by Susan Lewis
He nodded.
‘I used to live for those calls. They made all the difference at a time when I kept wondering if there was any point in going on. You always managed to persuade me there was, even though I knew we, you and I, could never work out. It didn’t stop me hoping, of course, but I gradually got used to the fact that it wouldn’t happen. Then one day, out of the blue, you called up and told me you were right here in London. I hadn’t seen you since we’d left Hawaii, and suddenly you were here.’ She didn’t tell him how, at the time, she’d thought he’d left his wife, that he’d come because being apart from her had been too much to bear. It was a long time ago and there was no point now going back over her terrible crash into despair when she’d learned she was wrong. ‘Do you remember that tiny bedsit I used to have, in Chiswick?’ she said. ‘Where we first hung the paintings?’
He frowned.
‘You mean you’ve forgotten our little love nest!’ she cried, eyes dancing. ‘It was on the High Road, over a Chinese restaurant. You came there at least three times.’
‘I remember the paintings,’ he said. ‘Are you sure it was Chiswick?’
‘Of course. Then I moved to Wandsworth.’
His expression remained uncertain, telling her he’d forgotten that too.
She laughed and flicked him to cover the disappointment.
‘My memory is useless,’ he confessed. ‘I know we stayed in touch, and obviously that we saw each other here in London … But the details …’ He shrugged and apologized. ‘I remember our summer in California though,’ he said, his voice softening, ‘and those few wonderful days in Hawaii.’
‘Well there’s a relief,’ she responded.
He smiled. ‘It was a very special time.’
‘It was,’ she agreed, her tone less dry now. ‘One of the most special times of my life.’ She looked down at her glass. ‘It was difficult too. I mean for you.’
‘For us both. But I have no regrets. I guess you do, but …’
Her eyes came up. ‘Not about us,’ she said. ‘I’ll never regret that.’
As they continued to look at each other he raised a hand to touch her face.
‘They say,’ she whispered, ‘that someone always comes along when you need them most. You were there for me then.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said gently. ‘And I’m glad I’ve found you again now.’
A faint colour rose in her cheeks and she watched his hand as he reached for more wine. ‘So tell me,’ he said, refilling her glass, ‘has there been anyone since? I mean, anyone serious? Are you seeing someone now?’
‘No, I’m not seeing anyone now,’ she said. ‘What about you? I heard about your wife. I’m sorry.’
He put the bottle back on the table. ‘It hasn’t been an easy time, that’s for sure,’ he said. ‘For ages I kept thinking I could persuade her to come back. I’d always managed it in the past, but this last time …’ He shrugged. ‘Her mind was made up. She wanted to go and nothing I said was going to make her stay.’
Confusion was making Sherry blink. Hadn’t he always wanted his wife to go? Wasn’t he only in his marriage because his religion, commitments, conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave it? The way he was telling it now didn’t make it sound that way at all.
‘How long ago did she leave?’ she asked.
‘Three years.’
Three years. And in all that time he’d never come to look for her.
‘It’s taken me until now to accept that there really is no hope,’ he was saying. ‘This other guy, the one she left me for, Gavin Sutherland … He’s rich, well connected and I guess there most of the time, which I almost never was.’
Her smile showed only sympathy and understanding, though inside she was feeling something else altogether. ‘What about your daughter?’ she asked.
A softness came into his eyes. ‘Julia? She lives with them, of course, but I see her a lot. She’s coming over next week to help me find a flat.’
‘How old is she now?’
‘Thirteen, going on thirty. She’s a good kid. That was the hardest part, losing her. And my mother, of course. She died around the same time Trudy left.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
He was looking into her eyes in a way that seemed to make her heart beat harder, but as he started to speak his mobile rang. ‘Damn thing!’ he laughed, taking it out of his shirt pocket. ‘I meant to switch it off,’ and without checking who it was he did just that. ‘So,’ he said, turning back to her, ‘where were we? No, tell you what, how about we continue this over dinner? Are you hungry?’
‘Sort of,’ she lied. ‘I take it you are.’
‘Ravenous.’
As she went to close the French doors she was still feeling disturbed by how they didn’t seem to be remembering things in quite the same way. It was almost as though he’d considered himself as much a friend as a lover, when, to her mind, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was talking as though only her heart had been broken, when she’d felt certain that he’d been as deeply affected by their break-up as she had. Or was that just what she wanted to think? Had she managed to convince herself of his feelings in the same way she’d convinced herself they’d made a pact not to see each other again? But no, she knew very well what had happened between them, how hard he had found it to go on to New York when they’d left Hawaii. Maybe this was a case of him creating his own scenarios, altering his memories in a way that would help diminish his guilt for the way he’d cut her off, just as she’d altered hers to ease the pain of her loss.
By the time they’d strolled along the river walk to an Italian restaurant the sun was starting to set, and they’d fallen into an easy, light-hearted banter that was much more reminiscent of the earliest days of their relationship than the difficult, sensitive times that had followed. On this safer ground she could feel the powerful attraction between them beginning to work its magic again, almost as though they were being given a chance to start over.
