Strange Allure

by Susan Lewis

  More tears welled and rolled.

  Even if they did, how could she tell them, when the answer was that she was in hell, bleeding? She didn’t want anyone to know that. She wanted them all to think that she was the wife Richard deserved, and the mother Ryan needed.

  She’d made Richard cry the other day, when she’d refused to see a doctor. But she was afraid of doctors. They might take her away and never allow her to see Richard or Ryan again. Richard said that was nonsense, but he didn’t know. Nobody knew, except her, because she’d already been there, in a place where they’d kept her locked up and under guard, and no-one had ever come to see her. She’d rather die than go there again.

  Maybe that was the answer. To kill herself – and Ryan. She’d been thinking that a lot lately. Richard would be free then. Free to go back to Carla.

  It was where he wanted to be. Chrissie knew that, because he’d never stopped loving Carla, nor would he. She didn’t ask him any more, because she couldn’t bear to hear him say that he loved them both, but in different ways. She didn’t want him to love Carla, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. So if she killed herself and the baby, none of it would matter any more.

  She’d thought of several different ways to do it, but the energy it took, and the courage, was defeating her. The most she’d managed these past few days was to get herself to the bathroom. She wasn’t eating much either, but she tried, because it seemed to matter to Richard. She didn’t know why, because, in the end, nothing mattered really, they were all going to die, it was just a question of when, and how. And what did that matter once it had happened? Death was final, irreversible and eventually everyone was forgotten anyway.

  Maybe if Carla was dead, Richard would forget her. Maybe then Chrissie could start living again. They could make it as though Carla had never existed, in much the same way as Carla had made it for Chrissie. And after a while Carla’s ghost, which seemed to dominate their lives, could be exorcized, and Richard would be set free.

  These were the silent, desperate ravings of a mind that had lost its way. She knew that, but she seemed unable to rescue it. She only went on planning, and crying, and wishing it were different, for Richard’s and Ryan’s sakes, if not for her own.

  Beside her Richard stirred. She closed her eyes, but opened them again when he turned her to face him.

  ‘Hungry?’ he whispered.

  She nodded, but only because that was the answer he wanted.

  ‘I’ll go and make us something,’ he said. Then taking a tighter grip on the baby, he swung his legs to the floor and got up.

  Ryan started to whimper.

  Chrissie turned away. She didn’t want to hear the crying, it only reminded her of how useless she was.

  Richard carried the baby over to the window and peered out at the darkness. ‘It’s raining again,’ he said, then, dropping the curtain, he went downstairs to prepare some food.

  If it was raining, maybe the man she kept seeing out there was getting wet. She pictured him with rain running through the greased grooves of his hair, dribbling down his roughened face then dripping into the collar of his dark brown overcoat. She’d talked to him for a while last week, after he’d stopped to admire Richard’s silver BMW. She still wasn’t sure what had made her go out there, but she was glad she had now. It had proved that she was still able to communicate with others, even if they were no more than strangers. Richard had asked who he was when she’d come back inside, so she’d told him, just a neighbour: a lonely middle-aged man with a small passion for cars, and enough time on his hands to listen to other people’s chat.

  It wasn’t long after talking to the man that she’d felt a terrible lethargy creeping into her bones, weighting her with a stultifying sadness and exhaustion. So she’d come up here, to lie down, and now she never wanted to get up again.

  Chapter 11

  THE COUNTRYSIDE AROUND Cannock Martin was emerging drably through the morning mist as Avril’s Porsche roared along the narrow winding road towards the village. When she got there she screeched to a halt in front of Carla’s cottage, just as Carla pulled open the front door.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Avril demanded, leaping out. ‘Stupid question. Of course you’re not all right.’

  ‘I’ve certainly been better,’ Carla responded, her pale face glancing anxiously around to see if anyone was watching. No-one appeared to be, but it wasn’t always easy to tell.

  The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee and toast. The table was laden with Sunday papers, the culprit, Avril noticed, lying open on top of the pile.

