by Susan Lewis
‘Chancy. He’s likely to blow the lid if they back him against a wall like that.’
‘Colin Ashby hasn’t,’ she reminded him. ‘Jed’s going to Paris tomorrow to talk to your contacts there.’
‘Great. So, the Gatling syndicate’s starting to go under the microscope.’
‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’
‘Unless you’ve got another idea. Are you in a bad mood?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Just wondered. You look better, by the way. Pissed off, but better.’
The comment lodged straight under her skin. However, she made a valiant effort to smile which she followed with, ‘Back to Bruce Cottle. What did you discuss?’
‘OK,’ he said, taking a sip of his drink. ‘This is one of your best, by the way. I’d forgotten how good you were at these.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Right. Bruce Cottle. We discussed the fact that Beth Ashby – or Ava Montgomery – has got a Hollywood deal for her book, and how she’s going to be acting as story consultant for the adaptation. She’s planning to leave on Friday, having just failed in a last-ditch attempt to see her husband.’
Laurie looked interested. ‘So what are we to deduce from that?’ she said. ‘The failed attempt first.’
‘It’s more what Bruce Cottle and his wife deduced,’ he responded. ‘He didn’t have a copy of the letter Ashby recently sent to Beth, but apparently, to quote him, “It was certainly out of step with the tone Colin used on the phone when he said he didn’t want to see her.” In other words, the letter, so they tell me, was very loving and regretful, whilst the phone message was harsh to the point of being cruel.’
She was frowning. ‘Is there any chance of talking to Bruce Cottle’s wife?’ she asked, picking up her mobile as it rang. ‘Laurie Forbes.’
‘It’s Murray. I’ve got Mr and Mrs Long, Sophie’s parents, on the other line, wanting to know when they can expect to see their story.’
Laurie swore under her breath, but was already thinking. ‘OK, tell them it’s part of a much bigger piece that’s still being researched,’ she said. ‘It’s not a lie, but it’s definitely a fudge, and as they know there’s something untoward going on it won’t surprise them.’
‘Got it,’ Murray responded. ‘Is Elliot there?’
‘Yes. Do you want to speak to him?’
‘No, just tell him his ticket’s booked for the eight o’clock flight Saturday morning.’
‘OK.’ She rang off, relayed Murray’s message, then said, ‘So where were we?’
‘Needing to talk to Mrs Cottle,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ve already put it to Bruce, on your behalf. He’s getting back to us, but he’s pretty certain she won’t do anything unless Beth Ashby says it’s OK.’
‘Which is about as likely as Beth Ashby flying to LA on her own wings.’
He nodded agreement.
From inside the kitchen Rhona watched them, moved by the feeling of déjà vu that had come over her when she’d spotted them, sitting together like that, for how often had she seen them like it in the past, engrossed in whatever had their interest that day, oblivious to everyone else, talking, debating, questioning, laughing, connecting in a way it was impossible for an onlooker not to understand? Unless the onlooker happened to be Lysette, who’d always been so proud of the way the two people she loved most in the world got along so well. Had she ever known, Rhona wondered. In her heart of hearts, had she sensed it, the way she and Laurie always used to sense each other’s feelings?
‘Gosh, this looks like fun,’ she declared, sweeping out on to the balcony as Laurie noticed her watching them.
Elliot got to his feet.
‘Oh darling, you’re so divinely old-fashioned,’ she purred, pulling him into an embrace. ‘And I don’t know how you do it, but each time I see you I swear you look meaner than the last.’
‘That’s because I am,’ he assured her.
‘And how’s the gorgeous Petra Wilson? I hear you’re still seeing her.’
‘Not any more,’ he answered.
Rhona immediately perked up. ‘Does that mean you’re free?’ she demanded.
Laughing, he said, ‘Not exactly.’ Then looking at Laurie, who was fully engaged in Jed and Liam’s fax again, he glanced at his watch and said, ‘I’ll leave you two to your dinner. I just wanted to make sure you were OK, and keep you up to date.’
