‘A real Hollywood fairytale,’ said Magnus.
‘Yes, I suppose it was. Anyway, that was that. I signed, made my first picture, and then I was on my way. I mean really on my way. The comedy with Cary Grant, and then . . .’ More film titles, more co-stars. Fleur crushed the disloyal thought that Rose could become a little boring on the subject of herself and tried to concentrate.
‘And this was – after Brendan had died?’ said Magnus after another twenty minutes.
‘Well, not getting my break, signing my first contract,’ said Rose quickly. ‘He was still with Naomi, still with ACI then.’
‘That must have given you some satisfaction?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Well, to think you were catching up on him. Cinderella was getting to the ball.’
‘I suppose so. Yes. To be honest I didn’t think about him much any more.’
‘But you still went to see him after the scandal?’
‘Yes, I did. I told you, I thought he’d need a friend. He was living in some terrible place –’
‘Where was that?’
‘Oh, I don’t really remember. Downtown somewhere.’
‘I still think it was very sweet of you. Very forgiving.’
‘Yes, well –’ She shrugged, looked at him. ‘God, it’s bright, would you just excuse me while I get my sunglasses?’
‘Of course.’
She disappeared; Fleur looked at Magnus. He grinned at her; he seemed mildly embarrassed.
‘Nice lady.’
‘I can see you think so.’
‘This must be – painful for you,’ he said suddenly.
‘Not really. Rose agrees with me, you see. That there was some minor indiscretion, and then someone hated him enough to frame him, sell his story. And I like it that she loved him so much.’
‘Well, she certainly seems to have done.’
‘Magnus, why did you tell her so much about the book, and Piers and everything? Was it necessary?’
‘Absolutely. She’ll hear about it quite soon, all the hype that’s going on, and then she could get me for talking to her under false pretences. Very dangerous. And don’t forget it’s all been recorded. You have to be very careful.’
‘She seems pretty sure he wasn’t here,’ said Fleur heavily.
‘Yes, well, I think –’
Rose came back, smiling. Her sunglasses were huge and very dark. ‘That’s better. I get the most terrible migraine without these things. I’ve asked Ricardo to bring out some wine. Where was I?’
Magnus switched on the recorder again. ‘You’d been to see him, in some terrible place.’
‘Oh yes. Yes, and he looked so awful, haggard, thin, exhausted. He’d been having the most terrible time. And he said, “I talk too much, Rose. Always have done.” That was his problem. Like I said, he trusted people too much.’
‘Well,’ said Magnus with a heavy sigh, ‘it’s clearly a dangerous thing to do here. He didn’t give you any indication who he’d talked to?’
‘No. I asked him, of course, but he said it could have been one of so many people.’ She was silent, staring into the pool. Ricardo arrived with an ice bucket, a bottle of Chardonnay, another of mineral water. She smiled at him rather vaguely; she looked upset, disturbed.
‘Do you have any ideas of your own?’ said Magnus.
‘No. I’ve worn a groove in my brain, ever since, thinking about it. I would guess probably some kid he’d rejected. Something like that. Wouldn’t that make sense to you?’
‘It would seem to, yes. So did you see him again, before he was killed?’
‘Once or twice. I tried to get him a job. You know, bit parts, walk-ons, anything to keep him going. But I had no real power at that time. And he was bad news. If you’re bad news here, you’re very bad news. People don’t want to be associated with you.’
‘It was brave of you then. To try,’ said Magnus.
‘Magnus, I’d loved the bastard. I had to try. But I – failed. Then he just disappeared. I didn’t know where to. Of course afterwards we all knew it was the beach. But –’ She smiled, a shaky smile. ‘I’m sorry. It still hurts, thinking about it.’
‘I’m sure. Rose, does the name Kirstie Fairfax mean anything to you?’
Fleur stared at him. She had never heard of Kirstie Fairfax.
