by Susan Lewis
‘Miss Montgomery?’
She looked up into the pale, quizzical eyes of a middle-aged man with dark wavy hair and florid cheeks.
‘Robin Lindsay,’ he said, smiling and holding out a hand to shake.
Ava rose gracefully to her feet and took the hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she told him, using a deeper, sultrier voice than Beth’s. She wanted to be this person, Ava Montgomery, whom she saw as a confident, talented woman, with thoughts, behaviour, maybe even a look all her own. Ava should be an almost separate entity so that people wouldn’t think of Beth Ashby when they saw her and feel pity, or discomfort, or worse.
‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ he assured her, standing aside. ‘Let’s go through to my office, shall we? Would you like some coffee? Tea?’
‘What, no champagne?’ she teased.
He laughed, seeming to like the suggestion, while inwardly Beth was startled, though amused, by Ava’s audacity.
Halfway down the drably carpeted corridor he popped his head in through an open door and spoke to a well-groomed woman in her early forties. ‘Ruth, you wanted to meet Ava Montgomery,’ he said.
The woman’s face lit up. ‘I most certainly do,’ she declared, coming out from behind her desk.
‘This is Ruth Pembroke,’ Robin told her. ‘She’s already a fan.’
‘Congratulations,’ Ruth said, shaking her hand warmly. ‘What you’ve achieved is stunning. Quite unique.’
‘Thank you,’ Beth responded in Ava’s contralto. Pleasure was rushing through her like a river. ‘I’m so glad you like it.’
‘I love it,’ Ruth corrected. ‘And I’d love to discuss it some time, if you’re willing. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later, before you leave.’
‘I hope so,’ Ava replied.
Robin was smiling like a proud father. ‘Come along,’ he said, putting a hand under her elbow. ‘My office is at the end here. I’ll just introduce you to my secretary, Caroline, then we can get down to business.’
A few minutes later Ava had discarded her hat and overshirt, and was relaxing on a hard leather sofa, a glass of champagne in one hand while the other lay limply beside her. Robin Lindsay, who was sitting in an armchair beside a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, was doing all the talking, never calling her anything but Ava, even though he knew very well who she was. She’d had to tell him in advance in order to avoid him spending time dealing with the shock of it when she got here. This way, he’d had the chance to assimilate the knowledge, and now the scandal of Colin Ashby’s crime and arrest weren’t impinging. So, for this brief hour at least, she could be Ava Montgomery the writer, not Beth Ashby the murderer’s wife.
‘Can I ask why you chose the name Ava Montgomery?’ he said, taking a sip of champagne.
Her eyes sparkled as she said, ‘Ava Montgomery sounds like the kind of person who knows how to have fun.’ It was the answer she’d given Georgie when she’d asked, and it seemed to amuse Robin Lindsay just as much.
‘Have you written anything before this?’ he asked.
‘Nothing that’s complete.’
He nodded, as though it was an answer he’d expected. ‘As I told you on the phone,’ he said, ‘your style, the story, are both highly unusual and compelling. I take it you know the Italian lakes well.’
‘Not as well I’d like,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve only been once.’ Once, with Colin, just the two of them, to a small, family-owned hotel on the western shore of Lake Maggiore. It was the one and only time she’d met Carlotta, the dark, mysterious woman who’d become the focus of Ava Montgomery’s existence, and the nourishment of Beth Ashby’s soul.
His eyes were watching her over the rim of his glass as he took another sip. ‘The characters,’ he said. ‘Might they be drawn from people you know?’
‘In some aspects.’
‘Carlotta?’
Her smile became sphinxlike. ‘Carlotta is an amalgam of the modern woman in reality and history’s dreams in perpetuity. In other words, she exists today, even though she died two hundred years ago.’
He nodded slowly. He’d read the book, so he understood her meaning. It was a story like no other, for the fluidity of its journey between a created heaven and hell, through a world of brutal mortality and into a universe of temporary death, was as shocking as the violence it occasionally depicted, and perhaps even more powerful than the pain. Then there was the love, so unbearably sweet and intense, torturous and, in the end, as indestructible as time. He wanted to ask how much of the story was real, whether she had shared any of those potent feelings or experiences with her now infamous husband, if Carlotta had ever truly lived, or if it was all merely the creation of an extremely gifted writer’s mind. But he didn’t know her well enough yet, and, being a gentleman, he was too polite even to approach the boundaries he sensed she had drawn.
