by Susan Lewis
‘Was that Eaton?’ Laurie said, referring to the man they were supposed to be meeting.
‘No. It was Karl, calling from Frankfurt. He’s arriving in London tonight.’
Laurie nodded. There was so much coming and going now that she’d almost lost track of who was due in when, and where she was supposed to be next. Just thank God for Murray, was all she could say, whose powers of co-ordination were in a science fiction league of their own.
‘By the way, did you know you talk in your sleep?’ Elliot commented, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs.
Laurie’s eyes flew open as colour flooded her cheeks. ‘That’s not true,’ she declared. ‘I never talk in my sleep.’
‘I don’t know about never,’ he responded, ‘but you did on the way here.’
‘What did I say?’
His eyes were shining with mirth. ‘I don’t know that I can repeat it,’ he teased.
‘Elliot! Don’t do this,’ she warned. ‘I want to know what I said.’
‘And I want to know what you were dreaming.’
‘No! I can’t remember. Nothing.’ In fact, it was true, she couldn’t remember dreaming, but she knew very well what she’d been thinking before she’d dropped off to sleep. Then, realizing the more she reacted the more he was going to tease her, she said, ‘Well, actually, now I come to think of it … Whatever I said couldn’t possibly have measured up to what was actually going on.’
He looked surprised. ‘Now I’m really interested,’ he said.
‘Mm, shame I’m not going to tell you,’ she responded, as their drinks arrived.
Picking up his beer he looked at her over the glass as he drank, then the moment passed, as these flirtatious moments always did, leaving her wondering if she’d gone too far, or read more into it than was actually there.
‘There was a Frenchman and an Englishman,’ he said, putting his glass down as he launched into the joke. ‘Jean-Claude and Bert. Jean-Claude says: “You know, Bert, I am very proud to be a Frenchman, it is the best thing to be, but if I weren’t a Frenchman I would want to be an Englishman.” And Bert says: “You know Jean-Claude, I am very proud to be an Englishman, it is the best thing to be, but if I weren’t an Englishman I would want to be …”’
It took her a moment, then laughing she said, ‘That’s terrible.’
‘I know,’ he responded, getting to his feet as the door opened. ‘David, it’s good to see you,’ he said to the extremely elegant, immaculately groomed man who’d just arrived.
‘Elliot, my friend. Glad you found it all right.’ Eaton closed the door, and his eyes moved to Laurie as he came to shake Elliot’s hand.
Elliot immediately introduced her.
Eaton frowned. ‘If I didn’t know you, Elliot, I’d have a problem with this,’ he said frankly.
‘If you didn’t know me you wouldn’t be here,’ Elliot responded lightly. ‘What’ll you have to drink?’
‘Encore une bière,’ Eaton replied, speaking to the barman.
Elliot gestured for him to sit, saying, ‘I was wondering if we were ever going to hear from you.’
‘This is the first opportunity I’ve had,’ Eaton replied. ‘Everyone’s being watched every minute now. You just don’t know what it’s like. All hell broke loose after Ashby killed that girl. They’re running so damned scared, the lot of them, they’d be laughable if it weren’t so bloody dangerous. Anyway, they know you’re on to them, I hope you’re aware of that.’
‘Of course. Who’s “they” exactly?’
‘Everyone from the PM down. They just can’t work out how much you know.’
‘So am I supposed to tell you? Is that what this is about?’
‘You know me better than that.’
The barman set down Eaton’s drink, and after taking a sip, he said to Laurie, ‘You must be the one who visited Ashby.’
She nodded.
His shrewd grey eyes clung to hers for a moment; then he turned back to Elliot. ‘So how much do you know?’ he said.
Elliot smirked. ‘I’ll tell you this,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got a lot more people working on it than you might imagine, and we’re getting a pretty good idea of what’s involved. Frankly, it’s too big for one story, so we’re structuring it to unfold in ten or more. So just when they think it’s all dying down …’ His fingers mimicked an explosion.
