Last Resort

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Oh by the way,’ she said to David as he held the door open for her, ‘I’m going back to London tomorrow, so I was wondering where I might be able to get hold of you – should I need to.’

  ‘I’ll be staying right down the road here,’ he said, waving an arm in the general direction of the Martinez Hotel a few blocks down. ‘Some friends of mine have misguidedly handed over the keys to their apartment. I’ll call the hotel later and leave a message for you with the phone number.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well, good night and, once again, I’m sorry about the, uh, misunderstanding.’

  ‘Think no more of it,’ he told her with a grin and, getting back into the car, he and Marielle drove away – no doubt, Penny was thinking to herself as she walked into the hotel, to get on with the dastardly deed. Then quite suddenly she started to laugh as the funny side of what had happened finally reached her. He’d deserved nothing less after the way he’d treated her, the bastard, and just wait till she told her friends back in London! The episode would be good for a laugh, if nothing else . . .

  Chapter 4

  ‘HERE, LET ME help you with that.’

  In mid-stumble through the front door, bags suspended from each shoulder and suitcase dragging on the floor, Penny looked up to find her sister’s cheery face grinning down at her.

  ‘Sammy!’ she cried, dropping her luggage and wrapping Sammy in her arms. ‘When did you get here?’

  ‘Yesterday,’ Sammy answered, hugging Penny tightly. ‘Peter’s gone off skiing with his boyfriend and said I could stay.’

  ‘For how long?’ Penny asked, holding Sammy at arm’s length and giving her a thorough, motherly-like inspection. ‘You look fantastic,’ she told her, pulling her into another embrace. ‘I can hardly believe you’re here.’

  Sammy’s eyes were suffused with sisterly devotion as she watched Penny give her another critical once-over before turning to haul her suitcase in the door. She was five years younger than Penny, and, like Penny, had such a glowing complexion she could almost have passed for a teenager. At five feet ten she was six inches taller than Penny and slender almost to the point of being skinny. Her hair, unlike Penny’s, was extremely fine, several shades darker, and fell from a centre parting to well below her shoulders. But her eyes were a virtually identical cornflower-blue and shone with the same wicked humour and intelligence.

  ‘So what’s all this Peter’s been telling me about a new job?’ she said excitedly, following Penny down the narrow, dark hallway into the spacious sitting room, which, were it not for the dull sky outside, might have been invitingly sunny. ‘It’s in France, he said. Something to do with a new magazine.’

  ‘Make me a cup of tea and I’ll fill you in,’ Penny said, shrugging off her coat and hitting the button on the answerphone. ‘And don’t think you’re off the hook over that Casablanca caper,’ she called after her, ‘because I haven’t forgotten.’

  Half an hour later, having replayed her dozen or so messages and returned the more urgent calls, Penny slumped on to a tatty sofa and looked at Sammy’s bright, eager face. She adored her sister more than anyone else in the world – always had, since the day Sammy was born. So had their father, but sadly he had died before Sammy had reached her eleventh birthday and now, since their mother’s death, Penny sometimes felt as though she’d taken on the role of both parents. Meaning that Sammy was an unruly, often unmanageable child, but Penny wouldn’t have had her any other way. Actually, she would, for she’d have had Sammy living with her if only she could pin her down, but since Sammy had graduated she’d spent her time roaming the world and getting into more scrapes than the Marquess of Blandford, that Penny was continually obliged to get her out of.

  It wasn’t long before they were doubled-up with laughter as Penny reached the tiramisu part of her story, then gave a long and painful groan at the spectacular childishness of it when she was supposed to be the smart and sophisticated editor of a new magazine aiming to take the South of France by storm.

  ‘I wish I could have seen this David’s face!’ Sammy laughed, folding her legs in under her. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Would you believe he laughed?’ Penny grimaced. ‘The bastard actually found it funny, which made me feel even worse, like I was some kind of clown or something.’ Laughing again and shaking her head, she said, ‘How on earth am I ever going to get him to take me seriously when I go around flinging custard pies in people’s faces? Still, that’s up to me to sort out. What you have to sort out is whether or not you’re going to come with me.’