Caroline, his secretary, put her head round the door. ‘You wanted me to let you know when Stacey Greene called,’ she said.
‘Ah, yes.’ Robin glanced at his watch. ‘Ask her to hold on for a moment, will you?’ When Caroline had gone he said, ‘Stacey Greene’s an editor at Buchmanns. I’m sure you’ve heard of Buchmanns Publishing?’
Only Ava could have been capable of such composure as she nodded and smiled, for inside Beth was flustered with excitement.
‘Stacey doesn’t know that you’re here with me,’ he told her, ‘but I wanted to speak to her now so that I can tell you right away what she has to say about your book. That’s how confident I am that she’ll love it.’
This was a wildest dream coming true. Beth’s heart was singing, as Ava’s cool, subtle voice said, ‘She doesn’t know who I am?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. I kept my promise. No one will know who Ava Montgomery really is until the sale of the book has been finalized. I understand you want to know that you’ve achieved this on the book’s merit, not because of your … shall we say fame?’
She liked this man. He was warm, understated and insightful. ‘If possible,’ she said, ‘I’d like to keep the secret right through to publication.’ She almost added if it gets that far, but those would have been Beth’s words; Ava wasn’t insecure.
‘That will be harder,’ he warned, ‘but certainly we can try. Now, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll go and speak to Stacey.’
He took the call at Caroline’s desk, leaving Beth, Ava, to reflect on the way she was being eased from the protection of Colin’s shadow into a warm, glowing space of her own. Not that she in any way courted fame – if it were at all possible, she’d prefer it never to be known that Beth Ashby was the true identity of Ava Montgomery. To the world at large Ava Montgomery should be a name unconnected to the scandal. To the public Ava’s face should remain a mystery, unknown, unrecognizable. All they had a right to was the novel she had written, Carlotta’s Symphony of Love and Death, the work that had brought her here, into the office of this high-powered agent. At least she would always know that Robin Lindsay’s response to her work was genuine, for he’d had no way of knowing who she was until she’d called to tell him.
Looking down at her half-glass of champagne she couldn’t stop herself thinking of how desperately she wanted to be sharing this with Colin. He was the only other person, until now, who’d read the book, though even he hadn’t read the end. Nevertheless, his praise of her writing, the way she’d fleshed her characters, created a style and universe that was so unpredictable and unique, and her capturing of emotions that were so gently, yet powerfully consuming, had left him in no doubt that he was ‘married to a genius’. She remembered how she’d glowed and laughed when he’d spoken those words. Thinking of that time now, when he’d seemed almost overawed by her talent, made her want to weep for what had happened since. That night had been so full of passion, wine, romance, and the kind of togetherness and understanding that only came after so many years of marriage. He was so proud of her, so certain of her success. She truly believed he’d wanted it as much as she had for he’d offered to
introduce her to anyone she’d care to name. Even if he didn’t know them personally, he’d be sure to know someone who would. But in the end she’d decided to submit her typescript under another name, just on spec. He’d understood and was glad, he’d claimed, because she’d find out then just how right he was.
Her heart twisted with longing. He needed to share this with her. She wasn’t even sure at this moment if it meant anything without him. Yet it did. It had to. She must make herself believe that it was possible for her to exist as Ava Montgomery the writer she’d long dreamt of being, rather than as Beth Ashby, the wife who was trapped inside her own love and held back by her husband’s unexplained rejection.
Poor Beth Ashby, with her broken heart and shambolic life. That was Ava thinking – Ava, whose inclinations were slightly wild and impulsive, and who was electrified enough by this meeting to want to start moving on.
