I hear you. I just don’t want any of us getting our hopes up on a few fibres that might well have been left there by the damned gas man, for all we know.’
‘OK,’ Parker conceded. ‘So let’s go back to Laurie Forbes. Or Elliot Russell. Or anyone else you’d feel more comfortable with.’
Colin inhaled deeply, letting the air puff out his cheeks.
‘With you, or without you, both Russell and Forbes will continue their investigations,’ Parker warned. ‘You have no control over that, and it would be in your interest, presuming you want to get out of here, to help at least one of them.’
Colin’s agitation was starting to show. ‘Look, I just don’t know how far they’re prepared to go with this,’ he said. ‘The kind of risk involved –’
‘They’re prepared to take it,’ Parker cut in.