  Sammy’s face instantly lit up. ‘Me!’ she cried incredulously.

  ‘Yes, you. I’ve got a job all lined up for you, if you want it, that is, and just you wait till you see where we’ll be living. It’s out of this world.’

  ‘Oh, Penny Moon, I just love you,’ Sammy gushed, diving on to Penny and throwing her arms around her. ‘I’ve been wondering what I should do next and I thought it was about time I got myself a job – what is it, by the way?’

  Penny grinned. ‘Agony Aunt,’ she said. ‘I want you to take on the problem page and a few other things besides.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Sammy shrieked. ‘My own column?’

  ‘Your own column,’ Penny confirmed. ‘I’ll have to try you out first, obviously, but we both know you can do it standing on your head. I just need to get you past Marielle.’

  ‘Why, if you’re the editor?’

  ‘Because I don’t want her giving me any more problems than she’s already creating,’ Penny yawned.

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘To look at, absolutely stunning. I couldn’t work out at first why she wasn’t striding the catwalks or brazening it out with other journalists in Paris. But these past couple of weeks have shown me why she’s still on the Côte d’ Azur.’

  ‘Why?’ Sammy prompted.

  ‘Because,’ Penny answered pensively, ‘she isn’t actually all that bright. She certainly thinks she is, but if you ask me she’s a bit of a pygmy in the intellect department and her writing is . . .’ Her eyes flashed as though daring herself to voice what she really thought. Deciding it was too bitchy she sufficed with: ‘barely average. And the way she’s throwing herself at David, trying to create a rift between us, just isn’t subtle enough to make me think her clever in any way.’

  ‘Can’t wait to meet her,’ Sammy commented wryly. ‘And what about David? What’s he like?’

  ‘Oh God,’ Penny groaned, ‘don’t ask me about him! He’s your typical right-up-himself playboy type with so much charm it oozes out of him like jam. And why I should be worrying about him taking me seriously when he’s done absolutely zilch to get this magazine up and running so far . . . Did I tell you, he’s Sylvia’s godson? I did. Well, he behaves like he is, because though she’s assured me we have equal power he’s already parading around like he owns the joint and Marielle is lapping it up.’

  ‘So he’s a bit of a looker, is he?’ Sammy grinned.

  ‘Oh, yeah, he’s that all right.’ Penny sighed.

  ‘How old is he?’

  Penny shrugged. ‘God knows. Mid to late thirties, I suppose.’

  Sammy was eyeing her closely. ‘You sure you don’t fancy him?’ she said.

  Penny was on the brink of an explosive response, when she pulled herself back. To go that route might appear she was protesting too much. ‘Perfectly sure,’ she answered calmly.

  Sammy started to laugh.

  ‘I am!’ Penny said indignantly. ‘I’ve always told you that I’ll know instantly when the right man comes along.’

  ‘How will you?’

  ‘Instinct, of course.’

  Sammy nodded wisely. ‘Like you did with, what was his name? You know, the transvestite?’

  ‘He was not a transvestite,’ Penny retorted. ‘He just liked wearing women’s underwear. And I never did say I was in love with him.’

  ‘But you did claim to be in love with Graham,’ Sammy reminded her. ‘Graham of the wif
e, three kids, two mistresses and a dog he was so devoted to he couldn’t possibly leave his wife.’

  ‘Infatuation,’ Penny corrected testily. ‘And we’re all allowed to make mistakes.’

  ‘Now let me see,’ Sammy said, putting her head to one side. ‘Then there was Don, wasn’t there? The European political correspondent for CNN.’

  ‘There was nothing wrong with Don!’

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ Sammy agreed, ‘but you were going to marry him at one stage, weren’t you?’

  ‘He asked me and I said no,’ Penny answered. ‘OK, it took me a couple of weeks to say no, but I did in the end because I knew he wasn’t right for me.’

  Sammy gave a quick flick of her eyebrows. ‘That doesn’t sound particularly instantaneous to me,’ she commented. ‘Anyway, what happened to Declan? Or are you still seeing him?’