  ‘Coffee?’ Carla offered, sounding shaky.

  As she went to pour Avril shrugged off her coat and tugged at her gloves with her teeth. ‘I don’t suppose you had any warning,’ she said, knowing the answer already.

  ‘What do you think?’ Carla retorted. ‘Did you?’

  ‘None.’ Avril took her coffee over to the Aga where she shivered and stamped her feet. ‘I’d like to get my hands on whoever’s responsible for this,’ she commented tartly.

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Carla responded.

  ‘Someone sold them the story,’ Avril stated. ‘That much is clear. I’d just like to know who.’

  Carla went back to where she’d been sitting at the table, and picked up her coffee. She was still wearing the thick woollen scarf and grey tracksuit she’d jogged up to the shop in, and her face was still showing signs of the shock she had received when she’d opened one of the tabloids. ‘Don’t worry, you’re not on my list of suspects,’ she told Avril.

  Avril was relieved to hear that, though she hadn’t really expected to be. However, she was one of the few who knew the ins and outs of what had happened between Carla and Chrissie, which formed the basis of the article, though Chrissie’s current depression was as much news to Avril as it was to anyone else. ‘Trying to put a positive spin on this,’ she said, sitting down too, ‘it’ll probably get everyone watching the programme.’

  Carla’s eyebrows went up. ‘Well, that’s good,’ she said dryly.

  Though Carla had given her the gist of the story on the phone, Avril had yet to read it, so reaching across the table she dragged over the paper that contained the damning piece. Flicking it open to the centre pages, she looked at the pictures of Carla, Chrissie and Richard as they’d been a year or more ago – and then at the one of Chrissie as she was now. She looked so awful it was hard to tell it was her, but the caption said it was, so she supposed she had to believe it. The headline read: ‘Chrissie Banished from Beyond’. The accompanying story was written with usual tabloid sensationalism, telling why Chrissie Fields, the ‘sexy presenter’ of the ‘much-hyped There and Beyond’, had been banned by executive producer Carla Craig from taking part in any of the run-up publicity.

  ‘“Craig’s fury,”’ she read, ‘“stems from being rejected by her one-time lover, foreign correspondent Richard Mere, in favour of the lovely Chrissie. Chrissie, who is now married to Mere, is said to be devastated by Craig’s decision to drop her, not only from the publicity, but also from the next series, which is to be directed by actor John Rossmore. Apparently it is the rift between the former friends that is behind the programme’s late transmission, which was originally due on screens at the beginning of the year. We are also told that relations between the two women were severed completely following the birth of Richard and Chrissie’s daughter Ryan, now five months old. The childless Craig is said to still be extremely bitter over the break-up of her relationship with Mere.”’

  Reading those words to herself had been bad enough, hearing them spoken aloud turned Carla’s insides weak with humiliation and anger. ‘Funny, isn’t it,’ she said tersely, ‘how those small inaccuracies can really piss you off? I mean, there were no relations between me and Chrissie from the day I found out. And as for being bitter …’ Her face tightened. ‘Well, I’m sure as hell bitter now!’ she spat, then her eyes closed as the fear of what Richard might be thinking caught in her chest.r />
  Returning to the page, Avril continued. ‘“A source close to both women claims that it is Craig’s brutal treatment of Chrissie that has set Chrissie back several years in her battle against depression …” Just who the hell is this source?’ Avril demanded.

  Carla shook her head.

  Avril went on: ‘“Chrissie is said to have been willing to promote the programme in the hope of repairing relations with Craig. However Craig, who was unavailable for comment, spurned all Chrissie’s offers and when asked by a friend how she felt about Chrissie’s depression, is quoted as saying ‘After what she did to me, I hope she rots in hell.’”’ Avril’s head came up. ‘Just when did you say that?’ she demanded angrily. ‘And to whom, may I ask?’ Then, shoving the paper away, ‘What am I getting so het up about? I know what they’re like. They’ll put quote marks on anything. Actually, I’ll tell you what I’m so bloody angry about … I should have known something like this would happen. I should have been ready for it, and I damned well wasn’t.’

