Divas

by Rebecca Chance

  ‘Mr Poluck, this is not the clip that you briefly showed us in my chambers, ’ the judge snapped angrily. ‘If you’ve pulled a bait-and-switch here—’

  ‘No, no, Your Honour, I assure you. Nothing could be farther from my intentions. I played that briefly to establish the bond between my client and her father—’

  He clicked on the remote he was holding, and a new scene filled the monitor: Lola standing next to Joe, by her father’s bedside. ‘Here we are. Twenty minutes earlier. Mr Ranieri’s technicians have actually spliced together footage from two different cameras, to show simultaneous versions of the same time period. You can verify that from the date stamps. One camera was in the bedroom, and one was in the master bathroom. I think the reason will be self-evident.’

  In the total silence before he pressed ‘Play’ again, everyone heard a noise from where Carin Fitzgerald was sitting. It was a sharp hiss of fear, breath drawn in between fuchsia-painted lips that were so tightly clamped together that only the thinnest sound of terror could be caught in between them.

  While, on the screen, Joe was saying to Lola:

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to help?’

  The spectators watched, as Joe handed Lola the syringe to hold. As he asked her to get the vial of insulin from the small fridge built into the bedside table. As he injected her father. As everything happened exactly as Lola had just recounted to the court.

  And then the screen split, to show Carin Fitzgerald in the bathroom, clearly watching the scene in the master bedroom through the crack in the hinge of the half-open door.

  The spectators exclaimed now, despite the reprimands of the judge. They muttered frantically to each other as Joe Scutellaro crossed the room, as he went into the bathroom, as he placed the vial and the syringe carefully down on a marble shelf and as Carin Fitzgerald patted him on the shoulder in approval as he gave her the thumbs up sign before heading back into the bedroom. And their mutters rose to gasps of disbelief as Carin Fitzgerald sat down on the upholstered chaise longue at the foot of the bath, smiling, reached for a brimming martini glass on a low table beside her, and raised it in the direction of the master bedroom and her comatose husband, before drinking from it in a silent celebration.

  ‘Silence, or I’ll have the court cleared!’ roared the judge, pounding away with her gavel, the sparkle of utter enjoyment in her eyes completely belying the reproving tones of her voice.

  The lights snapped back on: the courtroom was fully illuminated.

  And everyone’s heads were turned in the same direction. To Carin Fitzgerald, who had risen to her feet, gathering her shaved-mink coat around her shoulders, her Gucci bag in her hand, hoping to flee the courtroom in the semi-darkness. Rico, beside her, was trying to shoulder a way along the row of seats to the side aisle; but, despite his menacing appearance, the other spectators were blocking him. The woman next to him was shaking her head furiously at Rico.

  ‘Don’t you push me!’ she was exclaiming. ‘That murdering bitch isn’t going anywhere!’

  Applause broke out. Someone yelled: ‘Arrest her now! Why aren’t you arresting her?’ and a woman’s high-pitched voice screamed: ‘Stay strong, Lola! Your dad’s in heaven now!’

  ‘Silence in court!’ the judge bellowed, as the bailiff strode forward to calm the crowd. ‘Mr Greene?’ she prompted. ‘Are you going to make an application to the court?’

  ‘The prosecution withdraws all charges against Miss Lola Fitzgerald, ’ Joshua Greene muttered angrily.

  ‘That means you’re clear on the bail-jumping too!’ Poluck’s second chair whispered excitedly to Lola.

  ‘Miss Fitzgerald, since all charges against you have been withdrawn, you leave this court today a free woman, ’ the judge said cheerfully. ‘Let me stress that this means you have no stain on your character whatsoever. Occasionally, a prosecution will be made in error, but in good faith, and the State of New York can only regret your recent ordeal and wish you a happy life now that you no longer have this extremely distressing charge hanging over your head. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we thank you for your service and release you from jury duty for the next ten years. I’m sure the drama of these proceedings has more than compensated for the time we’ve taken up. Court is dismissed! Bailiffs, please clear the court!’

  Lola had cried out every tear she could possibly cry: she was probably completely dehydrated.

  So she fainted instead.

  Or rather, she collapsed. Every bone in her body seemed to dissolve simultaneously. Jelly-like, she flopped forward onto the desk, and it was only Simon Poluck’s quick reflex in catching her shoulders that saved her from hitting her head on its unyielding surface.