  ‘We broke up just before I went to France,’ Penny told her. ‘I’ll tell you the details later, but I left him because I knew it wasn’t right. Just like I know David Villers isn’t, so Marielle is welcome to him.’

  ‘Sounds like some good times ahead,’ Sammy remarked. ‘But you can handle it and with me there too at least you’ll have someone on your side. So, when do we go?’

  ‘Good question,’ Penny said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. ‘I’ve taken the house from a fortnight on Monday, so perhaps we could find out if we can move in the weekend before. That should give me time to clear up here, see Sylvia and say goodbye to everyone. Did Peter say when he was coming back, by the way?’

  ‘In two weeks,’ Sammy answered.

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t be a problem,’ Penny said. ‘He’s been wanting to move Larry in for a while now, but was too kind to say so. Anyway, I’m starving, do you fancy going out somewhere for an early dinner?’

  ‘Great,’ Sammy replied, springing to her feet. ‘Where shall we go?’

  ‘What about The Canteen in Chelsea Harbour? It’s one of the in-places right now.’

  Sammy’s eyes grew round. ‘I was reading about that place just before you came in. It said you have to book weeks in advance . . . and it’s Saturday night.’

  ‘Stick with me, babe,’ Penny said, winking and reaching for the phone. A couple of minutes later the booking was made and Penny was wondering what it was going to be like living in a place where she had nothing like the leverage she took almost for granted in London. The prospect flattened her spirits and Sammy’s next remark didn’t help either.

  ‘Do you think,’ she said gently, ‘that before we take off for France we should go up north to visit Mum and Dad’s grave?’

  As Penny looked away she felt the familiar tightening of grief in her heart. Since the funeral she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go to the grave again and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to now.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Sammy told her, ‘we don’t have to. It was just a thought.’

  ‘I send Mrs Diller money each week to take flowers,’ Penny said lamely.

  ‘Don’t think less of yourself for not going,’ Sammy said, putting a hand on Penny’s shoulder. ‘After all, she’s not there really, she’s right here with us.’

  Penny smiled and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘She’s right here in you,’ she said, ‘because she was every bit as daft and every bit as adorable.’

  With so much to do before leaving Penny hardly saw Sammy over the next couple of weeks, though she guessed Sammy had made her own quick trip up North and was spending the rest of the time catching up with her friends. Sylvia was eager to hear about all the new ideas Penny had come up with during her brief stay in France and laughed with such obvious delight when Penny told her what a start she had got off to with David that Penny started to feel rather pleased at what she had done. Sylvia was less reassuring about Marielle, though, saying that she thought Penny ought to keep a close eye on her, because, after all, Penny was going to be on Marielle’s territory and it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy out of someone who was clearly so useful. She feigned horror when she saw the rough costings Penny had come up with on her own, but within a few days the budget had been increased by twenty per cent and the extra rental on the house was passed too.

  Though there was little time for reflection, Penny was nevertheless slightly dazed by the feeling she was being allowed to write her own ticket. In fact, the whole project was beginning to take on such an air of unreality that she was starting to feel more like a player in a game she couldn’t lose than someone who was preparing to battle her way through the minefields of launching a new magazine. Perversely, it was only when Sylvia or Yolanda pronounced some of her ideas to be unworkable that she felt truly comfortable with her new role, but even so she was still finding it hard to see herself as a boss when she really didn’t feel like one and nor was she convinced that she actually had what it took to be one. That wasn’t to say she was considering backing out – far from it, in fact, she’d already come too far for that, and, besides, she was becoming kind of attached to her new magazine lately. So why doubt herself when Sylvia obviously had total faith in her and when, in her more confident moments, she was sure she would come through?

