Wild Justice

by Liz Fielding

  Why else would he be so angry with her?

  But not now.

  Now he had left her in no doubt where his feelings lay. Desire was far too eloquent a word for what was, after all, nothing but a business transaction.

  Her career or her honour. It was an extraordinary choice to have to make even once in a lifetime. It was a road she had travelled before, but this time it was different. She was older, stronger and she had invested too much of herself in the radio station to let some man take it from her without a fight.

  But she didn't fool herself. There were some games where there could be no winners, only losers.

  When she reached home, saw the flash of the answering machine, she suddenly remembered Julian and his urgent call.

  'Julian, I'm sorry. Things have been a big hectic today.'

  Hectic?

  'Are you coming down with a cold or something?' His concern was immediate. 'You sound quite croaky.'

  'I'm fine. Have you got anything for me?'

  'Devlin doesn't have shares in The Chocolate Company.' Julian's excitement was palpable. There was definitely something. After today she scarcely doubted it. 'But he knows a man who does. He went to school with Richard Crompton.' Fizz waited. 'TCC is Crompton's company.'

  It was strange, but she discovered that she didn't want Julian to know the truth. 'That doesn't mean anything,' she said, with apparent carelessness. 'Some girls I went to school with I wouldn't cross the road to speak to.'

  'Same here.' He hesitated. 'Well, actually I went to an all boys school, but… Well, you know what I mean.'

  'I know what you mean, Julian.'

  'But the thing is Luke Devlin flew from the west coast of America to be best man at Crompton's wedding a couple of years ago. And he stood as godfather to Richard's daughter just before Christmas.' Fizz didn't say anything. There didn't seem to be much worth saying. 'Fizz? Can I do anything?' Another long silence. 'Fizz?' A little more urgently this time.

  She pulled herself together. It was decision time. And there really wasn't any choice. 'I'm sorry, Julian. Actually there is something you can do for me. Something I don't want anyone else to find out about.'

  *****

  'Luke?' Melanie advanced deeper into the gloom of the study. 'Luke, what is it?'

  He roused himself, looked at the girl standing before him, young, fresh, her whole life before her. 'Nothing. I was just thinking about Juliet, that's all.'

  'Mum? What about her?'

  'That aura she carried about with her. As if she knew something that no one else did. There always seemed to be a part of her that was just out of reach.'

  Melanie flopped down beside him on the floor, facing the fire, her arms curled about her legs, her chin tucked on her knees. 'I know what you mean. She had a place inside her head where no one else was allowed.'

  'Not even you?'

  'I asked her about it once and she told me that every woman has a place like that, a place that she fills up with all the good things that have ever happened to her, special secrets, all the things she hoped for. It's somewhere to go when she's feeling a little bit alone, or frightened, or unhappy.' She turned and looked up at him. 'She said I'd understand one day.'

  'And do you?'

  She hesitated just a second too long. 'Perhaps I haven't anything important enough to put in a place like that.'

  'No hopes? No special secrets?'

  'Special secrets are not for telling, Luke.'

  'No, of course not.' But she didn't mention the hopes. He looked down at her with a kind of exasperation. 'You're just like her, you know.'

  'Am I? She was very pretty.'

  'Not to look at, minx. Except perhaps sometimes. Just something about the way you move, a sudden phrase said just the same way…' No. It was more than that. Directness. Courage. He hoped she would never be hurt the way her mother had been. Would never have to retreat into her head for memories instead of living every day of her life to the full. She was watching him and he grinned at her. 'Stop fishing for compliments.'

  Melanie grinned back, then she put her head on one side. 'So, what about you and Fizz Beaumont then?'

  It was his turn to hesitate. 'What do you mean?'

  She threw him a look full of mischief. 'I asked her if you'd had a row or something.'

  'That was very rude of you.'

  'Probably. But I wanted to know.'

  'And what did she say?'

