by Susan Lewis
She glanced at him in surprise.
‘I am, as we all are,’ he said, ‘an amalgam of characters, a paradigm of emotional tests and conflicts. So there is no one me, just as there is no one you. We’re like prisms, with more sides and angles than we can imagine, and where the light catches the prism today determines who we are, and how we respond, today.’
‘Fascinating,’ she murmured. ‘Go on.’
‘We all have a coexistence of anger and peace; love and hate; loyalty and deceit; depravity and morality. The capability of each is in us all, so if the issue is a crippled child, and the light catches pity, that is how we will respond. But it could equally catch indifference, or revulsion, because maybe the circumstances in our lives are such at that moment that we can’t feel for another. So on any given day we could have a totally different response to any given situation. That doesn’t change who we are, it merely illustrates our complexity.’
‘But aren’t we generally creatures of habit, governed by prevailing aspects of our natures?’
‘Of course. I’m just saying that no one is as predictable as we might suppose them, and that we have the ability to surprise even ourselves.’
She regarded him with a careful expression. ‘I like that,’ she said.
The phone rang. She took the call in front of him, holding his eyes with her own as she spoke to the person at the other end. From the few words she uttered it was impossible to guess who it was, but as she clicked off the line, she said,
‘Gloria.’ She moved over to take the steaks from the heat and brought them to the centre island. ‘Tell me what you think of her performance,’ she said, grinding a little more pepper into the sauce.
Curious as to why she was asking, and ever mindful of an actor’s devious intent, he said, truthfully, ‘I think she’s outstanding. Better even than I’d hoped.’
She smiled, and the sheer loveliness of it made his soul want to drink it. ‘I’m glad you think so,’ she said. ‘But would it be too presumptuous of me to ask you to tell her?’
Surprised, he said, ‘Does she need the reassurance? Does she feel I’m neglecting her?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she answered, pensively. ‘I just think she’s feeling …’ She shrugged as the word eluded her, then smiled again. ‘It never does any harm to tell someone how much they’re appreciated,’ she said, regarding him playfully from beneath her brows.
He watched as she lifted the steaks on to plates, then said, ‘Does that mean I should be telling you how appreciated you are?’
Her smile deepened as she said, ‘No. I think I know that already.’
He waited, anxiously, yet expectantly, for her eyes to come back to his, but she turned away, placing the pan in the sink and twisting on the water. Suddenly he was unsure what to say. It was as though the mood had undergone a subtle change, and he couldn’t think what had caused it. Was she glad of his appreciation, or embarrassed to hear him express it? Perhaps this silence was her way of trying to stop him taking it any further. He attempted a smile, as though it might restore him, but his mouth only trembled. Then mercifully he found his voice, which came out with an unexpected warmth and assurance. ‘I know how hard you and Gloria have rehearsed,’ he said, ‘so my praise for her performance is as much for you, as her director.’
Her golden eyebrows were arched sardonically, as she glanced over her shoulder.
He smiled and inclined his head, as though to reiterate the compliment. ‘I can tell that she’s deeply indebted to you,’ he said. ‘In fact she seems very attached to you.’
She sighed heavily at that and gazed out of the window. ‘I’m afraid you’re right,’ she said. Reaching for a towel to dry her hands she came back to the island. ‘I invited her to the country house a couple of weekends ago,’ she confided, ‘and now I’m rather regretting it.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, at first she was snubbing those who’ve never been, as though she’d been afforded some special kind of privilege.’
‘Maybe she had,’ he teased.
She laughed. ‘No, that’s going too far,’ she protested, passing him a plate. Then she continued, ‘And now she’s behaving rather badly towards poor Petey,’ she said.
He drank some more wine, then deciding he didn’t want to talk about either Petey or Gloria, he said, ‘Where’s your husband tonight?’ Of course, he was putting himself on unsafe ground by asking such a question, but for some reason he was willing to risk it.
She smiled, wickedly. ‘Where’s Anna?’ she countered.
‘You know where she is. In Cornwall.’
Her eyes were still on his. ‘Does she know you’re here now?’ she said, darkly.
His voice sounded hoarse as he said, ‘Yes.’
A moment or two elapsed, as they continued to regard each other, then she surprised and dismayed him as she said, ‘Did your sister-in-law know her husband was having an affair?’
Picking up his cigarette again, he relit it and shook his head. ‘No,’ he answered, exhaling a small cloud of smoke.
‘Did you know? I mean before it all happened.’
‘No.’
She regarded him closely, then said, ‘I was introduced to Katherine Sumner at your party. On first impressions, I rather liked her. Did you know her very well?’
‘It was only the second time I’d met her,’ he answered.
As she mulled over his reply, her eyes slanted away. ‘It seems everyone’s starting to believe that’s all it was about now, an affair, doesn’t it? The theories of more dastardly elements appear to be dwindling.’
‘Yes, they seem to be,’ he agreed.
Her eyes came back to his. ‘It’s extraordinary that they haven’t found her, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
‘Do you think she’s dead?’
‘I have no idea. Do you think she is?’
