by Susan Lewis
‘It’s to do with Max, isn’t it?’ Lizzy challenged.
Rhiannon didn’t even flinch. ‘What’s to do with Max?’ she said.
‘You’ve heard from him.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Rhiannon said. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because you haven’t mentioned him once since I got here.’
Rhiannon frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow the logic of that,’ she said. ‘But this is my stop. Call me tomorrow, OK?’
As the doors hissed closed and the train pulled out of the station Rhiannon ran up the steps, slotted her ticket through the machine and hurried out on to the Earls Court Road. It was getting dark now and the temperature was near freezing. She walked quickly, eager to get home before the cold seeped through to her bones.
The traffic on the Cromwell Road was at a standstill as she weaved her way through and headed in the direction of Olympia. She was on the point of turning into the street where she lived, when she suddenly registered the sound of someone walking behind her. It was a sound, she realized, that had been with her for some time, and her heart gave a sharp twist of unease as the footsteps seemed to quicken with her own. She started to run, then suddenly turned. The presence of another human being bearing down so purposefully and violently upon her was so shocking that her mind seemed to freeze. A cold, hard grip closed around her wrist. Disbelief and terror gripped her, turning her legs weak. She gasped as a bruising pain thudded into her back and she was thrown against a wall. Instinctively she clung to her bags, her teeth gritted with rage and determination to hold on. But the sudden wrench on her wrists was so brutal that she was dragged to her knees and putting out her hands to save herself she let the bags go.
As her assailant disappeared into the night she knelt where she was, struggling for breath and shuddering with shock as her heart pounded with fear. No one came by as, finally, she managed to haul herself unsteadily to her feet then continue on towards home. All she’d had in her purse was a couple of pound coins. Her credit card had been seized in Waitrose the day before and her front-door keys were in her coat pocket.
Letting herself into the flat, she closed and locked the door behind her and tried to remember if anything in her bag had contained her address. Then, realizing she was shaking, she went to pour herself a large, stiff drink.
As she gulped it her heart continued to pound. She took several deep, steadying breaths, then went to look in the mirror. Her face looked bloodless and haunted. She turned away and swallowed some more whisky. Lizzy was right, she was holding back, but not about Max. Dear God, if only it were about Max.
Snapping that off before it went any further she picked up the phone to call the police. They wouldn’t really be interested, she knew that, but it was her duty to report the mugging.
Replacing the phone a few minutes later, she thought about what had happened and felt a great surge of fury sweep through her. She caught it just in time and smothered it. Feeling angry with the world would be very satisfying in its way, but it was about as productive as shooting with an empty camera, for it wasn’t going to change the fact that Morgan and Sally Simpson had turned down Jolene’s suggestion that she be appointed a consultant for Check It Out; nor was it going to conjure a nice fat commission for In Focus. Much less was it going to pay the rent. Without the telephone she’d be sunk, but the chances of her raising enough money to pay the bill right now were about as likely as being able to raise the dead. It was hard to imagine how she had managed to get herself into such a financial mess, but with the huge credit card bills Oliver had left her with, which included three and a half thousand pounds for their honeymoon in Marrakesh, not to mention the hire of his wedding outfit and lunch at the Ritz, she could feel almost physically sick just thinking about it.
Of course, if Lizzy knew how critical things were she’d insist on coming to the rescue. But Rhiannon didn’t want loans or charity, what she wanted was to get out of this mess on her own. Feeling suddenly swamped, she sank into a chair and downed the last of the whisky. Life hadn’t been kind to her this year, and right now she wanted nothing more than to howl with self-pity and rage against the world. Frustration and fear were pushing her towards the edge, but she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t allow herself to go under. What she must do was find a way through it. In fact she had found a way.