‘Not much,’ said Rose, after a moment or two. ‘She was on the edge of Brendan’s crowd for a while. I never really met her. She was trouble, that’s all I know.’
‘What kind of trouble?’
‘Oh, the usual. You name it, she was into it. Sex, drugs, alcohol. I think she did a little blackmailing on the side.’ She spoke carelessly, started undoing her robe.
‘Blackmailing?’ said Magnus, sharply. ‘What kind of blackmailing?’
‘Is there more than one kind? She got her hooks into people, discovered the soft underbelly and then wouldn’t let go. Until they gave her money. Or something.’
Fleur felt excited suddenly: her flesh crawled. Blackmail. That was what those scandal sheets were really all about. Everyone said so. In which case . . .
‘Where is she now?’ she said, feeling herself flush. ‘Do you know?’
‘I’m afraid we do,’ said Magnus, laughing. ‘And it isn’t heaven.’
‘You mean she’s dead?’ said Fleur.
‘Very dead. She was killed. Or rather she killed herself. Or that’s how the verdict came in.’
‘I see,’ said Fleur. ‘You seem to know a lot about her.’
‘I do. All part of the research.’
‘How does she come into all this anyway?’ said Rose.
‘Well, you said yourself she knew Brendan. And he gave evidence at the inquest. He was supposed to have been trying to help her get a part.’
‘He did? I didn’t realize that.’ She sighed. ‘Well, I guess there was a lot I didn’t realize. You have to remember I just never saw him at that time.’
‘And you can’t tell me any more about her? Friends, family, anything? You never talked to her?’
‘I never did.’
‘Did Brendan ever talk about her? Afterwards? When you were – helping him?’
‘No, he didn’t.’ Rose stood up suddenly, slipped off her robe; she was wearing a sliver of a bikini in brilliant stinging pink. Fleur took in the perfect body, the full breasts, the flat stomach, the endless legs before she dived in, a scissor-flash of colour against the blue. She turned and looked at Magnus; he was staring at Rose, and she thought she had never seen sexual desire written more clearly on a man’s face. God, they were a pathetic lot. All the same. All the fucking same.
‘Come in and join me,’ said Rose. ‘Both of you. It’s wonderful.’
‘I don’t have anything to wear,’ said Magnus.
‘You don’t need a lot to wear in the water.’
‘I’m terribly shy,’ he said, grinning down at her.
‘There are plenty of shorts in the poolhouse. Have a look.’
‘OK.’
He came out again wearing a pair of navy and red shorts. His body was very heavy, very muscular, but totally without any spare flesh. He was tanned, very hairy; it was without doubt a powerfully sexy body. Fleur looked away, feeling unsettled, upset.
Magnus stood on the edge of the pool, grinning down at Rose; she reached out a slender arm, took his hand, pulled him in.
‘Come on, Fleur,’ she said, ‘it’s gorgeous.’
Fleur shook her head. She felt sixteen again, in the presence of adults, awkward, out of it. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.
They fooled around for a while; Rose kept pulling Magnus underwater, he kept swimming very fast away from her. They were both laughing, having a patently wonderful time. Fleur watched them and wondered wh
at she should do to make herself feel better. The only thing she could manage was drinking two glasses of the wine, very quickly, which made her feel dizzy and slightly sick, but otherwise just the same.
She closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere else in the world, when Magnus climbed out, shook himself dry and sat down in the chair next to her. He grinned at her, his teeth awesomely white in his wet brown face; he looked particularly saturnine. The wet shorts clung to his penis; the bulge was very large. She looked away with difficulty.
‘You OK?’
‘Yes, of course I’m OK.’
‘I’ve never known you so quiet.’
‘Well, you haven’t known me very long,’ said Fleur irritably, and closed her eyes again.
‘I guess not. Can I try you on another name?’ he called to Rose.
‘Sure.’
‘How about Zwirn?’
Rose looked thoughtfully up at him from the water. ‘Fleur asked me about that. It really doesn’t mean a thing. And it’s not a name you’d forget.’
