Strange Allure

by Susan Lewis

‘Silly bastard,’ Avril declared, snapping off her phone and bringing Carla back to earth with a bump. ‘Are we there yet?’ she demanded, peering out of the window.

  ‘Almost,’ Carla answered. ‘What time is it?’

  Before Avril could reply her phone rang. ‘Avril Hayden,’ she trilled. ‘Oh, it’s you. How goes it down there in those rural parts, ooh arrr?’

  Guessing it was Sonya, Carla laughed, then reached out for the phone as Avril said, ‘Yep, she’s right here, I’ll pass you over, me ol’ babby.’

  ‘I do not speak like that!’ Sonya was protesting, as Carla put the phone to her ear.

  ‘We all do,’ Carla told her, ‘to one degree or another, even the fake Yank here. So, what’s new?’

  ‘I’ve emailed all your messages,’ Sonya answered. ‘Couple of urgent ones from Hayes and Jarvis and NatWest. We’re still on a cliff edge, I’m afraid, about to plunge into the black beyond, unless this first programme’s a wow! But don’t worry, at least the NatWest thing isn’t your personal account, which is empty again by the way, it’s from their business section. I think they’re caving in a bit over the loan terms.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘Everything’s in order for the party on Monday. Maudie Taylor’s coming, so Faith says, and the Reverend wants to know if he can bring his nephew who’s just getting over the mumps. I told him yes. The nephew’s thirty-two, by the way, and, according to Faith, a very good friend of Robin’s, our illustrious helicopter pilot who called to say he’ll be there, and can he bring his latest boyfriend? Again I said yes. I could go on, but the real reason I’m calling is to find out where the heck you’ve put the storage bill. They rang me up earlier and threatened to jettison all your stuff if we don’t pay by the end of next week.’

  ‘I left it on the desk,’ Carla answered. ‘In the pending tray.’

  ‘Not there.’

  ‘What about the file?’

  ‘The file’s not there either, so obviously one of us has taken it out and put it back in the wrong place. That one of us is probably you. Anyway, you didn’t take the bill with you, intending to pay it, then forgot?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So I’ll get them to fax me a copy. Oh, and before you go, what time shall I expect you tomorrow?’

  ‘About lunch time. I’ll get the train because Avril’s not coming until Sunday. Can you meet me with Eddie?’

  ‘OK. Got to go now, because I want to be home in time to watch The Quinn Wylie Show. John’s on tonight, isn’t he?’

  Carla grinned, knowing how thrilled Sonya was to be on first-name terms with her heart-throb. Not that they’d actually met yet, but in her capacity as Carla’s office manager and personal assistant, there had been plenty of reasons for Sonya to speak to the great man on the phone this past couple of weeks.

  As Carla rang off she was thinking about the missing file, and feeling oddly disturbed by its disappearance. It was only a file, and as Sonya had said, she could easily get a copy of the bill, so where was the problem? Of course there wouldn’t be one, were it not for her peculiar feelings of sometimes not being alone in the house, though why anyone, ghostly or otherwise, would be interested in her storage file was beyond her. So Sonya had to be right, somehow it had been put back in the wrong place, and would no doubt surface in the fullness of time.

  The car was now pulling up outside the Dorchester – a hotel Carla had never set foot inside, never mind stayed at, until Avril had re-entered her life. Even Richard had been impressed when she’d told him, and in describing the incredible grandeur and opulence she had made it sound as though they were experiencing everything from the expert cuisine, to the marble bathroom, to the enormous silk-canopied bed, together. Maybe not as good as the real thing, but rather arousing and even satisfying in its own incorporeal way.

  When they got to their suite Avril headed off to the shower, leaving Carla to retrieve her messages from the email. She saw straight away that two were from Richard, but despite the excitement that sped up her heart, she dealt with her other messages first. Then, after helping herself to a drink from the minibar, she returned to the computer and read both messages through slowly and deliberately, so that she could lose herself totally in every word he had written, every nuance he conjured and all the emotions he aroused.