Eaton looked down at his drink. ‘What kind of themes are you looking at?’ he said.
‘You name it. Everything from presidential pardons, to ministerial witch-hunts, to the contentious little Son of Star Wars, to highly suspect currency dealings. There’s a lot of crossover, but every link is tainted with gold, or maybe that should be green, as in greenback.’
Eaton’s eyebrows flickered.
‘Why don’t we make a start on the dollar versus the euro?’ Elliot suggested.
Eaton nodded, as though confirming his approval.
‘I need names.’
Eaton gave a dry laugh. ‘Just pick one and say bingo,’ he responded. ‘Sabilio. Gatling times two. Wingate. Chiselhurst. Kleinstein. Fulmer. They’re spread out all over the place, from London to Washington, Sydney to Hong Kong. They’re standing to make billions out of this – pounds not dollars – and no one can back out even if they wanted to. They’re all in too deep. The entire wealth of some vast corporations is behind it – insurance, international banking, petrochemicals, telecommunications, you name it.’
‘So what’s their goal? How are they doing it?’
‘How? In more ways than you and I even know exist,’ Eaton responded, glancing at Laurie. ‘They’ve got some of the best financial brains behind it. But I can tell you this, Britain’s not going to give up sterling for the euro, it’s going to give it up for the US dollar.’
Laurie’s shock came out in a gasp of laughter. She looked at Elliot, but he was registering neither surprise nor disbelief. ‘This has to go back a long way if it’s serious,’ he said.
‘It does.’
‘But what about Britain’s relationship with the rest of Europe?’ Laurie interjected.
Eaton merely looked at her.
‘I don’t see how they can just thrust this on the people,’ she protested. ‘I mean you surely can’t just announce one day that Britain’s currency is now the dollar, as though nothing else has ever gone before, and no one’s opinion except those making the decision counts. Referendums, even elections, are held based on this sort of thing.’
Eaton nodded agreement.
Her frustration was mounting. ‘OK, let’s say they do pull it off, what’s it going to mean for the country?’ she demanded.
‘It’s hard to predict exactly,’ Eaton answered, ‘but the Community’s retaliation is sure to be swift, so trade will probably be the worst hit, at least initially. The economy’s going to be all over the place for years …’
‘Where are they operating from?’ Elliot said.
‘Companies in the Bahamas, Guernsey and Hong Kong. You’ll find most of the banks are Swiss.’
Elliot nodded. That at least confirmed what he already knew.
Laurie said, ‘Is Colin Ashby part of it?’
Eaton’s grey eyes focused on hers. ‘I don’t know how far into it he was, but there’s a good chance he was in, yes.’
‘What about Sophie Long? Why would he kill her?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him.’
‘He says he didn’t do it.’
‘Which has thrown a lot of people into a panic,’ Eaton replied. ‘Believe me, there have been some nasty exchanges going on behind the scenes since that murder, because if Ashby’s telling the truth, it means there’s a chance someone amongst them has ordered a killing without the others’ agreement. No one knows for sure who did it, or why, so everyone’s a suspect. Trust, or the lack of it, has become a big issue, and paranoia is making them more dangerous than ever. From what you’ve told me it’s clear you’ve already uncovered enough information to caus
e an international scandal, if not disaster, so I want to drive it home to you, if someone can give the order to kill once, then, in this kind of climate, they’re more likely to do it again.’
Elliot’s eyes remained firmly on his.
Laurie said, ‘Do you personally have any theories on the killing?’
‘Truthfully, I think Ashby did it,’ Eaton answered. ‘The evidence is all there, and who in his right mind, if he finds a dead body, is going to take off his trousers and go and sit on the bed next to the corpse? It doesn’t make any sense, unless he has a pretty sick sex life.’
Her eyes didn’t waver from his.
He shrugged. ‘OK. Select a name from those I’ve already given you,’ he said, ‘it could be any one of them.’
