Angel

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Rosie made no response, simply looked out into space, her eyes focused on a painting hanging between the windows, her expression reflective. And then, as if she had made up her mind about something, she brought her gaze hack to his and said quietly, ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake.’

  He nodded and waited. When she was not forthcoming, he asked gently, ‘Can I make the assumption that the mistake has to do with a man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Johnny Fortune?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s a deduction, Rosie. You told me at Christmas that Johnny had been calling you from Las Vegas. In fact, I remember that Collie was excited because he had been in touch with you. And you volunteered that he was coming to Paris to see you in the new year. About six weeks later Kyra mentioned that he was in Paris. A few days later she said you had gone to England. Something to do with Johnny’s British concert tour. I just presumed you’d become involved with him. You keep forgetting I’m a Frenchman and incurably romantic.’

  A small smile struck Rosie’s mouth, but it fled instantly. ‘Well, you were right. We did become involved. But we shouldn’t have, Henri, not really.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it can’t possibly work between us.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh yes. Johnny’s different… he’s not like other people, not like you and me, not normal really.’

  Henri frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand you, Rosie.’

  ‘He’s a big star, one of the world’s greatest entertainers, and he lives in a totally different world. He lives a different kind of life…’ Her voice faltered and she looked into the fire.

  ‘I know you, Rosie. You must have felt something for him or you would never have gone to London to see him.’

  ‘Oh I did! Johnny’s very attractive, warm, loving, generous to a fault. And there was a lot of… well… sexual chemistry between us.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I wanted to be with him, to become involved with him. And so I went, and it was wonderful. Actually, the affair transported me for several weeks. I felt reborn.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You have come out of a sexual wasteland, and once you made up your mind to dissolve that ridiculous marriage to my son, you felt free at last. I understand, Rosie, truly I do. And I told you months ago, you’re far too young to be alone, to be without a loving man in your life.’

  ‘But I don’t think Johnny’s the man for me, Henri. He’s away at the moment on his Australian concert tour, but if he had been here I’m sure the sparks would have started to fly between us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Dropping her eyes, Rosie played with the edging on her skirt, but eventually she looked up and explained, ‘Johnny’s very possessive of me.’

  ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that he might be in love with you?’

  ‘Oh I know he is! He asked me to marry him the minute I arrived in London; he even had an engagement ring. Naturally, I couldn’t agree to become engaged. Apart from the fact that I’m not divorced, it was all too fast for me. But I handled it gently with him, made him understand I wanted to go a little more slowly, get to know him better, and I pointed out that he should get to know me, too. He accepted that. For about five minutes. And then he was planning our wedding for the day after my divorce becomes final.’ Rosie sighed and fiddled with her gold bangles. ‘Johnny is very… macho. I guess that’s a good word to describe him. He doesn’t understand about my career at all, and wants me to give it up, the sooner the better for him. That way I can be with him all the time, travel with him, go on tour with him.’

  ‘And you don’t want that? You don’t want to marry Johnny?’

  ‘I don’t think so. For one thing, I can’t live the day-into-night life that an entertainer of Johnny’s magnitude lives. He’s eating dinner when I want to go to sleep when he’s on tour, and he’s on tour for half the year. Those few days in Britain I was coping with Johnny and all of his demands on me, trying to do my job long-distance, being attentive to his needs… there were times when I felt as if I was being spun around in a washing machine, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘But didn’t you try to talk to him, explain your feelings?’

  ‘No, not then, not when we were touring England and Scotland. I was kind of… well, overwhelmed by him, by his love and devotion, and yes, his sexuality. He’s very seductive.’ She bit her lip and shook her head. ‘But I do remember thinking at his London concert that he was obsessed with me, and I found that quite frightening, Henri.’

  ‘Obsession is always worrying. It’s not…’ He paused, seeking a word.

  ‘Normal,’ she supplied.

  ‘It seems to me that the only way to rectify this… terrible mistake, as you call it, is to break off the relationship with Johnny.’

