by Karen Swan
Chloe knew there was nothing she could say to convince him. He would trust only his instincts and minutes passed, no one speaking, no one coming to her aid as he watched her – assessing, deciding, reading the fear and disgust and anger in her eyes, because he wasn’t the only one to sense an ugly truth now.
But finally, almost imperceptibly, he nodded and turned away. In a flash she went from being the most interesting, important, potentially most dangerous person in the room, to the least. Chloe felt she might slide to the floor but her knees remained locked. What . . . what had saved her? Her defiance? Her inability to lie? He had read her correctly that day in the Rarities bar. Had he just done the same here?
‘What do you want to do?’ the general asked, stepping forward, breaking the deadlock. ‘Shall I notify the police? Get the coastguard to call off the search?’
‘Yes.’ And then he frowned. ‘Wait. No. I have no proof of what I know to be true and trying to explain it to them will only waste valuable time.’ He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘No. Let the authorities continue their enquiries. It will be better for us if we allow the public charade to continue.’ He nodded his head towards the flashing-light emergency playing outside the windows. ‘Gelardi will think his plan is working and that I am here – giving me time to get back to New York and call an emergency meeting of my investors.’
Chloe saw a look pass between the two men. Conspiracy. Agreement.
Alexander glanced back at her, as though remembering she was still there. Still listening. ‘My driver will take you to your hotel, Chloe. Or the airport if you prefer it. I am sorry your trip here has been wasted.’ They were back to the veneer of civility again.
‘. . . No, not wasted,’ she murmured. Even ignoring the implicit threat that had just hovered over her like a swinging axe, even aside from what she knew now he had done to Poppy, she felt disgusted by what she was witnessing here. He couldn’t know for certain that his wife wasn’t in the water – not a hundred per cent – but he was prepared to follow his gut, to go with the hunch that this was a hustle. It was business as usual, no matter that he was playing Russian roulette with his wife’s life.
One of the men opened the door, her cue to leave, and she walked slowly towards it, not sure her legs would hold up, just as a security guard walked through. ‘The doctor to see you, Mr Subocheva.’
‘Ah yes,’ Alexander murmured, raising his injured hand and cradling it, as though noticing for the first time it was broken. ‘Chloe,’ he called after her, just as she got to the door. She turned. ‘. . . Your loyalty has been noted.’
What did that mean – that she was safe? Because it still seemed like a threat, a warning of sorts. She was on his right side – just. She gave a half-nod; she just wanted to get out of there. She didn’t see the man coming through the doorway until they almost collided.
‘’Scusez-moi,’ he said, his eyes meeting hers for only a second as he continued into the room, a medical bag in one hand. The door closed behind him.
Chloe did a double-take and stared back at it, wild-eyed, her heart thumping erratically. For a moment, she’d thought it was Joe. The broad strokes were the same – strong-shouldered, dark hair; but of course that could have been describing a quarter of the male population. It was just a similarity, a passing coincidence. In spite of all the terrible things everyone had told her about him, it was just wishful thinking.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chloe stood at the window of her bedroom, unable to look away. Her hotel was set on the promenade and Alexander’s yacht’s lights were actually visible from here. She was riddled with exhaustion, the adrenaline on board now ebbing away and leaving her almost feverish – jet lag, so much transatlantic travel, sleepless nights . . . She wanted to stop, to collapse into her bed and submit to oblivion. Her head was swimming, too much was going on for her to handle. Everything was piling up and she felt buried, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the window, watching as the search helicopter’s beams swept the sea, vast cones of light brightening the dark water, high-speed RIBs zipping over the surface with whirling lights.
But they wouldn’t find what wasn’t there. Alexander was so sure of it, he was staking his wife’s life on the arrogance that he could outwit his rival, that he could best him even in his darkest hour. As far as he was concerned, Gelardi had set up a dilemma – save his business or save his wife – certain he couldn’t do both. And so now Alexander was doing precisely what his foe had calculated he wouldn’t, and had abandoned his focus on his beloved wife’s whereabouts to throw himself back into the boardroom fray.