‘No indeed,’ said Magnus.
‘Am I allowed to ask what he or she might have done or not done?’
‘We don’t have an idea. It’s just another name that’s cropped up. In old cuttings.’
‘Is Mr – or Mrs – Zwirn resident in LA?’
‘No. Well if he is, he’s not listed.’
‘Oh dear. I really don’t know how much help I’ve been. Not a lot. I’m sorry. But I did warn you.’
‘Yes, you did. Now you’re absolutely certain, are you, about Piers Windsor? That he wasn’t here, didn’t know Brendan?’
‘Of course. If he had done, I’d have known.’
‘But –’
‘Look,’ said Rose, ‘what is this, an inquisition or an interview? I said I’d help, tell you everything I could. Here I am doing that and you’re arguing with me.’ She smiled, sweetly, but there was a tension, a tautness behind it.
Fleur looked at her, looked at Magnus. She felt lost, confused, suddenly bitterly disappointed and sad. Magnus was smiling easily at Rose.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said, ‘you’re right. Of course you’d know anything, everything that went on here. You have to forgive me. I’m just a hick reporter from England. It’s well known we don’t have any manners. Interview over.’
‘I enjoyed it – most of it,’ said Rose. She was towelling her long golden-brown hair, smiling down at him, quite relaxed again.
‘You have wonderful hair,’ said Magnus suddenly. ‘It’s so nice you never went blonde.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I suppose you have one of those power hairdressers who goes round the world with you on every film? Appears on the credits, that sort of thing?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Would I recognize her name?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Try me.’
God, thought Fleur, what is this piece for, an interview in Hair & Beauty?
‘She’s called Dorian Roth.’
‘You’re right. Doesn’t mean a thing. Can I buy you dinner tonight, Miss Sharon, just to say thank you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rose, sounding as if her heart was breaking, ‘I’m busy tonight.’
‘That’s a shame. Maybe tomorrow. You’ve been marvellous. Hasn’t she, Fleur?’
‘Marvellous,’ said Fleur, wishing she didn’t feel quite so wretched.
‘Well, let’s all swim, and then have lunch, and just enjoy being friends,’ said Rose, reaching for her robe. ‘I still haven’t got over the pleasure of finding Fleur.’
‘Neither have I,’ said Magnus.
After lunch Fleur developed a splitting headache. It was the combination of the sun, the wine they had drunk, her sleepless night. ‘I might go and lie down,’ she said, ‘if you don’t mind. I don’t feel too good.’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ said Rose. ‘Magnus, what do you want to do? Have some more wine? Swim? Play tennis? Go back to your hotel?’
‘Don’t you have to go to the studio this afternoon?’ said Magnus, looking at her thoughtfully.
‘I should. But I don’t really have to.’
At that precise moment, Marcie appeared, put-putting up the drive on a small motorbike.
‘Hey, that’s fun,’ said Magnus. ‘Could I have a ride on that?’
‘Of course you can. Is that OK with you, Marcie?’
‘Sure,’ said Marcie. She smiled up at Magnus.
‘Do you like bikes?’ said Rose.
‘I love ’em. Perfect form of transport. I have a Harley Davidson at home.’
‘You do?’
‘I do. Love of my life.’
‘Come with me,’ said Rose.
She stood up and walked him over to the huge garage that stood on the other side of the house, half submerged in trees and shrubs. She pushed the door up: inside, next to the pale blue Cadillac, was a massive BMW bike, gleaming black and silver in the sun.
‘Be my guest,’ she said. ‘It’ll make up for the marmalade.’
‘You going to ride behind me?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘you’re going to ride behind me. We’ll run down to the coast.’
She sat on the bike, and he settled behind her; his muscular legs pressed up under hers, his arms around her waist, the wet shorts still outlining his cock. Fleur could see he had an erection, and from the way Rose thrust her small, perfect bottom back against him, she could see she felt it. The image she was left with as the bike roared down the drive was of intense and blatant sexuality. She went to her room, pulled the curtains and lay on her bed, crying quietly from a mixture of rage and misery.