  Melanie's eyes gleamed. 'She said "or something". Then she changed the subject. She was very polite, but she went off somewhere inside her head. She does that too. Have you noticed?'

  He had noticed. There wasn't anything about her that wasn't stencilled onto his brain.

  'Well?'

  His jaw tightened. 'What do you expect me to say?'

  'You could tell me your side of it.'

  'I don't have a side and I wouldn't dream of contradicting a lady. If she said, "or something", you'll just have to be satisfied. Please don't let your imagination run away with the idea that there is anything else.'

  'I'm not imagining this.' She held up Fizz's earring, dangling it tantalisingly in front of him.

  He wanted to reach out and snatch it from the wretched child, but he didn't. He remained quite still. 'What is it?'

  'An earring. Fizz was wearing it on Saturday, didn't you notice? Mrs Harris found it this morning. Under the rug.'

  'If she only found one earring after Saturday it must be some kind of miracle.'

  'It was the only one she found in here. Under this rug. After all, this room was out of bounds. Locked.' Luke maintained a dignified silence. 'Fizz has pierced ears and this is expensive piece of jewellery. See it has a little safety hook. I expect she lost it when she came down with that headache. Perhaps she took it off before she decided to lay on the floor and -'

  'That's enough, Mel.' Luke leaned forward, twitched the earring from her fingers and slipped it into his pocket. 'I'll see she gets it back.'

  'Good.' Melanie leapt to her feet. 'Shall I get you a drink? A brandy?'

  For a moment their eyes met and Luke knew she was remembering that he had given Fizz a brandy too, for her "headache".

  'A very small one,' he said. 'Then, since I have it on very good authority that you are going to the cinema tonight, you can stop buttering me up and go and get ready.'

  'I am ready,' she declared, outraged. 'Can't you tell?' She pirouetted for his inspection, displaying a down soft sweater, a skirt so short that it defied its name and black boots that laced all the way up the front to her knees. Then, 'How did you know I'm going to the cinema?'

  'Andy asked me if I thought it was a good idea. He didn't want you to be mobbed.'

  'And you said yes?'

  'I told him to ask you.' He shrugged. 'If you want advice about finance, contracts, your career even, I'll do my best, but if you can't decide on a simple date for yourself -' He left her to fill in the picture. 'Have fun.'

  'Thanks, Luke.' She handed him a glass, then dropped a kiss on top of his head. 'You should try it yourself sometime. You might like it. I expect Fizz would enjoy a night out too.'

  As the door closed behind her his fingers fastened upon the earring he had pushed so carelessly into his pocket. He took it out and held it up for a moment so that it danced, a slender gold leaf, in the firelight.

  Then he closed his hand about it, his thumb rubbing against the smooth surface, warming to his touch, and he thought for a moment about doing something as simple as phoning a girl you liked and asking her to go to the cinema with you.

  And how sometimes life was very complicated indeed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FIZZ had been through every emotion known to woman in the week since she had last seen Luke. Each time the phone rang she jumped. The sound of the doorbell put her through nightmares before she could bring herself to open it. And although she had warned Susie to keep visitors at bay she still felt particularly vulnerable in her office.

  But a whole week went
by and he didn't ring, he stayed away from her flat and he didn't invade her cramped little office. So she began to hope.

  When the tenth day drew to a close she was beginning to think that he had never really meant it. That it had all been anger, hurt pride. All those ridiculous macho things. Sinking down into the foamy water of a hot bath at the end of a blissfully peaceful day she smiled.

  The telephone began to ring. She had forgotten to switch on the answering machine, but she didn't get out of the bath. Whoever it was would ring back. She ran a little more hot water. The telephone continued to ring. It went on and on.

  No one let a phone ring like that unless they were sure someone was at home or unless it was urgent. It had to be the station and she hauled herself dripping from the bath, cursing under her breath as she struggled with a towel.

  'Fizz Beaumont,' she gasped, as she picked up the receiver.

