by Susan Lewis
Spotting something on the floor by the bed, Pacho went to pick it up. It was a letter, addressed to Chambers at his Washington apartment, many pages long and neatly folded inside a torn blue envelope. He pulled it out and started to read. It didn’t take him long to work out who it was from, even without looking for the name at the end. Prior to returning to Colombia, Chambers had been in Brazil working with a British woman by the name of Michelle Rowe. Pacho knew about her, Chambers had told him himself. There had been no romance between the two – their only objective had been to expose the activities of a certain Brazilian whom Chambers, and many others, had suspected of employing his own death squad, as well as running a private prison for the incarceration and torture of street children.
Pacho knew that there was a whole lot more to the story with Michelle Rowe, and judging by this letter there was still more to come. But that wasn’t interesting him now. All he wanted to know was where the hell Chambers had gone.
Hearing footsteps in the hall outside, he quickly stuffed the letter inside his jacket and turned to face the door. As he expected, the footsteps stopped and two men peered cautiously into the room.
‘Ya se fué,’ Pacho said sharply. He’s already gone.
‘Where?’ the shorter of them asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Pacho answered. ‘Maybe to hell.’
Chapter 3
MICHAEL WAS SITTING in a lone swivel chair facing a panel of five grey-suited businessmen. They were studying the thick files of information he had messengered over to them the day before, detailing his own personal and career backgrounds and the companies he was currently involved with.
It had been a while now since anyone had spoken, but he could see that several of them had reached the Profit Picture page for the movie, and, though the figures were certainly ambitious, he didn’t consider them beyond the realms of achievement. Indeed, should the returns only amount to half of what he had forecast, Virago Knox would still stand to make something in the region of twelve million dollars, for a mere two-million-dollar investment.
Interminable minutes ticked by, until finally Truman Snowe, the company chairman, took in a silent verdict from the rest of the board before returning his sharp eyes to Michael.
Then, in true American style, with no preamble at all, Snowe said, ‘The two-million-dollar investment for development will be transferred to the World Wide account as soon as the relevant documents have been drawn up.’
Until that moment Michael hadn’t realized how tense he was. After weeks of being turned down, he’d now finally achieved the funds he needed to get the movie underway. Relief brought an irrepressible grin to his face as he got to his feet and reached for Snowe’s hand. ‘You won’t regret this,’ he told him. ‘In fact, it’s probably one of the safest investments you’ve ever made.’
‘The names of the killers are to remain secret until the movie’s release?’ Snowe said, closing up the file.
‘That’s right,’ Michael confirmed, not letting on that they didn’t even know the names yet.
‘Can we ask who’s in the frame for the part of Chambers?’ the man next to Snowe enquired.
‘Richard Conway’s favourite,’ Michael answered.
‘And the part of Rachel?’ one of the others wanted to know.
Michael threw out his hands. ‘Give me a name and I’ll tell you she’s there,’ he answered. ‘It’ll be easier, though, once we know for sure that Conway’s on board. Your backing at this stage is really going to help us secure that.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m already running late. I’ll be in touch at the beginning of next week to set up a time to come and sign the necessary papers.’
Ten minutes later he was in the car on the way to the bank and listening to the message on Ellen’s voice mail. ‘Put the champagne on ice,’ he said when the recording had finished, ‘we’re in business. If I don’t hear from you in the next hour, I’ll put a call in to Conway’s people to set up a meeting. Oh, and by the way, we need to talk some more about hiring an investment manager. Did you mention it to Rufus yet? Call me when you get this message, I guess you’re still tied up with Gromer. Are you free for dinner tonight? I’ll cook. Love you.’
Hoping the good news would go some way to easing the tension that seemed to have arisen between them lately, he rang off, and making a left onto the freeway he started heading down town.
