Silent Truths

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Do what?’ Laurie prompted.

  ‘An interview.’

  Laurie’s eyes closed as triumph flooded through her like a giant rush of speed. ‘She’s willing to do an interview?’ she said, wanting to make absolutely certain she had this right.

  ‘Actually, I think it’s more Theo’s idea than hers, but yes, she says she’s willing to do it. However, there are conditions,’ she cautioned.

  ‘Such as.’

  ‘Well, to begin with she’ll only talk to you if Theo’s there, and it has to be in the LA house.’

  ‘No problem,’ Laurie assured her.

  ‘She doesn’t want to discuss Colin at all. You’re not even to bring his name up.’

  ‘If that’s what she wants,’ Laurie responded, deciding to worry about that after she’d got a foot in the door.

  ‘What she wants you to do,’ Georgie continued, ‘is a kind of glamour spread with lots of photos showing how happy she is in Hollywood, and what a wonderful man she’s found, how they’re working together on the screenplay of her book. She wants you to write a lot about that, make it the main focus really, because I think she’s hoping to find another publisher.’

  ‘Then I’ll need to read it,’ Laurie pointed out.

  ‘They’re prepared to send you a floppy disk of the manuscript,’ Georgie answered.

  Laurie was almost reeling with how well today was progressing.

  ‘She wants it to be your paper because it’s got class,’ Georgie told her. ‘No tabloids, no cheap publicity magazines. A serious broadsheet, she says, though she’s happy for it to go in the weekend colour supplement. She also wants full copy approval and to retain all rights to the photographs.’

  Deciding that now was obviously not the time to reveal her true status with the paper, Laurie said, ‘It sounds as though she’s got it all worked out.’

  ‘I think we can safely assume that Theo’s advising her,’ Georgie said. ‘But don’t forget who her husband is. She’s far from naïve in these matters.’

  Laurie hurriedly scribbled a note to Murray and shoved it in front of him as he passed: Got interview with Beth Ashby!! Reading it, Murray punched the air in victory.

  ‘How is she?’ Laurie asked Georgie, grinning.

  ‘Theo insists she’s doing well, but without seeing her myself it’s hard to say. Certainly she sounded more like her old self, but there’s still something there – or should I say, Ava’s still there – because a spread of this nature just isn’t Beth’s style. She’s normally terribly private, and the idea of this sort of exposure would have been complete anathema to her once.’

  ‘Maybe there were things about the Ava experience that are worth hanging on to,’ Laurie suggested.

  ‘Maybe,’ Georgie conceded with a sigh. ‘But do you know what I think this is really about? Or at least partly about? Colin. I think she’s going to use this to send him some kind of message.’

  Laurie was instantly curious. ‘Really?’ she said.

  ‘Well, he’s saying he wants a divorce, so now she’s saying, “I don’t need you, look how well I’m doing without you. In fact, I’m shouting it from the rooftops how well I’m doing with my glamorous house and pool in Hollywood, with my new-look hair, improved bust-line and handsome producer boyfriend. How are you getting on in your little cell, dear?” Or something like that. That’s not Beth, but she’s changed a lot since Colin’s arrest, and after the way he’s treated her, if that is what she’s doing, I’m not really sure I blame her.’

  ‘No,’ Laurie murmured. She mulled that over for a moment, then said, ‘So when does she want to do it?’

  ‘Provided you agree to her terms, as soon as you like.’

  Still not quite able to believe that she was about to scoop the most coveted interview in the entire Ashby affair, Laurie grinned again. ‘OK. I’ll call you when I’ve got my flight details and hotel sorted out,’ she said. ‘And, Georgie? Thanks.’

  ‘I hope you’re still saying that once this is all over,’ Georgie responded, ‘though I’m beginning to wonder if it ever will be.’

  After ringing off Laurie danced around the office with Murray, then got him to rustle up a couple of his legendary martinis while she called Rhona to make sure she could look after the house and cat while she was away.

