by Susan Lewis
‘Are you seeing him? Is that why you can’t come?’
‘No.’
‘So? What?’
‘I don’t want to discuss it.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that, because I do. I’m over here working my butt off to help you, and if this thing with Richard’s going to start getting in the way …’
‘We’re talking about a family dinner,’ Carla snapped. ‘That’s got nothing to do with what we’re trying to achieve for the programme.’
Avril’s eyes were harsh, but Carla could see the concern too, so in the end, knowing the tension was only going to get worse if she didn’t come clean, she said, ‘OK, this evening Richard and I are both going to read the same book between eight and ten. It’s a way of being together, in our minds, knowing what the other is doing, and that we’re thinking of each other.’
Avril continued to stare at her.
‘It’s the truth,’ Carla assured her.
‘Oh, I’m not doubting that,’ Avril retorted. ‘In fact it’s so damned plausible where you and Richard are concerned it must be the rest of us who are wacko.’
Carla sighed. ‘Please, don’t let’s argue over this,’ she said.
‘I don’t intend to. I’m not even going to try to talk you out of it, because I can see that your mind’s made up. But please don’t think I’m going to lie to Sonya and Mark.’
Carla didn’t bother to protest, for it was so damned difficult to make anyone understand the way she felt, or why she needed to do this, that there was no point trying. Maybe, once it was all sorted out, and she and Richard had found a way to be together again, it would be easier to make the others accept the strangeness now. But until then there was no reason to explain, or even share, the depth of their affinity with anyone but each other.
It was much later, after Avril had gone to meet Mark and Sonya, and Carla was thinking about taking Eddie out for some air, that John Rossmore called.
‘Hi, is this a good time?’ he asked.
‘As good as any,’ she answered, taking the phone back to the sofa and grimacing apologetically at Eddie who already had his lead in his mouth.
‘I’ve been looking through the outlines,’ he said, dispensing with preamble, ‘and I’ve earmarked four that I’d like to get together and discuss.’
‘Do you want to tell me which four?’ she asked, curling her feet under her as she sat down, and allowing Eddie to join her.
‘Argentina, Mali, India and Zanzibar.’
Carla froze. ‘Zanzibar?’ she echoed. Dear God, she must have scooped up the file with all the others when she’d rushed out of the house the other day. What an idiot! That wasn’t supposed to have been there at all.
‘To be frank,’ he said, ‘it’s the one that’s got me going the most, and probably strikes Mali off the list since they’re both in Africa. I’ve always been intrigued by Zanzibar, the old trade routes, the slavery, spice plantations, sultans, piracy – for one small island it’s got a heck of a history, fantastic cocktail of cultures, and your story notes about the black woman and the slaver have really grabbed me.’
All Carla could think about was the fact that she had no desire whatsoever to visit the place that had played host to Richard and Chrissie’s betrayal. It would be like getting into their bed after they’d made love. Oh God, no! It was unthinkable. But how on earth was she going to tell John Rossmore that? Obviously she couldn’t, which meant she’d have to come up with some other excuse.
‘None of it’s really been thought through yet,’ she said feebly.
He laughed. ‘You do yourself a disservice,’ he responded. ‘Your notes are almost as good as a script, and whoever went there – I guess it must have been Chrissie judging by the faxes between the two of you – she did a great job, because the details I’ve got here show that this programme’s virtually ready for lift-off.’
Carla’s hand was gripping the phone tightly as she steeled herself to tell him, without explanation, that it wasn’t going to happen. But though she opened her mouth the words wouldn’t come, because she knew already that his amazement would eventually lead him to talk to Avril, who would know immediately why she was refusing to go, and the last thing she wanted was to start a new series with John Rossmore thinking she was an overemotional woman whose professionalism took second place to affairs of the heart. In fact she didn’t want John Rossmore knowing anything about her personal life at all …
‘You’re not saying anything,’ he told her. ‘Have I overstepped the mark? I guess I should have asked you first if you’re willing to take me on?’