Then quite suddenly her mind swooped off in another direction – to Sophie Long’s infamous tights. Tights! Such an unexotic item for a mistress! One paper had asked, what kind of tights were they? She ran through some of the possibles: black Lycra, seamless, ten or fifteen denier, crotchless. Tights on the hands. Tights on the legs. Tights as a scarf. Her eyes closed. He was still swearing he hadn’t done it, but how could he deny it when he’d been caught right there and so far there was no evidence of anyone else being present? Maybe, as one reporter had half-heartedly ventured, it had been an accident. Asphyxia-induced orgasms had been given an airing after that – how she and Georgie had laughed when she’d phrased it like that. And then there were the side-splitting moments as they’d tried to work out why he’d been wearing only a jacket, shirt and tie, no trousers. Thank God for black humour. It had to be the greatest antidote to loneliness and fear, for those hysterical moments bobbed like life rafts in overpowering tides of despair.
A siren was whooping down Piccadilly as Robin Lindsay came back into the room. Beth’s thoughts went to Georgie. She’d be on her way to the Ritz by now, where they’d arranged to drink cocktails while Beth recounted all the details of this meeting. She prayed silently that the siren had nothing to do with Georgie, and struggled to block out the horrible, gruesome images that were pushing their way into her mind. She’d become prone to these irrational fears since her world had turned inside out. She didn’t feel anything was to be trusted any more. Everything was going to be taken away, mutilated, ruined; destroyed beyond repair.
‘Sorry to have kept you,’ Robin Lindsay said, lifting the champagne bottle from its ice bucket and topping up her glass.
Beth’s, Ava’s, eyes were shining as she watched him return to his chair and fix her with a satisfied smile. ‘That call has just decided me on what we should do,’ he said.
She waited, allowing a touch of flirtation to beautify her smile.
‘I’d like to put your book up for auction,’ he told her. ‘Do you know what that means?’
Ava nodded calmly, while inside Beth became almost giddy. ‘It means you’ll give it to several editors and the book will go to the highest bidder.’
He smiled, his ruddy cheeks turning redder. ‘I have five editors in mind,’ he said. ‘Stacey Greene has already put in an offer of one hundred and fifty thousand.’
Though Ava held steady, Beth’s euphoria was quietly erupting. It was true that Colin’s salary had always been substantial, but she herself had never had any real money of her own. In fact, since she’d left the nursery she’d been living on just over three hundred pounds a month, eking out a small inheritance from her granddad so that she didn’t have to go to Colin for all her needs, like make-up and tights! He wouldn’t have minded – he was generous to a fault, which was why they had no savings – but she’d just wanted to be able to pay for some things herself. She’d be able to do that now. One hundred and fifty thousand pounds was an unimaginable amount of money to someone who’d never earned more than twenty thousand in a year, and who until today had avoided even thinking about how she was going to manage in the coming months now she was homeless, husbandless and all but jobless too.
‘That will be the starting figure,’ Robin Lindsay said. ‘It should go a lot higher.’
Later, with Georgie, she’d shriek, laugh and throw her arms around in girlish elation. Now, in this respectable office with its low-key ambience and dignified owner, she allowed Ava to suppress Beth’s inclinations and smile her own catlike approval.
Robin Lindsay raised his glass. ‘I’d like to tell you what a pleasure it is meeting you,’ he said, thinking of the husband that had hurt and betrayed her, yet had always gone back to her. He thought he understood why, though it wouldn’t necessarily have been for her beauty which, though understated, was exceptional; it would, he suspected, have been for the inner qualities that he could already tell existed in irresistible and mysterious abundance. ‘I believe I’m going to enjoy having you as a client,’ he told her.
Her eyebrows rose in a gently mocking manner. ‘Why thank you,’ she responded in a voice that was dark and sensual. ‘I’m sure the enjoyment will be mutual.’ Their eyes met, and after brazening out the innuendo she said, ‘When do you think the auction will happen?’
‘Maybe next Friday. I’ll call to confirm. Would you like to be here?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I would.’
Half an hour later Georgie was slumped in a chair at the Ritz, fanning herself with a cocktail menu. ‘I think I’m going to faint,’ she laughed. ‘All that money, and he thinks it’ll go higher.’
Beth was laughing too. ‘I wish you could have heard the things he said about the book,’ she said. ‘They were incredible. If I weren’t so modest, I’d repeat them.’
