by Susan Lewis
Marian turned. ‘Oh no,’ she groaned, ‘I’ve been rumbled. It’s the football pools.’
‘I never had you down for a closet gambler,’ Stephanie grinned.
‘I do them every week. Habit, I suppose. Part of a dream Madeleine and I used to have.’
Stephanie put the coupons down and turned to perch on the edge of the desk. ‘Any news of her whereabouts yet?’
‘No.’
‘But I thought the man at The Sun was going to pass your message on?’
‘Whether he did or not, she hasn’t called, so no, I still don’t know where she’s living.’
‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out, if you’d like me to help.’
Marian shook her head. ‘No. No thanks.’
‘Do you miss her?’ Stephanie asked, watching Marian as she picked up her cup and sat down.
‘Yes.’
‘Then why not let me help?’
‘Because I know Madeleine. She’ll never let it show, but deep down she’ll be riddled with guilt about what’s happened, and she’ll have mistaken the guilt for hate. I won’t be able to reason with her while she’s like that, so I’ve decided it’s better if I give her some time to sort herself out.’
‘Jesus, you’re a saint, Marian. And Paul?’
Marian shrugged. ‘It still hurts, but I keep reminding myself of the deceit. It doesn’t always help, and there are still moments, when it’s really bad, when I long to go back to the way we were – even though I know now that it was all based on lies. I just hope to God he doesn’t do anything like that to Madeleine. She’d go to pieces – not that I didn’t, but it’ll be different for Maddy. She’s so insecure. I used to be taken in by her bravado, I used to think that nothing could touch Madeleine, but since this has happened I’ve thought about her a lot – obviously – and now I can see things much clearer. It’s all to do with her parents going off when she was so young; it’s as if, ever since, she’s been trying to find all the love and appreciation they denied her. Naturally, my parents tried to give it to her, and they loved her every bit as much as they did me, but it’s not the same. To her it probably looked as though I had everything, and when Paul came along, well, that was the final straw. In her heart she believes I stole him from her, not the other way round – and in a way I suppose she’s right. I knew how much she wanted him, but . . .’ She shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, it’s history now, and my only real regret is that I didn’t stop to consider how she must have been feeling all the time I was with him.’
‘You care for her very much, don’t you?’
‘Yes. But I always knew that one day we would go our separate ways. I never dreamt it would be like this, of course. I thought we would still be in touch, you know, visiting each other as often as possible, her turning up in her chauffeur-driven limo and carrying me off into the afternoon, while a classful of pupils looked out of the window, boggle-eyed at the idea that dowdy old Miss Deacon was related to the famous Madeleine Deacon.’
‘I didn’t know you had an ambition to teach, Marian?’
‘I don’t!’ she laughed. ‘I just had that picture in my mind’s eye: the famous actress or model, and the frumpy schoolmistress. I even used to imagine Madeleine having hoards of babies and dumping them on the old spinster aunt while she went jetting off round the world. Great future I was planning for myself, don’t you think?’
‘Just thank God I came along when I did,’ Stephanie laughed, ‘or the world at large might never have known anything about your amazing wit and intellect, not to mention the very real beauty of your smile.’
Marian stuck out her tongue.
‘Well, whoever is lucky enough to win your heart in the future will have me to thank,’ Stephanie declared proudly, ‘and when the time comes, I shall tell him so.’
‘You do that. Meanwhile, let me remind you that half the fantasy is already coming true. Maddy’s in just about every publication you pick up these days. It wouldn’t surprise me to turn on the TV any time now and hear her announcing some major Hollywood deal.’
‘Just as long as you don’t get out your knitting needles yet, because I need you here. However, Bronwen has other ideas.’
‘Oh?’
‘You and she are off to Italy the week after next. Or you will be, once you’ve booked the tickets. That’s what she was calling me about, to check that I could spare you. Why are you frowning? I thought you’d be thrilled.’
