Wildfire

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Is Max cross?’ she said, embracing Maurice, then turning to Ellis.

  ‘Mad as hell,’ Ellis told her, having to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth to speak. Even the smell of her was enough to turn his bones to jelly and dressed the way she was, in white lycra shorts and white leotard that was cut high over her hip bones and revealed the dark shadow of her nipples and immaculate shape of her long, tanned legs, it was almost enough to make him forget who she was.

  Galina laughed and turned back to Max. ‘Is it true?’ she said, taking his hands. ‘Are you mad?’

  His charcoal-black eyes were watching her closely and showing only humour. ‘Real mad,’ he confirmed.

  She laughed again and raised her mouth to his. ‘Show me,’ she challenged.

  Kissing her with lips that were parted and tender, though quickly pulled away, he held her at arm’s length. ‘Did you talk to the lawyers yet?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh Max,’ she groaned. ‘I’ve only just found out. I wanted to tell you first, not a stuffy old lawyer. OK, OK, I’ll call them,’ she said, seeing the look on his face. ‘But can’t we celebrate first? I’m going to be famous, Max. I mean, big-time famous. Conspiracy cosmetics are going to sell all over the world . . . Call Leo, tell him to bring champagne and let’s take it to bed.’

  ‘I’ve got people arriving in less than an hour,’ he told her, laughter darkening his eyes as Maurice and Ellis seemed almost to collapse at the very idea that he could even consider turning her down.

  ‘Oh Max,’ she pouted, moving in closer to him. ‘Can’t they wait? This is so special to me and I know you’re getting hard just thinking about me . . .’

  Her words shocked Maurice and Ellis, who both turned away as she reached inside Max’s robe and started to fondle him. For a while he let her, looking down into her eyes, then gently removing her hand he turned her round and pointed her towards the door. ‘Go speak to Leo,’ he said, ‘I’ll join you in a few minutes.’

  As the door closed behind her, Ellis let go of his breath and flopped back down in his chair. ‘I gotta have me some coffee,’ he said, reaching for the pot.

  The corners of Max’s mouth compressed in a smile as Maurice said, ‘Are you going to announce the wedding on Friday too? Get the whole thing over in one go?’

  Max inhaled deeply, then scratching his fingers over the stubble on his chin he shook his head. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘In fact I’m going to put the wedding plans on hold for a while.’

  ‘How’s she going to take that?’ Ellis asked. ‘I thought she was pretty keen to get hitched as soon . . .’ He trailed off, shrugging, as Max’s stony gaze came to rest on him. ‘OK, it’s none of my business,’ he said, colouring.

  Max’s face relaxed. ‘I’ll handle it,’ he said. Then turning to Maurice he changed the subject. ‘I want to know how serious Rhiannon Edwardes’s relationship is with Maguire, how long it’s been going, where it’s heading, exactly what his connection is with the Straussens, and get someone to check the whereabouts of this Phillip Chambers guy who dumped her four years ago.’

  ‘Five,’ Maurice corrected.

  ‘OK, five,’ Max responded, holding out his hand for the photographs of Rhiannon. The nude one was the first to slide out of the envelope and staring down at it he was once again struck by how alluring it was, considering she hadn’t known it was being taken, even though she appeared to be looking right into the lens. ‘Where is she now?’ he said.

  ‘Cape Town,’ Maurice answered. ‘Maguire’s in Johannesburg.’

  Max lifted his head.

  ‘He’s due to join her later today,’ Maurice replied to the unspoken question. ‘According to Straussen’s PI, Maguire’s just paid something in the region of fifty big ones for a cabochon-cut champagne diamond, so I guess that tells us where the relationship’s heading.’

  Max looked impressed, then sliding the photographs back into the envelope he said, ‘Stall the meeting for half an hour and get me Theo Straussen on the line now.’

  As Ellis keyed the Straussen name into his organizer Maurice was tempted to remind Max that Galina was waiting, but didn’t, since he knew that it was unlikely Max had forgotten. Maurice couldn’t help wondering if Galina had, though, as squeals of childish laughter had started ringing through the house a few minutes ago, signalling the fact that she had been waylaid by Aleks and Marina. Which, Maurice knew, would be no hardship for Galina, since she was as besotted with Max’s kids as they were with her. And no one who knew about Galina’s and Max’s relationship had ever doubted, even when Carolyn was alive, what a great stepmother Galina would make were Max ever able to gain custody of his children in a divorce. Of course, there was no problem about custody now and since Galina had been a part of Max’s life long before his marriage even, their wedding, when finally it was announced, shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise to the world.

