Cruel Venus

by Susan Lewis

  Disappointment seared through her. Her eyes darted about the room, seeing nothing. Would it be acceptable for her to ask where she could contact him in LA? No, she didn’t think so.

  ‘Can Clive Dansing help?’ Corinne suggested. ‘He’s over in the other building, but I can put you through. I’ll tell him you’re on the line.’

  Of course she should speak to Clive, and as Corinne was about to announce her, she could hardly avoid it. But it was Mark she so desperately wanted to speak to. The trial was only two weeks away now, and …

  Clive Dansing’s voice came brusquely down the line. ‘Allyson. How are you? I’ve been waiting for your call.’

  Startled, Allyson said, ‘Clive, uh … I’m fine. How are you?’ She’d met him before, a couple of years ago, at the MIP TV Festival in Cannes. He’d been the head of a rival TV station then, and had invited her and Shelley to a party on his company’s yacht. ‘My leave of absence expires in a couple of weeks,’ she said.

  ‘Which is why I’ve been waiting for your call,’ he said. ‘I think we should meet to discuss what you’re going to do. Have you had any ideas?’

  ‘Some.’ How desperately she needed this, to talk about a future that didn’t include the trial.

  ‘Good. So have I. I’m sure we’ll find some middle ground.’

  Allyson’s insides tightened. Apparently he was expecting their ideas to conflict.

  ‘How’s your diary looking for next week?’ he said. ‘I can make Wednesday at four or Thursday at ten thirty.’

  She opted for Thursday, because it was the last thing he said and Bob was walking in the door so she wanted to get off the line.

  ‘Who was that?’ he said, coming into the kitchen.

  ‘No-one. Wrong number.’

  He looked at her with reproachful eyes. She almost wished he’d call her a liar, but all he said was, ‘I’ve got the job with Sky.’

  ‘That’s great,’ she said, knowing it was inadequate, but it was all she could muster.

  Going over to the coffee pot he emptied it into a cup and turned back to face her. ‘You were talking to him, weren’t you?’ he said.

  God, this was so hard, caring and not caring, living in the same house as someone who already belonged to the past. ‘No,’ she answered.

  He seemed to take no comfort from that, probably because he knew that it was only a matter of time before she would be in touch with Mark.

  For a long time they only stared into each other’s eyes. Finally he was the first to speak. ‘Tell me the truth, Allyson,’ he said, ‘do you know where that clock is?’

  The question was so unexpected that for a moment she was sure she hadn’t heard right. Then suddenly she began to shake with fury.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I had to ask. And if you do, then I want you to know …’

  ‘Stop!’ she seethed. ‘Stop before another word comes out of your mouth.’

  ‘Allyson, I’m just trying to say …’

  ‘I know what you’re saying,’ she yelled. ‘You’re saying that you think I might have done it. Oh my God! Oh my God!’ Her hands were on her face, then tearing through her hair. ‘Have you got any idea what it’s doing to me to hear that now, and from you, my own husband? Oh Christ! Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me you …’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’d stand by you, no matter what …’

  ‘No matter what!’ she raged. ‘Are you out of your mind? You’re accusing me of murder … No! No! No! I can’t deal with this now. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t look at you …’

  ‘Allyson! Wait!’ he implored. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out that way. It just …’

  ‘Get your hands off me!’ she yelled as he grabbed her. ‘Just don’t touch me. How could you do that? How could you …’ She backed away from him, and grabbed for her coat. ‘No, I’m not having this discussion, because you of all people should know that I don’t have the first idea where that clock is, and yet you, my own husband, are the only one who’s doubting me.’

  ‘I’m not doubting you!’

  ‘Then why the hell did you ask!’

