by Susan Lewis
‘I hope we aren’t interrupting anything,’ Galina said, her eyes dancing merrily as they moved back and forth between Ramon and Rhiannon.
‘As a matter of fact you are,’ Ramon told her, turning to wink at Rhiannon. ‘But things can always be resumed at a later date,’ he added.
Rhiannon smiled, then her eyebrows went up as Max held out his hand to shake hers. ‘I’d like to apologize for my rudeness earlier,’ he said, ‘and welcome you to LA.’
As Rhiannon lifted her hand she could feel herself being drawn into the arresting power of his eyes. He wasn’t, she was thinking, quite as good-looking as she’d initially thought. Or maybe he was. She smiled again, then almost started at the response of her body as their hands touched. Her eyes were still on his and she could see that he wasn’t unaware of the effect he was having.
‘First the rabbi, now me,’ she said, colouring as she cast a quick glance at Galina.
A small frown creased Max’s brow.
‘Max spends half his life apologizing,’ Galina told her.
Rhiannon’s eyes moved back to Max’s and she felt her heartbeat start to slow as he laughed. Then realizing she was still holding his hand, she let go so abruptly that she embarrassed herself and brought an expression to his eyes that she would prefer not to have seen. But if he was mocking her and thinking her as ridiculous as she suddenly felt, she was going to do nothing to disillusion him, for she knew instinctively that the further down that road she went the more ridiculous she would inevitably become.
Beside them, Galina was tucking an arm through Ramon’s and laughing at something he was saying, while her free hand reached behind her for Max’s.
Taking it, he tightened his fingers round hers and, nodding almost imperceptibly to Ramon, he said, ‘Darling, walk Ramon back to the house, will you? I want to have a chat with Rhiannon and Ula’s got a couple of things she wants Ramon to take a look at.’
‘Of course,’ Galina said, beaming at Rhiannon. ‘You two get to know each other and make sure you come back liking each other, do you hear me? It’s important to me that you do and don’t you go giving her the third degree, Max. What she does and who she sees is her own business, OK?’ Her face was tilted towards his, their lips very close.
He kissed her briefly and Rhiannon felt more colour stain her cheeks as his eyes came up to hers.
‘Don’t take any nonsense from him,’ Galina told her. ‘He’s a bully and today he’s in a bad mood, despite the apologies. Of course, it’s my fault. Everything’s always my fault – except I’, she continued, turning back to Max, ‘wasn’t the one who tipped The Poisoner off about the Primaire shares.’
Max winced as Ramon laughed, then pulling her into his arms Max gazed down into Galina’s face. ‘Get the hell out of here,’ he whispered, ‘and leave me to deal with your friend.’
‘My friend and our bridesmaid,’ she reminded him, taking Ramon’s hand as she started to turn away. ‘So don’t go frightening her away. I’m serious, Max, don’t be horrible to her. She’s the only friend I have and I want to keep her.’
As they walked away Max watched them for a while, then turned to look at Rhiannon. Once again Rhiannon felt herself respond to the disturbing penetration of his eyes.
‘It’s easier to walk on the sand if you take your shoes off,’ he told her, slipping his bare feet out of the black leather loafers he was wearing and leaving them where they were.
As she kicked her own shoes off Rhiannon watched him stroll on ahead and found herself tracing the solid shape of his calves, the coarse black hair that covered his dark skin, the muscular outline of his buttocks and thighs beneath the neutral-coloured shorts and the width of his shoulders and strength of his arms beneath the plain white polo shirt. His whole physique emanated a power and fitness that most men would envy, but even that paled beside the uncompromising force of his eyes and his indisputable air of authority and control.
‘I imagine’, he said, as she caught up with him, ‘that you’re figuring from Galina’s remark that I’m guilty as recently charged.’ The roar of the ocean as it rolled on to the shore backed his words, yet the noise in no way diminished the deep resonance of his voice – nor did the wind fail to convey the note of irritation he obviously felt at being forced to address the matter.
In fact Rhiannon wondered why he was bothering when what she thought, or believed, was surely of no consequence to him.
‘How are you settling in to the apartment?’ he asked, apparently unconcerned by her failure to respond.