  'Hello, Fizz.' Her knees buckled and she grabbed at the table, dragging for a breath. 'You sound breathless. What were you doing that you took so long to answer the telephone? Or is it indiscreet to enquire?'

  'If I had been doing anything that interesting, Luke, the 'phone could have rung until kingdom come before I answered it. In fact I was in the bath. I am, at this moment dripping copiously onto the carpet so I would be grateful if we could skip the small talk.'

  'Were you going to have an early night?' he asked, his voice probing for weak spots, and finding them.

  'I was hoping to.'

  'Not too early. We've some unfinished business.'

  More fool her for allowing herself to be lulled into a false sense of security by his silence. His intention, no doubt. 'You finally found a slot for me in your diary?' Her attempt at bravado was not entirely successful. If she could hear the shake in her voice, so could he.

  'You've been sitting by the phone, waiting for my call?'

  'I don't have time to waste sitting by the telephone, Luke, but I have to admit that under the circumstances your lack of eagerness is somewhat under-whelming.'

  'I've been away.'

  'For the good of your health?' she asked, hopefully.

  'For the good of my business. I can't regenerate Harries sitting on my backside in Broomhill, no matter how appealing the local attractions. Of course if I'd realised you were so flatteringly anxious to hear from me, I promise you nothing would have kept me from Broomhill.'

  Fizz pulled a face at the telephone. 'I thought when you left my office last week I had left you in no doubt about my feelings. I can see I'm going to have to try much harder.'

  'I'm happy to give you the opportunity. I'll pick you up at nine,' he said, and she was pleased to note that the teasing note had abruptly left his voice.

  'That's rather late.'

  'It's the earliest I can manage.'

  'What a busy life you do lead. Nine o'clock, then.' And as she replaced the receiver she thought she heard a crack as her heart broke. But then she realised that couldn't be right. If she didn't love him, how could he break her heart?

  She returned to her bath, ran in some more hot water. There was no rush. She might have hoped he wouldn't ring, but she had made her plans anyway. Luke Devlin wouldn't catch her unawares again.

  An hour later, Fizz checked her appearance in the antique cheval mirror that was one of her prized possessions. Her make-up, her hair, her clothes were all pared to the bone, stripped of ornament and decoration, Claudia's suit the final touch. A reminder to both of them that this meeting was purely business.

  The bell rang promptly at nine o'clock.

  She smoothed slightly sweating palms over a neatly coiled chignon and straightened her padded shoulders before she opened the door. Somehow she had expected him to be dressed with equal formality, but Luke was leaning against her door-frame dressed casually in a well-rubbed leather bomber jacket, comfortable trousers and a open-necked shirt in some soft material. And hanging at his side, loosely held in his fingers, was a spray of white freesias.

  'Hello, Fizz,' he said, softly, and his mouth twisted in a smile that was pure self-mockery as he took in her appearance. 'It's odd, but I had been expecting you in something white. Sacrificial. But I should have known better. Since the first moment you stormed into my office you have never failed to surprise me.' He glanced down at the flowers. 'The snowdrops are over now, these were the closest I could get. They don't quite go with your outfit, do they?' With a shrug that spoke volumes he tossed them on the hall table. 'But then, what would?'

  Flowers? How she hated him for that! How could he be so cruel, complicating things with such a meaningless gesture, as if this was some fairy-tale romance? Yet as the sweet scent filled the room, she had to admit that they were heartbreakingly beautiful and despite her determination to carry through this meeting with total formality she felt more like crying at the sheer idiocy of it.

  'Shall I wait while you put them in the bin?' he enquired.

  His voice brought her back to reality. Yet she still found it difficult to believe that he was truly intent on demanding his pound of flesh. Still hoped that he wouldn't.

  Fool! she chided herself. But as the haunting scent of the freesias caught at the back of her throat, she found herself blinking back a sharp prickling sensation behind her eyes.

  'No. I don't want the scent in my flat.' She look at them as if afraid they might bite her. 'There's a bin on the lamp post outside. Would you please dispose of them on your way out?'

