by Lucy Lord
‘What have we here?’ he said in a voice silky enough to turn her heart to ice. ‘Been eavesdropping, have we, darling wife?’
‘Oh no, Jamie, I promise, I just came in to get myself a drink,’ India babbled, almost incoherent with fear, walking over to the cut-glass drinks tray to prove her point. She could see David entering the room, tentatively, behind her husband.
‘David, go home,’ said Jamie, not turning around. ‘And don’t come back until you’ve got me the information I need.’ As David stood there, seemingly uncertain of what to do, Jamie looked over his shoulder and bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘I said, FUCK OFF OUT OF MY HOUSE!’
Looking almost as terrified as India felt, David turned on his heel and ran.
Jamie shut the door behind him, then locked it for good measure.
‘Right, so how am I going to make sure that you remember nothing of what you just heard, eh? How do you suggest I do that, you spying, dried-up old bitch?’
And with that, he delivered the first blow.
*
It was a peaceful afternoon at the finca. After a lazy late lunch of grilled sardines and salad, Andy had returned to his study to continue work on his book, Daisy was sleeping soundly in her nursery, and Bella was painting the view of their house from the back of the garden. Summer, who had joined them for lunch, was splashing about in the pool.
Bella dipped her paintbrush into a tiny bit of purple paint and mixed it into the pink on her easel, capturing yet another shade of the bougainvillea climbing the bright white wall.
The relief that Daisy was OK, back to the happy, healthy little girl she had always been, had made both Bella and Andy appreciate everything they had afresh. Never again would she take for granted the wonderful life they had together, Bella thought, snapping her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the memory of Daisy lying there with all those wires coming out of her poor poisoned little body.
Andy had been so full of remorse that he hadn’t been there when Daisy had been taken so horribly ill that the floodgates had finally opened.
‘I’m so, so sorry, Belles. I should have been here with you,’ he’d said, almost crushing her in his arms, his tears dropping hotly on her shoulders. ‘What kind of man am I? Our little girl. Jesus fucking Christ.’
Bella had found herself crying too, just holding onto him, happy that she had him back again.
‘My bloody book should never have taken precedence over you and Daisy,’ Andy had added.
‘It’s OK,’ Bella had responded. ‘I know you’ve got to write your bloody book – and I’ll stop calling it that from now on, I promise. I love the fact that you’re so obscenely clever that you’re writing a history book . . . I’m so proud of you . . . I love you so much . . .’ She was kissing him in between the broken-up sentences. Then she laughed. ‘And it’s going to pay for everything from now on, innit?’
‘Innit?’ Andy had laughed back, kissing her tear-soggy face.
‘Yeah, innit. And I’m sorry too.’
*
‘Hey,’ called Summer from the pool. ‘Did you see Jorge and Paloma in the gossip column again this morning?’
Bella nodded. ‘Yup – so his chat show’s really going to go ahead.’
‘Good for him.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘Sure I do.’
‘I mean, I’ll always be grateful that he went to pick Andy up when Daisy was ill’ – even now Bella couldn’t bear to talk about it – ‘but I thought that maybe, with your history . . .’
‘No, that’s all water under the bridge. My life has almost got back to normal since he told his story.’ She didn’t tell Bella about their moment on the dunes behind Las Salinas – it seemed like a betrayal, somehow. ‘And I think leaving Ibiza will do him good, even if it’s only for a short time. You know, sometimes life here can be a little too intense?’
Bella was about to respond when they were interrupted by somebody rapping at the high, wrought-iron gate at the bottom of the garden.
‘¡Si, entrar – es abierto!’ Bella called back.
The gate opened to reveal the bruised, bloodied and barely recognizable body of India Cavendish, propped on the shoulder of a man who looked local, probably a cab driver.
‘India?’ Bella leapt out of her chair and ran across the garden to her. ‘Jesus Christ, are you OK? Sorry, what an idiotic question. Can you talk? Where did you find her?’ she asked the man, who responded in such a torrent of Spanish that it was difficult to follow, though the gist of it was that India had hailed him on the road outside her villa. He had wanted to take her to the hospital, but she’d insisted on being brought here, to Ca’n Pedro.