  Rosie threw him such a startled look he was taken aback, and he said quickly, ‘Unless of course you feel you want to continue the relationship as lovers. Isn’t that possible?’

  ‘Johnny wouldn’t agree. Well, that’s not true. He would, of course. Until I was divorced and then he would want us to get married immediately. And besides, another problem has developed.’

  ‘Oh, and what is that?’ Henri looked at her closely.

  Rosie returned his long, probing look and much to her irritation her eyes filled with tears. Averting her face, coughing behind her hand, she tried to get a grip on herself. Swallowing, she managed to say, ‘I think there’s something wrong with me, Henri.’

  ‘Darling, what do you mean?’ he asked in concern.

  ‘I… I… just don’t feel the same way about Johnny.’

  ‘When did you find yourself changing?’

  ‘About two weeks ago, maybe a bit longer actually. Of course, I was perturbed about him when we were in Scotland the last week of February. He was a bit weird, so terribly possessive. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight and that scared me. And I’ve realized these past few weeks that I don’t really miss him, I don’t seem to have that physical need… for him…’

  ‘I don’t think mere’s anything wrong with you, Rosie. You’re a pretty normal woman in my opinion. But you know sometimes an overwhelming sexual passion can burn out quickly. What begins in white heat can end up cold ashes in no time at all. At least that’s been my own experience. This happens because it’s lust, nothing more. And lust can be so easily slaked.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘At the risk of sounding like an old fuddy-duddy, Rosie, sex is never enough in a relationship. There has to be love as well. You were sexually attracted to Johnny and overwhelmed, from what you’ve told me. But sex was all it was. And that’s why it burnt out.’

  Rosie nodded but made no comment.

  Henri said, ‘We can talk more later if you like, my dear, but I think we must leave in the next few minutes. For the restaurant.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Yes, we’d better go. I don’t want to keep Kyra waiting, and it’s pouring with rain. We’ll have trouble finding a taxi.’

  Rosie got up out of the chair. ‘Yes, we will. I’ll get my coat.’

  Henri rose and came to her, hugged her tightly, wanting to say more; he thought it wiser to keep his own counsel.

  ‘Thank you, Henri,’ she murmured against his cheek. ‘Thank you for understanding and for caring.’

  ‘But I love you, Rosie. You’re my daughter,’ he said, looking into her eyes, smiling with affection.

  His words touched her deeply, and because her emotions were close to the surface they got the better of her.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t weep. Everything’s going to be all right.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  Vito Carmello was so pleased he could not keep the smile off his face, and his happiness was evident in his ebullient manner, the jaunty spring of his step. He felt ten years younger and all because of the phone call from Johnny this morning.

  His Johnny had called him from Perth and what he had said had given Vito a new lease
on life. He knew it would have the same effect on Salvatore, who had not been feeling his best this past week. That was why he had rushed out to Staten Island in the middle of the morning. To give the good news to the Don. His old goombah was going to be as surprised as he had been, and just as happy.

  Two soldiers in the organization stood at the front door, and both of them greeted him jovially as he climbed the last few steps. He didn’t have much time for either of them. ‘Gintaloons,’ he muttered in Sicilian under his breath. But despite this derogatory comment to himself he nevertheless bestowed huge smiles on them as he went through the door and into the entrance hall.

  The first person he saw was Joey Fingers, who was loitering near the door to the kitchen. Joey was rarely out here at the house, and he wondered what was going on.

  ‘Hiya, Vito, how’re ya doin’?’ Joey cried, grabbing him, endeavouring to draw him into an embrace.

  ‘I’m doin’ good, Joey, doin’ good,’ Vito answered, pushing the hit-man away from him. Creep, he thought, as he rolled on through the hall, heading for Salvatore’s private room, the one he called his inner sanctum.

  Salvatore was sitting behind his desk, talking to Anthony, the consigliere, who was in a chair facing him. They both glanced at the door when Vito entered and stood to greet him affectionately. He embraced them both heartily.