  ‘What time does Elliot arrive in New York?’ she demanded, laughing as Murray performed his very own martini tribal dance with the shaker.

  ‘Twenty-three hundred hours our time,’ he responded. ‘Then he’s going straight to a meeting.’

  ‘Damn! I really want to talk to him. This is going to blow his mind.’

  ‘Well, we can go ahead and book your flights and everything,’ Murray suggested.

  Laurie winced as she thought of her empty savings account. However, she had credit cards, and though LA was expensive it didn’t even come close to London, so she should be able to get by.

  ‘Have you been there before? Do you know where you want to stay?’ Murray asked, presenting her with a clear, conical glass then pouring in the martini.

  ‘Yes, I have been there before,’ she answered. ‘But I was reading the other day about a new hotel called W in the Westwood area. Do you know about it?’

  ‘Oh yes. Very chic. Absolutely the place to be seen,’ he assured her.

  ‘I wonder how much it is? It looked very stylish and Zen, which probably means it’s way out of my budget.’

  ‘Leave it to me. By the time I’ve finished you’ll probably be in for free.’

  Laughing, she picked up the martini, then moaned with pleasure as the smooth, fiery vodka snaked through her like a lit fuse. ‘You’re a genius,’ she told him. ‘Where’s Gail, by the way?’

  ‘Out earning us a crust. Elliot’s put her on other duties while the rest of you concentrate on this, with occasional back-up when any of you need it. Now, what about the flight?’ he said, getting busy with his computer. ‘We’ve got our deals with Virgin and American, which would you prefer?’

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ she laughed. ‘I want to speak to Elliot first, see if there’s a chance of him meeting me out there.’

  All that weekend Laurie worked on preparing for the interview, searching out as much information as she could find on Theo Kennedy, from his place of birth – Oxnard, California; to his college education – UCLA; to his invalid mother – died when he was fifteen; to his two divorces, third in the works; to his not unimpressive feature film record. This she added to the substantial amount she already had on Beth Ashby, which ran the full gamut of birthplace, boarding school education, her career as a kindergarten teacher and, of course, her marriage to the famed Colin Ashby. She then wrote an extensive piece covering what she knew of Beth’s movements and career since her husband’s arrest. It proved an extremely valuable exercise, for it helped focus her mind on the vital task of getting to the heart of the woman.

  ‘Of course what I really need to ask about is Colin,’ she grumbled to Elliot when he called on Sunday night. ‘But I’m hoping once I’m in there and we get talking she’ll open up anyway.’

  ‘People almost always say more than they mean to,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Which is why I’m preparing for all eventualities.’

  ‘What time’s your flight tomorrow?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Stan’s going with you?’

  ‘Yes. And guess what I’ve got to read on the plane? Carlotta’s Symphony of Love and Death by Ava Montgomery. It arrived by courier about three hours ago.’

  ‘So have you looked at it yet?’

  ‘No. I’m saving it.’ Then hoping her next question was going to sound totally professional, with no undertones of personal interest, she said, ‘Has Tom Maykin managed to set it up for you to meet his LA contact?’

  ‘Actually, he has,’ he confirmed. ‘But I won’t be there until Wednesday. Something’s come up in London that’s got even greater priority.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, intrigued.

  ‘I’ve ju
st had a call from Marcus Gatling. He wants to meet on Tuesday night.’

  This news was so unexpected, so earth-shattering, in fact, that for several moments it stunned her into silence, and even then all she managed was, ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘We’re making some serious inroads over here,’ he told her.

  ‘You must be to get a call from the man himself. So what have you got that’s winkled him out of his shell?’

  ‘Possibly the real motivation behind trying to destroy the euro. It’s got nothing to do with introducing the US dollar, and everything to do with installing their own choice of leaders into key European nations. There’s not really any doubt now that they’ve already got their people in power in the US, so if they can wipe out the euro they’ll create the kind of economic downturns and political insecurity that’ll enable them to do the same in Europe. In some cases we can even identify the men and women they’ve got in line for the new positions.’