‘Including Marcus Gatling?’
‘Yes, but I should tell you he’s been the most vigorous in trying to find out who it might have been.’
‘Could be a bluff,’ Elliot stated.
Eaton conceded with a nod. Then glancing at his watch he said, ‘I promised my wife I’d be back by one. Friends are joining us from the Isle of Wight.’
Elliot got to his feet, gestured to the barman for a bill, and minutes later he and Laurie were in the Porsche heading back to Boulogne.
‘So what do you make of all that?’ she asked, as he put his foot down to pass a slow-moving cattle truck.
‘It’s hard to tell how much was bullshit, and how much wasn’t.’ He sounded frustrated, angry even. ‘There’s definitely something going on with the euro, we know that, but rejecting it in favour of the dollar … You know what I think? I think Gatling’s just used Eaton to keep us busy with wild-goose chases all over the world, while they take their plans to the finish. At the same time, I think Eaton’s trying to let us know that we’re on the right track, we’ve got the right names in the frame, and we should stay with it.’
‘But stay with what?’ she said.
‘The probability that they’re planning some kind of run on the euro that’s going to help them clean up the day Britain joins. They can buy in dollars or pounds – both currencies are strong – so it’ll make them a fortune either way.’
All the way back to the terminal they discussed the possible ramifications of what Eaton had told them, many of which were so fantastic they were hard to voice. In the end, as they joined a short queue to board the train Elliot said, ‘No. I tell you, it’s just not going to happen, because the worst-case scenario of Continental Europe declaring war on the US, with Britain floundering about somewhere in the middle, is the only logical place for this to go. So no. I’m not buying it, and Gatling’s out of his tiny mind if he thinks I will.’
She waited for him to hand over the ticket, then said, ‘What did you think of Gatling shouting the loudest about Sophie Long?’
‘What I said at the time, I think it’s a bluff. Why else is he interfering with police investigations and getting his own people in on the act? Fuck the man!’ he suddenly swore, banging a fist against the wheel. ‘Eaton was always a damned good source, but he’s staying on the fence over this. I take it you picked up on the threat disguised as a warning?’
Laurie frowned.
‘“If someone can give the order to kill once … they’re more than likely to do it again,”’ he quoted.
Fear blossomed in Laurie’s head as she turned to look at him. He looked at her too, then someone behind tooted and he inched forward towards the train.
Neither of them spoke again until they were nose to tail inside the carriage with the engine turned off. As he selected another CD, and the haunting voice of Renata Scotto stole movingly into the car, Laurie was reminded of the journey over and how he’d teased her about talking in her sleep after. But she was too sobered by the words he’d just uttered to return to those light-hearted moments now.
He turned to look at her and the tension in his face lessened when he saw how anxious she was. Reaching for her hand he squeezed it, then held on to it as her eyes came up to his.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he said softly.
She nodded. ‘I know.’
He continued to watch her in a way that seemed to ease her from the threat of danger towards a place of safety just for being with him. His hand was still on hers; the air in the car was changing, becoming dense, as though charging with feeling. Her heart was starting to thud, and her lips parted as she took a breath.
He moved towards her, slowly, carefully, and a wealth of emotion began rising in her like a slow-motion rush of champagne. She stopped breathing, and lowered her eyes as his fingers came to her face. She could feel him so close; the male scent of him was moving all the way through her. There was a moment in which everything seemed to stop, then the feel of his lips on her forehead turned her heart inside out, and her hope into crushing disappointment. She didn’t want this kind of kiss! Didn’t he understand that? It wasn’t enough. It made him a friend, or a brother and from him she wanted neither.
She turned her head away, not wanting him to see her frustration. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him how she felt, to shout it at him even, but pride made her hold back. Apart from anything else they had the rest of this journey to get through, and the last thing she wanted was to be trapped in a car with him while he tried to deal with the embarrassment of her confession.
Then almost without thinking she turned to him and said, ‘We have to talk.’