  ‘Sit down, sit down,’ Salvatore said, waving a hand in the direction of the fire. ‘It’s not often you come out in the daytime, Vito, and I told Theresa you’d stay to lunch. She’s preparing your favourites… mozzarella and tomatoes with our own olive oil, and spaghetti bolognaise. Nothing like good Italian food, eh?’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll stay, Salvatore. I doan have much to do today. I’ll go to the club later. What’s Joey Fingers doin’ out here?’

  ‘Anthony wanted to talk to him.’ Salvatore shook his head. ‘Joey’s crazy. He don’t want to listen. Today, mebbe, he listens good. To the consigliere here. Mebbe Anthony scared him.’

  ‘He’s getting no more warnings,’ Anthony said, looking from Salvatore to Vito. ‘The dumb bastard gets worse. Next time that guy screws up, we take him out. He’s trouble, boss, real trouble. He talks too much. To too many people. I dunno, he makes me nervous. I think he’s on something.’

  ‘You mean the white powder?’ Salvatore asked, swinging around to look at Anthony.

  ‘Mebbe.’ Anthony shrugged.

  ‘He makes me nervous, too,’ the Don said, and sat down in the chair opposite Vito. ‘But leave it alone now.’ He spread his hands out in front of the flames. ‘I want to sit here, talk to my old goombah, and have a glass of wine. We’ll work this afternoon. When Frankie gets back from New Jersey.’ Salvatore shivered, stood up and positioned himself in front of the fire, warming his body now. ‘It’s cold for March, Vito. Old bones need sun, eh?’

  Vito nodded.

  Anthony inclined his head in Vito’s direction and said to Salvatore, ‘I’ll see you later, boss.’

  ‘Stay for lunch, Anthony.’

  ‘Thanks, I will,’ the consigliere said and left the room.

  Once they were alone, Salvatore looked at Vito, peering at him intently in the dimly-lit den. ‘So, what’s got you worked up, Vito? What’s brought you all this way in the daytime? And why the big smiles?’

  Vito chuckled. ‘Ah, Salvatore, I have some good news. Wonderful news. Johnny called this morning. From Australia. He’s found a girl. The right one.’

  Salvatore frowned. ‘In Australia? An Australian girl?’

  ‘No, no. Here. I mean she’s in Paris. But she’ll be here. Johnny told me he’s found the girl he’s goin’ to marry and she’ll be here when he gets back in April.’

  ‘A French girl?’

  ‘No, Salvatore. An American girl. A nice American girl. But she’s living in Paris.’

  ‘And that’s why you’re smiling, old friend? He’s found a nice Italian-American girl over there and he’s bringing her back. Good, good. No wonder you’re all smiles. It makes me smile too. What’s her name?’

  ‘Rosalind. Rosie he calls her.’

  Salvatore frowned. ‘It don’t sound Italian. What’s her last name?’

  ‘Madigan.’

  ‘Madigan. She’s Irish?’

  ‘Mebbe she is, but she’s a Catholic, a good Catholic girl. Johnny told me.’

  ‘Where does she come from?’

  ‘Queens. She grew up in Queens.’

  ‘What’s she doin’ in Paris?’ Salvatore sat down in the chair and stared across at Vito.

  ‘She makes clothes.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I mean, she designs clothes. For movies.’

  ‘So that’s why he called? To tell you all this?’

  Vito’s face was wreathed in smiles as he nodded several times and said, ‘He wanted you to know that Rosie’s coming over soon. In April, I doan know exactly when, but she’s comin’. Johnny said so. He wants us to meet her. Go into Manhattan to a fancy restaurant. Yeah, that’s what he wants.’

  ‘He sound happy?’

  ‘Yeah, real happy. On top of the world he says he is, and the tour’s goin’ good.’

  ‘When’s it finished?’

  ‘End of the month. Then he’s goin’ to fly from Sydney to LA. He’ll be comin’ to New York in the middle of April.’

  ‘Easter, mebbe. And the girl?’

  ‘Same time,’ he said. ‘I told you that.’