  ‘I’m sorry! I’m really sorry,’ he cried, trying to put his hands on her to calm her down. ‘I was just trying to show you how much I love you, and I chose a really stupid way of doing it. I’m sorry. Oh God, I wish the words had never passed my lips, and I wish to God I’d never set eyes on Tessa Dukes, then none of this would be happening and I wouldn’t be feeling you moving further and further away from me … Allyson, you’ve got to forgive me, please …’

  The telephone cut him off, and snatching up her keys she wrenched open the front door and slammed it behind her. The clock! The bloody clock. He might wish he’d never set eyes on Tessa Dukes, but dear God she wished she’d never set eyes on that bloody clock.

  Shelley was looking at her lawyers, listening to every word they uttered, digesting every nuance and memorizing every twist and turn that was ultimately going to provide her path to freedom. There was less than a week to go now, and she was more afraid, more capable of falling apart and agreeing to the plea bargain than she had ever been. The madness of the not-guilty gamble was eating away at her, sabotaging her resolve and crushing her belief in herself. Perversely her lawyers seemed more confident now than they had at the outset, were willing to believe they really did have a case they could win. After all, no trace of Tessa’s DNA had been found in Shelley’s apartment, unlike in Allyson’s, and the clothes Shelley had worn to the office that day had been retrieved from the cleaners and whisked off to the lab where they’d failed to produce any damning evidence. Allyson’s clothes hadn’t yielded up any incriminating results either, it appeared, so everything still hinged on what had been in the package Shelley had given Allyson that night at the restaurant.

  ‘Such a shame you didn’t let her open it right then,’ Ed remarked. ‘Someone would have been sure to spot it. Still, you didn’t,’ he said, noticing the barrister’s reproachful look. ‘It would just be very helpful if that clock could materialize before the trial began.’

  ‘I think we can feel confident it won’t,’ the barrister responded. ‘So let’s go over the witness statements again and make sure all inconsistencies are noted.’

  It was a long and laborious process, but a vital one, and painful too as she read what people had said about her. Worst of all was going over Mark Reiner’s version of their brief affair, and discovering how little she had meant to him. Of course he didn’t phrase it that way, in fact he had assumed total responsibility for her belief that there would be much more to their relationship than the two sexual encounters it had consisted of, and had blamed himself fully for handling the situation so badly. It was a long and eloquent statement, with a consistent tone of regret, some signs of bewilderment and occasional anger, like the point at which he related the way she had put his hand on her breast during the party in Italy. His words then made her burn with shame, though she knew that hadn’t been his intention, he’d merely been making the point of how unwelcome and untimely her advances had become. But he expressed nothing with malice, and was never accusatory, seemed in fact always to be careful to allow her the dignity she had failed to allow herself. His chivalry made her feel humiliated and foolish. It also served as a brutal reminder of what she had lost in him. How very alone she felt now with no-one to support her through this, and no-one to care whether she was found guilty or not.

  So maybe, she thought, swallowing hard on her misery, it would be better for her to stay here, condemned to a world where there were no men, at least then she wouldn’t have to suffer any more of this pain. But just a single thought of Allyson brought her indomitable spirit back to its fighting best, for no matter what the outcome, nothing in the world was going to induce her to let Allyson walk away from this without, at the very least, being made to face the hell of the trial.

  ‘Oh! Allyson!’ Melissa cried, suddenly jumping up. ‘Have you been there long?’ />
  ‘Just walked in.’ Allyson smiled at the girl who used to be Stella Cornbright’s assistant and was now Clive Dansing’s. ‘How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Frenzied. Clive is …’

  ‘Right here.’

  Allyson turned round. Clive Dansing was limping towards her. She’d forgotten about the limp. ‘Hello Allyson,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  His smile was friendly enough, his handshake was firm, almost warm.

  ‘Would you like to go in?’ he said, indicating his office. ‘I’ve just got a couple of things to sort out here.’