She shrugged. ‘I have no idea either,’ she responded. ‘She was supposed to be spending a weekend at the house with me, but then it all happened, and I ended up inviting Gloria instead.’ She sighed wearily. ‘What a mistake that was,’ she murmured. ‘She keeps angling to come again, and I’m running out of excuses. That’s why I thought maybe you might be able to help, by telling her how wonderfully she’s doing, which she is, and kind of intimating that we don’t need to do any more private rehearsals.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ he assured her, taking the salad servers she was passing after stubbing out his cigarette again.
He was hoping that might be an end to Gloria, and that they could perhaps return to the subject of the erotic table, or some further analysis of her character, Anita Cairn, but as Stacey removed her apron, before climbing on to a stool the other side of the island, she said, ‘I’m afraid she’s started to become a little too intimate.’ She spanned a hand over her breastbone and pressed it in tight. ‘She holds her body against mine much longer, and even more closely than necessary, and during the kiss we shot yesterday she actually used her tongue. Now, I have no objection to anyone’s sexuality, whatever it is, but since mine doesn’t happen to be of that nature … Well, I’m sure I’m telling you more than you need to know, and no doubt running the risk of making you respond the way most men do to the idea of two women together.’
His eyes remained on his plate as he served himself with salad. The image of her and Gloria embracing on the set was sharp in his mind, with an explicitness that had not occurred during the shoot. Was that why she’d said it? To let him know that she was happy for him to respond that way?
‘Would you like to fuck me and Gloria together?’ she said.
He looked up, his mouth turning dry as his head started slowly to spin.
She cocked her head curiously to one side. ‘You did say medium rare, didn’t you?’ she smiled.
It was a moment before he nodded, then smiling too, he said, ‘Yes. Perfect. Thank you.’
Picking up his knife he sliced off a small, succulent chunk of the meat. He knew very well
that she hadn’t said what he’d imagined, but he couldn’t help wondering if it was the subtext to what she’d told him about Gloria. His erection was so hard he didn’t dare to move.
‘The flowers are beautiful,’ she said.
He wondered if he should tell her they were Anna’s idea, but decided not to, for to get Anna mixed up in this now could prove beyond disastrous. ‘I’m glad you like them,’ he said.
‘Irises,’ she murmured. ‘Aren’t they one of Ernesto’s suggestions? I think for one of the poems about the Irish goddess, Macha.’
‘To symbolize her close association with the soil,’ he responded.
‘And in the next she’s racing against the horses of Conchobor, while pregnant.’
‘That’s correct.’ He returned to his food, wondering what ideas Ernesto might have for showing her running with the horses, and pregnant.
‘I sometimes like to ride naked on horseback,’ she said softly.
His fork paused as the breath seemed unable to reach his lungs.
‘I expect Gloria’s told you that,’ she said. ‘She’s told everyone else.’
Yes, he’d heard that, and yes she really was saying these words, conjuring the image of her unclothed body, the motion of her hips and sway of her breasts as the wind streamed past her, her hair trailing behind like ribbons of fire.
‘Is that how you’d like to see me for the poem?’ she asked.
His throat was closed; his penis tighter than an angry fist. ‘She’s racing the horses, not riding them,’ he finally managed.
‘Of course,’ she said, and lowered her eyes to her plate.
She continued to speak, but he was no longer listening. The table, the horse, Gloria – it had all suddenly become too much. He didn’t want those images in his mind, for they were no longer imbued with the lustre of romance, or the benign playfulness of promise. Gone too was the illusion of superior minds and the exclusive understanding of artists, for the images he was seeing now were wholly degrading to her as a woman, whose beauty he revered, and whose friendship he cherished.
‘I’m sorry,’ he spluttered. ‘I have to go.’
Her eyes widened with astonishment as he got to his feet. ‘But you haven’t eaten,’ she protested. ‘Robert! Are you OK?’
‘No. I don’t think so,’ he answered, pressing his napkin to his mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I – I … Please forgive me.’
‘Robert!’ she cried, going after him. ‘Don’t go like this. Please, tell me what I said … I’m sorry if it was wrong.’
When he turned back she almost gasped at his expression. ‘It wasn’t wrong,’ he growled, ‘it was exactly what I was thinking, hoping – that you would offer to reveal yourself to me. But I’m afraid of it, don’t you understand? I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you. I look at you and see so much beauty that it tears right through my soul. Yet there’s a monster inside me, a demon that makes me … No! Please don’t touch me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pulling back. ‘I – I don’t know what to say. What can I do? I don’t want you to leave like this.’
‘Then what do you want?’ he demanded, his eyes bright with the challenge. ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘That we should remain friends,’ she replied. ‘That we should try to work through this, whatever it is, and not let it come between us.’
How can we do that when all I want is to push you to your knees and thrust my cock into you so hard it’ll make you scream, a voice inside him was snarling.
‘I want to do it,’ she said quietly. ‘I really do.’
His eyes flew open with shock. Had he spoken aloud? Was she agreeing to his desire?
‘I want to be a part of your project,’ she said. ‘Please don’t shut me out.’
He stared at her, not knowing what to do, or say. His breath was laboured, his heart thundering in his chest. His cock was still hard, and she was so close. Too close. He took a step back, and found himself against a wall. ‘I’m sorry,’ he choked. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No, please, don’t say that,’ she cried. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m flattered that you desire me. Truly.’