But even if he was right, even if Gelardi had orchestrated the whole thing, Alexander was still taking a huge risk in calculating that Elodie would not be harmed; that she was simply a distraction and not a target. If Alexander did successfully stop the takeover, what then? Would Elodie simply be released anyway, a useless pawn who had served her purpose? There were billions at stake here and men had killed for a lot less.
On the yacht, she saw red lights begin to flash on the helicopter, the fresh drone of rotors adding to the melee out there. She couldn’t see any people from this distance – she couldn’t make out his bulk as he strode across the helipad, a god ready for war – but she watched as the sleek, light helicopter rose up, up, blowing rosy circles on the sea’s surface, its nose tipping forwards as it rotated and headed towards the shore. His jet would be already fuelled and waiting, ready to take him to New York. To hell with Gelardi and Elodie and Poppy. He would win. No one would get in his way.
She sagged against the wall, still trembling, not knowing what to do. How do you fight a man like that?
A quiet knock at the door made her turn. Somehow, she recognized it. It had a pattern to it that her ear had long since become attuned to.
As if in a daze, sleepwalking, she opened it. Tom blinked back at her. He looked as dreadful as she felt – ashen, hollow-cheeked.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a disbelieving croak. Could she trust her eyes? She was so tired. She hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten . . .
‘I was worried about you. I had to check you were all right.’
‘Here?’ she whispered, wanting to cry. ‘You followed me here?’ It was so good to see him. After everything she’d been through tonight – the terror, the shock, the horror of it all – he was the sun to her snow. Whatever had passed between them, he was still her safety, her reassurance. Wasn’t he?
‘Of course I did. I’ll follow you wherever you go, Chlo.’ His eyes were swimming with regret; he looked as broken as she felt and for a long moment neither of them said anything. ‘But . . . if you’re fine, then . . . I’ll—’
‘No.’ Her arm reached out, catching his; he turned back. ‘Don’t go. Stay with me.’
‘. . . Really?’
He looked at her with an expression almost of disbelief and, in truth, she couldn’t quite comprehend it either. But then, nothing in her world was recognizable any more, least of all her sense of what was right, what was best. Her days now seemed to have become populated by strangers who lied to and deceived her, threatened to hurt her, had hurt her friend . . . Where was her safety? Who could she trust? Tom had slept with Serena, yes, and she couldn’t forgive that, not yet – it was still too raw. But what if he had been right, back in her apartment, and Serena and Joe had just been momentary weaknesses, just distractingly there . . . ? Didn’t everything, always, ultimately come back to the two of them? After all, hadn’t he always been honest with her about the real emotional ties in his life? She had seen for herself the bind he was in with Lucy, what with her father being a primary investor in his company and Lucy so vulnerable . . . She knew he was fundamentally a good man, albeit a weak one, trying to do the right thing between the two women he loved.
A chink of hope fluttered across his features and she saw the draw of breath swell his chest slightly, daring to fill him up. ‘Oh, Chloe.’ He cupped her head in his hands and, hesitating – as though ant
icipating an incoming right hook – kissed her tenderly.
She let him, her eyes open as though needing to see it to believe that he was here, she wasn’t alone. It would all be okay now. He would make it okay. He would know what to do. ‘I was so frightened, Tom,’ she said, hot tears beginning to fall in sheets down her cheeks as they pulled apart and she looked back up at him. She was worn down, worn out.
‘Frightened?’ A look of consternation crossed his face. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘It was h-him. Alexander.’
‘What was?’
‘Poppy’s accident. He thinks she betrayed him to Lorenzo Gelardi.’ A sob hiccupped out of her. ‘He thinks she’s a mole.’
‘What? My God!’ He looked aghast, the blood draining from his face so that even his blue eyes seemed to pale. ‘Are you sure? I mean, how do you know?’