  Allyson went in and sat down on one of the guest chairs. The room had been redecorated since Stella’s day, it seemed brighter now and somehow bigger. She tried to concentrate on the smaller details of change, like the desk, the paintings on the walls, the books on the shelves, but none of it seemed to be reaching her. She’d just come from an interview with Detectives Lister and Maine, so it wasn’t really surprising that she was feeling drained and slightly askew from the world. But it was OK, everything seemed to be in order, they’d said. The trial was set to start next Monday at ten, so all Allyson had to do now was decide what she was going to wear. The problem wasn’t as facetious as it sounded, for she knew very well that her appearance was going to count for a lot. But she had that more or less worked out, so it wasn’t her wardrobe that was causing her the concern right now, it was how her sudden split from Bob was going to be perceived, virtually on the eve of the trial.

  Obviously all manner of suspicions and assumptions were going to be drawn from it once it became public, but as Bob himself didn’t know yet, it was unlikely to reach the press, at least for another day or two. She’d probably taken the coward’s way out, packing her bags and moving to her parents while he was in Yorkshire on a job for Sky, but after the past few months of emotional upheaval and trauma she just hadn’t been able to face any more scenes or pleas for forgiveness. Nor, she’d finally realized, did she want to go with him every day to the court and pretend they were a united and loving couple as all the sordidness of his affairs came out. Were she intending to stay with him afterwards, then naturally she’d be prepared to go through it, but that wasn’t her intention, and as she wanted their break-up to be something that was apart from the outcome of the trial she had decided to leave before it began.

  But she had to put that out of her mind now and run through a final rehearsal of everything she was going to say to Clive. Thank God she’d brought copies of printed proposals, for they could act as a guide during those awkward moments when her mind went blank.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Clive said, coming in but not closing the door. He was looking at his watch. ‘Mark should have been here by now,’ he said. ‘Must have got caught up in traffic.’

  Allyson couldn’t move. Maybe she hadn’t heard right, yet she knew she had. Her heart was thumping wildly, everything in her was starting to tense. Oh God, she wasn’t ready for this. She’d had no idea …

  ‘Perhaps we could get started,’ Clive was saying. ‘I know there are certain things Mark wants to … Ah! Here he is.’

  Allyson turned round, knowing that all her apprehension was there to be seen. She could hardly breathe as she looked at him. He seemed so much taller, so powerful, so … She was trying to read his eyes … Oh God, if only she’d known. She could have prepared herself …

  ‘Hello,’ he said. His eyes were on hers. His face was so familiar, his presence so engulfing.

  ‘Hello.’ Her voice was throaty and faint.

  ‘I wanted to be here when you came back,’ he said.

  ‘You could have warned me,’ she responded, then attempted a smile.

  His eyes darkened with the irony she loved, then he turned to Clive. ‘I think the future programming can wait,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ Clive responded. Then to Allyson, ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

  The door closed behind him.

  ‘So how are you?’ Mark said.

  ‘OK. I think.’ She laughed. ‘You’ve really thrown me. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Am I allowed to ask how things are working out with Bob?’

  Shaking her head she said, ‘They’re not.’ She longed to tell him why, but wasn’t sure she dared. ‘I’m staying with my parents.’

  He nodded.

  She looked into his face. His eyes were still on hers, and she could feel their intensity reaching so far into her that it could be all that was holding her together. Her breath was quickening. She wanted to touch him so badly …

  As though reading her mind he took a step towards her, and then she was there, in his arms, holding him tightly as he kissed her with such tenderness and passion that she could feel the power of their love searing right through her.

  ‘We’ll just get this trial out of the way,’ he said, when finally they were able to speak steadily again, ‘then we’ll go back to Italy and take some time for ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, Italy,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back to Italy.’

  Chapter 19

  IT HADN’T TAKEN long to get there. Much less time than she’d expected. She’d been unable to chart the journey, it wasn’t possible to see from the back of a prison van. No glimpses of ongoing life, or London streets, no brutal reminders of a world of which she was no longer a part.

  She sensed when the van swung off the road and down the ramp to the underground entrance of the court. The press was there, she could hear them, and she was swamped by shame that she, Shelley Bronson, wasn’t permitted to walk free, and enter the court with everyone else.