‘It’s OK – we’ll look after her now.’ Bella reached into her pocket for some money to pay the driver and thrust several notes into his hand. ‘¿Es OK?’
‘Si si.’
‘Muchas gracias, señor.’
She half-carried India across the garden, calling out to Summer – who had climbed out of the pool and was making her way over to them with a horrified look on her lovely face – ‘Could you get Andy from the study, sweetheart?’
‘Of course.’ Summer immediately ran off in the direction she’d just come.
Once they’d reached the shade of the patio, Bella laid India down on a sunlounger.
‘I don’t want to bleed all over your lovely white cushions.’
They were the first words India had spoken since she’d got there.
‘Don’t be silly.’ Bella smoothed India’s hair away from her brow, trying to be as gentle as she possibly could. ‘OK, so – are you up to talking?’
India nodded.
‘First things first – we need to make sure you’re not seriously hurt. I’ve got the number of Dr Rosado in San Carlos . . .’
‘I’ll call him now,’ said Andy, who had just reached them, his face a mixture of anger and concern.
‘What hurts the most?’ Bella asked, her eyes raking over India’s face and body. She had two black eyes, one of which was so puffed up that she couldn’t open it, a split lip, a deep gash on her forehead, and cuts and bruises all over her frail body. Her light brown hair was matted with blood, her fringed batik sarong torn and stained.
‘Everything.’ India gave a feeble attempt at laughter, then clutched her ribs. ‘Owww. Especially here.’
‘Jesus. I simply cannot imagine how anybody could do this to another human being. It was Jamie, wasn’t it?’
India nodded again.
‘Please tell me you’re never going back to him.’
‘I’m never going back to him.’ Even in her weakened state, India’s voice was firm. ‘I’ve got the goods on him now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Dr Rosado’s on his way,’ said Andy. ‘Why don’t you tell us everything once he’s checked you out and made sure the bastard has done no permanent damage? You might also want to think about calling the police.’
*
Luckily, apart from a couple of extremely painful fractured ribs, it appeared that India had managed to escape serious injury. The expression on the doctor’s kind face turned grimmer and grimmer as he examined her, noting the number of punches and kicks Jamie had thrown at his fragile wife.
‘Bastardo,’ he muttered under his breath, before turning to Andy and speaking quietly to him in Spanish. Since Daisy’s accident, the two men had become friends, often meeting for a coffee or beer at Anita’s on days Andy needed to pop into San Carlos.
‘The doctor thinks we should take some photos of your injuries. They’ll help you in court,’ he told her sympathetically.
‘Go ahead,’ said India. ‘The more ammunition I can collect against that fucker, the better.’ She took a swig of the large brandy that Bella had given her, wincing as it stung her cut lip. It was combining with the strong painkillers the doctor had prescribed to numb the fiery agony in her ribs and face – the two places that hurt the most, although every single part of her body hurt, really.
So Andy took out his phone and, trying to be as non-intrusive as possible, slowly walked around her, snapping her poor, beaten-up face, a heel imprint in the small of her back, the sickening legions of cuts and bruises on her arms and legs.
Once the doctor had gone, India sat up straight on the sofa and looked at Bella, Andy and Summer, in turn.
‘There’s something I need to tell you all,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re here today, too, Summer.’
Not wanting to interrupt, Summer raised her eyebrows encouragingly.
‘The reason Jamie got so angry—’ she started.
‘There can be no reason for this,’ said Andy with venom.
‘I’m not trying to justify it,’ said India wearily.
‘Let her speak, darling,’ said Bella, shooting Andy a look.
‘Sorry. Carry on.’
‘I overheard a conversation he was having, with David Abrahams.’
‘David?’ said Summer in surprise. ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘An awful lot, I’m afraid.’ India turned and looked Summer directly in the eye. ‘Summer, it was David who took that photo of you and Jack Meadows. Jamie must have seen the two of you at Bella’s party, and tipped him off about it.’