‘I think that’s a charade we can end right now,’ she retorted. ‘Of course I’m willing to take you on, and I’m delighted that you find the Zanzibar story so compelling. However …’
‘I was thinking you might like to choose the cinematographer,’ he said, ‘since I’m the novice here, and it could be more comfortable for you if you have someone you know on visuals.’
My God he was smooth, she was thinking, for he’d just outmanoeuvred her brilliantly by suggesting something that she was going to insist on. But how could she now, when it would appear so ungracious in the face of such humility? ‘Cinematographer is a bit of a grand title for our little sketches,’ she responded. ‘Lighting cameraman or DP will suffice. And I’m sure you’ve got a lot more contacts in that field than I have, so please, feel free to make your own choice.’
There was a smile in his voice as he said, ‘It’s OK, I know I’m not going to win them all as easily as that.’
‘I only put up an argument when I feel there’s one worth making,’ she replied.
‘And then you win?’
‘Usually.’
Laughing again, he said, ‘Look, you might want to hit me for this, but why don’t you try relaxing and accept that I’m on your side, and that it’s going be my reputation out there too, once we get going. Speaking of which, I’m going to need some information and coaching from you and Avril before I start getting into interviews. Shall we set a date? We could also drop the flag on this Zanzibar project while we’re at it, and talk about casting.’
Carla’s heart thudded with a moment of panic. Committing to that now was going to put backing out later in the category of fat chance, and she was still hoping that after some time to think she might come up with a reasonable excuse to ditch it. But once again, what could she do but agree, when his enthusiasm was obviously genuine, and when she couldn’t help but be flattered that he was so inspired by her ideas? ‘Do you have any thoughts on that?’ she heard herself asking.
‘Several, actually. But I’d really rather do all this in person, and as we’re obviously going to have to meet in the next day or so, it can probably wait. In fact, what are you doing this evening? Can you get up to London? Where are you?’
‘Somerset. And I’m not free this evening.’
‘OK. Then tomorrow. I could drive down there if it’s a problem for you to come here. Where’s Avril?’
‘Here. So perhaps it would be a good idea for you to bring your publicity person here too.’
‘Great. And don’t worry about providing lunch for us all, if there’s a pub nearby it’ll be my treat.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s settled then,’ Carla said tartly.
‘Sounds that way,’ he responded. And after jotting down her address and directions he said, ‘See you around noon,’ and rang off.
Sylvia was ringing the bell for last orders as Graham carried two gin and tonics from the bar to his and Carla’s usual table. Several other villagers were in tonight, busily discussing the party as though Carla weren’t even involved, while on the TV a spiky-haired comedian in tartan tights and lurex shirt struggled to make himself noticed.
‘So,’ Graham said, rubbing his hands together in a businesslike fashion as he settled down in front of the fire. ‘Who do I get to hear about first, the famous film star, or the sharing of spiritual connections with Jean-Jacques Rousseau?’
Carla
smiled wryly, and casting her mind back over the past two hours, she could almost recapture the utter calm she had felt channelling all her thoughts and feelings in the same direction as Richard’s. For a while it had been as though he was breathing with her, thinking with her, joining her inside herself in a way that was maybe even more intimate than sex. How could she ever expect anyone to understand that, other than someone like Graham, who, as far as the human heart was concerned, believed anything was possible, and virtually nothing was simple.
‘The Rousseau experience was … surreal, and intense, and …’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Just the physical act of holding the book, and knowing that somewhere out there he’s doing the same, made me want to hold the book tighter, as though in some way he might feel it.’ She didn’t add that she’d taken off her sweater and bra and pressed the pages to her skin, just like he’d told her to, for that kind of detail was only for Richard. She’d already sent the email describing the thrill of the paper’s coolness on her nipples, and the ache that had cried out inside her for him to be there, removing the rest of her clothes and filling her so full of himself.
