Desire

by Louise Bagshawe

  Peter allowed his gaze to drift to the entertainment they had provided. Girls, gorgeous girls in their twenties and early thirties, walking by in hot pants, their blond hair blown out and falling to the waist. The party was stuffed full of them. And as the older men gawped and drooled, hitting on them, flashing their wallets and allowing their hands to creep down, patting and caressing those perfect asses, he was suddenly hit by a bright surge of disgust. That was Josh Steen all over. And tonight Peter was feeling like he’d never be rid of him.

  You couldn’t get away from the story on the news. E! Television led with it every night. Leaks from the police investigation, stories from the forensics out of Thailand. Lisa Costello, still on the run. And now that cocky bastard of a journalist, Sam Murray. Hadn’t heard too much from him lately. The magazine was spinning that he was on her trail. But Lisa Costello was a gorgeous woman. Peter wondered exactly how closely he was on her trail. Until somebody fried for this, Josh would hang over this party, and all his parties, like a bad smell.

  His fingers clenched around his glass. Goddamn it. He didn’t think it was possible to hate the guy any more. And Lisa Costello, spinning the story out. He despised her as well. Pretty girl, but so fucking what. They were ten a penny in Hollywood. And his eyes drifted across the room again to his wife.

  ‘Here,’ Sam said.

  They parked the car and stepped out. He had driven them to a field outside of Zurich, halfway up a mountain. A few handwritten signs in Schweizerdeutsch had indicated something on the winding drive into the middle of nowhere, but otherwise nothing; sheep and goats grazing, a couple of houses, small local shops. And now they were standing looking at a way out.

  It was a makeshift hangar, a small concrete building with a corrugated-iron roof. Inside were parked two tiny prop planes. A third, slightly larger, was stationed on a small Tarmac-ed runway in the centre of the field.

  ‘I was always going to wind up here.’ Sam squeezed Lisa’s hand. ‘My friend Hans Durben, I knew him in college. He was the ultimate hippy. In the end he came back to Switzerland and teaches guys how to fly. He gives rides to tourists in the summer. Everybody knows him; all the air traffic control, everybody.’

  ‘My God,’ Lisa said. Her eyes gleamed; he could see the hope in them. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘That plane right there seats four. He can take us anywhere short-haul in Europe. They’ll be looking for us around here. Nobody will suspect anything further away. And baby, once we land, running is over. We’re going to find the guy who killed Josh.’

  ‘You already took care of him.’

  ‘He was just the dagger in somebody else’s hand.’ Sam smiled at her, looking into her eyes. She was so brave, so perfect. Anybody else would have cracked long ago. She had gone through the mill and survived. ‘People want a head in cases like these. And I’m going to give it to them. Just not yours.’

  A skinny man, young, with a phenomenal scraggy brown beard, emerged out of the hangar, shading his eyes. Then he gave a great whoop of joy and rushed over to them, giving Sam a bear hug.

  ‘So I guess you remember,’ Sam said. ‘Hans, this is—’

  ‘I know who she is,’ Hans said. He had a deep baritone voice, rough from smoking, and a weather-beaten face. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

  ‘We were idiots. Should have come before.’

  ‘You were an idiot. How would she know?’

  Sam grinned. ‘True.’

  ‘Mr Durben, you think you could do this for us? Give us a ride, I mean?’ Lisa asked nervously. ‘We don’t have passports . . .’

  ‘Not legitimate ones, anyway,’ Sam said. ‘You could get into a lot of trouble.’

  ‘And when have I not?’ His German burr was wonderful to Lisa, comforting, reassuring. This scraggly, unkempt man looked like a goddamn angel to her right now. ‘Getting into trouble is what I do. We’ll leave now, she’s got a full tank. Nobody will guess anything. I fly every day and they all know me. Where were you thinking?’

  ‘Well, Interpol will have our stuff. Even if they’re no good,’ Lisa said. ‘I went to Rome because I thought the police might be laid back.’

  ‘So try Spain. Lots of Brits over there. Some hair dye, some shades . . . nobody’ll look twice at you.’