Not even the fact that Chambers had failed to call again could take the edge off his exhilaration right now. In fact he was feeling so charged up and good about everything that he was actually allowing himself the fantasy of an Oscar speech, and whom he was going to thank. If things carried on the way they were going then the list would certainly be long, and could even include Ted Forgon, since, to Michael’s amazement, the old boy had recently contacted Ellen from the bar at the Hillcrest and pledged a million dollars of his personal money if they managed to sign Richard Conway. Quite some vote of confidence considering its source, and in truth it had done more to buoy Michael than he was prepared to admit.
‘Maggie,’ he said into the phone.
‘Ah, my lord and master,’ his Scottish assistant responded. ‘Where are you? And how did it go with Virago Knox?’
‘We got it,’ Michael told her, and grinned as she squealed with excitement, then relayed the news to the rest of the office. More cheers went up and, laughing, he waited for everyone to call out their congratulations before speaking to Maggie again.
‘It’s time,’ he told her, ‘to e-mail the rest of the gang in London, Sydney and New York, and let them know that I’m proposing to allocate eighty per cent of World Wide’s capital to Tom Chambers’s movie. The fact that we’re going to be calling on them to come up with a further fifteen-plus million in the next couple of months we’ll save for a later date.’
Sandy Paull was looking down at an e-mail printout and the set of spreadsheets that had come with it, as she left her office, threaded a path through the usual mayhem going on in the agency’s main office, and pushed open Zelda Frey’s door.
‘I knew he was aiming for something big,’ she said, looking at the extremely large and colourfully dressed agent, who was one of Michael’s closest friends and confidantes. ‘Did you get the same e-mail? Or don’t tell me, you already knew.’
‘About the Tom Chambers and Rachel Carmedi story?’ Zelda said, cutting short the number she was dialling. ‘I guessed it was the direction he was heading in. No sign of a script, I suppose?’
Sandy shook her head. She was scanning the spreadsheets again. ‘I need to talk to him about this,’ she said. ‘Eighty per cent of our capital …’ She looked up as Zelda’s phone rang, then seeing Zelda grimace to say she had to take this call, she turned back to her own office.
After checking her watch to calculate the time in LA, she picked up the phone and dialled the ATI number. If this ‘Untitled Feature’ was going to be as big a project as the proposed budget was suggesting then she wanted to know more, and she wanted to know it now.
As she waited for someone to answer the phone she quickly checked her calendar to make sure World Wide LA’s move to the ATI building had already taken place. Yes, it had happened a week ago, which meant that Michael and Ellen were no longer working from home. Sandy didn’t allow herself to dwell on how snug and secure it all seemed over there for those two, it was best, she found, to blot that from her mind – at least for the time being.
‘Michael McCann, please,’ she said when someone finally picked up. There was an abrupt click, the strains of Satie or Chopin, then a voice said, ‘Michael McCann’s office.’
‘Is he there?’ Sandy asked.
‘Who’s speaking, please?’
‘Sandy Paull.’
‘Sandy Ball?’
‘Paull. With a ‘p’ Peter,’ she said, irritated that whoever this idiot was she appeared never to have heard of her.
‘Can I tell him what it’s about?’ the girl said.
‘Just t
ell him I’m on the line,’ Sandy responded shortly.
‘I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. Can I have him return?’
‘Is he at home?’ Sandy asked.
‘Actually, he’s at a meeting over on …’
‘Is Ellen there?’ Sandy snapped.
‘Can I tell her what it’s about?’ the girl enquired, like a robot.
‘Is she there?’ Sandy repeated.
‘I’ll check. Can I tell her what your call is in connection with?’
‘What’s your name?’ Sandy demanded.
‘Olivia.’
‘Then listen to me, Olivia. My name might mean nothing to you right now, but if you’re at all interested in hanging on to your job, I’d put me through to Ellen and then go and do some homework on exactly who your bosses are.’
‘Uh, excuse me?’ the girl said.
It was hard not to scream as, too late, Sandy remembered it was never wise to speak in long sentences when dealing with American secretaries. She had no idea whether it was her accent they had a problem with, or if they were all just plain stupid. What she did know, however, was that when finally Ellen’s voice came on the other end of the line, for once in her life she was almost glad to hear it.