‘Great,’ Laurie said, lifting a hand to wave but not looking up.
‘Oh, but, darling, you can’t leave –’
‘Rhona!’ Laurie snapped. ‘Elliot’s got another engagement, so why don’t we just decide what we’re going to order?’
Rhona was about to protest again when she finally got what was happening. Laurie wanted Elliot to think that she had company for dinner. ‘Oh, what a shame you can’t stay,’ she said to Elliot. ‘Where are you going? Can you give me a lift to the station?’
Laurie’s groan was almost audible.
‘Of course,’ Elliot responded. ‘Are you leaving now?’
‘Tout de suite,’ she smiled in her inimitable fashion. ‘I’ll meet you down at the car.’
To Laurie he said, ‘I’m going to New York at the weekend. Do you know Tom Maykin?’
‘No,’ she answered.
‘He works for the Wall Street Journal. He’s an Ashby recommendation, but I know him, he’s worth talking to.’
‘Then what can I say, but have a good trip?’
He looked at Rhona, who signalled him to leave. When the coast was clear she leant in closely to Laurie, just to make sure she couldn’t be overheard, and whispered, ‘You’re on your own now, so be brave. There’s no one to lie to except yourself, and it’s high time you stopped.’ And with a big, overdone hug, she wafted off into the night, leaving a trail of musky perfume in her wake and Laurie with an irrepressible urge to slap her.
However, by the time Rhona returned, just after eleven, Laurie had calmed down considerably and was even ready to admit that she was, in many ways, hiding from the truth. ‘But you have to understand, Rhona,’ she said earnestly, ‘that sometimes it’s better that way.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Rhona told her, brushing her hair at the dressing table, while Laurie sat cross-legged on the bed. ‘It’s never better that way.’
‘You don’t know. You weren’t there,’ Laurie said. ‘It wasn’t you she called minutes before she drove her car into a wall. You didn’t hear her the way I did. He totally devastated her, Rhona. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d tried. And then I … Well, what I did is just too –’
‘But that’s not the issue here, is it?’ Rhona cut in. ‘What you did or didn’t do isn’t the truth you’re hiding from.’
‘How do you know? I’ve never told you what was said that night.’
‘You’ve told me enough for me to be able to put the rest of it together. And as for saying he couldn’t have hurt her more, well he could, and you know it.’
‘That’s enough now.’
‘No, it’s not nearly enough. He could have told her he was in love with you, but he didn’t. He spared her that. Or did he?’
‘He wasn’t in love with me,’ Laurie cried. ‘It was me who was in love with him. It was always that way round, never the other, never returned. Why else do you think I didn’t show her any pity that night? I didn’t care how she was feeling. I only cared about myself. She’d just told me he was in love with another woman, and all I could think about was how I wouldn’t be able to stand it. I’d always believed that if it weren’t for her he’d want me, but then there was somebody else, someone we didn’t know, and we were both hurting so much … We both loved him, we both wanted him, but she didn’t know that. All she knew was that she needed me that night. She pleaded with me. She was crying, sobbing, begging me to let her come. She told me she didn’t want to live, but still I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to hear her any more, and now I never stop hearing her, calling my name, the way she did that night. I put
the phone down then, but I can’t put it down now. She’s always there, in my head, calling my name and I want so much to tell her I’m sorry. I want her to come to me so I can comfort her and tell her it’ll be all right. But she’ll never come now, will she? She’s dead now, thanks to me, and the way I only cared about myself.’
Rhona looked on helplessly as Laurie let the tears run unchecked down her face. In the end she said, ‘Have you never discussed this with anyone? Not even your parents?’
‘No, of course not. How could I? It’s my fault she’s dead, and they loved her so much, you know that.’