  Spain. She wanted it. Sun, anonymity, maybe swimming in the ocean, paella . . . God, it sounded perfect. She looked hopefully at Sam.

  ‘I love it.’ He nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘There’s a small airfield in Puerta Ventura which I fly to regularly. Best of all, I have a cottage there.’

  Sam’s grin widened. ‘You’re kidding. You do?’

  ‘Cheap beachside place. One bedroom. Bit run down, but it’s got a telephone and a TV set.’ He looked directly at Lisa. ‘Not exactly what you’re used to, sweetie.’

  She smiled back warmly. ‘Hans, believe me, I’m getting used to just about everything. And this is the best thing to happen to me in weeks. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Sure you can thank me enough. I assume you didn’t kill him?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then Sam here will find whoever did.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. It’s not that easy.’

  Hans puffed out his cheeks, like he was blowing away an aggravating fly. ‘Sure it is. No false modesty, Sam Murray. You don’t fool anybody with this writer shit. You were always the best hunter in our class. You’ll get him.’ He glanced back at Lisa. ‘And then you’ll be one of the richest women in America.’

  Lisa blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘You married him, didn’t you? Hasn’t the thought occurred to you? If you did not kill him, you are his heir. Once Sam here clears your name, it’s away from the beach hut and back to Bel Air for you, honey.’ Hans smirked. ‘And I want my own jet. A Gulfstream IV. Plus a year’s supply of fuel. Make my fortune giving rides to people like you.’

  Lisa’s face coloured slightly.

  ‘I - I hadn’t thought. About anything. Just getting free of this.’ She managed another smile. ‘But listen, if I can give you a jet, you’ll get a jet. Now, can I hitch a ride on this?’

  ‘Your chariot awaits,’ Hans said, bowing at his scrawny waist.

  They followed him over to the plane and Sam helped Lisa up. He looked preoccupied, bothered. But he was always thinking. She concentrated on strapping herself in. It was funny how extreme situations changed you. She had always had a fear of flying. Much worse when you were in a prop plane. And as for some rust-bucket like this . . . three months ago she never would have agreed to climb into it. Now, all she was thinking was get going, get going . . .

  Hans turned the ignition. It sputtered into life, the little beauty, and they were trundling down the runway, bumping up and down, and Lisa didn’t care; she willed the thing on, and suddenly it gathered speed and took off, gossamer light, into the air, and they were soaring, and she looked at the disappearing ground beneath her with nothing but the purest delight, because she was alive, and free, and Sam was with her, and she trusted the guy flying this plane, rust-bucket or no; and hope, real hope, started to grow inside her.

  Because back down there, somewhere far behind them, was the corpse of at least one of the bad guys. A man who had tried to kill her. Who had killed her husband. And whom Sam Murray had taken out.

  She looked across the narrow seat at his profile. He was staring out of the window. He had actually killed for her. He had saved her life, risked everything for her. And she understood now that she never wanted to leave him.

  They touched down two hours later. There hadn’t been much conversation; it was too noisy for that. They landed at dusk on a small airstrip not far from the sea, which glittered and sparkled as they came in to land, impersonal and soothing. Hans helped them out of the plane and waved to the control tower, such as it was; he had parked the plane at the far edge of the bays, where they could not be easily seen.

  ‘How do we get to your place?’ Sam asked.

 
‘Follow me,’ Hans replied. ‘You can walk it.’

  He led them down a half-made white road, full of rocks and little pebbles, with olive trees clinging on grimly to the hills beside it. There were crickets humming in the sparse grass, and the fresh breeze from the sea blowing in over dunes to their left. The houses were small and compact, most looking as though they’d been built in the sixties; ugly little breeze-block things, but Lisa didn’t care. It was warm, welcoming; it seemed like the end of the earth to her, the last place anybody would ever look for them.

  Hans pointed out a few landmarks. ‘That’s the local church, San Juan Battista; don’t go there, everybody will see you. And that place down there is a farm. You can get eggs, just throw a euro into the basket and take half a dozen. Sometimes they put out fruit too and bottles of oil. It’s all good, and you won’t have to see anyone. And right there, the chemist. But they gossip. There are two grocery stores in town, not big. They gossip too. Best thing, give me some money and I’ll walk in and shop for you, bring you a week’s stuff.’

