by Susan Lewis
‘Call Max,’ she said to Ula, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘I need to speak to him.’
Seconds later the phone was in her hand and she was sitting on the toilet lid with the bathroom door between her and the newly erupted bedlam outside. ‘Max?’ she whispered.
‘Yes honey, I’m here. What is it?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in the street on my way over to Primaire. Why? What’s up, Galina? Did something happen?’
‘I just insulted someone, Max. I mean, I was insufferably rude to her and I think everyone hates me now.’
‘Galina! Pull yourself together. Everyone doesn’t hate you, so stop exaggerating. Did you apologize to whoever it was?’
‘Yes, I apologized.’
‘Then what’s the big deal?’
‘You should be here, Max. I told you I couldn’t do it without you.’
‘Well it looks like you’re gonna have to,’ he said coldly.
‘I can’t. We’ll have to call the whole thing off. Postpone it until you get back.’
‘You get yourself in there and do what Maribeth tells you,’ he said harshly. ‘Do you hear me, Galina?
‘Yes, I hear you. I can’t do it, Max.’
‘Then we’re through, Galina. You don’t go in there and show your face for those cameras, we’re through.’
‘You don’t mean that, Max.’
He was silent, allowing the roar of New York traffic to swell down the line.
‘You don’t mean it, Max,’ she repeated.
‘I mean it, Galina. I’ve just about had it with you and the way you’re trying to manipulate my life. Now either you get out there and give it your best shot, or we’re through.’
‘OK. I’m going in, Max,’ she said, and smiling she clicked off the line and walked back into the room.
Chapter 8
AS MAX WAS shown into the conference suite at Primaire’s New York headquarters Lanny Harman, the company’s charismatic and flamboyant chairman, discreetly broke away from a group of young executives and came over to greet him. The vast plate-glass windows, with their enviable views of the Hudson and Hoboken, were in the process of being blanked out by electronically rolling shutters and the split-screen video-monitor that claimed an entire fifteen by twelve wall space was currently relaying a shot of the crowded ballroom over in Beverly Hills.
‘Max. It’s good to see you,’ Harman said in a low, amiable voice as he shook Max by the hand. ‘Sorry you couldn’t make lunch today, I’d have enjoyed the opportunity for a chat.’ There was no rebuke in his tone, merely the resonance of a regret that he’d been unable to lure Max downtown to his favourite restaurant.
‘I just flew in last night,’ Max replied by way of an explanation. His sharp eyes were scanning the room, checking out who was there.
‘Do you want to be introduced, or do you want to play it low?’ Harman said, ushering him further into the room.
‘Let’s keep it low,’ Max said, with a brief smile that somehow got lost in irony.
‘Did you talk to Maribeth this afternoon?’ Lanny asked, signalling to a secretary to bring them coffee. ‘Looks like things are going pretty well their end. She’s a beautiful girl, Max.’
Max raised an eyebrow, seeming to find the fact that the compliment was meant for him vaguely amusing. ‘Yeah, she’s beautiful,’ he acknowledged, taking the coffee that was being offered him. ‘I got the product projection data,’ he went on, taking a sip. ‘It’s impressive. A targeted thirty-three per cent return after tax on a twenty-million-dollar outlay in a forecast period of five years is very impressive – if you can pull it off.’
‘With your girl on board I believe we can,’ Lanny smiled.
Inwardly Max winced. ‘Galina,’ he said affably. ‘Let’s call her Galina. And beautiful as she is, you’ve got to have some confidence in your product to be putting that much behind it.’
‘I’ll have the lab reports on your desk by the end of the day,’ Lanny said. ‘Conspiracy’s gonna be a winner. You’ve got to have seen the way the stock’s jumped this past couple of weeks since the market got wind of the launch.’
‘A thirteen per cent increase,’ Max remarked. ‘Not bad. Lucky I bought in when I did.’
The others were all starting to take their seats as the press corps over in LA sought out theirs and peered critically or indifferently into their vanity purses of free samples.
‘We’ve got three people making the presentation today,’ Lanny explained, as he and Max found themselves a couple of chairs slightly apart from the rest of the room. ‘Peggy Wilson, Vice-President, PR; Jimmy Han, Senior Lab Technician and Maribeth. Jimmy Han’s not gonna have much to say – his end is scientific and today’s not about science. It’s about Galina. Everyone knows by now that the Conspiracy range is due to hit the stores by the first of next month. Today they’re going to find out that Galina will be fronting the campaign – that it’s her face they’re gonna see every time they open a magazine, switch on their TV or drive their cars down the highway. Peggy Wilson’s assistants are all on hand to field questions put direct to Galina. When she’s had a bit more training and knows more about the range we’re hoping she’ll be able to handle the questions herself.’