‘But they love you too. They’d –’
‘I know, but I wasn’t there for her when I should have been. And then I let Elliot take the blame for what she’d done, because I couldn’t stand for anyone to know it was me who’d let her down. It wasn’t his fault, but I told myself if it weren’t for him, and what a bastard he’d been to her, then none of it would have happened. She wouldn’t have called me that night, and I wouldn’t have hung up on her. So he deserved the blame. I let everyone else blame him too. I wanted them to hate him as much as I did. I wanted to ruin his life, the way he’d ruined hers. But I was the last one she spoke to, not Elliot. If I’d listened, if I hadn’t been thinking only of myself and how much I wanted him, she’d be here now.’
‘Oh my,’ Rhona murmured, ‘I didn’t realize you’d been giving yourself quite such a terrible time. But, darling, you’ve got to make yourself accept that Lysette is responsible for what she did. Not you, not Elliot, not anyone but her. No, I can see you’re going to argue, but I’m right, and anyway, it’s Elliot you should be talking to, you know that, don’t you?’
Laurie was shaking her head. ‘No. I couldn’t,’ she said.
‘Oh, you could,’ Rhona corrected. ‘You have to. He’s suffered a great deal over this, just as you have, and as far as I can see you’re the only ones who can help each other finally get past it. Did he ever tell her how he felt about you?’
‘I told you, it was the other way round.’
‘He feels the same way, and you know it. Now did he ever tell her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then you must ask him.’
‘No! Never!’
‘Laurie, you’re not a coward so stop behaving like one. If she knew how he felt about you –’
‘If she knew, I couldn’t handle it, Rhona. If it turned out that she killed herself because of that … But she said she didn’t know who the other woman was.’
‘Then the chances are she didn’t. But that’s what you’re hiding from, isn’t it? You’re afraid of finding out that she knew.’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’
‘And you’re also,’ Rhona continued, ‘afraid of finding out that it wasn’t you.’
Laurie looked away.
‘Oh dear, I can see the dilemma all too clearly now,’ Rhona sighed. ‘You don’t know whether to be afraid of him loving you, or not loving you. Poor thing. But it has to be faced. And I know this is going to sound hard, but I’m afraid if you don’t tell him everything you’ve just told me, then I’ll have to tell him myself.’
Laurie gasped. ‘No. You can’t,’ she cried. ‘That’s not fair! It’s not your –’
‘If you were about to say it’s not my business, then I’m here to tell you it is. I care about you both far too much to just sit back and watch what this is doing to you. It’s been long enough, Laurie. You have to get over it, both of you. Elliot’s at least trying. He’s called your parents, and he’s told you himself that he’s ready to talk if you are. So it’s up to you now.’
‘I’m just not ready,’ Laurie responded.
Rhona was unmoved.
Laurie’s eyes were becoming desperate. ‘Rhona, no. We have to work together now. You don’t understand … The way I let him take the blame – it was such a terrible thing to do. He’s never going to forgive me for that, and why should he?’
‘Give him the chance.’
‘No.’
‘Then you leave me no choice.’
Laurie’s head spun as she searched frantically for a solution, some way she could change Rhona’s mind, or take back everything she’d said. But there was nothing she could say or do, no answers, no excuses, only the smallest, weakest of compromises that might not help in the end either, but for the moment it was all she had. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell him, but you have to let me do it when I feel the time is right.’
Rhona’s expression showed little mercy as she said, ‘All right. Just don’t make it too long, or you might end up finding it’s too late.’
Chapter 17
AVA WAS GETTING drunk. Not very. Just enough to stop her thinking about the last time she’d flown, with Colin, to Paris for a romantic weekend. And to stop her thinking about the letter that had all but destroyed Beth. After today she’d be able to say goodbye to Beth almost entirely, because people in LA would know her only as Ava. No one would have any idea that, given the choice, she’d take her life right back to where it had been a year, or even three months ago – except that would mean to a time before Ava, and she wasn’t sure now how she’d ever manage to cope without Ava. She was always there, ready to come to the rescue when hell was calling; a shining white light at the start of the tunnel, rather than the end. She had a way of dealing with people, and emotions, and life’s disturbing coincidences that Beth alone had never mastered. She was dazzling and reckless, and unfailingly courageous, especially when drinking vodka martinis, as she was now. This was her third since boarding the plane, so the shock of discovering that Marcus and Leonora Gatling were no more than eight rows ahead, in the first-class cabin, was starting to become more of a hazy confusion.