  ‘We both should have been,’ Carla retorted. ‘Though how the hell we were supposed to know Chrissie’s in a depression …’

  ‘It’s my job to know. But it’s bullshit. I mean, most of the rest of it is, so why shouldn’t that be?’

  Carla said, ‘It would account for why Richard’s unwilling to see me, right now.’

  Avril stared at her hard. ‘Do you think there’s any chance he could be the source of all this crap?’ she demanded.

  Carla’s head jerked back in amazement. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘My God, what’s going on in your mind? He’d never do anything like that. Chrissie’s got a history of depression, everyone knows that, so anyone could be behind this story.’

  Avril was still watching her closely. ‘Well, it’s obviously someone who’s known her a long time,’ she pointed out. ‘With all the detail they’re going into on her past, the suicide attempts, and everything …’ She went back to the paper, and continued reading.

  ‘Don’t!’ Carla said, pressing her hands to her face. ‘I already know what it says, so please, just read it to yourself.’ But though Avril read quietly there was no escaping the worst parts that Carla knew were now imprinted on her mind for ever.

  ‘… Craig is said to run an exclusive show, with her own ego as the star, and any actors or crew who she feels might threaten her position are immediately blacklisted …’ She’d never had anything like a blacklist, nor would she, so who had fed them these lies? Then there was the claim that had shaken her most of all. ‘Mere has taken a sabbatical from the job that has seen him reporting from all over the world, in order to write a book and spend more time with his wife and daughter.’ Such a picture of cosiness and containment was almost suffocating in its horror. It wasn’t at all how she’d imagined them. In fact, she’d had no idea until now that he was no longer travelling, because he’d never mentioned a sabbatical, or a book. But with everything else being lies, maybe she could assume that was too.

  ‘This is obviously someone who knows both you and Chrissie pretty well,’ Avril observed. ‘Someone who doesn’t like you very much either, considering the slant of the story. Does anyone come to mind?’

  Carla shook her head.

  Avril looked at her with uncompromising eyes. It might be nice to think you had no enemies, but most people did. ‘There is one person,’ she stated finally.

  Carla looked back at her, then, dashing a hand through her hair, she said, ‘I know who you’re thinking of, and OK, it’s the only answer I can come up with too.’

  Avril glanced at the paper again, then said, ‘It’s a damned effective way of getting back at you for blocking her out the way you have.’

  ‘She’s got Richard,’ Carla said through her teeth. ‘Did she really need any more?’

  ‘Some wouldn’t have thought so,’ Avril replied. ‘Are there any emails from him?’

  ‘There weren’t an hour ago,’ Carla answered. Getting sharply to her feet, she went to stand at the window and gaze out at the misty fields. Inside she was boiling with so much hate and anger and crippling humiliation she could barely think straight, though uppermost in her mind was the fear that Richard would call a halt to their contact now. ‘It has to be Chrissie,’ she suddenly seethed. ‘The timing’s too perfect for it not to be. Right on the eve of transmission …’

  Avril nodded her agreement. ‘And given her history of mental stress, or whatever they’re calling it, this could be just the kind of thing she’d do, with no regard for herself or how she might come out of it. Her only purpose was to get back at you, which just goes to show how threatened she still feels by you, and which would be why she made sure to get in all that stuff about Richard spending more time with his family. Considering what’s going on between you and him these days, her insecurity is justified, but that’s her problem. Ours is deciding how we’re going to handle the negative effect on your standing. I turned my phone off on the way down here, but it’s not going to be long before someone tracks us down.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ Carla asked.

  Avril pulled a face. ‘Well, first up, do you want to give any interviews?’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Carla exploded.

  Avril remained calm. ‘I thought you might not,’ she said. ‘So I’ll have to do the talking for you. Personally I’d like to attack back, and make it crystal clear that the bitch was screwing Richard for God knows how long while he was living with you, and that she chose the day your mother … No, it’s OK,’ she said when Carla’s eyes grew even wider. ‘I won’t go that route, I’m just saying I’d like to. I guess what we need to do is take the line of surprise. In that this was all over a long time ago and Chrissie’s remarks, as well as her depression, have come right out of the blue.’

