Something didn't quite make sense about this, but then the question Kris had been meaning to ask crystallised in her mind.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you so keen to help Daniel?”
It was Miranda’s turn to pause. “I want to help Daniel, yes, but I want something more than that. I want revenge.”
“Revenge? Against Daniel?”
The pause this time was because Miranda was laughing in a low voice. “No, not against Daniel, never against him. I want revenge against the Roths.”
When Daniel emerged from the lobby of Stone Enterprises an hour later, his face was dark with anger and at first he did not notice Kris as she stood in the doorway, lingering at the threshold as though unwilling to enter his domain. As he saw her, he attempted a wry smile: for a second, his wrath at what had occurred within struggled with his softer feelings towards her, but as he gently touched her shoulder his posture stiffened.
“How did it go?” she asked, slightly nervously, fully aware from the look on his face that all had gone badly.
“Never mind that. Come on, let’s get out of here. I didn’t ask my driver to wait, so I’d prefer to get a taxi. Anyway, the more important question is how did things go at the hospital? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”
In response to his apology, she pressed herself closer into him and lifted herself on tiptoe, kissing his cheek. “It’s fine—all fine. You have a healthy baby daughter on the way.”
“A daughter...” His words were barely audible, and for a moment Kris looked up at him in concern. Then she realised that he had drifted away from her, his eyes staring blankly into the street, glistening slightly.
“Yes, a daughter,” she told him. “Part of me wondered whether you’d be so old fashioned as to want a son more than anything, but then I decided why shouldn’t a girl inherit your mantle at Stone Enterprises?”
Despite her light tone, his laugh was bitter and humourless. “She’d do a damn sight better than I have—not that there will be anything left to inherit at this rate.”
Gently but firmly he let his arm rest across her shoulders and propelled her outside, lifting his other arm to hail a taxi that was visible at the far end of the road. Kris opened her mouth to offer him words of comfort but, unsure what to say, remained silent. She knew how she would console him later, when they were on their own.
“Why, Ms Stone, how lovely to see you here!”
The sound of Francis Roth’s voice behind them made Kris freeze over and she felt Daniel’s arm become more tense. “Keep walking,” he said to her in a low voice.
“Really, I can’t believe that you didn’t invite us to the wedding. It’s unlike Daniel not to share his property.”
The provocation was so puerile that Kris almost laughed out loud, shaking her head and concentrating on the taxi that was beginning to slow down, pulling across the road towards them. For Daniel, however, it was too much.
“Why don’t you just fuck off, Roth? Felix, can’t you keep this little piece of shit of yours under control?”
He had stopped now and, half turning her head to follow his gaze Kris saw Francis standing outside the doorway, Felix Coltraine a few paces behind him. His smirk was as repulsive as it had ever been, and the way he gloated at Daniel was barely more than she could stand. At least, she noted with some grim satisfaction, Felix had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Now, now, Daniel,” Francis replied, coming forward so that he was little more than arm’s length away from the two of them. “That’s no way to speak to the man who’ll be running this outfit in a month’s time.”
“Over my dead body,” Daniel hissed. He took a single step forward and, for a fleeting instant, Francis looked afraid, stumbling backwards into Felix before he gained his composure once more.
“I suppose I’m meant to say say something along the lines of ‘that can be arranged’,” he sneered. “But I don’t need to. Pop’s decided you’re finished, now all we need is your signature on the dotted line.”
“And do you really think your father’s going to let you run anything?” Daniel’s face was deathly pale now, white with barely suppressed rage, the scars along his cheek standing out in frightening lines. Kris herself felt scared of him all of a sudden, and she noticed that Felix was stepping backwards, his eyes suddenly bulging at the six and a half foot man towering on the pavement before them. Only Francis seemed to be filled with bravado at that moment.
“Of course he will! It’s only fitting in the end, isn’t it?” Kris held onto Daniel’s arm as Francis spoke, trying to guide him towards the taxi that was waiting at the kerb side now. He was, however, as immobile as granite.