‘He as good as said it,’ she replied, the sobs beginning to pile up, making her breath judder. ‘And there were all these men there, his s-security . . . And the police were on board too but they couldn’t hear me . . . I was so frightened, Tom. I couldn’t get out.’
‘Did they hurt you?’ Tom’s fingers gripped her shoulders, desperation on his features as he looked her over.
‘N-no,’ she managed, shaking her head. ‘But Alexander – he thought it was me, that I was the one who told Gelardi that his wife would be alone on the boat.’
Tom looked confused. He realized that they were still in the doorway, their conversation audible to anyone who might choose to listen. He pushed her gently back into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Wait, I don’t understand,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What has Lorenzo Gelardi got to do with Subocheva’s wife?’
‘Alexander is convinced Gelardi’s team have taken her to distract him from what’s happening in New York – they’ve launched a hostile takeover bid.’
Chloe wouldn’t have thought it was possible for Tom to pale further, but somehow he did. ‘You have got to be kidding.’
She shook her head. ‘What can we do? He hurt Poppy. He tried to have her killed. What if he tries again? What if he . . . what if he comes after m—?’
‘No! Don’t say it! Don’t even think like that.’ His grip tightened on her arms again.
‘But he confessed it, Tom. He knows that I know what he’s done.’
Tom stared at the carpet, looking concerned. He was quiet for a long time. ‘Then he must also know you can’t prove it. He wouldn’t expose himself like that unless he was sure.’ He looked back up at her, worried. ‘You can’t prove it, can you?’
She slumped. ‘No.’ She was a minnow to his shark, with neither the resources nor connections to make such an allegation stick. She was no threat to a man like Subocheva. She was nothing.
‘Well that’s something,’ he muttered.
‘Tom, it’s not! He tried to have Poppy killed and he almost succeeded! He can’t get away with it.’
‘Listen, I don’t like it any more than you do but if anything should happen to you . . .’ His voice splintered. He raked his hands through his hair, turning away from her. ‘Christ, it’s all such a fucking mess.’
‘But if we speak to Sergeant Mahoney—’
‘And tell him what? That Alexander Subocheva put his hand up to having Poppy run over because she was informing on him to his rival?’
‘But she wasn’t!’
‘I know. I know in all probability she wasn’t.’
‘Probability?’ The word was like a slap.
‘Chlo, I know Poppy’s your friend but this is serious shit. Can you say with one hundred per cent certainty that you know for a fact Poppy wasn’t informing on him?’
‘Yes!’
‘No. You’re saying that from loyalty – and it’s one of the reasons I love you so much. But none of us knows exactly what has gone down and we won’t know till the police have been able to question her.’ He grabbed her hands and kissed them. ‘Listen, don’t look at me like that. I’m with you, okay? I adore Poppy too. I’m just playing devil’s advocate: what if Alexander does know more than us? What if he is right and we’re wrong?’
‘He’s not.’
‘He gets security debriefs on everyone he comes into contact with. He has access to way more resources than us. Plus, let’s not forget his paranoia.’
‘Tom, Poppy would never have done what he’s accusing her of. I know it. End of.’
He nodded. ‘Okay. But it’s still his word against yours. You can’t go making accusations against him. Just take a moment to imagine the lawyers he’d hire. They’d rake over your life, Chlo, they’d destroy you.’
‘But I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that. Let them! There must be proof somewhere.’ She stared at him, feeling desperate as he sighed and walked away from her, going to stand by the window, his gaze on the search and rescue operation. It couldn’t just dead-end like this. Poppy deserved justice. There had to be something they could do. ‘At the very least we need to report it, for Poppy’s sake,’ she said, watching him.
‘No!’ he said forcefully, his eyes popping white as he spun back round. ‘Chlo, you’re not getting it. You don’t make an enemy of a man like Alexander Subocheva – not unless you are sure you can win. He is too powerful. He could do anything, he’s already proved that.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. I’m not prepared to do anything that risks your safety. That he already knows you know is risky enough, but if he hears that the police are beginning to link him with the accident, he’ll come after you then, you can be sure of that.’ He strode back over and held her by the shoulders, his eyes blazing with hot angry tears. ‘I am so sorry about Poppy. You know I am; I wish there was something we could do to get her justice. But I need you to be okay more. I cannot and will not let you do anything that jeopardizes your safety. I don’t know what I’d do if . . .’ His voice broke and he dropped his head down, his own tears falling now. ‘Jesus, Chlo.’