  Had Allyson arrived yet, she wondered.

  She was so afraid it seemed hard to move. A horrible, churning nausea gripped her insides, utter dread pounded in her heart. She was trying to cut off from herself, to find a place where she wouldn’t have to feel all the terrible foreboding that was binding her to the reality of this nightmare, and for moments at a time she succeeded, but only for moments.

  Her lawyers were waiting inside. Ed had brought the clothes she’d asked for. A navy silk suit and a pale green silk shirt. Feeling the softness of the fabric next to her skin made her want to cry. It was like the embrace of a long-absent lover.

  Just before ten thirty the guards took her upstairs to the court. Her lawyers were already there. As she was led in a terrible silence fell over the room. She kept her eyes straight ahead and walked steadily, rigidly to the dock. It was horrible. So horrible she couldn’t stand it. She wanted to scream, or run.

  She inhaled deeply.

  The room wasn’t so bad. It was one of the newer courts. No walls of austere oak panelling, and reminders of dark, sinister crimes with vengeful judges. Just shiny teak benches and lots more light than she’d imagined. It was crowded with people, so many it was as though she was suffocating in their macabre fascination. She knew they were watching her, but she didn’t look back. Unless something monumental happened elsewhere in the world, this trial was going to dominate the headlines for at least a week. All the details of her life, her loves, ambitions, rejections were going to be feasted on, picked over, analysed, documented and deplored for the rapacious masses of tabloid readers. They would all have an opinion. The belief in her guilt had already crystallized into certainty. How to break apart that certainty when the world loved Allyson?

  Was Allyson outside somewhere?

  As a chief witness she wouldn’t be allowed in yet. None of them would. Not Bob, not Mark, not anyone from Soirée. She was alone in a room full of strangers. And those twelve empty places over there were going to be filled by more strangers, who would decide whether she should regain her freedom or return to living hell.

  Every heartbeat hurt.

  ‘All rise.’

  The judge entered. His red flowing robes told the world he was of the High Court. His wig sat comfortably over his thinning grey hair.

  Shelley looked at him, but he didn’t look back.

  The indictment was read.
As the voice spoke into the pregnant hush it made her feel sick

  ‘Are you Shelley Bronson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You are charged upon an indictment containing one count, that of murder. In that, you, on the fourteenth day of March …’ Someone nearby coughed. Shelley didn’t move. The clerk was still reading. ‘… did murder Tessa Jane Dukes. How say you? Guilty or not guilty?’

  Tessa Jane Dukes. She hadn’t known the girl’s middle name was Jane. But what did it matter now? When had it ever mattered?

  ‘Not guilty.’ Her voice was an echo in her ears. She was shaking hard, her legs were barely able to support her.

  The jury was sworn in. The prosecution counsel outlined the case, then the first witnesses were called. They were police officers whose testimony took up most of the day. Shelley had always known that DC Lister had no doubts who had done it. The way she gave evidence showed she had not changed her position. Shelley hadn’t been expecting her to, but hearing it told Lister’s way was scaring her to death. Until now she really had dared to believe that this nightmare would end, that she would see her beloved home again and be given a chance to pick up her life. By the end of the day she hardly believed it at all – and all she wanted was to die.

  Before they took her back to the prison she was allowed to speak to her lawyers. To her amazement they seemed in good spirits.

  ‘All that testimony,’ one of them explained, ‘and they’ve still failed to come up with any kind of evidence, or DNA that connects you to the crime.’

  Shelley looked at her solicitor, Ed, whom she liked and trusted. He nodded and smiled.

  ‘But all that about me leaving the office and going home to shower and get rid of the bloodstained clothes, when all the time I was stuck in traffic,’ she said, fear putting anger into her voice.

  ‘Hypothetical. They’ve got no proof. Everyone knows there was a monumental jam that night, thanks to a bomb scare, and it’s not up to you to prove you were in it, it’s up to them to prove you weren’t. So far they haven’t managed to do that.’