‘Sandy? What can I do for you?’ Ellen said coolly.
‘I’m fine, thank you. How are you?’ Sandy replied.
‘Michael should be back in an hour if you want to speak to him,’ Ellen told her.
‘I’m glad you’re well too,’ Sandy responded. ‘I’m calling about the “Untitled Feature” that’s just appeared on the spreadsheets. All it says is that it’s a Tom Chambers’ script. Do you have a copy? I’d like to read it.’
‘You and me both,’ Ellen retorted.
Sandy hesitated, noting the edge in Ellen’s voice. ‘You mean all this money’s been set aside without anyone seeing the script?’ she said.
‘In Hollywood that’s not so unusual,’ Ellen informed her.
‘Well, if such a large proportion of World Wide’s current resources is being directed into one project,’ Sandy said, ‘then I think the rest of us should have been consulted.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Ellen said.
Sandy was intrigued by this answer, as it seemed to be confirming what she’d suspected a moment ago, that Ellen was pissed off about something and it sounded very much like it could be this movie. ‘As the Head of Development, perhaps you could tell me when a script’s likely to be available,’ she said, enjoying the dig.
‘As far as I’m aware no funds are being reassigned from any of your UK projects,’ Ellen responded, neatly avoiding the question, ‘so I don’t understand your concern.’
‘Not concern, interest,’ Sandy corrected. ‘If it’s going to be World Wide’s first major feature, I’d like to know more about it. I’m sure that goes for Chris Ruskin in New York and Mark Bergin in Sydney too.’
‘I haven’t heard from either of them on the matter,’ Ellen told her, ‘but you can be sure that as soon as there are any positive moves towards raising more finance for the project, or if a script should be approved, everyone will be notified.’
‘More finance?’ Sandy said. ‘Exactly how big is this budget likely to get?’
‘It’s impossible to say right now,’ Ellen answered, clearly annoyed by Sandy’s persistence.
‘What about stars? He must have someone in mind.’
‘Richard Conway is looking pretty certain for the Tom Chambers role,’ Ellen answered.
Sandy was extremely impressed. ‘Well, when it comes time for the rest of the casting I hope you’re not going to forget McCann Paull’s clients here in London,’ she said. ‘After all, we’re supposed to be an international company and if you’re intending to sink 80 per cent of our resources into a project that doesn’t have a script …’
‘Your clients won’t be forgotten,’ Ellen cut in. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m already late for a meeting.’
As the line went dead Sandy muttered ‘bitch’ under her breath and hung up too. She almost always enjoyed talking to Ellen, mainly because she knew how little Ellen trusted her and how powerless Ellen was to do anything about it.
‘Jodi,’ she said, walking into the office next door, ‘are either of World Wide’s project researchers in today?’
Jodi, who was Michael’s assistant when he was in London and general office manager when he wasn’t, looked at the schedule board behind her. ‘No,’ she answered, as Sandy’s assistant, Stacy, came into the office, loaded down with scripts. ‘They’re due in tomorrow – Stace they’re going to fall!’
‘It’s OK, I’ve got them,’ Sandy said, catching half a dozen scripts as they toppled towards her. ‘Why don’t you get the chaps in the post room to do this? What are they, anyway?’
‘Rejects from the readers,’ Stacy answered, her flushed face showing only relief as she deposited the rest of the pile on her desk. ‘I brought them up in case you wanted to do a spot check,’ she added, flopping down in her chair. With her short, plump body and shiny brown hair she looked the picture of schoolgirl health, despite being a mere eight days from her thirtieth birthday.
‘Call downstairs to World Wide and find out if either of the researchers have put in an unexpected appearance,’ Sandy told her. ‘If not, find one of them and get him on the phone.’ She was about to leave, then suddenly turned back. ‘I’m going to talk to Zelda, but I’ll take the call in my office.’