  ‘That’s unbelievable,’ she murmured. ‘I mean, what you’re saying is that they’re operating as some kind of exclusive world government.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it,’ he responded. ‘It’s still hard to prove anything, or actually hook up the connections, but we’re working on it. And this invitation from Gatling tells me we could very well be a lot closer than we realize.’

  ‘Mm … So where are you meeting? Who else is going to be there?’

  ‘Just him and me. He’s picking me up at the office.’

  ‘You’re going somewhere with him in a car, and you don’t know where?’ she cried.

  ‘Calm down,’ he laughed. ‘The man’s not stupid. There are just too many of us involved in this now for him to be planning my dispatch from the mortal coil. Besides, one of Stan’s colleagues will be following on behind.’

  ‘With a gun?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ he laughed. ‘But I’m telling you, nothing’s going to happen. At least not the way you’re thinking. Incidentally, I’m arranging to meet Rose Newman earlier in the day, the independent documentary producer. Do you know her?’

  ‘Not personally, but I know her name, obviously. She’s TV’s answer to you.’

  ‘I’m not sure how to respond to that, but we’ve been discussing coverage deals with one or two cable stations here in the States, and Rose is probably the best person to talk to in Britain. She does a lot for French and German TV stations too, so she’ll probably bring them into the deal. You should meet her when this is over; I think you’ll like each other. Her daughter’s about my age, not interested in the business at all, and her son’s just taking over from his father as Rose’s cameraman.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Laurie responded. ‘Which newspapers are you talking to?’

  ‘Obviously not your old employer,’ he answered wryly. ‘We’re still working on it, but it’s looking like the Guardian or Express in London; the Wall Street Journal, Boston Globe, Times Picayune and Dallas Morning Herald in the States. Le Monde, Berliner Zeitung, La Repubblica, El Mundo, Far East Economic Review, the Australian, South Africa’s Mail and Guardian …’

  ‘That is quite a line-up,’ she declared.

  ‘If all goes well we could retire on this,’ he told her wryly. ‘But coming back to earth, I want to be in LA before you go to see Beth Ashby. When is it again?’

  ‘Thursday at twelve. Mitzi Bower’s agreed to see me on Wednesday.’

  ‘Great. This really is coming together from all angles now. Where are you staying?’

  ‘W Hotel in Westwood. All the rooms are suites, apparently. Murray’s booked you in too. I’ll get him to alter the dates.’

  ‘OK.’

  He fell silent then, but she knew he was still there.

  ‘So I guess that’s about it,’ he said finally.

  ‘I guess so,’ she confirmed.

  ‘You ready for bed?’

  ‘More or less.’

  He paused again, then said, ‘Am I allowed to say I miss you?’

  His words reached her like an embrace. ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered, trying hard to stay detached, but failing miserably.

  ‘Then perhaps I should just say goodnight.’

  ‘Perhaps you should.’

  Several seconds ticked by.

  ‘Haven’t you hung up on me yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You usually do.’

  ‘I miss you,’ he said softly.

  Her heart was in her throat. ‘Elliot, don’t say things unless you mean them,’ she said.

  ‘I mean it,’ he said.

  There was so much she wanted to say, too much, but she only let quiet seconds tick by before whispering, ‘Goodnight,’ and putting the phone down.

  The following morning she boarded the American Airlines non-stop flight to Los Angeles. Stan was with her, tickled pink that he was travelling in business class, which Elliot had insisted on because of the length of the journey. After they’d drunk their welcome champagne, checked out the movies on offer, listened to the flight safety procedures, then made their meal selection from the small à la carte menu, Laurie took out her computer and called up Carlotta’s Symphony of Love and Death.