‘I am. Well, I ought to be. I suppose it’s just all this talk about Madeleine and Paul. We went to Rome together, you see, the three of us.’
Stephanie reached out to brush her hand across Marian’s hair. ‘Sorry, I’d forgotten. Well, this is Florence, so it shouldn’t be too bad.’
Feeling it was too petty to say that Florence was almost as bad because Paul used to go there with his parents, Marian put on a bright smile and said, ‘It’ll be great. And if you were coming too, it would be absolutely fantastic.’
‘You say all the right things,’ Stephanie laughed. ‘Now I’d better go upstairs and have a look at the newspaper cuttings we’ve got on Olivia in Italy, and try to pin Matthew down to thinking about it too. He’s dubbing at De Lane Lea this afternoon, isn’t he? I’d better ring him there. Damn it, he’s dubbing all day tomorrow as well, and over the weekend. Still, we’ve got all next week.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ Marian said, opening the diary. ‘He’s shooting another commercial on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday – Monday’s a bank holiday.’
Stephanie sighed. ‘He’s doing something with his son that day. And if he’s shooting Wednesday, Thursday and Friday that’ll mean he’s editing next weekend. I know he’s always in demand, but I wish he didn’t say yes to everything. Well, we’ll have to squeeze it in somewhere before he goes. Now, what time is it in New York? I think I’ll give Deborah Foreman a call.’
When she had gone, Marian leaned her elbows on the desk and looked out of the window. As her mind wandered back over the events of the past few hours, a warm feeling of happiness spread through her. She was liking her new life, in fact she was liking it a lot. Then she laughed as her imagination ballooned into a vision of a future that had her writing films for Madeleine to star in, Stephanie and Bronwen to produce and Matthew to direct.
– 13 –
Deidre and Sergio forged a path through the steady flow of students, winding their way along the drab corridors of the Accademia. Occasionally Sergio stopped to speak to one of the students, and each time he did so Deidre’s tension increased. She wasn’t sure why she was so agitated, but it was the same feeling she’d had five years ago when the whole thing had first blown up, and just as she had then, she was looking to Sergio to put her mind at rest.
‘Of course I am pleased to see you, cara,’ he said as he pushed open a door and stood back for her to go through. ‘It is only that I am surprised to see you here.’
‘I had to talk to you,’ she answered. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’ She followed him down a narrow, crowded flight of stairs and again they were in a bustling corridor.
‘And what is that?’ he said.
She waited while he indulged in another rapid exchange with a student. ‘It’s about Olivia Hastings,’ she said, when he turned back to her. ‘You remember, the American girl.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Sì, I remember.’ To her surprise, he started to walk on.
‘Somebody’s making a film about her,’ she told him.
‘I know.’
‘You know?’
He stopped, then smiled when he saw her incredulous eyes. ‘Sì. A woman by the name of Bronwen Evans, she called me and we make an arrangement to meet. Soon. She want to ask me what I know about Olivia when she was here in Firenze.’
For a moment Deidre was non-plussed, then, as he started down the corridor again, she slipped her hand into his. ‘You’ve agreed to see her?’
‘But of course. Why should I not?’
Deidre didn’t have an
answer to that. ‘I just thought . . .’ she mumbled, ‘after . . . well, when Olivia disappeared the police questioned you for so long. I remember how upset you were by it . . .’ She felt suddenly ridiculous, as if she were creating a drama out of nothing.
He chuckled softly, and still walking, lifted a hand to her hair. ‘You come all this way to tell me about this film when you could have telephoned. But I am glad you are here.’
When they reached the end of the corridor he stopped at an open door. Inside, students were unpacking their overalls and setting out their materials.
‘Sergio,’ she said.
He turned to her, and his eyes seemed to touch her like a caress. ‘Wait for me at the apartment,’ he murmured. ‘I will come soon.’