  The first one began, ‘Darling, I want you to know how hard this is for me too, knowing that you are so close, feeling you even closer still, and yet being unable to see you. But I do see you, in my mind, in my heart and always, always in my dreams. I am with you, with every fibre of my soul, every yearning of my body. When you lie down on that beautiful bed you describe, I want you to think of me, lying behind you, feel my arms reaching for you, hear my breath as I pull you against me. Let everything that is in your heart flow into mine, as I shall release all that is in mine to yours. Sleep with me, breathe with me, love with me, cry with me. Be always a part of me.’

  A knot gathered in Carla’s throat as she read the message again and again, and felt his longing and pain sinking deeper and deeper into her heart.

  Then finally she moved on to the next.

  ‘Darling, I haven’t heard from you since this morning. I’ve been thinking about you all day, imagining you and everything you’ve been doing. Knowing where you are at every minute, who you’re with and your purpose there, enables me to feel a part of your life, and to be the support to you I always strive to be. You are such a beautiful, courageous woman that my heart sings with the joy of belonging to you. There will be a time for us to reunite physically, for our bodies to share the intimacy of our minds. How I wish that time was now. “We all have the strength to endure the troubles of others,” said La Rochefoucauld. Remember that, my darling. Remember it for me, as I shall remember it for you.’

  Carla sat back in her chair and took a deep, steadying breath. He never complained about his life, never mentioned Chrissie at all, or the baby very often. She understood why: they weren’t a part of this, they were another reality, another existence that had him anchored in a place that he could only escape through expressing his thoughts and sharing his dreams with her. Yet she knew, from little things he said, the odd nuance or allusion, that the burden he was carrying was not only heavy, but deeply painful and worrying. Sometimes she sensed his despair of ever finding the answers: the quote from La Rochefoucauld had conveyed that this evening. But she never pried, never asked for details that she had no desire to know, and would be too painful to hear.

  Knowing he would want to hear from her tonight, she clicked open a blank message screen and started to type. ‘My darling, I don’t need to lie on a bed to feel you near me, or to hear you breathe and know how deeply you love me. You are with me all the time, wherever I am, whatever I am doing. I speak to you in my mind, and know the answers you will give, because I know you are me as I am you. I remember the first time you quoted La Rochefoucauld’s words on having the strength to endure others’ troubles, and we smiled then, because we felt we had no troubles, but knew that if we did, we would be each other’s strength. Know that I am yours now, as you are mine. I will be with you, as arranged, at ten tonight, and already I can feel my desire mounting. Think of my lips and let me feel your own kissing them. Think of my breasts and let me feel your hands caressing them. And later, as I lie with my legs open to receive you, I’ll know your desire is filling me in ways that will bring me a brief release from my undying need. A bientôt, mon cher.’

  By the time Avril emerged from the bathroom the computer was off, and Carla was lounging in front of the TV wearing a thick terry robe and oversized slippers bearing the hotel’s gold emblem.

  ‘So, any messages from the great electronic lover?’ Avril asked.

  Carla smiled. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Saying?’

  Carla’s eyebrows went up.

  Avril stifled her annoyance and concern, and flopped down on the sofa beside her. It was beyond bizarre, this email-fucking, and though Avril was always interested in sex, in
whatever shape or form, this wasn’t just sex. This was unscrupulous and controlling, and was leading Carla to a place that Avril was afraid she might be unable to escape from. But what the hell could she do to stop it? Every relationship had its own nuts in the chocolate and Carla was a grown woman, with a mind of her own. Except Avril was convinced Carla knew it wasn’t right, though so far she’d shown no signs of breaking it off. Quite the reverse in fact, for she claimed she needed it. It made her feel whole and worthwhile again, she said, and if Avril knew what it was like not to feel those things, she’d understand why this contact now was so vital.

  Being in no mood to argue it out, Avril plonked her feet up on the coffee table next to Carla’s, and said, ‘OK, let’s get on to what’s really important around here, which is what time the great love of my life is coming on the telly.’

  ‘The programme’s already started,’ Carla told her. ‘We’re on a commercial break. Incidentally, he called while you were in the shower to say he was going to Kensington Place for dinner, if you want to join him. Apparently there’re going to be a few people there you know.’