‘I’m remembering now,’ he said, after they’d been seated at a patio table under a tree, ‘how easy you are to be with. You always were.’
‘You’re pretty easy yourself,’ she responded, picking up a menu, ‘so I think you have to take some of the credit. Or maybe,’ she added, ‘we’re a couple of old souls who’ve known each other for centuries and have come back to spend some time together again.’
He smiled. ‘I like that,’ he decided. ‘It’s how it feels, that we’ve known each other for a very long time.’
Her eyes were shining with laughter. ‘So I wonder who we were in our past lives and what stories we shared?’ she teased. ‘And are we here to resolve something, or continue it, or to do something of profound significance in the world, before moving on?’
‘Any of the above will be fine by me,’ he grinned, glancing up at the waiter as he passed him the wine list.
After they’d ordered he switched the subject back to her career, and the choices she’d made since they were last in touch. ‘You were destined for great things,’ he told her earnestly. ‘I always felt that. I know you’d hardly had a chance to get going when your life fell apart, but talking to you after it had happened, spending time with you then, and now – you have an insight, a feel for people and events …’ He was shaking his head. ‘The kind of stuff you’re doing now … It’s not who you are. You could make a name for yourself getting involved in things that really matter, and you know it.’
‘Well thank you for those few kind words on my contribution to everyday life in our congenitally screwed-up society,’ she responded, raising her glass.
‘Come on, you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ she said, putting her glass down. ‘But the person you knew back then … I was so young. I still didn’t know how hard it was all going to hit. I had no idea the damage wasn’t going to confine itself to then, that the repercussions were just going to go on and on …’
; ‘But it was a long time ago. They’ve got to have faded by now. And it wasn’t your fault, what happened. You’ve got no reason to …’
‘Before you go any further,’ she interrupted, ‘you were there in Hawaii when that woman snatched her little girl away. You heard what she said. “Don’t go near those people, they’re bad.” Of course she meant me, not you, because she recognized me from the news.’
‘She was just ignorant.’
‘And I’ve since learned that there’s a lot of ignorance out there, because believe me it wasn’t the only time it happened, nor was it the worst. There’s a stigma attached to being who I am, and you don’t want to know how cruel some people can be. It was one of the reasons for coming here, to England. It was a chance to start again, and if I just kept a low profile, changed my name slightly and made sure I didn’t put it out there too much, there would be less risk of some curious hack going and digging up a past I just wanted to leave behind. And it’s working. No-one here’s ever really heard of John and Isabell MacEvilly, or their daughter.’
‘But even if they had, it doesn’t make you any less than who you are. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Yes, I have. OK, I know you don’t think so, but I do, and that’s what matters. I don’t want it all being raked up again, fingers pointing, comparisons being drawn … It’s not who I am now.’
‘But if it’s holding you back professionally …’
‘It’s a small price, and occasionally I do get to work on the kind of things that fire me up and I feel to be worthwhile. In fact, right now I’m working on a story with Laurie Forbes. Do you know her? She’s Elliot Russell’s … Well, she was his fiancée until a week ago.’
‘I read they’d broken up,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t really know. He said he didn’t want to go through with it, but whether he actually means that … They were due to get married in a month.’
‘That’s got to be tough,’ he commented. ‘On them both.’
‘I don’t suppose he mentioned anything to you, when you met?’ she ventured. ‘Something that might throw some light on why he’s backed out now?’
He looked surprised and shook his head. ‘He didn’t even mention her,’ he replied, ‘not even to say he was getting married.’
‘What about the stories he’s working on? Did he tell you anything about them that could suggest going undercover, or running some kind of risk that for some reason he wouldn’t want Laurie to know about?’
‘Nothing like that,’ he answered. ‘In fact, I didn’t get the impression he was working on anything in particular, except a book he’s been commissioned to write.’
‘Mm, it’s weird,’ she commented. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
He pulled a sardonic face as he looked at her. ‘You know, us men are pretty uncomplicated in comparison to you women,’ he said, ‘so dare I suggest it might be just what he says, that he doesn’t want to go through with it?’
She was shaking her head. ‘I think there’s more to it,’ she responded. Then, eyeing him meaningfully, ‘I’ll take issue on the men being uncomplicated remark another time, because you’re not getting away with it.’
He grinned. ‘Somehow I didn’t think I would, but now, you started to tell me about the story you’re working on with Laurie – what was her name again?’
‘Forbes. It’s a double-edged issue of human trafficking and forced prostitution that we suspect is operating in the East End of London.’
He immediately looked interested, though definitely wary. ‘That’s some pretty rough territory you’re getting into there,’ he commented.
‘Believe me, I know, though I have to confess I’m enjoying – if that’s the right word – the challenge of being involved with something really serious for once.’
‘How far into it are you?’