  Salvatore nodded and rose, ambled over to the small corner cupboard at the other side of the room and took out a bottle of red wine. After he had opened it, he filled two glasses and carried them over to the fireplace, handing one to Vito.

  ‘To the Brotherhood,’ they said in unison, as they always did, and touched crystal to crystal.

  ‘Johnny is my son, sangu de ma sangu, blood of my blood,’ Salvatore said. ‘I want him to be happy, to marry, to have children. My grandchildren.’

  ‘And he is sangu de ma sangu, only son of my only sister, Gina, God rest her soul. I want him to be happy, too.’

  ‘So, what do we know about this girl, this Rosie Madigan? Tell me more.’

  ‘I doan know any more, Salvatore. That’s all Johnny told me this morning. I repeated everything to you.’

  Salvatore sipped his red wine, his faded blue eyes thoughtful, the expression on his strong face contemplative. At last he lifted his head and looked at his only true friend, the only man he trusted. ‘What about her family? Who are they? Where are they? Still in Queens?’

  ‘I doan know,’ Vito muttered. ‘Johnny doan tell me. But he is goin’ to marry her. He told me he’s bought her a big diamond ring.’

  ‘Then we gotta find out about her, Vito. Put one of the guys on it, one of the capi. Let’s start asking a few questions. Find out who this woman is that my son wants to marry.’

  FORTY

  Rosie felt a wave of nausea sweep over her and she got up quickly, startling Aida, Fanny and Gavin. They were holding a meeting in the production offices at Billancourt Studios, and they all stared at her.

  Fanny exclaimed, ‘Don’t you feel well again, Rosie?’

  ‘I’m fine, just a bit queasy,’ she said, edging out of the room, fighting sudden dizziness as well as the awful nauseous sensation. At the door she paused and added, ‘Maybe I’m coming down with a cold. Excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Hurrying down the corridor, she went into the ladies’ room and leaned against one of the washbasins, waiting for the sickness to pass. She had no idea what was wrong with her; she hadn’t been feeling well for days. Perhaps it was the ’flu. Another thought struck her. Alarmed, she stiffened and gripped the edge of the sink. What if she were pregnant! Of course she wasn’t. There was no way she could be. She dispelled this thought from her head immediately, reminding herself that Johnny had always worn something. And besides, she hadn’t seen him since February: Sunday the twenty-third, to be precise. It was already the first week of April and she had had a period since she had last slept with him
.

  I’m not thinking straight, I’m exhausted, Rosie thought, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection confirmed this. There were dark rings under her eyes and her face was drawn, almost gaunt. Lack of sleep, she told herself, remembering those endless, restless nights of late. And too much work.

  Work. She couldn’t dawdle around here, feeling rotten. She must get back to the meeting. Pulling herself together, she splashed cold water on her face, patted it dry with a paper towel and headed for the door.

  As she walked back to the production office, Rosie realized that her legs were steadier, the queasy feeling less pronounced. ‘Now, where were we?’ she asked as she opened the door, returning to the meeting. ‘What have I missed?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ Gavin said. ‘We’ve been talking about you.’

  ‘That’s not nice!’ she exclaimed and laughed weakly.

  ‘Aida thinks I’m overworking you, and apparently Fanny agrees. They both believe you need a couple of days off; so that’s what you’re going to get. Along with my apologies, Rosie, for being such a slave-driver.’

  ‘You haven’t been a slave-driver!’ Rosie protested. ‘And I’m all right.’ She looked from Gavin to Aida. ‘It’s not the work that’s done me in. It’s lack of sleep. I realize that now. I’ve been a bit of an insomniac lately.’ Her eyes shifted to Fanny. ‘You know I haven’t been overdoing it.’

  ‘Well… you have a bit,’ Fanny mumbled.

  ‘Take a couple of days off, Rosie,’ Aida interjected. ‘We really are in good shape with the costumes, fairly well advanced, and you know that we are. You’ve put in some excruciatingly long hours these past few weeks. You deserve a break. And Fanny and Val can manage for a day or two.’