1972
‘Chloe, my darling, you have to tell me what the matter is. I can’t stand this hostility any longer.’
‘I’m not hostile, Ludo. Just – well, just upset.’
‘I can tell you’re upset. It’s written in every line of your pale, funny little face. And it’s obviously making you ill. You looked terrible last night, at that party. I suddenly understood what ashen meant.’
‘Ludovic, I –’
‘Chloe, listen to me.’ His voice, normally so gentle, so relaxed, was urgent, almost harsh. ‘I’ve been very patient for a very long time. It hasn’t been easy. And I think the time has come for things to be clarified. It isn’t going to get any better as time goes on. Rather the reverse.’
That’s true, thought Chloe, resting her aching head on the wall behind the bed (she had taken to coming back to bed when she had driven Pandora to school in the morning, so sick and weary did she feel).
‘Chloe? Chloe, are you there?’
‘Yes, of course I’m here.’
‘Not in the full sense of the word, I fancy.’
‘Ludo, don’t treat me like one of your witnesses, please.’
‘My witnesses pay rather more attention to what I say. Now then, I’m going to deliver an ultimatum. Otherwise I can see this situation going on until we are both old and grey, and that would be rather a waste. Unless you talk to Piers by the end of next week, I shall come and see him myself.’
‘Oh Ludovic, please –’
‘Don’t “Oh Ludovic” me. I’m sorry, darling, but this is not just a piece of glorious adultery. Although it is exactly that. I love you, and I need you, and I want this thing settled. All right?’
‘Yes, Ludovic. All right. But you’re not to talk to him. I will.’
‘Well, darling, do it. Or it will make me ill as well as you.’
‘All right, Ludo. Thank you for ringing.’
‘Any chance of a meeting?’
‘No. No, I think we shouldn’t,’ said Chloe, feeling panic rise, join her nausea, ‘not until I’ve talked to Piers.’
&n
bsp; ‘Well perhaps that will spur you on. Or maybe you’ve just gone off the whole idea.’
‘Oh Ludovic,’ said Chloe and the passion in her voice made it a near groan, ‘oh Ludovic, if only, if only you knew.’
‘I think I do,’ he said, sounding infinitely more cheerful, ‘but I don’t want to be complacent. I love you. Now why don’t you go and have lunch with one of your girlfriends and cheer yourself up a bit.’
‘It wouldn’t do any good at all,’ said Chloe, thinking with foreboding of the fate that befell most of her food at the moment. Thank God, thank God, Piers was so engrossed in Othello. He would hardly notice if she gave birth to a large blonde freckled baby in the middle of Piccadilly Circus.
As January dragged on (and somehow she won a reprieve of another two weeks from an exasperated but resigned Ludovic) and the opening of Othello approached, Piers started smoking heavily again, and his cough became more troublesome. Bannerman insisted on an X-ray and phoned the results to Chloe, saying that bronchitis and quite possibly pleurisy were ‘minutes away’.
‘He has to have a break. Take him to the sunshine for a few days, make him rest completely. Otherwise there’ll be no Othello, no anything.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Chloe, panicking at the very thought of being alone with Piers, and not only because of her almost constant nausea, ‘but I don’t think –’
‘Chloe, you have to succeed. This is serious.’
Chloe decided she had to act; maybe this was the catalyst she needed. Maybe she could break the news to Piers while they were away; maybe he would take it better. Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, she clearly had to do what Bannerman said. She picked up the phone immediately after she had put it down, phoned their travel agency, and booked two flights to Antigua, and a bungalow at the Jumby Bay for a week. Then she called the theatre, to say she was coming to collect Piers personally. It was a bold move; it was a measure of her desperation that she was making it.
AN Outrageous Affair Page 73