  Someone was shoving her head between her legs and telling her to breathe. Someone else, across the room, was saying loudly:

  ‘Carin Fitzgerald, you are under arrest for the murder of your husband, Benjamin Fitzgerald. You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present—’

  ‘She’ll make a deal, ’ Simon Poluck was saying to his team. ‘No way she won’t make a deal. That DVD evidence is cast iron. Ranieri knows his stuff backwards, it’ll stand up to any forensic tests they run it through—’

  Lola raised her head, the world spinning around her. Suzanne was crouched by her side, sobbing, holding Lola’s hands for dear life. India and David were hugging tightly, both of them crying with relief. Beyond them was Carin, whose arms were being handcuffed behind her by a police officer. He was raising his voice to make sure she heard the last words of the Miranda warning.

  ‘Do you understand the rights I have just read to you, Mrs Fitzgerald? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?’ he yelled doggedly over the hubbub in the courtroom.

  Suddenly, Suzanne jumped up, striding through the crowd, which parted immediately to let her through. As tall as Carin, and as beautiful in her own very different way, even with her face stained with mascara, Suzanne was utterly compelling.

  ‘You stole my husband, and you killed him!’ Suzanne accused, pointing her finger dramatically at Carin. ‘And you tried to frame my daughter! What the hell is wrong with you, you evil bitch?’

  ‘Yeah! You tell her, Mom!’ yelled one over-excited woman.

  ‘Suzanne, I love you! Marry me!’ called a guy from across the room.

  ‘You know, when you moved in on my husband, when you convinced him to leave me, when you married him, I knew you were a gold-digging bitch, ’ Suzanne continued magnificently. ‘But I had no idea you were truly evil! What are you, some kind of psychopath?’

  ‘Right, that’s IT. Let’s take this show outside! Go, go, move this out, MOVE THIS OUT!’ yelled the bailiff in a big booming voice. ‘Everyone OUT OF THE COURTROOM NOW!’

  ‘Fucking get away from me!’ Carin screamed back into Suzanne’s face. ‘You couldn’t keep your fucking husband, so get out of my fucking face!’

  ‘At least I didn’t kill him!’ Suzanne retorted superbly.

  ‘Mrs Fitzgerald, we’re taking you out now—’ the police officer started.

  ‘Take your hands off me!’ Carin screamed, out of control now, wrestling her shoulders away from him so that he grabbed hold of her harder.

  Rico barreled into him from the side, knocking the officer off-balance.

  ‘Show Mrs Fitzgerald some respect!’ Rico shouted. ‘You can’t just pull her around like she was some cheap hooker!’

  Carin, incredibly, managed to wriggle free of the police officer and, staggering up to Suzanne, spat in her face. Suzanne slapped her, a ringing slap that echoed right round the courtroom and sent Carin sprawling back against Rico. As he caught her, Lola, who was craning her neck to see the scene unfold, saw Evie slip up to him from behind.

  What is she doing? Lola wondered.

  Evie was pulling at Rico’s jacket, her hands swift and deft as they reached around the bulk of his body, slipping into his left-hand front pocket,
lifting out a handful of something that sparkled brightly for a second or two before her hands disappeared again, burying themselves in her bag. Another second later, she was sliding back through the crowd, her small body easily weaving away towards the door. Rico was totally unaware that anything had just been stolen from him: he was understandably distracted by the fact that he was being grabbed by two burly NYC cops, his arms wrenched behind his back as they yelled at him that he was under arrest for assaulting a police officer.

  ‘Fuck you!’ Rico yelled back, as they dragged him out through the courtroom doors. ‘Fuck you!’

  ‘You should be arresting that woman!’ Carin screamed over her shoulder. ‘She just assaulted me! She hit me! There are witnesses!’

  ‘Very impressive, Mrs Myers, ’ said Marco Ranieri, strolling up to Lola’s mother. ‘That was a great right hook.’

  ‘Thank you, ’ Suzanne said fervently, reaching out to grasp his hand in both of hers. ‘You saved my baby! Thank you so much!’

  ‘Well, I never turn down an embrace from a beautiful woman, ’ Ranieri said, enfolding Suzanne in a long hug, ‘but I can’t claim most of the credit—’

  ‘People! We need to clear the courtroom!’ yelled the bailiff, shepherding everyone towards the doors.