Theo Kennedy, the celluloid super-god of Hollywood production, was in the business-class seat next to her, snoring softly behind his black satin eye-mask, ears plugged with spongy yellow bullets, warming socks tugged over his size elevens, blanket snuggled under his chin and a good supply of water in the holder between the seats. He didn’t drink alcohol when flying, it dehydrated the system. Poor Theo, he obviously hadn’t read a book on how to have fun; and Ava was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he did everything by the book.
Personally, she felt like doing something outrageous, though not with him. Adonis-like as he was, he just didn’t inspire the creative juices of passion, or much else, come to that. He was so methodical, sincere, knowledgeable, with a brain as orderly as an index and a permanent vacancy where humour should reside. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything on instinct. Everything had to be studied, brainstormed, market-researched, evaluated, then possibly, after some further assessment, expert opinion and reconfigured industry analysis, produced. What was it like being inside his head, she wondered. Definitely not a picnic, or a day at the beach; more like a session with a librarian, or a tax audit. How had he ever come to be in entertainment? Still, for all that, she rather liked him. He was pleasant, considerate, and knew all the right things to say, probably because he’d read them in a book.
Picking the olive out of her martini, she bit into it and looked around at her fellow passengers. The cabin was less than half full and most seemed to be watching films on their personal screens. The first-class passengers had a wider and more up-to-date choice, she’d noticed when reading the in-flight magazine. So what were Leonora and Marcus watching? Actually, she couldn’t imagine them doing anything that seemed such a waste of time, when they could be checking the markets or preparing details of their next multimillion-dollar deal. She wondered why they were going to LA. It seemed a trivial sort of destination for people like them, who’d hardly be interested in movie studio tours or rollerblading along Santa Monica beach. However, LA didn’t make up the whole of California, whereas California did make up the world’s fifth largest economy, which was why she was no longer so perplexed about them being on the same flight. Whether or not they’d spotted her, she had no idea. Maybe she’d ask a stewardess if she could borr
ow a tray to go and offer them a drink. Surprise! One more martini and she might.
Another hour slipped by. They were now somewhere over Greenland according to the constantly updating electronic map. Though it was late afternoon London time, since the films had finished everyone had lowered their shutters, and seemed either to be tilting off into a doze, or reading a book. Ava was still restless, thinking about LA, what it was going to be like there, the man over in the back corner whom she was considering joining for a drink, and Leonora Gatling, whom she’d caught a glimpse of earlier, when she’d gone to the bathroom. If it wasn’t a coincidence that they were on the same flight, then what was the Gatlings’ purpose in being here? To intimidate? To let her know they were watching? But surely they’d never put themselves to the trouble of going all the way to LA, just for that.
She’d had four martinis by now – any more would make her ill. As it was, she felt expansive, gregarious, in the mood for some fun. She liked the idea of doing something wild and shocking, right under the Gatlings’ noses. It would add a sort of piquancy to whatever she chose to do. She sat quietly thinking it over, imagining coaxing the man behind into the bathroom and wrapping her legs round his waist, or going to offer the pilots a little mid-flight relaxation. It was interesting how all her urges were sexual, and with men she didn’t know, when it was the Gatlings she was trying to affect. What did that say, she wondered. Theo and his textbook brain would probably understand. Were the strangers symbolic of her unknown future, while the act of sex was saying fuck you to the past? Maybe. It had a certain Jungian sort of logic.
Finally she got up from her seat, took off her black frock coat, and sauntered slowly along the aisle towards the first-class cabin. Her vision was slightly blurred, but her unsteady movements were covered by a few small judders of turbulence. She could easily picture how striking she looked, in her straight black trousers and tight white T-shirt top that hugged the dark, swollen peaks of her nipples. She thought, when she got to LA, that one of the first things she’d do would be to get larger breasts, nice big D cups that wouldn’t need a bra and would make her feel sexier than Circe.