‘What?’ Summer could hardly take it in at first. ‘And he deliberately set out to ruin things between me and Jack, pretending he’d only found out himself through the Press?’ She was so angry she looked as though she might explode. ‘The fucking lying bastard – I’m going to KILL him!’
‘But why would Jamie tip David off?’ Bella asked, giving Summer a worried glance. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘It appears that my darling, noble husband and that charmless moron David have had some kind of scam going on,’ said India, trying not to spit blood – neither literally nor figuratively. ‘whereby Jamie gives David the heads-up on local celebrity gossip, which David then sells to the Press, presumably for large sums of money, in return for – well, this is what I’m not so sure of – but I heard them mention information from New York.’
‘David used to be a financial journalist in New York,’ said Summer, her fury abating as tentative excitement took over. ‘And – oh my God, I saw a bunch of folders on his computer, all called NY something. He walked in on me as it came up on screen – I’d never seen him so angry.’ She looked around at them all with shining eyes. ‘Do you suppose it could be some sort of insider dealing?’
Underneath the cuts and bruises, India’s face lit up. ‘My God, it could, couldn’t it? And that’s like really, really illegal? Like, the vicious shit could be put away for a long time?’
‘An extremely long time,’ said Andy. ‘An awful lot longer than he’d get for what he’s done to you – which is bloody ridiculous, as far as I’m concerned.’ Bella tried not to smile – it was such a typically Andy thing to say. ‘I have to say that insider dealing is exactly what it sounds like, but . . .’
‘I can get proof,’ said Summer excitedly. ‘The security guards at the Island Life offices still know me, I know the password to David’s Mac – I’ll access those files and get proof. Oh yes, that scheming fucker is finally going to get his comeuppance.’
And Summer smiled the biggest, sunniest smile that any of them had seen on her in a long time.
*
‘Hola, Miguel.’ Summer leaned forward to kiss the surprised security guard on both cheeks, deliberately flashing him a glimpse of tanned cleavage. It so wasn’t her style, but she would do anything it took to get her revenge on David.
‘¡Hola, Summer!’ Miguel flushed with pleasure. All the security guards – in fact, practically all the staff – at Island Life had been sad to see Summer go. Her sunny presence used to light up the offices, and she had been sorely missed. ‘Long time no see.’
Summer pulled a sad face, and Miguel gave her a sympathetic tap on the shoulder. ‘Is it OK if I come in? I left some things behind when Mr Abrahams fired me’ – Miguel’s face darkened at the mention of David’s name – ‘and I haven’t felt up to collecting them until now.’
‘Si, si, of course.’ Miguel smiled as he gestured for her to continue over to the lifts. She was such a sweet girl. And so beautiful.
Upstairs, Summer entered the dark open-plan office and switched the light on. She looked around the still-familiar surroundings with a pang of nostalgia. Despite her only ever coming in a couple of times a week, there had been a fun camaraderie, still evident in the casual shambles left behind by her ex-colleagues. The cleaners would be in early tomorrow morning, and the unwashed coffee cups, piles of magazines, newspapers, empty wine bottles and several glasses, were proof of another fun and productive day at work.
She walked over to David’s weird glass cubicle and opened the door. God, it was horrible, the very essence of him practically seeping into her pores, even now.
Jesus, what was I thinking? she asked herself, for the thousandth time.
She sat down at his desk, switched on his Mac, praying that he hadn’t changed his password in the last couple of months, and started to type.
humanchains
Yuck. She’d thought the password was cool and literary before, when, stuck in Barcelona, he’d phoned and asked her to pull up the latest advertising revenue figures from his hard drive. But now? Creepy didn’t do it justice.
Yay! Summer’s heart soared as the computer sprang into life. What a fucking idiot not to have changed his password – although he’d probably forgotten he’d given it to her, back in the days before his lust for her turned to hatred. And how would he know she had the means to use it against him, anyway?