  Sam was touched. ‘Jesus, Hans, that’s good of you, man.’

  ‘And that Gulfstream will be good of you guys. So we’re here.’ He gestured at a tiny house, yards from a half-deserted beach. It had a small yard fenced in with concrete, and was built of unlovely red brick with a flat grey roof. There were cacti growing in the scrap of garden, and Sam noticed his friend had made a half-assed effort to plant some pampas grasses for variety. The pink and white paintwork was peeling and the window frames were grubby, but it looked solid enough.

  Hans led them through a decrepit iron gate and retrieved a key from under a large rock behind one of his cacti. The front door opened easily enough, and though the place smelled of dust and salt air, it was clean and compact. There was a tiny electric stove, a fridge, and some cupboards with dry goods - pasta, tins of tomatoes, some sugar.

  ‘Don’t keep anything. It’s too hot. Even bottled water doesn’t keep, you gotta buy it new. Speaking of which, Sam, give me some money.’ Hans held out his hand and Sam peeled off some bills.

  ‘Thanks again, man.’

  ‘Don’t sweat it. This is fun. Sam Murray, on the lam. I love it. You two lovebirds stay here.’

  Sam blinked. ‘I didn’t say we were lovers.’

  Hans rolled his eyes. ‘I ain’t blind, dude. Never was.’

  He walked out and they were alone. Lisa glanced past the tiny kitchen.

  ‘You want to check it out?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure.’

  She frowned. ‘Sam, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. Everything’s fine.’

  ‘No it isn’t, or you wouldn’t be acting so strange. Don’t give me the silent treatment.’ She was a little angry, and it made her eyes sparkle. ‘What’s bothering you?’

  ‘Just something he said, back in Switzerland.’ He shrugged. ‘About what happens if I clear your name.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘He’s right.’ Darkness settled over Sam’s face, and she hated to see it. ‘You would be the heir. You’d be entitled to every cent.’

  Lisa shrugged. ‘Doubt it. We were fighting at the wedding. Lots of witnesses. His mother would claim he’d have divorced me. She and Josh’s sister, they’d ask for the money.’

  ‘Did he leave them anything?’

  ‘Fifty thousand each. He didn’t like them too much. He kind of tolerated them. Deep down, I don’t think Josh really liked anybody, not even himself.’

  ‘Then they’d have zero case. Any judge would throw it out. If he left it to you, it’s yours.’

  ‘He told me he did. I never asked to see a copy of the will. Look, why does that bother you? I don’t get it.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Sam asked. His eyes glittered. ‘We could come out of this. And you’ll be the heiress to fifty million dollars and I’ll just be a working schlub of a celebrity reporter. An ex-celebrity reporter. With a bit of money and some clothes in a backpack.’

  Lisa blinked. ‘So what? Why would I care?’

  ‘Maybe you wouldn’t. But I would. You’d be back amongst the super-rich. Christ, do you know what your story would be worth? Five million for the book rights alone. More for the movie.’

  ‘I wouldn’t sell rights to it. Josh’s murder is not entertainment.’ She was shocked, a little chilled by the anger in his face. ‘Sam, for God’s sake. If he left me rich, that’s hardly my fault. What the hell would it have to do with us?’

  He shook his head. ‘In my whole life, I’ve never depended on a woman for anything. I don’t want to have to start now.’

  ‘Who says you would?’ She was getting angry herself. ‘How does it affect you?’

  ‘What, you’d be content to come live in my one-bedroom apartment, when you could buy the entire complex with your spare change? Face it, Lisa, money fucks things up.’

  ‘That’s crazy,’ she said.

  ‘Is it? Is it really? Then why were you walking down the aisle with a man you didn’t love? A guy you didn’t even like? Why did you stay trapped in a relationship that was stifling all the life and all the joy right out of you?’