  'Way out?'

  'Our unfinished business shouldn't take more than five minutes. Will you go through to the sitting room?'

  His eyes narrowed. 'I thought we might go out.'

  'Then you thought wrong.' She had expected him to resume his threats at this point. He didn't. Instead, deeply thoughtful, he closed the door behind him and walked through to her sitting room. It looked warm and inviting, lamps throwing soft pools of light, the flames of the gas fire flickering a welcome. 'Can I get you a drink? A glass of wine, perhaps? Or I have some whisky, or brandy if you prefer?'

  'Nothing. Thank you.'

  'In that case we might as well get on. Would you sit down please?' She indicated the chair placed in front of her desk and seated herself behind it.

  He didn't sit. She didn't push it. Instead she took her copy of the sponsorship agreement and a banker's draft out of a drawer and laid them in front of him.

  'What is this, Fizz?'

  'I am cancelling our agreement and returning your money. All that I require is your signature to say that you have received it.' She pushed a piece of paper and a pen across the desk towards him. He ignored it.

  'You can't do that.'

  'Oh yes, Luke, I certainly can do that. If you look at the agreement I have marked the place. It's a fairly standard clause covering taste and decency.' He picked up the agreement, flipped over the page and read the place she had marked. 'I think it about covers the situation, don't you?'

  'This refers to broadcasting.'

  'Of course. That is all our agreement covered, Luke. But if you feel you've had a raw deal please feel free to sue me. I'll be more than happy to meet you in court.' She picked up the banker's draft and held it out to him. 'You were the one who called my bluff, Luke. But as you can see I wasn't bluffing.'

  'Really?' He didn't sound convinced and he made no move to sign the receipt, or to take the draft. She placed it on the desk in front of him.

  'Fizz -'

  'One more thing before you go, Luke.' She dropped her eyes. 'I would like you to know that I have, in my entire life, had only one lover. It was a long time ago and he asked me to marry him.' There was a long silence. 'That's all.'

  'Why didn't you?' She had been staring at her hands, concentrating so hard on what she wanted to say that she hadn't anticipated questions. She had thought - hoped - that he would finally apologise for what he had suggested about her role in the procurement of sponsorship and leave. Get out of her life. 'Why didn't you marry him?' he repeated.

  'I don't think that's any
of your business.'

  'I shan't go until you tell me.' As if to emphasize his determination, he finally folded himself into the small chair she had placed in front of the desk for him. 'It was Patrick March, wasn't it?'

  Her head snapped up. 'How do you know that?'

  'I had a file on your family this thick.' He held up his finger and thumb, holding them a couple of inches apart. 'He was the only candidate.'

  'Had?'

  'I put it through the shredder this morning. Why didn't you marry him, Fizz. If he asked you?'

  'You think I'm lying?'

  'I've heard his side of the story and varies in some of the details. He was very convincing.'

  'He's an actor,' she said, angrily. 'And a damned good one. With the right lines he could convince you black was white.'

  'You're in the same game.'

  'No, Luke. I stopped wanting to pretend for a living when…'

  'When what? Tell me what happened.' She was still looking at her hands and he reached out and wrapped his own fingers about them. 'Talk to me, Fizz,' he said, urgently.

  'I don't think I know how.'

  'Try.'

  She had kept it bottled up for so long. She wouldn't have said anything now, but she had to make sure that Luke understood what he had done to her. How insulted she had felt.

  She had never talked to anyone about what happened with Patrick. Not just let it pour out. Not even to Claudia. Only the bare bones when she had come racing to the rescue. Now she looked up into Luke's unwavering eyes and knew that it was time.

  'We were making a film together. Romeo and Juliet meet the twentieth century. Romance, violence, tragedy. Pretty corny stuff, but it was a good script. I was younger even than Melanie and naturally everyone assumed I'd got the part because of my name. Perhaps that's what gave Patrick the idea.'

  'What idea?'