Her blood turned hot, then instantly cold and feeling dizzy she put a hand to her head. Just thank God her handbag hadn’t been snatched the day before. If it had there would have been a fifty-thousand-dollar diamond ring inside. As it was, the ring was safe in a drawer in her bedroom, ready to be sold on Monday. The price she had been offered was less than half its value, so it wouldn’t clear all her debts, but it would certainly come close The only reason she hadn’t sold it before was because the peculiar circumstances surrounding the way Oliver had given it to her made her doubt that the ring was really hers. In fact ever since she’d decided to sell it she had been daily expecting someone to come calling for it. But if they did that was just too bad, because after Monday she would no longer have it. Her heart started to thud again and closing her eyes she began thanking God over and over for the good fortune that had allowed her to be mugged today, rather than yesterday.
Chapter 24
CHRISTMAS CAME AND went. Rhiannon spent it with Sharon Spicer among the fat fake-holly sprigs and paper-chain trimmings that Sharon had used to decorate her apartment. Outside the wind kicked up a storm along the Finchley Road, while in the cosy warmth of the cluttered flat they ate roast duck, pulled crackers and talked about life. Sharon was a kind and curious woman whose eccentricities were as entertaining as her anecdotes and whose commitment to In Focus was more heartening than most other things in Rhiannon’s life right now.
It was past midnight when Rhiannon got home that night to find a message from Lizzy on the machine. The sound of Lizzy’s voice made her cry – something she hadn’t allowed herself to do in weeks. But it was Christmas and she missed Lizzy so much, and was so afraid of not being able to turn her life around, that she still hadn’t found the courage to tell anyone of the trouble she was in. But it was getting better, she reminded herself firmly. She had sold the ring now and though it hadn’t cleared her overdraft entirely, nor put any cash in her purse, the bank had at least agreed to return her credit cards.
As the weeks passed and In Focus gradually began to take shape Rhiannon’s confidence started to rekindle. Lucy Goldblum was on board now, working full time on the project along with Rhiannon and Sharon and at the end of January the three of them became directors of Unlimited Focus, the company they had set up to umbrella the programme – and any other they might make. Money wasn’t exactly rolling in, but they managed to get enough together for a pilot and Sharon’s and Lucy’s personal investments were helping finance the ongoing research. Then an unexpected windfall came Rhiannon’s way, when a City bank pledged a twenty-thousand-pound development fund. Sharon treated them all to champagne that night, before taking off to sit her stint as a Samaritan.
Despite her kindness and inherent concern for others it was easy to see how lonely Sharon was, though she worked hard at hiding it with her boundless energy and enthusiasm for life. But she never mentioned a friend and no one, as far as Rhiannon knew, ever called her or invited her out. But all that started to change as Rhiannon made a point of introducing her around and there was soon little doubt in anyone’s mind that once Sharon hit the screens she was going to become an overnight sensation. And with the British propensity for fads and trends, she would very likely become the role model for anything from hormone replacement to hang-gliding – she might even, Lucy remarked, get asked to host the lottery!
‘The trouble is we just can’t get anyone to commit totally,’ Rhiannon grumbled to Lizzy one morning on the phone. ‘Everyone loves her. They love the pilot too. They’re all agreed on its potential, but no one will part with any money.’
‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ Lizzy protested. ‘If the
y love it, why won’t they support it?’
‘Because the positions of power are currently peopled by peevish little men with grudges, like Mervyn Mansfield, or intellectual eunuchs who are too busy politicking and festivalling to spare a thought for making programmes. Plus the fact that no one’s actually got any money. It’ll change, of course, but we could have a way to go before the hiatus is over.’
‘Is anyone else having the same problems?’ Lizzy asked.
‘Just about everyone I talk to. That doesn’t mean nothing’s getting through, what it means is that unless you go to the broadcasters with at least seventy per cent of the budget already supplied by other sources they don’t want to know.’
‘Do you have anything at all?’ Lizzy asked.
‘About forty per cent,’ Rhiannon answered. ‘And more promises of tabloid publicity and talk-show slots than a kiss’n’tell queen could dream of. Still, I guess it means that as soon as we get the green light we’ll be ready to go without any delays, which is an improvement on the situation we were in when we started Check It Out, as you will no doubt recall.’