Surprised by the sudden change of subject and reluctant to let go of the first, Rhiannon said, ‘Very well, thank you. Why were you charged if you’re not guilty?’
His eyebrows went up, but she didn’t miss the contempt as he turned aside to look at the sea. ‘The last I heard, a man was innocent until proven guilty, or did the system change in the UK?’ he said, turning back.
Rhiannon flushed. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘It’s still the same. But what I was meaning was, surely a man in your position doesn’t get as far as being charged with a crime unless . . .’ Turning cold as she suddenly realized what she was about to say she immediately changed course, ‘. . . someone set him up for it,’ she finished lamely.
‘Or unless he committed the crime,’ he said, letting her know that she had in no way fooled him.
‘Or unless he committed the crime,’ she repeated tersely.
‘If I’m guilty,’ he said, ‘then I guess they’ll be able to prove it.’
‘If you’re guilty,’ she responded, ‘then hopefully this time justice will be served.’ She could feel the blood burning in her cheeks as he turned to look at her. Brazening it out, she lifted her eyes to his and saw, to her surprise, that she had amused him. Irritated, she said, ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re getting off to a very bad start here, so for Galina’s sake if nothing else, perhaps we should start again. But before we do I think you should know that I couldn’t give a flying fig whether you’re guilty or not – of either crime!’
He kept on walking, pushing his feet into the sand and letting his hair whip about his face as Rhiannon struggled to keep up. Suddenly feeling a fool for trying, she stopped and turned towards the water’s edge. He was disturbing her in so many ways that it was a relief to have just this short distance between them, if only to prove to herself that she had the strength to defy the determination in his stride that seemed to pull her along with him.
From the corner of her eye she watched him move on down the beach and felt a depressing heaviness creep into her heart. Recognizing it for the loneliness it was, she closed her eyes and waited for it to subside. Then staring down at her feet she watched the waves frothing around her toes and tried not to think. Nothing about today had been easy and she suddenly felt exhausted. There was too much subtext, too little straight talking and, at least where Max was concerned, a confusing lack of courtesy. Even at lunch, when everything, at least on the surface, had appeared normal she had felt a strangeness in the air that had seemed to put a bewildering distance between her and those around her. It was a little like watching life in a mirror; it all looked perfectly real, was extremely easy to see and believe in, but in truth it was nothing more than a reflection, an impossible tableau to touch. At the time she’d put the peculiarity of her feelings down to a lingering jet lag, but then there had been Ramon’s reticence and now this, with Max . . .
Realizing he was coming back towards her, she kept her head down, unwilling to admit that he intimidated her, but knowing it to be true. She felt swamped by his intellect and wrong-footed by his sudden changes in mood. His hostility bemused her and his derision offended her. It made her head throb trying to think of suitable ripostes when all she wanted, all she’d prepared herself for, was a straightforward first-time conversation with the man her friend was about to marry. Instead, what she had . . . She shook her head slowly. What did she have? She wished she knew. Whatever it was, it was proving a very long way from the Californian we
lcome she had expected, or the relaxing break from London she had so badly needed.
When he was standing just a few feet away she lifted her head and gazed out at the burgeoning rose of a sunset. She took a breath to speak, then realizing she didn’t know what to say, she simply let it go. She was so aware of him being there and wondered why his proximity was filling her with such sadness and futility. Was that the way he was feeling? Was he somehow managing to project the emotions in his heart into hers? It was crazy even to think it, especially when she barely knew him, but crazier still was the way they were standing there now, a painful distance between them as though they had injured each other deeply and were both too afraid to touch the open wound.
How much more fanciful was she going to get today, she wondered, as sighing, she started to turn towards him. When her eyes reached his face she found he was staring out to sea and appeared so absorbed in his thoughts that he might well have forgotten she was there. Then, as though recalling her presence, he lowered his eyes to hers. ‘Do you still see Maguire?’ he asked.
Rhiannon blinked as her heart somersaulted and somewhere inside she started to shake. ‘No,’ she said softly.
He nodded and looked back to the horizon.
‘Ramon said I should ask you . . .’ she began, then taking another breath she forced herself to continue. ‘I’m trying to work out how everyone links up here,’ she said. ‘Do you know Oliver?’