  When at last Max ended his conversation with Theo Straussen in New York both Maurice and Ellis were looking at him expectantly. Max’s dark eyes were distant and unfocused as he ruminated on what he had just learned. ‘The PI’s a woman,’ he said distractedly.

  ‘Working for Straussen,’ Ellis responded.

  ‘Indirectly, yes,’ Max confirmed.

  ‘And Maguire’s connection to Straussen?’ Maurice prompted.

  Max’s eyes pulled focus as they came to rest on Maurice’s face. ‘Is a connection’, he answered with a grim yet interested smile, ‘that Oliver Maguire is going to be very sorry he ever made – if he isn’t already.’ His eyebrows went up as he lifted a photograph of Oliver and Rhiannon from the pile and stared at it hard. ‘The guy’s got to be crazy if he thinks he can get away with what he’s trying to pull off,’ he murmured. ‘Either that or he values that woman more than he values his own life.’

  Maurice and Ellis exchanged glances.

  ‘Where did you say they were now?’ Max asked.

  ‘In a couple of hours they’ll both be in Cape Town,’ Maurice answered.

  Max nodded and tossing the photographs back on the table he started out of the room. ‘Keep up with Straussen’s PI,’ he said. ‘This could be important.’

  ‘To whom?’ Ellis ventured.

  When Max turned round his eyes were narrowed with surprise. ‘To Galina, of course,’ he replied, ‘and whether or not we allow her to renew her association with a woman who, it appears, is about to be presented with a fifty-thousand-dollar diamond.’ He pondered this for a moment, then said, ‘A proposal at sunset on Table Mountain?’

  Ellis and Maurice started to laugh. ‘We’ll let you know,’ Maurice responded and picking up the phone, he began to punch out a number in Cape Town.

  Chapter 6

  ‘I TAKE IT that was Oliver,’ Lizzy said, lifting her feet on to the empty chair beside her and tilting her face towards the sun as Rhiannon zipped the telephone back into her belt-bag.

  ‘It was,’ Rhiannon confirmed. ‘He’s just got off the plane.’

  ‘How sweet of him to let you know,’ Lizzy remarked.

  Rhiannon looked at her.

  Lizzy’s eyes were closed, her T-shirt was sliding off one shoulder, her flimsy white skirt was gaping open to expose her evenly tanned legs to the sun. ‘So do we take it that filming is now cancelled for the rest of the day?’ she enquired silkily.

  Rhiannon waited for Lizzy’s eyes to open. When they didn’t she moved her gaze to Jack, then to Hugh, both of whom were obviously wishing themselves elsewhere.

  The four of them were sitting in the partial shade of a two-hundred-year-old oak at one of the magnificent wine estates of Franschhoek, eighty kilometres inland from Cape Town. The circular white-linen-draped table before them was cluttered with the remains of their lunch. A leaf floated from an overhead branch and settled on the table in front of Rhiannon. She looked at it, then at the dazzlingly white Cape Dutch house across the lawn where the vineyard’s proprietors lived and where later they would buy some of the most deliciously oaky wines she had ever tasted.
Everything here was so perfect, the unblemished blue of the sky, the reds and purples and pinks and yellows of rare flowers, the welcome of their hosts, the food they had eaten . . .

  ‘Well, is it?’ Lizzy prompted, pushing her fingers into her hair while keeping her face turned to the sun.

  ‘No,’ Rhiannon answered shortly.

  ‘Any news on Melanie?’ Hugh ventured after a pause that was growing more explosive by the second.

  ‘She arrived back in Antigua last night,’ Rhiannon answered.

  ‘Is she coming back again?’ Jack said, helping himself to more wine.

  Nobody answered and a few more minutes ticked by as Rhiannon sat with her fingers resting idly on the stem of her glass, while Lizzy sealed her simmering resentment with a benign little smile.

  ‘So, Rhiannon, how many bottles are you going to buy?’ Hugh asked, emptying the blanc fume into her glass.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ Rhiannon said, taking the bottle from him and looking at the label.