“After all,” Francis continued blithely, “after the false son failed to deliver the goods, it’s only right and proper that I show him how it’s done. Who knows, when the famous Daniel Stone is out of the picture, perhaps I can pick up with this pretty, plump wife of yours where we left off—”
Suddenly, with a speed that shocked both her and Felix, Daniel’s arm shot out and, almost without effort, he grabbed Francis around the throat and lifted him up into the air. Immediately the younger man’s toes bobbed down to the pavement once more as he scrabbled with his fingers against Daniel’s iron hard hand.
With his throat being choked, Francis’s face was beginning to turn purple, but Daniel’s own features remained pale: only his eyes burned brightly, betraying the hatred he felt towards the other man. Bringing his second hand up to Francis’s jacket, he raised him once more into the air so that he could say in a quietly threatening voice:
“I know you’re determined to drag me down, you bastard, but listen to this. Touch one hair on her head—one hair!—and I won’t let you live.”
“Daniel!” The voice was Felix’s, attempting to attract the attention of his former colleague.
“I don’t care what you do to me, and I don’t care how long I have to wait. I’ll use everything I have—every cent, every breath in my body, to find you and rip you apart.”
Raising her hand to his arm, her heart beating in her chest so loudly that she thought everyone around her must be able to hear, Kris said as calmly as she could manage: “Daniel, please. We have to go.” She felt no compassion at all towards this man who had tried to rape her, but now she realised with a sudden cool inrush of reason that nothing good would come if Daniel lost himself to his passions now.
Feeling her touch on his arm at last, Daniel glanced down. His eyes were still on fire, and the knuckles of his hand were still white as he gripped Francis tightly. At last, however, while the younger man choking in his grasp, those eyes became clearer, the dazzling pupils contracting slowly in pain as he saw her clearly. His fingers relaxed at last and Francis stumbled backwards, spluttering.
“Fuck you, Stone!” he howled, staggering away towards the doorway. “Fuck you! And your fucking whore! You’ll fucking pay for this, Stone!”
Daniel, however, paid not the slightest heed to him. Instead he lifted one hand softly to Kris’s cheek.
“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.”
For a few moments, Felix Coltraine stood on the pavement, watching the pair of them as they climbed into the waiting taxi. Before Kris could close the door behind her, however, he leaped forward and grabbed hold of it. Shocked, she looked up but his expression was not one of violence, anger or even distaste. Instead, his eyes were filled with a sadness and pain similar to that she had noticed in Daniel’s.
“Keep him away from here,” the older man told her, almost whispering so that Daniel would not hear. “The Americans are winning this one. For his sake—and yours—keep him under control.”
Chapter twenty-four
Two days later, Kris stepped out of another taxi onto the pavement outside the Hotel Russell. Although it was a bright mid morning, the wind had changed to an easterly, bringing a cooler chill as a harbinger of the coming Autumn. As she closed the door of the car, she glanced across to Russell Square where a
few people were walking through the green, enjoying the final days of summer.
She herself was wearing a dark coat that came just over her hips, a double-breasted Isabel Marant that was open at the front, slightly undermining its effectiveness against the wind. She had replaced her wardrobe to better fit her blossoming figure. In addition the luxurious yet also slightly sober garment, along with her dark blue Roland Mouret dress and black Tory Burch court shoes gave her the sensation of being girded for the meeting ahead. She also had to admit that the low-heeled shoes were among the most comfortable she owned: they looked conservative (if expensive) rather than stunning, but at least the increasing pressures on her feet and ankles would be relieved.
Lifting up her head, her dark hair coiffed into an elegant and chic bun at the crown of her head, she surveyed the entrance to the Russell. The terracotta and ivory Portland stone of the entrance was marked with the patina of the city, the Corinthian pillars on either side rising high above her and the large glass door restrained and tasteful.