  Because the flight was ten and a half hours long she only made it halfway through the book before her computer’s battery gave out. Never, she thought, as she lowered the lid, had a battery been so cursed, for by then she was so entranced by the story and emotionally involved with the characters that it was like wrenching herself away from intense desire. It simply wouldn’t leave her, she had to know more, because Beth Ashby’s stunning gift for prose, the way in which she wove reality into dream and dream into reality, moved so fluidly through time and back again, plundered emotions and entwined cruelty with love and weakness with obsession so that it was impossible for each to exist without the other, was breathtaking, brilliant, beautiful and intensely harrowing. And what made the battery failure even more unacceptable – before the stewardess showed her where to plug in – was that she was just starting to see how, or at least why, this book had caused Marcus Gatling so much concern.

  On Tuesday evening, after Murray and Gail had gone, Elliot remained at his desk, a single lamp funnelling a glow over the paperwork in front of him, while the window behind was like a vast, black canvas portraying a few scattered stars, and the small sprinkles of light from planes flying soundlessly by. The street below was silent, except for the occasional passing car, while the river undulated its shapeless reflections like quivering sheets of vellum. His computer, along with the rest of the high-tech machinery that had a solid hold on the place, was quiet for once, though a five-page fax had just come through from Tom Maykin in New York. He cast an eye over it, then returned to the documents he’d been studying for the past few hours.

  It was all tying together: the billions invested in put options, futures speculations on commodity exchanges; the slide of the euro versus the dollar and pound; the fluctuation of global interest rates that chimed with certain international and economic policies – and most importantly of all, from his perspective – examples of what it could all mean for the British public.

  Sighing, he sat back in his chair and rubbed a thumb and forefinger across his eyes. The biggest problem they were facing was linking it all to the syndicate members themselves. There was simply no evidence to show that any one of the names they had, such as Gatling, Kleinstein, Brunner, Wingate and Sabilio, would be the personal beneficiaries of the strategy, though certainly there were links to the corporations, banks and big industries in which they were involved. However, the idea of exposing those companies, watching their stocks plummet, their employees getting laid off and customers suffering, while those responsible not only remained anonymous and unaccountable, but rich, wasn’t one either he or the rest of the investigative team were prepared to tolerate.

  Getting to his feet, he was on the point of going to recharge his coffee when the phone rang.

  ‘Mr Gatling is waiting downstairs,’ a v
oice told him.

  Elliot glanced at his watch: ten minutes before the appointed time, but that was OK, he was as ready for this as he’d ever be considering he was only guessing at its purpose. Putting the phone down, he picked up his coat and tucked Maykin’s fax into an inside pocket. There were plenty more copies between here and New York, so he had no fear of Gatling seizing them. To the contrary, he might find it worthwhile revealing what they’d found so far.

  As he stepped out into the street a brisk wind tore at his coat, while a passing river barge hooted into the night. A sleek black saloon car with tinted windows and personalized plates was parked at the kerb, a uniformed chauffeur standing beside it. Elliot glanced up the street to where one of Stan’s colleagues was parked in a dark Toyota Corolla. Neither man gave any indication of seeing the other, but both knew the other was there.

  The chauffeur came forward. Gatling had warned him he’d be frisked, so Elliot allowed it to happen then waited as the man opened a back door of the car and gestured for him to get in. As he did so Elliot felt a thud of unease. These past months had more than proved how deeply Gatling’s power had infiltrated not only governments, media and financial institutions, but the very laws that controlled them, so by getting into this car now he wasn’t just stepping into the lion’s den, he was doing so knowing that his only protection was his wits – and the man in the Toyota Corolla who wouldn’t be able to save his life, but might at least witness its end.

  Gatling was alone in the back compartment, where a single light burned overhead and Mozart played quietly on the sound system. He directed Elliot to a backward-facing seat opposite his own. He was wearing a light-coloured raincoat over a smart, pinstriped suit, and a heavy Gladstone briefcase was beside his feet. His fleshy jowls were quivering slightly, though Elliot knew they always did, just as his jutting lower lip was constantly moist.

  The chauffeur closed the door and to Elliot’s surprise and relief, resumed his sentry position beside it.

  ‘It was good of you to spare the time,’ Gatling said, his gravelly voice expressing no pleasure.