‘Just tell me,’ Georgie urged. ‘I know it’s brilliant, because Colin couldn’t stop talking about it after he’d read it.’
Beth’s eyes flickered away for a moment, but as Georgie touched her hand in apology she forced a smile, then recklessly told the waiter to bring them an entire bottle of Bollinger.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Georgie said.
But Beth wasn’t listening. ‘It doesn’t look as though there’ll be a problem with the identity issue,’ she said. ‘In fact I’ve asked for my own name to be kept secret at least until after the auction. Hopefully until after the publication too, though Robin Lindsay thinks that’ll be harder.’ She pulled a face. ‘I just don’t want people picking over it, analysing it, reading things into it, simply because of who I am. It’s just a book. Nothing to do with Colin, or me as his wife. It’s about Carlotta – and Ava.’
Georgie’s eyes were twinkling. She didn’t need to burst the bubble yet. ‘So did you try out the Ava character?’ she asked.
Beth grinned. ‘Yes, a bit,’ she answered. ‘She has the potential to be quite outrageous, I think.’
‘I always knew you did,’ Georgie told her. ‘She’s you, or at least one aspect of you. And now her world is waiting, while the world of Beth Ashby …’ Her smile suddenly lost its light, and her eyes fell away.
‘What?’ Beth said, her heart turning over. No more bad news. Please God, don’t let anything spoil today. ‘What is it?’ she pressed.
Georgie took a breath. Her large blue eyes came uncertainly back to Beth’s. ‘Colin wants to see you,’ she said. ‘He’s calling tonight.’
Beth’s face drained. Everything was suddenly different. The road had abruptly ended again, and she could feel herself going into a slow-burning spiral of emotions. ‘Why now?’ she said. ‘Why has he changed his mind?’
‘I don’t know. Bruce didn’t say. I only got the call an hour ago.’
It was a while before Beth could speak, as she tried to imagine what it was going to be like, seeing him in prison, hearing what he had to say, feeling the devastation of his life as though it were her own. He was so much a part of her that it was her own. Yet lately he’d started to feel like a stranger. She couldn’t quite envisage his face any more, or hear the sound of his voice. ‘Why is he calli
ng first?’ she asked.
‘I imagine to set up your visit.’ Georgie paused, then said, ‘Will you go?’
Beth blinked in surprise. ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Why do you think I wouldn’t?’
‘What if it coincides with the auction?’
‘I don’t think that’s likely, but if it does the auction can happen without me.’
Though Georgie wasn’t surprised by the answer, it still saddened her, for she’d hoped that today’s news might have helped Beth to start breaking away. It was what she needed to do for, Bruce was certain, if things continued the way they were going, they’d never get Colin off. Which meant they had to face the fact that he was looking at a life sentence, unless he changed his plea to guilty, and even then, striking some kind of deal with the prosecution wasn’t likely. However, she was hardly going to tell Beth any of that right now.
‘Will you tell him about the book?’ she asked.
Beth was inside her own head. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered distractedly. ‘Maybe. But maybe not. I know he’s read it, but he’s never heard of Ava and, who knows, I might want it to stay that way. At least for now.’
Georgie smiled. On the whole it was an answer she liked, since it meant Beth was prepared to keep something for herself.
Beth smiled too and wondered if Georgie had any idea of how afraid she was now – of herself, of Colin and of what might have changed his mind about seeing her.
Just before seven thirty that evening Bruce and Georgie left Beth alone in the study of their London flat. It was a small room, full of books and papers on the law, with framed photos of Georgie and Blake on the roll-top desk. From the window Beth could see across the street to where a few people were crammed on to a terrace, enjoying the evening warmth and wine.
Ever since Georgie had told her Colin was going to call Beth had been trying to come up with all the reasons why he might have decided on now. Bruce was claiming not to know, though she could tell he was hopeful that this new contact might, in some way, improve their chances of getting him off. It was bizarre how Bruce seemed to want Colin’s freedom more than Colin did. Her heart jarred on the thought of him in prison – not only now, today, but for another twenty-five, maybe even thirty years. Her hand went up, as though to stave off the horror.