Entering, she passed the discreetly decorated lobby and headed towards the Fitroy Dolls restaurant where she was due to meet Miranda Karstans. Glancing at her watch, she saw that the time was only eleven o’clock—too early for lunch, but Miranda had indicated that the meeting could take up a considerable amount of time.
The restaurant tables were set out on the wooden floor, with warm ochre-veined marble lining the walls, leading the eye upwards to the pale ceiling and large windows which filled the room with light. She looked past the grand pillars towards the large, Victorian fireplace, also resplendent in marble. Most of the tables were empty, though a smartly-clad waiter served one elderly couple at the far end. There was, as yet, no sign of Miranda.
“Can I help you, madame?” The maitre d’ was a little older than Kris, with short dark hair and a slightly severe face that made him ever so slightly less attractive than he would otherwise have been. His expression did little to placate her nervousness, but she cleared her throat (which suddenly felt very dry) and replied that she was here to meet Ms Karstans.
Sitting at the table, she asked the waiter for a coffee and water as he took her coat. Waiting for the other woman, she handled the cutlery on the table, a panoply of knives, forks and spoons beside the shining glasses, trying not to worry too much about what the day would bring. Concentrate on one thing at a time, she told herself.
And yet, inevitably, her mind drifted back once more to Daniel. Back at the apartment in Chelsea, he had raged against Francis Roth, uttering all kinds of dark threats, almost blind at times towards Kris herself. It was only when, entering that storm of his anger, she had placed herself in front of him, reaching towards him and touching his arm gently, that his wrath had finally subsided.
It was strange, she thought. There had been a time when, she had to admit to herself, she had been scared of him from time to time. Daniel Stone—arrogant, powerful, dominant—had threatened to overwhelm her in so many ways, and that was without even considering the mystery that was Daniel Logan—misanthropic, isolated, but powerful in so many other ways. At the same time that she thought of the ways he had taken her, broken down the old, lost figure of Kristina Avelar, she also felt the thrill deep inside her abdomen and placed her hand unconsciously on her belly.
And there she felt another motion, the life inside her. The life that she and Daniel had made. If he had broken her down to release a new woman, then she too had broken him—though in this case she suspected that that remaking was the release of an older man, a forgotten man, someone more humane, someone who was remembering how to love and not merely possess. She did not fear him in the slightest any more, though she was afraid for him, of what he would do.
Yesterday, he had taken her advice and avoided further meetings with Felix and Francis, but instead spent time consulting with lawyers. “They’re still trying to screw me,” he had told her. “And I just can’t let them, not yet. I’ve got to fight—for us.”
She had not been entirely convinced of this final remark. For us? she thought. Or for you? Yet she had immediately been ashamed by that thought. He was no longer separate from her, nor she from him.
Her reflections were interrupted by the sight of Maria Karstans walking towards her. The older woman was dressed in a sober skirt and jacket with a white blouse and her hair, a similar colour to Kris’s but much shorter, was impeccable. She carried a briefcase at her side. For some reason, Maria Gosselin sprang into Kris’s mind at that moment and she frowned slightly before she realised why: another meeting at a restaurant, but at least this woman did not hide her face behind sunglasses.
Indeed, as she sat down across from Kris, Miranda’s brown eyes looked a little tired. “Thank you for waiting,” she said. “To think I used to do this kind of transatlantic flying all the time without any adverse effects.” She pulled a wry expression. “I guess age is catching up with me.”
“Thank you for coming,” Kris said, measuring her words cautiously. “I realise just how much I’m asking of you.”
Miranda nodded and beckoned to the waiter. Ordering coffee, she then glanced back towards Kris. “Actually, I’ve missed breakfast,” she said, “and I realise it’s a little too early for lunch yet, but my body hasn’t caught up. Do you mind if I get something to eat?”
“Of course,” Kris replied. She then felt her stomach stretch a little and realised that she too was famished—as she was far too often these days. “Hell, I’ll join you.”