  ‘Great. What time?’

  ‘Eight thirty.’ Then with a grin, ‘Shall I expect you back?’

  Avril frowned. ‘What do you mean, you’re coming too, aren’t you?’

  Carla shook her head. ‘I’ve got an arrangement with Richard.’

  Avril’s lips tightened.

  ‘So? Shall I expect you back?’ Carla prompted.

  Avril cast her a look, then deciding to let the Richard issue go again, with her usual drollery she said, ‘This is hard for me, but I have this rule, never to screw the client. And right now, thanks to you, John Rossmore is a client. But I’m working on firing him, just as soon as I’ve got you all launched.’

  Carla laughed. ‘I thought you preferred strangers,’ she said. ‘No promises, no strings, no breakfast, is that how it goes?’

  ‘Something like that. Great philosophy. You should try it. Anyway, here’s our man.’

  Carla turned to look at the screen where John Rossmore was entering the set to wild applause, which he saluted repeatedly, and waved his arms to increase. He then drew a fast sharp line for silence, which everyone obeyed, and laughed at.

  Quinn Wylie, a rotund little man in his late fifties, was waiting to greet him, which he did warmly, making it clear that this wasn’t the first time they’d met. ‘So how are you?’ Wylie said, as they both sat down on the grey box-like easy chairs.

  ‘Great,’ John answered. ‘And who wouldn’t be, after a welcome like that?’

  A few people started clapping again.

  ‘No! No! Please!’ he cried. ‘It’s already gone to my head. In fact, even I’m beginning to find me insufferable.’ He grinned at Wylie. ‘And I’m definitely not the first.’

  Wylie laughed. ‘So what’s happening with the bad-boy image?’ he asked. ‘We haven’t heard anything disgusting or reprehensible about you in a while.’

  ‘Hey, we can soon put that to rights,’ John said, springing to his feet. And descending into Wylie’s lap he attempted to engage him in a passionate embrace.

  The audience went crazy.

  John returned to his seat and straightened himself up. Wylie was still flushed, and laughing.

  ‘Headlines tomorrow,’ John stated, ‘“Rossmore comes out of the closet with Wylie.” Or: “Randy Rossmore at it again.”’ He stretched his legs out, and bunched his hands in front of him. ‘So? Got any drugs?’

  This time the audience erupted into near hysteria, since there had recently been an exclusive in a Sunday tabloid accusing Wylie of hosting marijuana parties at his Oxfordshire estate.

  John made a show of not knowing what all the fuss was about, then after a quick high five with Wylie, he settled back into his seat.

  ‘This new travel show,’ Wylie said.

  ‘With a difference,’ John added.

  ‘Yes, what is the difference?’

  ‘You mean apart from it being great, compulsive viewing, which alone sets it apart from all the other travel programmes on our screens?’

  ‘I’ve got to tell you,’ Wylie said to the audience, ‘I’ve seen the first episode of this series, and it really is something different. So now,’ he said to John, ‘over to you for what makes it different.’

  ‘OK. Well, it’s not just taking you to a holiday destination, and telling you why you should go there,’ he said. ‘It goes beyond that, by dramatizing something of the country’s culture or history in a ten or fifteen-minute sketch that might depict anything from a love story between a conquistador and a native Indian girl in Mexico, to a pirate attack on board an East India ship off the Philippines, to a naked fertility dance in Uganda.’

  Wylie said, ‘So does that mean we could be seeing you naked in the next series?’

  The female section of the audience whooped their approval.

  John was laughing. ‘I know, it’s a heady prospect,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m afraid it’s not on the agenda, yet. However, I’m working on the executive producer, because you all know how I’m never happy unless I’ve got my kit off.’

  More laughter and applause, as everyone had heard the frequent criticism that he never took a film or TV part unless it called for him to be in the buff at least half a dozen times, for whatever reason.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, when he was able, ‘there are no plans for me to appear in the new series at all. My role is to direct it, and I should tell you that once you’ve seen the first couple of episodes you’ll understand why I begged Carla Craig, the exec. producer, to let me do it.’

