by Susan Lewis
His words were like bludgeons on her heart that only moments ago had been so full of hope. She nodded, and somehow forced herself to smile. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and immediately wished she hadn’t. She just wanted him to go now; to leave her alone with this excruciating shame before she did something to compound it even further.
When they reached the door he tried to tilt her face up so he could see it, but she moved her head aside.
‘We’ve both got a lot of thinking to do,’ he said.
Inside she was screaming. Just go! Don’t keep standing there giving me even more false hope than you already have.
When at last she closed the door behind him, she took herself back into the bedroom and stared down at the tousled bed. She could hardly believe what had happened. What a fool! What a pathetic, self-deluding idiot! How was she ever going to face him again? She didn’t even want to think about what must be going through his mind now; it was all just too humiliating to bear. She covered her face with her hands. This was unthinkable, insufferable, and the fact that Rhona had made the mistake too was no comfort at all.
Going into the bathroom she looked at her face in the mirror. It was pale and drawn, and dampened by tears. She shook her head in despair. Had she really been so stupid? Had she honestly believed they’d just fall into each other’s arms declaring love and forgiveness, then start out for the sunset, as though some sudden and miraculous healing had taken place? She had to get a grip on reality here; force herself to be rational and do what she could to rescue some dignity from the shame. If she didn’t, there was just no way she could continue with the story, and hard as it might be to carry on seeing him now, she just wasn’t prepared to give it up. And besides, she didn’t really have to feel quite so bad, for she hadn’t actually come right out and told him how she felt. OK, he probably sensed it, but it had taken two to make that kiss happen, and he was the one who’d initiated it, not her. So what was she supposed to be thinking now?
Chapter 22
MARCUS GATLING WAS standing at a wide, mesh-covered window, looking out over the undulating splendour of the vast green veldt that formed part of the highly exclusive, and privately owned game reserve, whose sprawling acreage curled itself around the far south-western borders of the Kruger National Park. On the near shore of the watering hole below, a small herd of impala was drinking from the murky waters, while the interested eyes and snout of a hippopotamus broke the surface nearby, like smooth wet rocks glistening in the evening light. The sun, way in the distance, was descending rapidly towards the horizon, where stark, jagged tree limbs and the dark, tilting shapes of giraffes and other animals, created a remote kind of theatre against a flame-orange backdrop that was slowly fading into night.
Behind Gatling, in the lavishly furnished lounge of the reserve’s main lodge, where the trophy heads of lions and buffalo gazed ferociously down on the leopard- and cheetah-skin rugs, were his wife, Leonora, Nicholas Sabilio, the reserve’s South African owner; Abe Kleinstein, Hank Wingate, Hans Brunner and Marion le Grecque. They comprised seven out of the twenty-two premier syndicate members, all other participators being at varying levels below, and spreading out through the globe with the same power and complexity as the dominant beasts out there stalked, exploited and conquered the fertile plains of the bush.
Everyone was silent as the tape played, filling the room with the slurring, yet defiant tones of Beth Ashby, as she left the damning message on her best friend’s answering machine. It wasn’t the first time any of them had heard it – copies had been made and dispatched to each of them to alert them to the urgency of this meeting – this was simply a rerun to refresh their memories and focus their minds. However, it wasn’t by any means the only item on the agenda, for equal priority was being given to Elliot Russell and Tom Maykin’s investigation, which had lately started gaining some potentially catastrophic momentum.
When the tape finished and Leonora turned off the machine, all eyes went to Gatling who continued his observation of a small flock of black and white wading birds, that he decided were probably avocets, until, in perfect unison, they rose up from the waters, and he saw they were black-winged stilts. As they vanished overhead he turned to survey the gathering. The tension was almost palpable. There was tremendous pressure on him over this, and they were all waiting to hear what he had to say.
Leonora’s eyes were slanted towards the flickering hearth fire. She too was intrigued to learn of his plans, since their repeated, and frequently angry, discussions of the Beth Ashby matter had not yet brought them to a satisfactory proposal on how it should be dealt with. Which was presumably why he sidestepped it for the moment, and began by addressing the syndicate’s more universal problem.