Miranda smiled at this and glanced down towards Kris’s thickening waist. “How much longer?” she asked.
“Just over twenty weeks, if all goes well.”
The other woman nodded at this, and for a second Kris thought she saw a glint of sadness in her eyes.
“Do you have children?” she asked, tentatively.
Miranda shook her head. “I kept postponing a family for work, career—you know, the usual. And then when I began to have second thoughts, it was too late.”
“Surely not,” Kris said quickly. “I mean, you must have plenty of time for children yet.”
With a not unkind smile, Miranda eased herself back in the chair and looked at Kris. “Bless you, child,” she said. “I’m sorry, that sounds very patronising. No, you’re not a child, but I could—perhaps—just be your mother, though I would have been a teenage parent.” She raised an eyebrow and looked away at this comment. “How very different my life would have been,” she said almost too quietly for Kris to hear.
For a few seconds, the two of them said nothing then Miranda returned her gaze to Kris. Though she smiled with her mouth, her eyes retained something of their sadness. “I won’t lie,” she said at last. “I’m a little jealous of you and Daniel. I’m a little jealous, but also glad for you. Part of me wishes it had been me, but another part is very glad that it’s not.”
“Was it that bad?”
Miranda laughed. “No. No.” She paused for a moment. “At the time it was... wonderful.” She could not help blush at this and her eyes flickered downwards, away from Kris’s face. When she mastered her emotions, however, and raised her head once more her expression was more steely. “When the end came, however, it nearly broke my heart. If it had continued much longer, God alone knows what I would have done to myself.”
Now Kris felt embarrassed. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but at the same time she did not know how to form the words. To distract both of them she eventually inquired politely: “What were you doing in Chicago?”
Realising what Kris was doing, Miranda laughed but replied equally politely: “Financial planning for a client. I used to be a hotshot in such matters, but it gets harder for women in particular as they get older. I’ll be glad to get home and rest.”
“Are you... are you married?”
Miranda nodded. “Yes. Four years now. Alex. He’s very sweet, and closer to my age. He is nothing like Daniel, but I consider that a small mercy.”
Kris couldn’t help but frown at this.
“What was it like?” she asked at last. Both of them knew why they were here, and it was pointless skirting around the real subject of their conversation.
As the waiter brought across her coffee, Miranda sat back in her seat and considered her response. As she raised her hands before her chest, once more Kris caught a glimpse of the emerald bracelet that Daniel had given her.
“It was like nothing I’ve ever known—before or since,” she replied at last. “Oh, I liked to give off an air of sophistication, of knowing the world, but the truth was that I was much more naive than I let on before I met Daniel. I’d let work take over. We have to work harder, women like us: it’s easy for men. If we want to succeed it sucks up our whole life.”
Kris was silent at this, unable to respond, and so Miranda continued: “Daniel Stone came into my life and... well, frankly he wrecked it. And it was wonderful. I honestly don’t know why he even looked twice at me. There were plenty of women who were younger, more beautiful,” Kris felt pain as she said this. The woman sitting across from her was immensely beautiful, with a grace and elegance that put even Maria Gosselin to shame. “And yet he chose me.” Once more Miranda blushed. “And when we were together... well, I’m sure you know how it is. He saw something in me that would... respond to him. And respond to him I did.
“Christ!” she sipped at her coffee, lost in a reverie for a few moments. “I couldn’t think about anything other than Daniel Stone. I... I rediscovered myself, my body. I was crazy for him.” She suddenly broke off and gave a nervous laugh, fanning herself slightly with her hand and looking away for a moment. “Anyway, it was wonderful,” she repeated at last. Was this a mantra, Kris wondered, to convince her that it had been that way?
“And if he wrecked me, if he took the perfect life I thought I had been living and showed me that it wasn’t quite so perfect... well, he also lifted me up, gave me something new, something better. He opened doors for me—and I don’t just mean sexually, though he opened so many doors there.”
Refracted Crystal: Diamonds and Desire Page 22