‘Reading the words,’ she continued, ‘absorbing them at the same time as him, is so soothing, as though we’re linking psychically through a man whose philosophy is still alive, even though he’s dead. It’s all very esoteric and existential, I suppose, and hard to put into words, but now it’s over I feel restless, unsatisfied, and almost desperate for more.’ She sighed deeply and picked up her drink.
‘Did he tell you whether or not it was him Betty saw last Sunday?’ Graham asked.
‘No, he didn’t. Nor did I ask. But I will, and getting the locks changed was a bit of an overreaction on my part.’
‘Well, it’s done now. And I don’t suppose you really want him going in and out when you’re not there. Presuming it was him.’
Actually, she wanted nothing more than for him to come to her at the dead of night, slip into bed beside her and make love to her the way he always used to. ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘I probably don’t.’ Then, needing to change the subject, she said, ‘How is Betty? Has she left yet?’
‘This morning. Back next Sunday, so I’m what you would call home alone for the next week. Still, I’ve survived in the past, so I’ve no reason not to expect to again. Now, what about Rousseau’s Discourse? Apart from everything else, did it yield up the message you were expecting?’
Carla shook her head slowly. ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered. Then with a dry laugh, ‘It’s definitely not an easy read. At least not for me. Have you read it?’
‘Oh, a long time ago. Probably when I was a student. Are you quite certain that it’s supposed to have a meaning that’s relevant to you two?’
‘You know Richard,’ she smiled. ‘He wouldn’t have chosen it at random. He’ll be trying to tell me something, and revelling in all the intellectual somersaults that go along with me working it out. In their way they keep me connected to him.’
‘But for the moment you’re stumped?’
She nodded. ‘I thought I might find a clue in one of his letters, but when I went upstairs to look for them they weren’t there. I expect Sonya will know where they are. She put everything away after Mum died. It could be they’re in storage with my things from London, which reminds me, I’d better pay the bill or it’s all going to be evicted. Anyway, moving on to our famous film star. Guess where he wants to go for our first programme?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘Zanzibar.’
‘You succeeded,’ he responded. ‘How did that come about? I can’t see you making the suggestion.’
‘Actually, in a way I did,’ she said, ‘because I gave him the Zanzibar file, without realizing, and wouldn’t you just know it, it’s come out top of his list. Needless to say I can’t think of anywhere I less want to go. In fact, just the thought of it makes me break out in a sweat. Can you imagine? Following in their footsteps like that? Oh God, no,’ she shuddered, clasping her hands to her face. ‘I just wish I knew how the hell to get out of it.’
‘When would it be? I mean, if you don’t get out of it?’ he asked.
‘Probably January. Maybe, if I’ve seen Richard by then …’ She picked up her drink, and took a sip. ‘You know, I still find it hard to make myself accept that he’s with Chrissie,’ she said. ‘It just doesn’t seem to make any sense. They seem so wrong for each other.’
‘Children always make things so much more complicated,’ he said.
‘As if they’re not complicated enough, dealing with someone like Richard,’ she muttered.
‘Would you have it any other way?’
Carla looked surprised.
He smiled. ‘I only mean that nothing was ever straightforward with Richard, and there was a time when you thrived on his complexity.’
‘It’s true,’ she conceded. ‘But given the choice I’d definitely have Chrissie out of the picture.’
‘But not the baby?’
‘The baby’s innocent. She didn’t choose this. Chrissie did.’
‘So let Chrissie pay?’
‘Why not? Yes! Let her pay.’
Graham’s eyes moved to his drink in a way that unsettled her, for it wasn’t like him to withdraw at the height of an exchange, and as she watched him she wondered if maybe her tone had been too strident, too suggestive of the violence she’d once threatened. But she hadn’t been in her right mind before, she’d said all kinds of things then that she hadn’t really meant. Graham knew that, he’d even been the one to assure her that such feelings were normal in her situation. But he was troubled, she could sense it, and since the situation between her and Richard had now altered from when they’d first broken up, she thought that maybe she should be more careful about what she said, and the way she said it, even to Graham. The last thing she wanted was anyone thinking she was some kind of crazy who was vengefully plotting the downfall of the woman who’d stolen her man.