His head was moving from side to side, but he said nothing, for he knew, even before she did it, that she was going to put her arms around him. And when she did he let her, wanting more than anything to inhale her powerfully female scent, while feeling the slenderness of her body pressing against his own.
‘You know everything about me,’ he said miserably into her hair, ‘because you’ve reached into that place and become me.’
‘Sssh,’ she soothed, ‘that’s Arnie from the script speaking, not you. Not either of us. We’re who we are. Separate, yet understanding of each other in ways that maybe other people don’t quite comprehend.’
His hands were still hanging loosely at his sides. She’d acknowledged their special understanding, so maybe he should be saying something about it too, but he was afraid to make his mind work, in case those terrible images returned and forced him to act them out.
Finally, she pulled away to look at him, and without thinking he raised his hands to cover her breasts.
Her eyes continued to gaze affectionately into his.
‘Doesn’t that disgust you?’ he said.
Her answer was to lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. ‘Does that disgust you?’ she responded.
His eyes closed as slowly he shook his head.
For a long time neither of them moved, as he cupped the soft mounds of her breasts, with their hard peaks pressing into his palms, until finally, folding his hands between her own, she said, ‘We need to talk and it would be wrong for you to leave here before we do.’
Chapter 8
LAURIE FORBES’S ASH blonde hair was gleaming in the sunlight as it fell in a fine, glossy bob to her shoulders, partially masking one of her lovely blue eyes. Her mouth was small, yet full-lipped, and her casual style of dress – distressed blue jeans and a black leather jacket – did little to dress down a very natural femininity. Indeed, the look was drawing more attention to her long, slender legs and surprisingly full bust than if she’d donned a slash neck and miniskirt.
She was sitting in the front garden of Rachel’s cottage, barely registering the warm sea air and sunshine, as she studied the notes she’d taken during the past hour as Rachel filled her in on all she could. After a while she lifted her head to gaze out at the picture-postcard view, though it was clear from her expression that she wasn’t really seeing it. Earlier, however, she’d been entranced by how dramatic the landscape was here, for she’d never been to Cornwall before, much less travelled down as far as the Lizard. She’d simply had no idea there were such wonderfully haunting expanses of moorland, or palm trees and pale sandy beaches, and so much sun on this small but magnificent peninsula that it might almost be Mediterranean. But despite the pleasure of the surprise, it was the vibrancy of the history that seemed to resonate throughout the shores like a living force that had moved her the most.
‘You can just see the smugglers rowing to shore in the dead of night, can’t you?’ she’d murmured dreamily, gazing out at the evocative spectacle of a shimmering blue sea, pregnant with mystery, and rugged black cliffs that were pocked with shadowy caves and hidden trails. ‘And the revenue men’s horses thundering over the downs. The place is so full of secrecy and romance – I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere where the past feels so alive. It has to be haunted. It is, isn’t it?’
Rachel had nodded, but didn’t elaborate – there would be time later for the folklore.
Now, as she waited anxiously for Laurie to voice what she was thinking, and then, hopefully, to reveal what she’d managed to learn before coming here, she was feeling a profound relief at how easy Laurie had been to warm to, for it would be impossible to go any further if she weren’t. Even so, she had to confess that Laurie wasn’t quite what she’d expected, for the pictures she’d turned up on the Internet, and the interviews she remembe
red seeing at the time of the Ashby affair, had shown a much less worldly, even slightly awkward young woman. No doubt the Ashby experience, as well as the fame and the passing of time, had helped mature her, but for all the poise and subtle glamour she had attained in the past eighteen months, there was still an air of freshness about her that made her appear younger than her thirty years, and a guilelessness in both her smile and her eyes that, as a reporter, would be one of her greatest assets. People wouldn’t only find her easy to open up to, as Rachel just had, but there would be no delayed horror at having said too much when she’d gone.
Finally, as she turned her ocean blue eyes to Rachel, her expression started to relax as she came out of the depths of her thoughts. ‘OK, let’s tackle the money first,’ she began. ‘It’s true you have some good bargaining power there, but they’re stymieing it by just giving instructions and not making any actual contact. However, I still don’t think you should give it back too readily. We’ll be in a better position to judge when the letter arrives. I take it there haven’t been any more calls about it?’
Rachel shook her head.
‘Then we just have to hope that they’re not asking you to do anything too soon, or at least not before the letter has a chance to get here.’
Rachel’s shrug belied just how worried she was about that. ‘There’s nothing I can do,’ she said. ‘They left no names or contact numbers.’
‘Just a message on the machine in London, which suggests they don’t know where you are – or didn’t when they made the call. Do the police know you’re here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of course,’ Laurie responded. Then after shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the back of her chair, Laurie said, ‘Now to Katherine Sumner.’
Rachel immediately tensed.
‘I’ve got several contacts in the States who’re putting a profile together on her,’ Laurie continued. ‘We’ll get to what they’ve found out so far in a minute, but for the moment, let’s deal with her connection to Franz Koehler, because I’m certain that’s where the crux of all this lies.’