‘How’s Lucy working out?’
‘Just great. In fact, once we do get things underway I’m considering pulling back and letting her run the show. She and Sharon have bonded, as they say, and I’ve got several more ideas I’d like to concentrate on when I’ve got the time.’
‘Sounds good,’ Lizzy commented. ‘Maybe things are starting to look up.’
‘I hope so,’ Rhiannon responded. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What gets you on the phone so early in the morning?’
‘It’s ten o’clock here,’ Lizzy reminded her. ‘We’ve all been up since four thirty.’
‘So don’t tell me, you and Andy are about to go back to bed,’ Rhiannon groaned. ‘Take notes, will you, then ring me back and remind me what it’s like.’
‘Oh come on, it hasn’t been that long,’ Lizzy laughed.
‘It feels like it,’ Rhiannon replied.
‘Any news from the other side of the Atlantic?’
‘No. Nothing,’ Rhiannon answered, her heart and her stomach abruptly flying into disarray. Galina had arrived in the country the day before and just knowing she was so close was affecting Rhiannon badly. Not that she had any intention of contacting her, it was simply that the proximity wasn’t one that Rhiannon was coping with very well.
‘How do you feel about all that now?’ Lizzy asked.
‘Oh God, I’m so busy I hardly ever think about it,’ Rhiannon lied. ‘Now what about you? How are things with you?’
There was a pause at the other end of the line that halted Rhiannon in the process of flicking through her mail and brought a sudden trepidation to her heart. ‘Lizzy? Are you still there?’ she said.
‘Yes, I’m still here,’ Lizzy laughed. ‘Andy just . . . Well, you don’t want to know what he did, suffice it to say I couldn’t speak for a moment. Anyway, the reason I’m calling, apart from to find out how you are, of course, is to tell you that . . . Well, to ask you really, if you can spare the time to come over some time in the next couple of weeks. There’s a reason I’m asking, which is that I have something to tell you and I want you to be here when I tell you.’
Rhiannon started to smile. Obviously Lizzy was pregnant, but she wasn’t going to spoil the telling by guessing. ‘I’ll look at my calendar,’ she said, ‘but I’m pretty sure I can make it.’
‘Are you serious?’ Lizzy cried excitedly. ‘Just like that! You’re going to come. I thought I’d be on the line for hours trying to persuade you.’
‘But you know what a push-over I am,’ Rhiannon teased. ‘And I miss you. I want to see you and I’d love to see Andy again and the thought of a holiday right now, in the middle of the most depressing month of the year, is a very welcome one. Actually, come to think of it, it was this time last year that we were over there, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ Lizzy answered. ‘So, what will you do, call me back with your flight times? Or would you like me to book it from this end?’
Again Rhiannon smiled. ‘No need,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you back when I’ve arranged it. It can’t be for another ten days or so, though, I’ve got a couple of meetings arranged that I’ve been waiting weeks for so I’ll come once they’re out of the way.’
‘OK. Whenever you can,’ Lizzy said.
Replacing the receiver, Rhiannon continued sifting through her mail searching for anything that looked marginally less aggressive than a bill. Finding nothing, she tossed the whole lot back on the table and went into the kitchen to pour herself another coffee. She was feeling annoyingly restless and indecisive this morning and speaking to Lizzy had done nothing to improve it – if anything, she felt worse now than she had before Lizzy called. It couldn’t be anything to do with Galina, for she had absolutely no intention of going along to Selfridges later in the day where Galina was presenting the UK launch of Conspiracy’s new perfume, so there was no reason to be getting worked up over that. No, it was Lizzy being pregnant that was upsetting her. Well, perhaps upsetting wasn’t quite the right word, but she couldn’t think of a better one so that one would have to do.
Actually, now she came to think of it, she was thrilled for Lizzy. OK, it meant that Lizzy really wouldn’t be coming back, but she’d known that anyway, so she could hardly claim to be disappointed by it at this late stage. In fact, the more she thought about it the more excited she felt at the prospect of going back to Perlatonga and seeing Andy and Doug and sharing in the celebrations. So why was she pacing up and down like a caged animal with her heart leaping about all over the place and her route to the bathroom becoming ever more frequent?