Chloe watched him, taken aback yet again by the scale of his emotions: all this fear, all this love . . . She stared at him, the man who was everything she’d ever wanted. For four years, her life had revolved around him. Alexander had been right on that one point after all: Tom had missed his cow when he’d found the stable empty because now he’d followed her to New York, chased her here to France, was protecting her . . .
He read her eyes, watched as the tears tracked silently down her cheeks. ‘. . . Chlo, I know I don’t deserve you, I know that. I’ve made so many mistakes, things I can’t forgive myself for.’ He hung his head, two red spots of shame pinking his cheeks. ‘I know I should be a better man than I am and let you find someone who deserves you. But I can’t. I just can’t do it. I love you . . . Give me one more chance.’
Was it too much to ask? He’d given up Lucy, told his friends and family he’d been living a lie, risked the company’s financial stability by angering her father, a key investor; got on a plane not once, but twice, to try to win her back. Of course, Serena flashed through her head again but she blinked her straight back out. Everyone makes mistakes. And besides they were even now, she thought, as she remembered Joe’s dark eyes hungrily watching her as she slept on the boat, his bold, irreverent laugh as he’d pulled her into the sea. She blinked him out of her head too. Tom had had his indiscretion and she had had hers. The important thing was that they had come back together. United. Stronger.
And besides, after everything that she’d just learnt and endured this evening, a one-night stand wasn’t the deal-breaker it had seemed a fortnight ago.
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips again, her eyes closed this time. It wasn’t like that first kiss with Joe, his hand gripping her wrist and pulling her urgently to him. But it was nice. Familiar.
‘Forgive me, Chlo,’ he said, smoothing her hair back with his hands and clasping her head affectionately. ‘I’ll do better this time. I’ll be a better man.’
She looked into his blue eyes. ‘I know.�
� She felt his hands skim her waist, beginning things between them again, making her his, but she placed her own hands over them, stopping him. ‘Do you know what would be better than anything right now?’ she whispered.
He nuzzled his cheek against hers, running his hands through her hair and getting used to the feeling of it, short, between his fingers. ‘Shall I run the bath?’ He knew her so well.
She jerked her head towards the bed. ‘Sleep with me.’
She saw the lust darken his eyes, felt his body straighten.
‘No –’ She put her hands on his chest, stopping him as he bent his head again. ‘I mean, let’s actually sleep.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
New York, mid-August, three weeks later
‘Holy mother, who the crap ever had a waist small enough to get into these things?’ Elle cried from the other side of the curtain.
‘They used to wear girdles in those days, remember,’ Chloe called back, reluctantly replacing the emerald-green dress she’d tried on the rail; it was beautiful but pointless. Where would she ever wear it? Kate was at the next stall across the aisle, browsing the vinyls and sporadically crying out ‘How much?’ in an indignant tone and then in an excited one: ‘Hey, Chlo, remember this?’
This was her perfect Saturday morning, pretty much. A lie-in, walk in the park, a bit of shopping and soon, lunch. Who could ask for more? The weather was perfect, her sister was over from London.
It was perfect. Just perfect.
She sighed, reminding herself how lucky she was. This was the life she had always wanted and now she had it. Tom was being amazing, having offered to take Orlando to the swings while the girls had the morning together; he was so considerate like that. Kate was only over for the weekend – here for her birthday and flying back after lunch on Monday – and every minute together felt precious. She had even brought Orlando with her, in spite of the craziness of travelling all that way with a toddler, just because she knew how much Chloe was missing him and that she had to feel the heft of him as she held him in her arms and marvelled at how much he had grown in five short months.