  ‘We’ll be making a statement on the courthouse steps, ’ Simon Poluck said to Lola. ‘Feel free to speak if you want, or we can schedule a press conference later—’

  But as they pushed their way through the doors, hearing the screams of journalists, the roar of the spectators gathering at the foot of the steps, the hum of the TV vans parked below, engines going, an endless series of flashes popping in Lola’s face, Lola was sure she couldn’t say a word. She felt completely drained, limp as an old piece of lettuce. She had been trying so hard to stay strong, to summon up as much energy as she could, and now she had nothing left. She clung to her mother as the fresh air hit her, a free woman, the wide marble portico of the courthouse, held up with its huge marble pillars, the most beautiful sight she had ever seen in her life.

  And then adrenaline raced through her veins, the strongest and most powerful drug in the world. Her blood pounded so hard it was like a physical pain, an explosion of excitement and shock; because she had just spotted the last person she had ever expected to see here. He was leaning against one of the pillars, hands thrust into the pockets of his sleek grey suit, staring straight at her, unsmiling.

  It was Niels van der Veer.

  Chapter 42

  Lola had thought she was burned out. That if another huge surprise hit her today, she would just stand there, blankly, unable even to process it, utterly exhausted by the sheer volume of crises that she had just had to confront. But clearly, the rollercoaster ride wasn’t over; she was still strapped into her seat, and the last drop was the steepest of all.

  With a wild, rising thrill, she stared at Niels, her eyes huge, colour rising to her cheeks as she speculated frantically about what he was doing here—

  And then two more figures emerged from round the side of the pillar, and Lola’s heart melted as one of them squealed with excitement and started running towards her.

  ‘Lola! Darling!’ cried Jean-Marc, his golden hair blowing in the breeze, his blue eyes sparkling with health as he dashed towards her, picked her up and spun her around, laughing with happiness. ‘You’re free! You’re free!’

  Looking down at Jean-Marc’s ridiculously handsome face, laughing herself as she took in the truth of his words, Lola rested her hands on his shoulders and let herself be twirled in a huge circle of celebration. Jean-Marc was holding her round the waist; she let her head go back, and then she took her arms off his shoulders too, trusting his grip, and spread them wide, laughing louder and louder, her hair coming loose from its clasp and tumbling onto her shoulders, the two of them, golden and beautiful, like the couple they had thought they were, once upon a time.

  They were so gorgeous, Lola and Jean-Marc, so seemingly perfect together, that none of the spectators could resist a sigh of appreciation. And one photographer, who had managed to sneak up past the cordon of police officers keeping the media penned together halfway down the steps, snapped a couple of photographs of them, Lola raised high in Jean-Marc’s arms, their clothes sleek to their slim figures, their golden heads thrown back in triumph, that went round the world. They made the cover of the Herald, the New York Post, and most of the weekly gossip magazines from Europe to Asia.

  ‘FREE TO LOVE!’ blared the Herald the next morning. Which, as David observed on reading it, was at least technically true.

  ‘Oh, darling, ’ Jean-Marc said, finally lowering Lola to her feet and enfolding her in a tight hug, ‘you’ve lost weight, you poor thing . . . you’re just skin and bone . . .’

  ‘Exaggerating as always, ’ Lola scolded him. She squeezed his back under his suede jacket, feeling a new layer of muscle there. ‘And you’ve been working out? You feel fit!’

  ‘It’s Cascabel, ’ Jean-Marc said proudly, pulling back to get a good look at her face. ‘They have an exercise facility. With cute trainers. I’ve been pumping iron, believe it or not.’

  ‘I don’t, ’ Lola giggled, remembering the Jean-Marc she had been engaged to, who thought raising a martini glass to his lips counted as exercise. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  In her turn, she took in Jean-Marc’s face: the smooth skin, the clear whites to his eyes, the air of health and stability that he exuded now. He looked more relaxed and happy than she had ever seen him.

  ‘Jean?’ came a hesitant voice from behind Lola.

  ‘Oh, David – angel—’ Jean-Marc exclaimed ecstatically.