‘No,’ he answered. Then returning his eyes to hers, he said, ‘I know the Straussens. I knew about the deal Maguire had with the old man . . .’ His mouth pursed at the corners. ‘No one expected him to go as far as to marry you.’
‘I wish someone had stopped it,’ she said.
His nostrils flared slightly as he lowered his eyes and she looked at the thick, luxuriant crescents of his lashes. She seemed so very aware of everything about him, yet she couldn’t be sure of the effect any of it was having. It was as though she had lost touch with her senses as she tried to follow the twists and turns of his moods.
‘How did you know about it?’ she asked.
Turning to look at her he said, ‘Galina wanted you at the wedding, so I had some people look into who you were and what you do.’
Surprised by his frankness, she slanted her eyes down the beach, giving herself some time to think. ‘Are you nervous of all journalists?’ she asked finally. ‘Or just those that threaten to get close?’
‘More nervous of those who try to get close.’
‘I was invited,’ she reminded him.
His smile didn’t waver, but his dark eyes were suddenly hard.
Don’t speak, Rhiannon, she was telling herself. Just hold out with the silence and force him to explain.
‘Galina and I will be leaving for honeymoon on Saturday,’ he said. ‘I hope we won’t be seeing you again after that.’
Rhiannon’s eyes dilated as the shock of his words hit her like a slap in the face, but before she could respond he continued.
‘Galina told you I killed my wife,’ he said, coolly dealing another blow. ‘She couldn’t, or didn’t, tell you how I got away with it, but I’ll tell you this: if you’re stupid enough to think you stand even the smallest chance of getting either her or me to talk about what happened in front of a camera then you’ve got serious problems with your ego. Let me make myself plainer, take your eye for the main chance somewhere else, Miss Producer, because no matter what you think Galina owes you, you’re sure as hell not going to find it through me.’
Rhiannon stared at him, hardly able to believe what she was hearing, too stunned even to take a breath.
‘There’s no jackpot in my house,’ he went on ruthlessly, ‘no pots at the end of rainbows or lamps where genies hang out.’
Rhiannon’s mouth fell open as her own words echoed back at her.
‘Your intention to abuse my hospitality to the extent of selling my private life to the highest bidder’, he continued, ‘is about as low as your profession gets. You’d never pull it off, but the fact you were prepared to try makes you cheap and unworthy and I don’t want cheap, unworthy people in my house. So take your sweet talk, Miss Producer, take your camera and your aspirations of fame and go check out someone else’s life, because ours isn’t for sale.’
Despite the fury that had leapt into her eyes, Rhiannon was reeling with shame. She had never, in all her life, been spoken to like that, nor had her motives ever been so brutally exposed for their hypocrisy. He made to turn away, but grabbing him by the arm she pulled him back to face her. ‘Does Galina know you listen in to her calls?’ she challenged furiously.
‘Ask her,’ he responded, his black eyes burning with anger.
‘Be assured I will,’ she responded cuttingly. ‘And don’t ever speak to me again the way you just did. OK, I’ll admit my intentions weren’t entirely altruistic when I decided to come here and yes, I would have used you and Galina to restart my career if I could. But it wasn’t the only reason I came and if I’d known how much it would upset you I’d never even have considered it. And that’s as far as I go defending myself, because from where I’m standing you’re just about the last person on earth who should be taking apart someone else’s morals.’
‘Have you finished?’ he asked tightly.
Realizing her hand was still on his arm she removed it, but her eyes were still blazing into his as the wind tossed her hair around her face and behind her the ocean roared on to the rocks. ‘I should be able to go back to London tonight,’ she told him. ‘If not, there’s bound to be a flight in the morning.’
His eyes narrowed with contempt. ‘If there was an honest motive behind your coming here then I presume it was to give Galina the support she needs.’
‘She doesn’t need any support,’ Rhiannon replied scathingly.
His eyebrows shot up, but it was a second or two before he responded. ‘She’s protected,’ he said. ‘And she’s loved – a great deal. But she doesn’t have a friend she can call her own. I dominate her life, everything she is and does is because of me. She needs something, someone, of her own. And she’s chosen you.’