He went into the classroom then, and as he closed the door Deidre turned away and slowly started to make her way outside. She didn’t know why she was making such a fuss, except that she had never forgotten his anguish when Olivia first disappeared. She had been in Florence with him at the time, but he had sent her back to England when the police started their investigation, saying he didn’t want her involved. She had never questioned his decision, any more than she had ever seriously considered the possibility that he might have had something to do with the disappearance. But every now and again a horrible, sinking doubt would assail her, and then only being with Sergio could assuage her fears.
As she walked out into the brilliant sunshine her unease was already beginning to wane. The police enquiries had been unpleasant for Sergio because he cared for Olivia, as he did all his students – it was no more than that. And then she smiled quietly to herself as she recalled the evening Olivia had appeared at the door of his studio.
‘I’ve come to apologise,’ she had said in her twangy American voice, and Deidre had noticed how, for once, Olivia’s eyes didn’t have that look of crazed depravity that she had always found so particularly chilling in a girl so young.
‘Oh?’ Sergio had been standing just inside the room with his arm about Deidre’s shoulders.
Olivia had shrugged and lifted a hand to sweep her blonde hair from her face. The hand was shaking uncontrollably, and Deidre’s heart had gone out to her in the fruitless and frustrated sympathy one had for drug addicts.
‘I can’t make love with you, Sergio,’ she had declared. ‘I want to, but I can’t. You are a great man, I worship you, and I feel humility and longing when I am near you. But I can’t do it.’
That was all she had said before slipping on her peculiar sunglasses, turning on her heel and tripping lightly back down the stairs. Sergio and Deidre had looked at one another in astonishment, until the street door slammed below and they burst out laughing.
It was not a rare occurrence for students to proclaim their love for Sergio, and Deidre knew she would probably have forgotten all about Olivia had she not disappeared shortly after that night. Some American student had driven her into the mountains late one evening and dropped her at a village called Paesetto di Pittore. He hadn’t gone into the village with her, he claimed, but had driven on to Pisa where he had taken a plane to Amsterdam the following day. Once the police caught up with him they had questioned him for weeks, but had let him go in the end through lack of evidence. Still, five years later, nobody knew what had happened to Olivia.
By the time she let herself into the apartment, which she found in its usual state of disorder, Deidre’s thoughts had turned to Madeleine. For the past month Phillipa Jolley, a dress designer Deidre had been at university with, had had a team working round the clock to get together an exclusive collection for Madeleine. Now it was ready, and the following day Madeleine would be showing it in Paris. Deidre wanted to check that there were no last-minute hitches, so she picked up the phone to call her secretary. Anne reassured her that everything was going according to plan, then went on to tell her about the proofs she had received from a session Madeleine had done the week before for the new cosmetic range. It was probably because she was talking about Madeleine that Deidre didn’t at first find anything odd in the fact that she was staring at a photograph of her, propped up on Sergio’s desk. But by the time she put the phone down, she was curious to know what it was doing there. She recognised the picture, it was one of the shots Dario had taken when Madeleine first came to them. What on earth was it doing here in Sergio’s studio?
‘I ask Dario to send it,’ Sergio laughed, when she asked him later. ‘When you talk about her to me the last time you were here, you were so happy about her and so mystified that I want to see her for myself. Of course, I see her all the time now. She is in the Italian papers too, you know.’
‘And magazines,’ Deidre told him, touched by his interest in her work. ‘Getting Madeleine to the top is proving even easier than I thought.’ She picked up the photograph and smiled. ‘She is very beautiful, don’t you think?’
‘Sì, very beautiful. And, I think you become fond of her, no?’
Deidre nodded. ‘Perhaps.’
‘The child I would not permit you to have?’ he probed gently, and when she looked up into his face he kissed her tenderly on the mouth. ‘Do you hate me for it, cara?’
‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘But you gave me the choice. I could have had children with another man, but I wanted you.’
‘And now you have Madeleine.’ They were both still looking down at the photograph.