  ‘Why don’t you call Oliver?’ Lizzy suggested. ‘He’ll tell you how many you should buy.’

  Rhiannon looked at Hugh. Beneath his khaki cap his wiry black hair was plastered to his head and beads of sweat glistened at the frizzy roots of his beard. The dark lenses of his sun-glasses were masking his eyes, but Rhiannon had no trouble sensing his discomfort. Giving him an almost imperceptible nod, she then smiled at Jack and downed the last of her wine as they got up from the table.

  ‘It’s not going to work, Lizzy,’ she said, as Hugh and Jack ambled through the tables that were spread across the rich, spongy lawn.

  Lizzy smirked. ‘Saint Rhiannon the Super Cool isn’t going to get riled, is that it?’ she remarked.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Rhiannon said.

  Lizzy’s eyebrows tilted.

  ‘Why don’t you just get it off your chest, Lizzy, then perhaps we can all get on with what we came here for.’

  ‘Oh, you mean the rest of us have a role to play here?’ Lizzy responded archly. ‘I thought all this was just an excuse for you and Oliver to romance your way round South Africa.’

  Rhiannon’s lips were paling with anger. ‘I didn’t know he was going to show up and you know it,’ she retorted.

  ‘Do I?’ Lizzy said.

  ‘Yes, you do. And maybe you’d like to tell me exactly why I should put up with your childish behaviour when it’s not my damned fault that Andy hasn’t called you since we left Perlatonga. Nor is it Oliver’s.’

  ‘My childish behaviour, as you call it,’ Lizzy responded through her teeth, ‘has nothing to do with Andy not calling. It has to do with the fact that you are financing Oliver’s trip and you can’t see what a bloody fool he’s taking you for.’

  Rhiannon was very close to exploding, but taking a breath she forced herself to remain calm. ‘His credit cards were stolen,’ she said with exaggerated patience, ‘so how the hell else is he supposed to get around?’

  ‘Most people manage to get replacement cards the next day,’ Lizzy replied. ‘So why hasn’t he?’

  ‘Maybe he has. Maybe they’re there at the hotel in Cape Town waiting for him,’ Rhiannon said tightly. ‘Have you thought of that?’

  Lizzy turned to look at her. ‘Are they?’ she challenged.

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes, they are.’

  Lizzy’s eyes bored into hers.

  Rhiannon didn’t even flinch.

  ‘Has he ever paid you back all the other money he’s borrowed?’ Lizzy asked bluntly.

  ‘Just what the hell is this?’ Rhiannon cried, throwing out her hands.

  ‘Has he?’ Lizzy pressed.

  ‘Yes, he has.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘Every last penny if you must know.’

  Still Lizzy’s eyes wouldn’t let go.

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Rhiannon said, looking both shocked and confused.

  ‘If you tell me it’s true then I believe you,’ Lizzy said with no warmth in her voice.

  ‘Why would I lie about it?’ Rhiannon demanded heatedly. ‘Especially to you. I mean, if Oliver were borrowing money from me and not paying it back, don’t you think my own alarm bells would be ringing by now? And if they were who else would I confide in but you?’

  Lizzy’s eyes remained flat and hostile until finally Rhiannon put her head to one side and treated her to a wide, ingenuous grin that was designed to take the salt from both their tempers.

  ‘OK,’ Lizzy said with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I guess it’s just that . . .’ She stopped and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘I’m getting cynical in my old age, I suppose. And you’re right, I’m royally pissed off that Andy hasn’t called since we left the reserve. I really thought he might have by now.’

  ‘So, why don’t you call him?’

  Lizzy’s mouth tightened. ‘I tried, the night before last,’ she confessed. ‘He wasn’t there.’

  ‘But you left a message?’ Rhiannon prompted.

  ‘Yes, I left a message,’ Lizzy confirmed. ‘And I wish to God I hadn’t now, because he hasn’t fucking well called back, the bastard. Whereas Oliver Maguire manages to call to tell you he’s just got off a fucking plane. Which just goes to show that if someone wants to speak to you they will and no matter how many excuses you can think up as to why someone doesn’t call the fact still remains that if they really wanted to they would. And why the hell I should be getting so worked up over this God only knows, when I only knew the man for two days and when I’ll probably never see him again anyway, which is absolutely fine by me.’