  David, with exquisite tact, had come up behind Lola and waited there patiently. Jean-Marc, his eyes blazing aquamarine with happiness at the sight of his boyfriend, opened his arms wide, as did Lola, and David flew into them, the trio hugging each other tightly, as they had done so many times in Jean-Marc’s apartment, cuddling together, remembering the time when it had been just the three of them against the world.

  And then, gently, Lola detached herself so that Jean-Marc and David could wrap their bodies together, dark and blonde curls blending, their builds so similar they fitted perfectly. Over their heads, she met the steady gaze of the third person who had emerged from behind the pillar: Frank, the sober buddy who had escorted Jean-Marc to Cascabel, a bare fortnight ago. Solidly built, his balding head shaved, wearing a scruffy old sweater that sagged over his bulk, and an equally baggy pair of jeans, Frank nodded calmly at Lola in acknowledgement.

  ‘We just flew in to be here to see the charges against you dropped, ’ he said, with the raspy voice of a recovering addict who has replaced his previous addictions with a minimum of two packs a day. In fact, a Marlboro dangled from between the fingers of one of his meaty hands, and he raised it to his mouth now, taking a drag. ‘Special dispensation. We’re turning round and heading back for the West Coast as soon as Jean-Marc’s had an hour or so of visiting time.’

  Lola gaped at him in bafflement.

  ‘To see the charges against me dropped?’ she exclaimed, taken completely aback. ‘But you’d have had to leave hours and hours ago – how could you have the faintest idea—’

  Frank didn’t do anything as unprofessional as grin on duty, but a light of amusement shone in his deep-set eyes.

  ‘Mr van der Veer seemed pretty sure, ’ he said laconically.

  ‘Jean-Marc seemed pretty sure? But how—’

  ‘No, Lola, ’ Jean-Marc said from over David’s shoulder. ‘Not me, silly! Niels!’

  ‘Niels?’ Lola’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘He rang up and busted me out of prison’ – Jean-Marc grinned playfully at Frank, to show he was only teasing – ‘God knows how he convinced them, but I’m doing so well at Cascabel, it was so sweet of them to let me come to see you walk out of that horrible place a free woman—’

  ‘Niels?’ Lola repeated.

  And now she wasn’t looking at Frank any more, or Jean-Marc. She
was pivoting on her heel, her whole body feeling as if it were moving through water, every gesture a slow, deliberate effort. Until she was face to face with Niels, who didn’t look as if he had moved one iota from when he had first come round the corner of the pillar. He was still leaning against it, his hands shoved in his pockets, an inscrutable expression on his hard features; they might have been carved out of stone, so little did they move. His mouth was a straight firm line, his eyes the colour of steel. The only softness to his stance at all was the breeze lifting his dirty-blond hair, playing with a lock of it, moving it back and forth over his forehead.

  Lola longed to go over and smooth it down for him.

  ‘This was all Mr van der Veer, ’ Marco Ranieri explained, smiling at Lola. ‘He found me, and convinced me to try opening the site with your father’s master feed.’ Ranieri pulled a face. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I had my balls in a wringer about that one. I knew your dad wouldn’t want me just telling the cops about the site without checking exactly what was on it first, but there’s no way I could ever have guessed his password. But then Mr van der Veer’ – his black eyes glanced over at Niels – ‘tracks me down. Finds out I did some work for Mr Fitzgerald, tells me he knows you didn’t have anything to do with this, and what can I do to help? So I tell him about the master feed – I was pretty damn glad not to be alone with that one any more – and he says, OK, I can tell you right now what that password is.’

  Ranieri grinned.

  ‘I didn’t believe it. No way. But like I told ’em in court, we had three tries. So I say, well, go for it, we got nothing to lose. And I get my guys to pull up the website, and he types it in, and—’ He threw his hands up in the air theatrically: ‘Bingo! We’re in!’

  He looked around him, at his audience. Lola, Jean-Marc and David, India and Suzanne, all hanging off his words.

  ‘What’s the name of that Shakespeare play?’ he asked. ‘All’s Well That Ends Well? Here we are, eh?’

  Lola was staring at Niels, whose silvery eyes were fixed on her. Everything else was dissolving away, going fuzzy at the edges, while Niels was as clear and in focus as if he was the last thing left in the world, the only thing she had to hold on to. His square shoulders, his broad chest – she felt the colour hectic in her cheeks as she remembered the rest of his body, tried and failed to resist picturing him naked.