‘We none of us need reminding,’ he said, ‘just how many billions we’ve already invested in our various projects, so I would suggest we start by discussing how we are going to address the troublesome penetration of Russell and Maykin’s investigation and what, potentially, it could mean.’
There was some shuffling and grunting at this typical British understatement, until Brunner said, ‘What we need to know first is just how far into us they actually are.’
Abe Kleinstein removed a smoking cigar from his mouth and placed it in an oyster-shell ashtray. ‘I’ve already got a team working on that,’ he informed him. ‘Max Erwin’s heading it and reporting direct to me.’
As Max Erwin was a name known to them all, there were general murmurs of approval, backed up by Gatling saying, ‘I’m sure Max, with his background and skills, is the best man for this job, and I’m grateful to you, Abe, for setting his inquiries in motion.’ He returned his steely gaze to the others. ‘However, we need to face the fact that if this investigation delays our schedule, we could be forced to roll over our positions. In the light of that possibility, we should decide now, gentlemen, just how many more billions we are prepared to commit under such circumstances. Or do we risk losing everything we’ve put in to date?’
The room remained silent as everyone contemplated the unthinkable loss of two billion dollars.
Gatling pressed on. ‘Let’s not forget that our put options on the euro expire in January. This means our five-year strategy is very possibly already in jeopardy, so we need to reaffirm our commitment to our goals now, each and every one of us.’
Marion le Grecque, a tall, reedy Frenchman with deep-set owlish eyes and a crooked beaked nose, was the first to speak, in an accent that was a jarring blend of upper-crust Parisian and East Coast American. ‘I would say, Marcus, my friend,’ he began, ‘that before any of us makes such a commitment, that we should wait for Max’s initial reports, and in the meantime take whatever steps are necessary to find out what Beth Ashby knows about you.’
Leonora’s dark eyes flashed. ‘There is a very strong possibility,’ she responded, keeping the edge from her voice, ‘that what Beth Ashby knows concerns the entire syndicate, not just Marcus.’
Le Grecque made a smooth, though supercilious nod of concession.
‘Do we actually need to find out what it is?’ Nicholas Sabilio demanded. ‘If we simply ensure she can never tell anyone, the problem will be solved.’
Gatling shook his head. ‘You’re forgetting, Nicholas, that Colin Ashby is currently awaiting trial for the murder of his girlfriend. If his wife were to disappear so soon after, the entire case would erupt into a media frenzy. As you know, we cannot afford such publicity.’
Abe Kleinstein spoke again, his marked Brooklyn accent carrying the tone of the Americans coming to the rescue again. ‘Hank and I were discussing this on the jet coming over,’ he said, ‘and we’ve come up with what we reckon could be the best way to go.’
All eyes were on him.
‘We know,’ he said, looking at them all in turn, ‘that Theo Kennedy, who’s producing the film of Beth Ashby’s book, has been trying to get Eric Weston to direct it. Well, it just so happens that one of my companies was responsible for sixty per cent of the funding of Weston’s last f
ilm, which means we’re in a position to acquire Mr Weston’s services on Mr Kennedy’s behalf.’
He paused a moment for that to register, while next to him Hank Wingate, the Texan oil magnate, looking as smug as a Republican who’d just stolen an election, spread his beefy arms across the back of the wooden-framed sofa, and raised a colossal hand-tooled, lizardskin boot to rest on one knee.
‘Once Theo Kennedy has his director of choice,’ Kleinstein continued, ‘all he’s going to need are the stars and the finance. Since the film’s never going to happen, the stars aren’t an issue, but the raising of finance, as we know, is something Beth Ashby – or Ava Montgomery, as she’s now calling herself – and her writer friend, Mitzi Bower, have been involving themselves in. So we get Weston on board, then have him invite Ava and her friend to a party at my place in LA, where he’s going to introduce them to some serious money.’
Leonora’s sharp eyes slid back to Wingate. She could already guess where this was going, but could see that the others needed it spelt out, so she merely listened as Kleinstein unveiled the remaining details of the simple, yet ingenious plan he and Wingate had devised, which wouldn’t only get the syndicate what it wanted, but would, from the look of Wingate, afford him some personal pleasure in the acquiring.