  Rhiannon’s eyes were brimming with laughter. ‘Sounds like it,’ she commented.

  Lizzy threw her a look, then, not wanting to laugh, turned away.

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ Rhiannon said, attempting to reason things out. ‘Andy hasn’t called you so that makes Oliver some sort of con man or crook? Is that right?’

  Lizzy rolled her eyes and pushing her tongue into her cheek started to grin. ‘I was genuinely worried that he hadn’t paid you back,’ she said.

  ‘But he has.’

  ‘OK.’

  Rhiannon waited. Lizzy looked at her, pursed the corner of her mouth and looked away. ‘There’s more,’ Rhiannon said, ‘so you might as well finish it.’

  Lizzy nodded. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘It’s the way things keep disappearing around that man . . . Credit cards, BMWs, whole apartments full of furniture . . . It’s not normal. I mean, the guy’s either a closet magician or . . .’

  ‘Or?’

  Lizzy’s eyes were dense. ‘Or somebody’s got it in for him,’ she said frankly.

  Several seconds elapsed as Rhiannon stared into Lizzy’s face, quietly assimilating her thoughts. ‘I have to admit that the same thought has crossed my mind,’ she said finally.

  ‘So, have you discussed it with him?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Rhiannon answered, her stomach clenching with nerves. ‘I mean, I know he’s worried by it . . .’

  ‘How worried? Has he told the police?’

  ‘About his flat being burgled and the BMW, yes. I’m not sure about the credit cards though.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Lizzy grunted. ‘What about Oliver? Does he think there might be someone behind it all?’

  Rhiannon shrugged. ‘If he does he isn’t telling me.’

  Lizzy looked at her in surprise. ‘That sounds like you think he’s holding back on you? Do you?’

  Rhiannon shook her head. ‘It’s hard to say,’ she replied, gazing thoughtfully out at the garden. ‘I suppose what I really think is that he’s got an idea who might be doing it, but until he can prove it he doesn’t want to say anything to anyone.’

  Lizzy picked up the bottle of cabernet sauvignon, poured the last dribble into her glass and drank it.

  Rhiannon turned to look at her, her tanned freckled face suddenly seeming very unsure. ‘You really do think he’s a crook, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Your instincts are telling you that he’s into something, or he
’s done something . . .’

  ‘Hold on, hold on,’ Lizzy said, putting up her hands, ‘don’t let’s start getting things out of proportion here. If all anyone’s doing to harass him is nick a few credit cards, turn over his apartment and relocate his car then . . .’ Her eyes moved back to Rhiannon’s. ‘I was going to say that it can’t be very serious, but on second thoughts if it were happening to me I’d be scared shitless.’

  ‘So prettily put,’ Rhiannon murmured, but there was little humour in her eyes as she considered what Lizzy was saying. ‘You’re right,’ she said in the end, ‘we could be making mountains out of molehills.’

  Lizzy shrugged. ‘We could be,’ she said. ‘And that woman walking towards us might not be a fascist pig.’

  Rhiannon looked up to see the Afrikaans woman they’d earlier overheard telling her husband that if the black people who’d just come in were shown to a table anywhere near theirs she was leaving.

  Rhiannon’s and Lizzy’s cold, shaming eyes escorted the woman, who was immaculately dressed in a pale-blue Chanel suit and matching shoes, until she disappeared down the steps into the car-park.

  ‘So, what do we have on the agenda this afternoon?’ Lizzy said, picking up her bag and taking out a compact.

  ‘Only the vineyards,’ Rhiannon answered, pulling a rolled-up copy of the schedule out of her belt-bag to read it. ‘This one and some GVs as we drive back.’

  ‘What about the interview in Stellenbosch?’

  ‘They cancelled.’

  Lizzy grinned. ‘So you do get to see Oliver sooner rather than later,’ she said teasingly.

  ‘Not my doing,’ Rhiannon countered. ‘And since we’re back on the subject I might as well tell you that I did something totally and wildly insane last night.’

  ‘Well?’ Lizzy prompted as Rhiannon’s brown eyes started to dance.

  ‘I asked him to marry me,’ Rhiannon declared.

  Lizzy’s eyes dilated with shock. ‘You did what?’ she cried, half laughing, half stunned.