  ‘Did you really have to beg? I can’t believe that.’

  ‘Almost,’ he laughed. ‘She certainly wasn’t keen.’

  ‘Would that have anything to do with the rumours that no-one wants to take the risk of having you in their movie any more?’

  John frowned. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered pensively. ‘Could be. She never mentioned it, but I guess it could be giving her a few problems. But I’m such a great guy really. I never lose my cool – unless provoked, and all those stories about women and drugs and boozing and gambling – I mean, look at me, do I look like the kind of guy who’d be into such a good time?’

  A great cheer rose up out of the audience, who clearly adored his bad-boy image and were no doubt hoping he’d do something outrageous now, right in front of their eyes, that they’d be able to read about in the papers tomorrow.

  ‘So has directing always been an ambition?’ Wylie asked.

  ‘It has. I’ve enjoyed being an actor, and I’m not saying I’ll never do it again, but I’m ready to make a change and who wouldn’t want to be involved in a programme that takes you all over the world and pays you for going? Not that I’m getting paid, you understand. I’m doing this for the love of it – and of the exec. producer,’ he added with a wink. ‘Gorgeous.’ He drew an air picture of an hourglass figure.

  Carla’s mouth and eyes were wide open as she turned to Avril. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she murmured.

  Avril was laughing. ‘Don’t take it personally. Just look at them, they love it. God, he really knows how to play them.’

  ‘So who will we see on our screens, fronting the new series?’ Wylie asked. Then to the audience, ‘I should explain that one half of this programme is much like the travel programmes we’re used to, with a reporter talking you through the location and prices etc.’ To John, ‘So who’s presenting the new series?’

  ‘We’ll be starting auditions sometime in the next couple of weeks,’ he answered. ‘But we’ve still got plenty of money to raise yet, which is why we want everyone to watch this first series, so the advertisers will look at the ratings and say hey, I want to stick my Bounty bar in there, or my Mercedes Benz, or my extra-strong mints.’

  Avril said to Carla, ‘Have you thought about asking John to present it himself?’

  Carla nodded. ‘Actually yes, it has crossed my mind,’ she answered.

  ‘You’r
e just afraid it’ll give him too much control.’

  Carla’s eyes remained on the screen.

  Avril sighed. ‘You control freaks,’ she lamented.

  Still Carla didn’t respond. She was happy just to sit here and watch the rest of the programme, and wonder what Richard was making of the fact that John Rossmore had described her as gorgeous. Knowing Richard, he’d probably found it as amusing as everyone else, but if it had caused him a moment’s concern, or even a frisson of something akin to jealousy, well, she had to confess, that was all right by her. After all, in the real world, she was living night and day with the concern about Chrissie, who shared his house, his bed, his name and even his baby. And that, by anyone’s reckoning, was a hell of a lot harder to deal with than the throwaway comment of a man who meant no more to her than what he could do for her programme.

  Chrissie was lying in bed, propped up by pillows. The room was in darkness, except for the grey, bobbing light from the TV, and the hazy glow of a street lamp shining through the blue velvet curtains. Richard was lying next to her, on top of the covers, the baby asleep on one shoulder, a clean nappy on the other.

  The Quinn Wylie Show had finished two hours ago, but neither of them had mentioned it, they’d simply gone on lying here, quietly watching the three programmes that had followed. She thought that maybe Richard had dropped off too, for his breathing was deep and rhythmic, and he hadn’t moved since he’d gone to get the baby. He often came to lie here with her, now that she didn’t get up any more. The rest of the time he spent at his computer, or out interviewing people about the book he was writing. She didn’t know who the people were, he rarely mentioned them, and she never asked. His professional world was where he went to escape her, so she didn’t try to follow, she just released him, and envied him, because she had nowhere to go to get away from herself.

  Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes, trickled down past her ears and into her neck. Watching John Rossmore earlier had been like watching life go on after she was dead. She was somewhere else now, part of another existence, and those who were left never mentioned her name. What was it going to be like when the programme itself went out, she wondered. Didn’t anyone want to know where she was now, or what she was doing?