‘Hard to say, really. Currently we’re trying to track down a group of low-caste Indian women, possibly children too, who we believe are being held against their will and used to service the needs of perverts and paedophiles.’
Disgust curled his lip. ‘It goes on, of course,’ he said, ‘we all know that, especially via the Internet. Who’s running this particular operation, any idea?’
‘Someone by the name of Eddie Cribbs.’
He shook his head. ‘Name doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘He’s your typical modern-day gangster,’ she told him. ‘Runs everything from his smart offices here in Canary Wharf, never soiling his own hands, apparently, he’s got an army of minions to do that for him. Amongst the many fronts he uses is a small garment factory, here in the East End, which is where we believe he was keeping the women until recently.’
‘Does he know you’re on to him?’
‘Probably. My cover, as a fashion buyer, was too thin, I’ve been told. I don’t think it helped, either, that when I went to the workshop I expressed a desire to meet the boss. Not the smartest opening move I’ve ever made, but it definitely seems to have got things moving.’
‘In what way?’
‘In that they had me checked out, and that the women have been moved. A guy called Barry Davidson, from a local action group, and a private detective, Stan Bright, are working with us, though I’m not sure what role Laurie’s going to play in the coming weeks. If things don’t get back on track with Elliot she could be tempted to throw herself into it as a means of distraction, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She won’t be thinking straight, because it’s not possible to at a time like that, and even if she were she might be tempted to take too many risks.’
‘And that’s not something you can afford with these people,’ he said gravely. Appearing thoughtful, he took a sip of wine. ‘If it weren’t for Julia coming over,’ he said, ‘I’d offer to help out, but I’ve promised her no work the whole time she’s here.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I wasn’t hinting,’ she assured him, ‘but thanks for the thought anyway.’
‘I could probably come up with a few names though, people who’ve got an insight into that world.’
‘That would be great,’ she responded.
He nodded, and sat back as their food arrived. By the time the waiter had finished with his pepper mill, bread basket and need to know if everything was OK, the thread of the conversation had been lost, and Sherry didn’t try to find it, for she was quite keen to try again with matters slightly more personal.
As it turned out though, this didn’t happen, for once he got talking about the stories he’d been covering in the past few years she was so fascinated, and had so much to ask, that she didn’t want him to stop. Besides, there was no rush, for the way things were going there seemed little doubt they’d be seeing each other again, so there would be plenty of time to talk about personal matters. And what was to be said, really, when the chemistry was right there, as potent as it had ever been, in the way they were looking at each other, becoming engrossed in whatever the other had to say, the physical responses that were shooting to various parts of her body. So she was more than content to listen to the inside stories of events he’d become involved in, not only because his passion for journalism went so to the heart of who he was, but because it went to the heart of who she was too.
Later, as they walked, hand in hand, back to her flat, slightly tipsy and seeming perfectly in tune with the romance of the darkening summer night, he said, ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about this human-trafficking story of yours. There’s someone I want to put you in touch with who might be able to help. She’s New York based, but she’s worked on a couple of cases that have involved just this sort of thing.’
‘Who is she? A reporter?’
‘No, a lawyer. I haven’t seen her for a while, but I’m sure she’ll be willing to talk to you, give you the kind of MO she’s come across with the Cribbs type of operator. I can’t imagine it would be much different here to the way it is in the States.’
‘That could be really helpful. What’s her
name?’
‘Elaine Sabarito. She’s someone I got involved with after my wife left. We lived together for a while, but it didn’t work out. We broke up about nine months ago, on good terms I’m glad to say.’
Though she kept smiling and walking, inside Sherry was reeling. He’d been involved with someone else since his wife left? Someone he’d been serious enough about actually to live with?
As they arrived outside her apartment block she gently withdrew her hand and began searching for her keys. ‘It’s been wonderful seeing you again,’ she said, with a politeness that seemed ludicrously at odds with how things had been a few minutes ago. ‘I’ve had a lovely evening.’
‘Me too,’ he responded, apparently unfazed.
Was he expecting to come up? It was what she’d hoped for, but now with the spectre of Elaine Sabarito looming over them it didn’t seem such a good idea.
‘Can I see you again?’ he said as she looked up at him.
‘I hope so,’ she replied. She was thinking now of the croissants and waking up alone in the morning. Saying goodbye at this point in the evening wasn’t what she’d planned, it really wasn’t what she wanted either.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said, pulling her into his arms.
She tilted her face for his kiss. When it came the potency of it stole through her so magically that she’d already taken breath to ask him up when he said, ‘I had a great time. It’s really good to see you again.’
‘It’s good to see you too,’ she whispered.
Smiling, he touched a finger to the tip of her nose, then turning on his heel he started down the street to his car.
A few minutes later she was inside the flat staring down at the flowers he’d brought, trying to connect with what had happened, and the way she was feeling. Much of the evening had been wonderful and romantic: he’d said so many things that had melded so easily into her memories and made her feel certain it had all been special for him too. Yet there was no denying those jarring moments when she’d realized how differently they’d felt.