Some ten minutes later she was back at her desk talking to Jeremy Whittaker, one of the World Wide researchers, on the phone. ‘I want you to find out everything you can about an American woman by the name of Rachel Carmedi,’ Sandy said. ‘She was shot and killed in Colombia three years ago. There was apparently quite a lot in the press about her at the time, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get some background.’
‘I vaguely remember the story,’ he said. ‘Was she from New Orleans?’
‘I think so. Get back to me as soon as you can. Actually e-mail me whatever you come up with.’
As she rang off Craig Everett, the senior literary agent, put his handsome blond head round her door. ‘Fancy a screening tonight?’ he invited. ‘It’s at BAFTA. None of our clients, so it could be a bit of a relaxer. Zelda’s up for it. I’m about to ask the others. OK, I’ll be right there,’ he called back over his shoulder as someone yelled for him.
Sandy looked at her watch. ‘What time does it start?’ she asked.
‘Drinks at seven. Movie at eight.’
‘Sounds tempting,’ she responded, ‘but I’ve got a meeting at six over at the Beeb. I suppose I could make the movie.’
‘Try,’ Craig said. ‘You don’t get out enough. What it did to Jack it can do to Sandy.’
Sandy frowned and watched him go. Then, realizing he was referring to all work and no play, she started to smile. She really was fond of Craig, felt much more relaxed with him than any of the other agents, even though, amazingly, none of them ever appeared to have a problem with her. Hopefully none of them guessed how daunted she sometimes was by the fact she was their boss, but it wasn’t an insecurity she gave much rein to, mainly because there wasn’t the time – as Craig had just pointed out.
How many women’s hopes had he crushed over the years by being gay, she wondered. And when was the last time the two of them had sat down and had a good old gossip over dinner, putting the world, the industry and their complicated love lives to rights? Actually, his was much more complicated than hers, as the great love of his life was not only married with three kids, but just happened to be a highly respected cabinet minister too. For her part, since there wasn’t any love life to speak of, there weren’t any complications either.
Smiling ruefully to herself she thought of Ellen Shelby and her ill-disguised fears that Sandy was going to do something to disrupt the picture-book perfection she, Michael and Robbie were enjoying over there in Hollywood. It was whenever she thought of that cosiness that Sandy was thankful for how
busy she was, because knowing that Michael was making love to another woman, when no-one was making love to her, was even worse than the forced abstinence itself. She fantasized regularly about Michael, reliving the night he had made love to her all over his apartment, taking her in every position and making her come like she never had before or since. She wasn’t sure what hurt the most now, the fact that they had never done it again, or that he had then turned round and fired her.
‘Hello, Michael?’ she said into the phone much later that night.
‘Sandy?’ he responded. ‘How are you? Burning the midnight oil again?’
She smiled and looked at the e-mail on the screen in front of her. ‘I wanted to talk to you about the Untitled Feature,’ she said. ‘If it’s what I think it is, you’ve got me really excited.’
Michael laughed, and she felt the pleasure steal through her. ‘Then I hope it’s what you think it is,’ he answered.
‘The story of Rachel Carmedi?’ she asked. ‘And her kidnap and shooting by a Colombian drug cartel? I think it’s brilliant. It’s got everything. Drugs, sex, love, terrorism, street children and truth. Ellen tells me there’s no script yet.’
‘Tom Chambers is writing it. He’s in Colombia right now, but I’m hoping he’ll be back in the next couple of weeks. We should have the first draft shortly after.’
‘Can I see it, when it comes? I’d really like to get behind this. If you’re looking for more finance, then I’d be happy to do what I can over here. We’ve built up some good contacts in the past six months.’
‘Sandy, you don’t know how wonderful it is to hear you say that,’ he told her, ‘because I certainly will be asking you to call on your contacts. I’ve got to warn you though, the kind of investments we’ll be looking for aren’t going to be in the tens of thousands. They’re more likely to be in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions.’
‘Wow!’ Sandy responded. ‘You really are thinking big. But having Richard Conway attached should certainly help smooth the way. In fact, I can hardly wait to see my backers’ faces when I start dropping Conway’s name.’