  ‘What about the fact that you, under my instructions, asked reporters to stay away from her? Doesn’t that add to her case?’

  ‘I played it right down when I did that,’ Avril replied. She’d never told Carla about the conversation she’d had with Chrissie personally, and didn’t see that there was any reason to now. ‘More than asking them to steer clear of Chrissie, I asked them to concentrate on John. So I think we could shift the blame for Chrissie’s exclusion onto my shoulders, because I thought John would get us more airtime and print space. Which he has.’

  Carla’s tension relaxed a little. ‘Do you mind doing that?’ she said.

  Avril shrugged. ‘Why would I? It’s a damn sight closer to the truth than most of that bullshit can claim to be. Is that Eddie barking?’

  Carla was already at the door. ‘I hope to God it’s not reporters,’ she muttered.

  But it wasn’t. To her surprise it was Detective Inspector Fellowes, who’d been waylaid going into Graham’s by Maudie Taylor, asking him to come and check out Gilbert’s cottage again.

  ‘That woman’s turning into a royal pain in the neck about this place,’ the detective grumbled from an upstairs window. ‘There’s not a sign of anyone having been here … There never is. Still, I don’t suppose you heard anything in the night?’

  ‘Not a peep,’ Carla answered. Which was true, she hadn’t, and Maudie’s constant paranoia was starting to get on her nerves.

  ‘She says she heard singing, or something,’ Fellowes informed her.

  ‘Well, that could easily have been coming from my place,’ Carla told him. ‘I had an opera playing on the CD.’

  ‘Oh, then that’ll be it,’ he declared. Then with a sigh, ‘I suppose I’m going to have to try convincing her of that now.’

  Carla managed a smile. ‘Good luck,’ she said, and taking Eddie back inside she closed the door on a quickening wind.

  By the middle of the afternoon Carla, though still smarting and worried, had calmed down considerably, and Avril, an excellent troubleshooter, was confident she’d dealt with as many calls as they were going to get, both on her mobile and on Carla’s office line. Precisely how effective she’d been in buffing up Carla’s tarnished reputation
wouldn’t be clear until the next day’s papers came out, but it was unlikely that many of the dailies would follow up on this kind of Sunday story with much more than a few lines. Some of what was said would almost certainly be damning of Carla, for the simple reason they’d be unable to resist it while Carla was poised for success.

  ‘Well, that’s something I’ll just have to live with,’ Carla responded when Avril warned her.

  ‘And keep in mind that none of this is likely to hurt the viewing figures,’ Avril added. ‘Which, in the end, is all that matters.’

  A light of humour returned to Carla’s eyes. ‘You’re so American,’ she teased.

  Avril laughed. ‘OK, your image counts too,’ she conceded, ‘but only to you and those of us who love you. And since we know the truth, there’s no real harm done.’ As she spoke she was reaching for the phone on Carla’s desk. ‘Avril Hayden,’ she said into the receiver.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours,’ John Rossmore told her. ‘Actually, that’s a lie. It’s Carla I’m after.’

  Avril held out the phone. ‘It’s John,’ she said.

  Carla froze, then waved a hand to say she wasn’t there.

  Avril looked at her in amazement. Then cupping a hand over the receiver she said, ‘What’s wrong? I can’t tell him you’re not here now. He’ll know I’m lying.’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it with him,’ Carla whispered.

  Avril’s eyes flashed. ‘In case you’d forgotten,’ she said tersely, ‘he’s working on the next series, which is probably what he’s calling about.’

  Suitably chastened, Carla took the phone, and to cover her chagrin affected a cheery tone as she said, ‘John! How are you?’

  ‘Great. How are you?’

  ‘OK. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve got a favour to ask. Well, I’m not sure it’s a favour, it’s probably more of an intrusion.’