Well obviously it was to do with Galina, she finally admitted as she boarded the tube into the West End. She might just as well own up to it, because denying it was only making her worse. She was dreading that Galina would call and that she would end up agreeing to see her. On the other hand she couldn’t stand the thought of Galina not calling, which was ludicrous when she had no desire to see her and nothing to say even if she did. So why was her mind going over and over a script that neither of them was ever going to play out, nor stick to should they happen to meet? Why was she trying to imagine what Galina’s reaction would be if she saw her, when all she had to do was get off the train at Bond Street, cross the road and go and find out. There would be hundreds of people in Selfridges today, all there to see Galina in the flesh and get a free sample of the Conspiracy perfume. She could just pop in and say hello, wish her well, then leave. But why would she do that? What was the point when she really didn’t want Galina figuring in her life any more? Well, it wasn’t so much that she didn’t want Galina, it was that Galina obviously couldn’t come without Max and Rhiannon only had to think about Max to know how unwise it would be for her to see him again. But he wasn’t going to be there, was he? Galina had specifically said that he wouldn’t be arriving until the end of her tour, so what was the harm in going to say hello to Galina? The harm, she told herself firmly, was that the only reason she was even considering it was because in some perverse way it would bring her closer to Max. So no, she wasn’t going to go and that was final. She had a busy morning ahead of her, an important lunch and more than enough going on in her life to keep her mind out of danger zones and engrossed in things that mattered.
She was already off the train and half-way across Oxford Street when, to her horror, she realized that she had got off at Bond Street and was now heading in the direction of Selfridges. Then she relaxed as she remembered that she was on her way to St Christopher’s Place, which was close to Selfridges, where she was meeting up with Morgan and Sally Simpson in the café below the Check It Out office. She knew what the meeting was going to be about; the ratings were slipping, they still didn’t have a presenter and the programme ideas that she and Lizzy had left behind were starting to run out. So they were going to ask her, as blithely as if they hadn’t turned her down before, whether she would consider acting as a cons
ultant. At least, according to Jolene they were, and Jolene was almost never wrong.
Rhiannon had spent some time thinking about what her response would be when they asked and she was still torn between telling them to go straight to hell and making them beg. She guessed she’d probably opt for the latter, since, apart from still needing the money, she was quite taken with the idea of having two programmes to sort out rather than one. Of course, her dealings with Check It Out would have to be confidential or Merv the Machete would start sulking and smash up the game. But the secrecy didn’t matter, it would out in the end anyway and Rhiannon had a lot more confidence in Check It Out’s durability than she did in Merv’s. In other words, according to Jolene, Merv’s days were already numbered. So it could be, depending on who was appointed in Merv’s place – and rumour had it that it would be Felix Rolfe – that Rhiannon would find herself not only the chief producer of Check It Out again, but Series and Executive Producer of In Focus. The power was already going to her head.
Smiling to herself, she pushed open the door of Selfridges and sailed on towards the cosmetic counters. It was only when she found herself hampered by the crowd that she realized how, caught up in her daydreams, she had allowed her feet to carry her to the very place she had no desire to be. She instantly froze and felt herself flush hot with nerves. Pressing a cold hand to her cheek, she looked frantically around her. Galina was nowhere in sight, nor was the Conspiracy display, so she could get out now before anyone spotted her.
But she didn’t. Instead she allowed the crowd to carry her forward until she was forced out to one side and left standing somewhere between gloves and cosmetics. She could see part of the Conspiracy display stand now and the subtle fragrance of the perfume drifted agreeably in the air. She glanced to one side and caught a reflection of herself in a mirror. Her long red hair tumbled down her back and framed her wind-blown cheeks like autumn leaves. Her skin, as always, was pale, but the cold had raised a colour beneath her freckles and her lips were red and moist.