  She tensed. ‘OK, well. A lot of women are in bad relationships and they stay in them when they should leave. Rich, poor. We’re afraid sometimes. We’ve been trained that way. And has the thought crossed your mind that maybe you could live in my house? I could sell Josh’s place and we could get a new one. Anywhere you like. Here. In Spain, by the sea, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘Share your money? Live off you, live off a woman?’ Sam passed a hand through his hair. He looked distracted, harried. She hated to see it. ‘You know, Lisa, the only good thing about this whole goddamned mess is I’ve gotten my self-respect back. Now you want me to give that up again too.’

  ‘Really. And I thought I was something good that came out of this for you. I thought you loved me.’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Then what the hell is the macho bullshit? I had enough of that with Josh.’

  He flushed. ‘Don’t compare me to that man. I’m not trying to buy you.’

  ‘And guess what? I’m not trying to buy you.’ Lisa shrugged. ‘If he left me all his money, how about we give it away? Then your ego can be satisfied and we can spend the rest of our lives working diligently. Instead of, I don’t know, on a beach enjoying ourselves, taking care of family and friends, that sort of thing.’

  Sam had the good grace to grin. ‘I’m not telling you to give it away.’

  ‘After the last two weeks, you might say I earned it.’ Lisa smiled back at him, trying to warm him. ‘Look, I had my own ambitions. I wanted to be a florist. Run a chain of designer stores. But if Josh left me everything, it’s kind of stupid to ignore that. We can go to the Cayman Islands, somewhere private and discreet. Mauritius. The Seychelles. We can get a beach house, swim, make love.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t want to run any more. I don’t really want to do anything. If we wind up rich, I’d like to just quit.’

  ‘Just quit,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard anybody say that before.’

  ‘Because nobody ever does. I was with Josh, remember. I knew him, I watched his friends. They all had more money than you could spend in a lifetime, but they stayed right in their offices, working themselves to death, stressing out, competing with each other. They looked for ways to waste it. If something was cheap, they would never buy it. I asked him why he bothered once. He just looked at me like I was insane. It’s what they do. But you only have one life. I’d like to relax in it. Drink some good wine. Walk barefoot on a beach under the palm trees.’

  Sam exhaled. ‘I hate how much sense you’re making.’

  ‘That’s because you need to relax.’ Lisa took him by the hand. ‘I’ve been with one chest-thumping macho man, I don’t need another one. Besides, maybe Josh didn’t leave me anything. Then it’s back to selling flowers. Still think I’d be good at that.’

  ‘I’d have something. From this story.’r />
  She kissed him. ‘Great, then you buy the tickets to Mauritius. I really couldn’t care less.’

  Sam grinned and put his arms around her. She loved how he felt, the muscles, the strength of him. Josh had postured and thrown money around, but Sam had defied the law, run after her, killed for her. In his arms she felt safe. Loved. Happy.

  ‘You’re a crazy broad. I guess he told you that.’

  ‘Frequently.’

  He kissed her, and a wash of heat liquefied her groin. Her nipples sharpened, she became instantly slick, wet between the legs. Sam’s grip tightened around her. His kiss deepened, possessive, and he pulled her to him. He was hard already. She felt the desire beat up between them like it was a living thing.

  ‘How far away is that grocery store?’ she managed.

  ‘Not far enough. He’ll be back any second.’

  Lisa was so turned on she thought anybody that came in right now would see it.

  ‘I’m going into the bedroom. Can you deal with him? Tell him I wanted to sleep?’

  ‘Sure.’ Sam bent his head to her and kissed her again slowly, luxuriously. ‘After he’s dropped off the food, he’s going back to Switzerland. We’ll be all alone here. And you won’t be doing much sleeping.’

  They emerged from the bedroom three hours later. After the lust had finally subsided, they fell asleep, bodies tangled together, limbs draped over each other. Sunset was falling over the sea, and golden light streamed through the windows of the little cottage. Lisa walked to the kitchen door and opened it, standing in the tiny front yard, looking out towards the dunes.

  ‘My God,’ she said. ‘It’s magic. It’s so peaceful.’

  The sea sparkled in the light. To the left, a local was walking his dog, shouting at him as he chased something she couldn’t see. Apart from that, the beach was deserted. Miles of white sand and scrubby grass, bleak and beautiful, she thought.

  ‘He left us some great food. Look.’