‘For a while, yes,’ she answered. ‘But one day Paul will take her away from me.’ She stole a quick glance at his face to see if the mention of Paul had induced a reaction, but he was still smiling at the picture.
‘Tell me why you say that,’ he said.
She smiled and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, really. I suppose it’s just that they seem so devoted to one another. I’m glad of that because it means she’ll be happy when she gives it all up, but I shall miss her.’
‘You think she will give it up?’
‘If he wanted her to, she would.’
‘But I thought she wanted to become famous.’
‘She does, and she already is famous – quite. But she’s not as vain as she used to be, though she is still pretty appalling sometimes. But there’s a vulnerability in her that has rather got to me. She’s so easily exploited – I know I’m the exploiter, but I ease my conscience by telling myself I’m only doing what she wants me to do. And she’s so happy when she’s with Paul that you get the impression that nothing else matters really – to either of them. They’re not always terribly comfortable to be with; they give you the feeling you’re intruding – at least, Paul does.’
‘He must love her very much if he is so possessive.’ Deidre put her head on one side and thought about that for a moment. ‘Yes, I think he does. And possessive is the right word. It’s as if he owns her, controls her even.’
‘It is sometimes like that when two people are very much in love, no?’ His hand moved over hers, and taking the photograph, he turned her to face him. ‘Bacia mi, cara,’ he murmured.
She lifted her mouth, and as he pulled her roughly into his arms she could feel the hardness of his lean body pressing against her. ‘Oh, Sergio,’ she moaned, and he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth.
‘I love you,’ he said later, as they lay On his bed, sweat still glistening on their skin.
‘Do you?’ she asked, twisting herself round to look at him.
He took one of her small breasts in his hand and toyed lazily with the nipple. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, gazing into her eyes.
‘Do you love me enough to want to shut out the rest of the world, the way Paul does with Madeleine?’
‘That is what we do, is it not, my love?’
‘In a way, yes. But you don’t share everything with me.’
‘I give you all I can.’
‘But why won’t you let me see your work?’
His hand fell back to the bed and he turned his face away from her. ‘Why do you ask when you know the answer?’ he said, a note of irritation in his voice. ‘My work a
t the bottega must remain a secret until it is ready. A secret from all the world – and that must mean you too.’
‘But what about the men and women who work with you? They . . .’
‘Stop!’ He jerked himself from the bed and stared down at her, and she could see he was angry. ‘I will not talk of this any longer. You have me here and now. I tell you I love you, that must be enough.’
‘But what is it you’re trying to hide?’ she pleaded.
‘It is only you who say I hide things.’
‘But you are hiding things. Why does your work have to be so secret, even from me? Don’t you trust me?’
‘It is not a matter of trust, Deidre. It is a matter of protect . . .’ He stopped, suddenly, and she knew instantly that he was going to lie. ‘Protecting you from those who are eager to know about the work. And protecting me from them too,’ he finished.
Deidre sat up, feeling the doubt begin to pound through her brain. ‘But I don’t understand. Why . . .?’
‘I explain this to you before,’ he snapped, as he put on his black towelling robe. ‘No one must go to the bottega, no one must know of it or where is it until I say so.’
‘But can’t you see how much it hurts me to know that you don’t trust . . .’
‘No!’ His voice cut across her and his eyes were blazing with fury. Then he snatched open a drawer in the chest behind him and took out a packet of cigarettes. She watched as he struck a match, then inhaled deeply. His hand was trembling and his dark, unshaven face was alive with agitation. Suddenly she was afraid. Afraid because he had never reacted like this before about the bottega, and afraid because she could feel her darkest suspicions breaking loose in her mind and words of accusation erupting horribly and uncontrollably from her lips.
‘You took her there, didn’t you?’ she blurted out. ‘You took Olivia to the bottega?’
He looked at her, appalled. ‘Why do you say such things? There is nothing to . . .’