‘Obviously against your wishes.’
‘No, I approved of you, after I’d had you checked out. Seems I misjudged you. You’re typical of someone in your profession. Mendacious and conceited enough to think you can get away with it.’
Rhiannon stared at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to stay here now,’ she said. ‘Not after saying something like that.’
‘I’m not expecting you to do anything. I’m just letting you know that as long as you intend to try uncovering something that’s not there to be uncovered you’re not welcome in my house.’
‘So what am I supposed to do now? Persuade you my motives have suddenly become honourable and beg you to give me a second chance?’
Despite the sarcasm in her voice he looked at her expectantly.
She laughed. ‘In your dreams,’ she snapped. ‘I’m on the next flight out of here.’
He shrugged and turning away, walked back to where he’d left his shoes.
Rhiannon stood for some time watching him, feeling the water wash around her ankles as the sea breeze lifted the hair from her shoulders and an onslaught of emotions swirled around her heart. The strangest thing was that despite how definite she had sounded, she had no intention of leaving and she was pretty sure he knew it. Odder still was that she had never felt so offended or insulted in her life, nor quite so elated. It was as though she had been tossed around in a storm, sliding over the decks of an unnavigable boat, knowing that any moment she could find herself overboard and that to show any sign of weakness would bring an irreversible defeat. But somehow she’d managed to hang on, to pull herself repeatedly back from the brink and meet the challenge head on. OK, she hadn’t come through completely intact, but her pride would soon mend and her wits would resharpen. For the moment, though, she was happy to stand there alone and allow the calming roar of the waves to erase the anger from her
thoughts and the vastness of the mountains to dwarf the misgivings in her heart.
A while later, tugging her hair away from her face and holding it behind her head, she went to retrieve her shoes and climbed back up to the house. Galina was waiting, eager to know how she’d got along with Max. Rhiannon wondered where Max was, as smiling and laughing she provided Galina with the reassurance she seemed to crave, while Ula stood quietly to one side and watched.
Something really wasn’t right there, Rhiannon was thinking to herself as Ellis and Ula drove her back to the apartment later. In fact, a sixth sense was telling her that something was horribly wrong. At this stage it was impossible to tell what, but Max’s paranoia about journalists, coupled with Galina’s perplexing behaviour and everyone else’s concerted efforts to appear happy and relaxed, when they were obviously anything but, was evidence enough that something was being hidden. Well, of course, the whole world knew what it was, but there was more, she was certain of it and a telephone call to Susan Posner, with whom she had the briefest of acquaintances, might just prove informative. But before that she must call Lizzy, who, presumably, would be in South Africa by now.
The light was starting to fade as Lizzy climbed aboard the twelve-seater plane at Skukuza airport. There were seven others flying out to Perlatonga that night, a party of three elderly Dutch couples and Rayna, a breathy, lash-batting blonde from Sydney, who’d read about the Reserve in the Queensland Gazette and had decided to treat herself to a visit to celebrate her thirtieth birthday. She was hoping, she’d confided to Lizzy during the three-hour wait they’d had while a fault in the plane’s engine was rectified, to land herself a ranger, or better still, one of the gorgeous Morrison brothers who apparently owned the Reserve and were both, so she’d read in the Gazette, Australian, straight and unattached.
The far horizon was a molten mass of colour, turning the rolling acres of bush into a dense and shadowy wilderness as the plane rose smoothly from the runway. Wanting very much to avoid Rayna for the rest of the journey, Lizzy had slipped into a single seat on the port side of the cabin where she sat gazing down at the diminishing coconut-thatch umbrellas that were sprouting like mushrooms around the front of the airport building. She was, by now, in such a turmoil of nerves that whole minutes were passing without her seeing or hearing or even registering what was happening around her. Her stomach was in perpetual freefall, her heart was thudding and her mind, when it functioned, kept freezing in disbelief that she had come so far. What she was going to say when she saw him, how she was going to explain why she was there, or what the hell she was going to do if there was nowhere for her to stay, she couldn’t even bring herself to consider. She was in a state of total inertia, incapable of thinking ahead, powerless to turn back, yet totally and brutally aware of her madness.