  During the hectic week before her departure, which included a radio phone-in for LBC, a book review for Time Out and the handing over of material on interviews she had already set up, she kept trying to round up her friends and colleagues for some kind of farewell bash. But, typical of Londoners, their diaries were always booked weeks in advance and though a couple could make it one night the others couldn’t and vice versa. Experiencing intense swings in emotion as the day of departure approached, their unavailability made Penny feel horribly like someone already in the past. She was used to having a full diary herself, but she’d always managed to make room for emergencies. And that was how she saw herself, as an emergency. For this was going to be her last chance to dish out invitations and extract assurances from everyone that they’d stay in touch or come to visit.

  However, the night before she was due to leave the surprise was sprung. Sylvia had invited her to dinner at Mossiman’s, saying she would send a car to pick Penny up and take her there. But when the driver sailed right on past the restaurant Penny got her first inkling that something was afoot. And what a something it turned out to be. Sylvia had taken over a West End nightclub and it seemed everyone Penny had ever known or interviewed was there. The place was bursting with journalists, photographers, celebrities, politicians, activists, sports people, high achievers, New Age healers, designers, novelists, restaurateurs, reviewers, astrologers and any number of the many eccentrics she had interviewed. They were all there to wish her good luck and tell her how sorely she was going to be missed. Penny was so overwhelmed that all she could do was shriek in surprise and joy as she recognized one face after another, after another.

  They rocked and bopped the night away, drank the place dry of champagne, then moved on to wine, and devoured a magnificent buffet that had been prepared by a team of Mossiman’s students. Sylvia made a speech that got tears flowing and Yolanda presented her with a gold Cartier pen, a red, leather-bound and gold-embossed diary from Smythson’s of Bond Street, and a hilarious caricature of herself in a beret with a string of onions around her neck and umpteen scandalous rags and lawsuits fluttering from her hands.

  At the end of the evening, as Penny moved tearfully from one embrace to the next, she wished to God that Sylvia hadn’t singled her out for this job, because the idea of leaving them all behind was suddenly almost too much to bear. It no longer felt like a game she couldn’t lose – quite the reverse, in fact: it felt as if she was being sent straight to jail.

  The feeling persisted into the next day, when she and Sammy boarded the plane for Nice and got there to find it cloudy and cold and being thrashed by the mistral. It was only Sammy’s rapturous cries as the estate agent took them slowly along the drive towards the wonderful villa that stopped Penny getting on the next plane back.

  Fortunately the following day the wind had dro
pped and though it was still cold it was clear and sunny, so Penny decided that a little exploration of their surroundings was in order. They started by searching out the local boulangerie, where a fat, merry old lady with a whiskery chin and floury apron treated them to a hearty Gallic welcome and wanted to know all about what they were doing in France, while wrapping their crusty baguettes in flimsy paper and popping a couple of succulent butter croissants into a bag – on the house. After, they strolled across to the café, which was satisfyingly populated by Gitane-puffing ouvriers in black berets and blue serge overalls and, less satisfyingly, a few local yobs. They sat outside sipping piping-hot, thick creamy coffee and soaking up the uniquely French atmosphere.

  Later they took a walk through the artist’s village of Mougins, which nestled around the peak of the hill overlooking their villa and the sea. Though they were not wildly impressed with the paintings, the village itself was so picturesque that Sammy used up an entire roll of film on shots of the old stone fountain, the quaint little houses fringing the narrow, cobbled streets and of Penny, braving the cold outside one of the chic, overpriced bistros.

  After lunch the rain started again, so they drove around in their rented car for a while getting a feel of the densely forested, hilly terrain with its cute little Provençal villages and brief but glorious glimpses of the sea. Finally, tired but a lot happier than she’d been the day before, Penny turned the car for home, while Sammy snored gently in the seat beside her, maps, guidebooks, a new beret and ropes of garlic scattered around her feet.

  When they returned to the villa, Penny stood for a while gazing out at the drizzling rain as it rippled the surface of the pool. She was even more nervous than she had expected to be at the prospect of all that lay ahead and, standing here now, she could once again feel herself starting to doubt her ability. However, deciding the only way to beat her nerves was simply to get on with things, she picked up the phone to call Marielle, firstly to let her know she had arrived and, secondly, to ask if Marielle had arranged the meeting Penny had mentioned in one of her faxes.