‘This is, like, absolutely major,’ Mitzi declared, as she nudged past Ava in the bathroom, and tugged a fresh towel from the overhead rack. ‘I mean, like so major I can’t describe it. Do you mind if I take this? Mine are all used up.’
‘Be my guest,’ Ava responded, leaning towards the mirror as she carefully circled her eyes with a sparkly blue liquid the way Mitzi had taught her. It not only covered the dark shadows of sleeplessness and hunger, it helped enliven her whole face, particularly after she’d squeezed in the drops that made the whites of her eyes glow. Standing back to survey the results, she gave a sigh of rapture. ‘Ravishing. Simply ravishing.’ She sniffed hard, waited for the sting to subside, then dabbed her nose with a tissue. ‘What are you wearing, by the way?’
‘The red Hervé Léger,’ Mitzi shouted from her adjoining bathroom. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m torn between the Betsy Johnson pink silk chiffon and the white leather front zip-up. Have you ever met Eric Weston before?’
‘Yep. A couple of times. He looks like your archetypal nerd – you know, skinny, loud shirts, thick glasses with black frames, knock knees, but he’s like a genius when it comes to making movies. Ah, that’ll be Fabio come to stock us up for the evening,’ and tucking her towel in tighter, she trotted off to answer the door, while Ava fished in her make-up bag for the small supply she had left over from earlier.
After razoring it into two short, thin lines on the mirrored tile she kept specially, she plucked a straw from the selection that was arranged like flowers in her tooth mug, made two lung-deep inhalations, then used a finger to dab up the remaining evidence, which she rubbed into her gums. Seconds later the renewed rush erupted so fast through her system that she swore she saw her pupils dilate. A beat later she was flooded with such euphoria that when Fabio came into the bathroom she threw her arms around him, overcome by the sheer depth of her love.
‘Good job I’m gay, ducky,’ he said patting her bottom. Then pocketing the wad of dollar bills Mitzi was handing over, he bade them a fond farewell and left.
An hour later they were just about ready to go when Theo rang. ‘Ava?’ he said.
‘That’ll be me,’ she replied. ‘Am I talking to the most gorgeous man on the planet?’
‘That’ll be me,’ he responded, surprising her with this rare show of humour. ‘I was just calling to wish you luck.’
‘That is so sweet,’ she gushed. ‘Mitz. It’s Theo, ringing to wish us luck. Isn’t that incredibly sweet? Theo, you are just the most thoughtful, wonderful man on earth. And don’t you worry. You can leave all this to us. We are going to show those guys such a good time they’ll be financing every movie you make for the next ten years.’
Theo sounded happy. ‘Great,’ he chuckled. ‘Just don’t get too carried away, because Kleinstein’s parties can be pretty wild, from what I hear.’
Ava sighed. ‘You know, it’s so hard working for you,’ she complained, winking at Mitzi.
‘Why? I’m sorry. What’s happened?’
‘I mean all this fun we’re being forced to have to help you raise money … It’s wearing us out, Theo.’
‘I get it. You’re joking, right?’
‘Right. Where are you?’
‘New York.’
‘Ready for bed?’
‘Actually, yes.’
‘Such a waste,’ she purred, turning to the full-length mirror at the end of the hall. ‘Incidentally, how much more do we need to raise?’ she asked, allowing Mitzi to sprinkle glitter over her bare shoulders and arms.
‘Well, we’ve got promises amounting to around five million now,’ he answered. ‘If we could get another five we’d be in a position to make some serious offers to the talent, which, in turn, might get us into pre-production this side of Christmas. Are you taking the script with you?’
‘You mean Mitzi’s outline?’ she responded, lowering the front zip of her white leather dress to the waist so that Mitzi could put glitter on her breasts. ‘No. Mitz thinks it’s best to send it over there tomorrow.’
‘It looks too set up otherwise,’ Mitzi shouted down the receiver.
‘OK. Your call. But this could be it, ladies, so I want you to know, I’m right there with you.’
‘We wish,’ Ava responded.
After ringing off, she rearranged her zip so that the top four inches of the sleeveless, strapless bodice parted in a V over her cleavage. Then, tilting her head to one side, she said, ‘You know, I think I’m in love with Theo.’