His expression gave nothing away, as he said, ‘OK.’
‘Not now. Not here. I’m just saying, we need to talk.’
He nodded.
She turned away again, still angry, with herself now as much as with him. But at least she’d admitted there was something to discuss. It would be much harder to draw back from it after that, and she didn’t have to feel quite so cowardly for continuing to avoid it. Just, please God, he didn’t try to take the initiative from here, because she really did need to be in control when she told him, and in a place from which she could escape with some dignity and ease.
Ava was alone in the house. Mitzi had returned to her own home in Laguna Beach and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Ava could have gone too, but she’d stayed here because she’d wanted to sleep off the after-effects of last night, which had begun with a movie première celebration at the Playboy Mansion, but though it had been star-studded and glamorous beyond belief, she couldn’t remember anything especially outrageous happening. It had just been fun to be there, though maybe not as much as the party they’d gone on to, where Fabio sprinkled them in yet more star dust and they’d danced and danced until they couldn’t stay upright any more. After that, the rest of the night and all of this morning had faded into more of a blur than a memory, and she didn’t have much inclination to try to pull it into focus.
Now it was three in the afternoon and she couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t remember ever, even in the very worst moments of the past few months, feeling this bleak or alone. It was welling up around her like a sinister, smothering force; sucking her into an abyss of total darkness and despair. She needed Fabio and his star dust so badly it might actually be killing her. Or maybe she’d end up killing herself if she had to go on living with her own thoughts and the conversation she’d had with Georgie. A week had passed since, a week in which Fabio and his magic had been there constantly, setting her free from the fear, removing her from the need to act, even to think. Thank God for Fabio, because she might not be making it without him. But these in-between times, when she couldn’t find him, were a torment she could hardly stand. It was as though opening that phone line to Georgie had unblocked some kind of channel and now all the hell of there was spewing all over the Utopia of here. They’d cancelled her book, Colin was divorcing her, and she still had no idea if the publisher was going to pay her. How was she going to pay Fabio if she didn’t have any money? But it was OK. Theo had vowed to make the film, come what may, and though he wasn’t offering much, the little he’d deposited into her account would help for a while. Theo. Theo. If on
ly she’d kept it so that he was her sole link to England.
He said he’d be back in LA soon, and for her it couldn’t be soon enough. He and Mitzi were everything to her now, and she wanted them where she could see them, and touch them, and know that they were there for her too. But they weren’t here now, and Fabio wasn’t answering his phone. If he would she wouldn’t be sitting here, on the edge of her unmade bed, clad only in a T-shirt, blinds drawn against the sun, address book open on the squashed pillow where a stranger’s head had lain the previous night.
She listened to the ringing at the other end of the line – ringing and ringing. She tried to picture Heather Dance’s house, and the phone, shrilling through the bedroom, the hall and the kitchen. She counted fourteen times then pushed down the connectors. She tried again and again, but there was still no reply. There was no answer from Heather’s mother either. Tears streamed down her face, her hands shook as she turned over the pages in her book. There was another number; one she’d almost forgotten she had. She’d try that, because now, today, this minute, it was vital that she spoke to Heather Dance.
She dialled the other number. It was a different ringing sound this time, a friendly burble in contrast to the cold harshness of before. It burbled four times then Heather’s Welsh voice said, ‘Hello?’
Ava held her breath. Her hand was gripping the receiver so hard it hurt. She didn’t know what to say. She shouldn’t be doing this. It was madness, guaranteed to bring her even more pain – but who else could she talk to?
‘Hello?’ Heather said again. ‘Is anyone there?’
A small sob escaped Ava’s lips.
‘Beth, is that you?’ Heather said softly.
She nodded and more tears flowed down her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she answered, hardly able to push her voice through the anguish. ‘Yes, it is.’
Heather was quiet for a moment, then in her warm, mellifluous tones she said, ‘I won’t ask how you managed to find me, just tell me how you are.’