She scrolled through the folders and opened NY1 – as good a place to start as any. Seeing that it contained one Word and one Excel file, each with the same name, she made her way through the rest – which now went all the way up to 93. She opened the NY93 Excel spreadsheet and started to laugh, quietly, to herself.
David and Jamie were well and truly screwed.
*
Jamie was pretty fucking pissed off. After walking out and leaving India in a bloody mess on the marble floor yesterday afternoon, he’d headed straight for Tiff’s flat in Playa d’en Bossa, without bothering to call her first. But when he’d arrived there, there’d been no sign of her, and the landlord had pleaded ignorance of her very existence. Enraged, Jamie had called her mobile but heard only a recorded voice, in Spanish, telling him that that number was no longer in use. What he didn’t know was that Tiffany had found herself another sugar daddy, one who gave her the jewels without the sore bum. Deciding that life was too short to pander to Jamie’s warped fantasies any more, she’d sold the last of the jewellery he’d given her, changed her phone, and asked the landlord at the crummy Playa d’en Bossa flat to deny she’d ever existed. After a particularly good blow-job, he’d been putty in her cheap French-manicured hands.
Jamie had spent the rest of the night on a coke-fuelled bender around the hooker bars of San Antonio, and now, discombobulated from all the booze and drugs, was speeding back home in a taxi. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to drive in his condition. Dispassionately he wondered whether India had managed to drag herself up from where he’d left her. He wasn’t worried that she’d tell anybody about the beating – his wife was far too scared of him for that – and besides he had too much power and influence on the island. But he thought he’d probably taught her the lesson that it would be wise to keep her mouth shut, silly bitch, if indeed she had heard anything of his conversation with David.
It was only when the taxi turned into the drive that he saw the phalanx of grim-faced – and very heavily armed – Guardia Civil standing outside his house.
Chapter 26
Lars’s Albuquerque headquarters, in a beautiful old Spanish Colonial building, had huge windows offering spectacular views of the rugged, russet Sandia Mountains, whose grandeur generally both moved and inspired him. Today, though, the mountains were the last thing on his mind as he sat at his teak desk, readi
ng and rereading two emails that had arrived in his inbox within hours of each other.
Hey Lars,
Greetings from sunny rehab! How’s the real world? Life here continues at its gentle, soothing pace, though a couple of the new inmates are real nutjobs, which has livened things up a bit! One of them has popped so many ludes he thinks he’s Elvis (which almost makes me wish I was still doing the group sessions – only almost, though: his ‘Jailhouse Rock’ sucks).
The other is like this trust-fund hippy chick who’s so full of vegan bullshit she’s in danger of turning into a mung bean – she’s only been caught trying to smuggle crack and meth in three times! Something tells me that chick don’t wanna get clean . . .
But hey, who am I to mock? I was fucked up enough to think the transvestites were my friends. Aaaargh! That still makes me cringe so badly every time I think of it. I know I’ve said it before, but thank you so, SO much for coming to my rescue. God only knows what gutter I’d have ended up in.
Anyway, enough of the self-pity! The good news is that they think I’m nearly ready to be unleashed on the unsuspecting public!!! Yippee! Fantastic as this place is, I can’t wait to get back to work. Miles came to see me yesterday and it sounds as though filming’s going great so far. And he says the actor now playing my dad is a really nice guy, which should make shooting this time round a helluva lot more enjoyable, shall we say!
I hope we’ll be able to stay in touch once I’m out. I know we’ll both be busy but it would be nice to hook up from time to time if our oh-so-busy, important schedules allow it!!!
With loads of love and gratitude, as ever
Tamara x
Over the last few weeks, Tamara and Lars’s friendship had deepened, and he realized that what he had felt for her before had been nothing more than a glorified crush, an intense physical attraction based on the briefest acquaintance. Now, though . . . Well, he had to admit to himself that he adored everything about her. Her bravery, her brutally honest self-criticism, her humour, her excitement about getting back to work. He didn’t need her gratitude, but couldn’t deny that it touched him.