Chapter 9
THE FOLLOWING DAY, fearing that her neighbours would be unable to leave John Rossmore alone if they went to the Coach and Horses, Carla got Avril to waylay him about a mile before the village and steer him in the direction of the George at Norton St Philip, where she’d already reserved a table. Of course everyone was going to recognize him there too, but as none of them knew Carla they probably wouldn’t feel quite so free to interrupt – at least that was her theory. And in the event she was almost right, though it was clear from the minute they arrived at the oldest inn in England, with its magnificent original Tudor frontage, cobblestone courtyard, tiny leaded windows and low wooden doorways, that there was going to be no escaping the adulation and autographs. However, Avril and Lionel, John Rossmore’s publicist, were well used to these scenes, as was the man himself, so the first ten minutes after their arrival were spent signing and chatting, until a very firm but friendly Lionel eased the star attraction out of the crowd and off into the dining room where Carla was already being shown to a table.
Watching how pleasantly and skilfully he dealt with everyone, from Lionel, to Avril, to his adoring public, had been quite fascinating, she’d found, though mainly because she in no way failed to recognize it for the cleverly disguised manipulation it actually was. In fact, with those eyes and that smile, he probably didn’t need to be famous to work his magic, for his physical gifts alone were quite sufficient to enslave the masses. How extraordinary, and sad, that people could be so sucked in by a bit of charm, a few good looks and a sizeable helping of fame. Even Richard, it seemed, from the email she’d received this morning, was affected, for though he’d gone into some wonderful and erotic detail of how their shared experience had been for him last night, he’d ended with a playful warning to her not to be too drawn in by the legendary Rossmore charm. The caution had surprised her, and gone quite a long way towards pleasing her too.
As John joined her at the table, where she sat with her back to the view of the valley, where the rain-washed hamlet of Lit
tleton Barrow glinted like a silver tea set on a vast green and yellow cloth, she noticed two minders closing in behind him. Their purpose, she imagined, was to ensure that John Rossmore was able to eat his lunch and conduct a meeting with no further interruptions.
‘Do you always have to go through this?’ she asked him, as Lionel and Avril joined them. ‘It didn’t happen when we met at the hotel.’
He shrugged and pulled out the chair facing hers. ‘Heathrow’s a pretty anonymous place,’ he answered. ‘At least those hotels are. Places like this … Well, they’ve got a much more personal feel, and the way I see it, if I’m coming on to their territory I should at least say hello. Trouble is, I could spend the next two hours saying hello, and that’s not what we’re here for.’ He smiled, and, turning to the others as he rubbed his hands together, said, ‘Right, what are we all having to drink?’
Carla ordered a shandy, then made a pretence of going through her notes, while he passed their order on to one of his minders. He looked like a cat burglar, she thought, the way he was dressed in tight black jeans and black polo-neck sweater. It would have been embarrassing if she’d worn the same, because she almost had, but in the end she’d decided on an old pair of 501s and a cream-coloured fleece. She hadn’t spent much time fussing about with her hair either; after all, they were only going to a pub, and she didn’t want anyone thinking she’d got herself all dolled up just because she was meeting a famous actor.
‘Hey, we’ve forgotten the dog,’ he cried. ‘What’s his name, by the way?’
‘Eddie,’ Carla answered, looking down at Eddie’s attentive little face and feeling her heart flood with love.
‘So, Eddie, is water OK for you?’ he asked.
Eddie’s head tilted curiously to one side, then he looked up at Carla. Good boy, Carla mentally transmitted, you’re not taken in either, but he obviously thinks he can use you to soften me up, so stay with it, buddy. ‘Water’ll be fine, won’t it?’ she said, fussing his ears. Then to John, ‘He’s a bit shy of strangers. But he’ll be OK once he gets to know you.’