‘That’s because he’s not here, giving you grief,’ Mitzi laughed, shoving her towards the door. ‘Oh God, who’s that now?’ she grumbled as the phone rang again.
They paused, waiting for the machine to pick up. A moment later Georgie’s voice said, ‘Hi, it’s Georgie again. I’m trying to get hold of Beth. I’ve called a few times now. I just need to know if she’s all right, if she’s getting my messages …’
‘It’s five o’clock in the morning her time,’ Ava whispered.
‘Take it. Just tell her you’re on your way out, but you’re OK.’
‘… Please call me if you get this message, Beth,’ Georgie was saying. ‘I’d just like to know what’s happening over there …’
‘Georgieeee!’ Ava gushed into the receiver. ‘How are you? I’m so sorry I haven’t called you back. It’s been so hectic over here. I’m even on my way out now. But I’m fine. Stop worrying. I’m having a fab and groovy time.’
‘I got your last message,’ Georgie said. ‘The one where you mentioned Marcus Gatling and –’
‘Oh God, I didn’t answer the phone to talk about him!’ Ava broke in abruptly.
‘But you said you thought he’d come after you. What do you mean by that Beth? What do you think?’
‘Georgie! For God’s sake. I’m about to go out to a party, and you’re putting me in a really bad mood.’
‘But if you think –’
‘Just ignore that message, will you?’ Ava snapped, putting a hand to her head as a sudden rush of blood dizzied her. ‘Pretend it never happened. Now I’ve got to go. Mitzi’s already in the car. I’ll try and call tomorrow. OK?’
Georgie was silent.
‘OK?’ Ava pressed.
‘I suppose it’ll have to be,’ Georgie responded.
‘Yes, it will. Now I’m going,’ and banging the receiver down she snatched up her purse and stalked off to the front door. As she tried to lock it the keys slipped out of her fingers and hit her foot. ‘For God’s sake,’ she seethed, stooping to pick them up. ‘This sort of thing makes me so damned angry. What’s the matter with it? Why won’t it go in? Go in, you stupid bastard.’
‘Hey!’ Mitzi cried, laughing as she came to the rescue.
‘Just calm down, will you? It’ll go in,’ and taking the key, she inserted it, turned it, then dropped it into her bag. ‘Are you OK?’ she said, putting a hand on Ava’s shoulder.
Ava nodded, but her head was swimming in a horrible numbing sort of way and her heart was pounding so hard it was like a hammer inside her.
‘Breathe deep,’ Mitzi instructed. ‘In slow. Hold. Let it out. In slow. Hold. Let it out.’
Ava took the breaths, leaning a hand against the wall and watching the ground billowing up around her. The sound of a car passing was like a saw through her brain.
‘Keep going,’ Mitzi said, breathing with her. ‘It’s OK. Everything’s beautiful and funky, and so, so cool. You’re gorgeous and I love you, and you love me, and we love the world. Look at the pretty flowers, and the lemons on the tree. Look at your beautiful body, and think of the freedom you have. Think about the movie, and Italy, and Carlotta, and how we’re going to that party to make all our dreams come true.’
By the time she stopped Ava was laughing through the mayhem inside her. But it was subsiding now, settling back into a bubbling river of euphoria that gushed into an ocean of bliss when Mitzi added a sprinkle of the magic ingredient.
‘We ready to go now?’ Mitzi asked.
‘Take me to it,’ Ava commanded, sniffing again, and holding her breath for a count of ten. Then strutting over to the open-topped Mercedes Kompressor, she threw open the door and stepped inside. ‘So where were we, before that little black spot erupted on to the landscape?’ she demanded.
‘In heaven,’ Mitzi answered, reversing up the short drive on to Mulholland. ‘Absolute heaven. Weren’t you saying you were in love with Theo?’
‘Was I?’ Ava frowned, then shrieked with laughter. ‘Imagine being in love with Theo. But I adore him, don’t you? He’s so wonderful, and thoughtful, and wasn’t that just so sweet of him to call? How many men do you know would bother to do that?’
‘All of them, if they thought they were getting something out of it,’ Mitzi responded, putting the car into drive, and speeding off towards the cross with Beverly Glen.