Max said nothing.
‘Beauty with brains are what today’s women are all about,’ Lanny went on, ‘and definitely what Conspiracy’s about.’
‘You mean you rub in your night cream and wake up smart in the morning?’ Max enquired, deadpan.
Lanny’s pale-grey eyes slanted him a look, then chuckling good-naturedly, he said, ‘I guess I should leave the sales pitch to those who know what they’re doing. Did you see the guest list?’
‘Yeah, I saw it,’ Max answered. ‘More stars than an African night sky.’ He frowned, wondering why, when he’d never been to Africa, he should have used that analogy. Then remembering the photographs of Galina’s friend, he instinctively glanced at his watch, even though his meeting with Theo Straussen wasn’t until the next day.
‘That’s Maribeth’s doing,’ Lanny said. ‘She knows everyone and getting ’em all out for a press call like this is gonna give us a launch that’ll make Canaveral look like they’re hiking a kite. I don’t know how you’re gonna handle it after today, Max, but when your girl’s through with this press call there won’t be a paparazzo out there in La-La land, or anywhere else come to that, who’s not gonna be on her tail.’
‘We’ll handle it,’ Max assured him.
Lanny’s eyes returned to the screen as a general murmur crept around the New York conference room, while over in Los Angeles the audience of stars and press began to applaud. Galina, in a stunningly simple white silk dress and a discreet but fabulously expensive diamond and pearl necklace on hire from a Hollywood jeweller, was being led to the presentation stand where the entire Conspiracy range was artistically and invitingly displayed. As she moved alongside it, taking the position she had rehearsed to create the arresting vision that was soon to become a nation-wide sensation, Lanny felt a stab of pure joy descend from his heart to his cheque-book – he had rarely seen a woman more beautiful than the one the camera was closing in on now.
Unable to stop himself, he cast a quick glance at the man who held Galina Casimir and all that blinding beauty in the palm of his hand. This was the first time Harman had come into such close contact with the head of Romanov Enterprises and he’d been aware, from the moment he’d shaken Max’s hand, that he was in the presence of an exceptionally astute and intelligent man. That hadn’t come as much of a surprise, for Harman had heard how like his grandfather Max was, but even old Mikhail hadn’t had the intensity or control his grandson seemed to exude. It was almost, Harman thought, as though the man were capable of transferring the very power that drove him into those around him, forcing them to carry the burden too. Harman blinked at the thought. He had always, albeit from a distance, nurtured a healthy respect for Max Romanov, but after just these few minutes in his company, a
nd of course after seeing Galina, Harman had to confess that his respect was beginning to border on awe. That was until he recalled what Maribeth had told him, when an almost painful sympathy slid through him.
What was Romanov thinking now, Lanny wondered as Max stared up at the incredible woman on the screen. But Max’s dark, impassive face was giving nothing away as he listened to Peggy Wilson welcoming the glittering array of guests, mentioning some of the more socially prominent and famous by name, before finally turning to introduce Galina.
As Galina accepted her applause, scores of flashlights exploded, capturing the beguiling loveliness of her smile, recording for tomorrow’s front pages the unusual quality of her beauty and the dazzling radiance of her person. To watch the way she moved, altering her expression for the cameras, holding her face to the Californian sunlight streaming in through the windows, touching her fingertips to the diamonds at her throat, it was impossible to believe that she had never done this before. Even harder to credit was the fact that she hadn’t been snapped up by another cosmetic house, a casting agent, a movie producer or any other main-stream entrepreneur a long time ago. But Harman knew the reason, and his heart gave a quick, unsteady beat as he inwardly prayed he’d made the right decision here, for if those security people Romanov had hired didn’t do their job, the exclusive image of the Conspiracy range was going to end up right down the pan, along with too many million dollars to think about. On the other hand, if they did foul up and a scandal did break, there just wasn’t any telling what dividends that amount of publicity might pay. And hell, he wouldn’t be where he was today if he hadn’t taken a risk or two, and that girl was so god-damned beautiful it hurt your eyes to look at her.
Turning back to the screen he saw that the camera angle had now widened to include Peggy, Maribeth and Jimmy Han. Galina was listening attentively as Han delivered his brief and lay-person-friendly oration on why the Conspiracy range in general and age-eliminator serum in particular was about to set new standards in the scientific and technologically advanced world of cosmetics.
‘I’d like to know’, one beauty writer interrupted, ‘why, if you’re targeting the older woman with Conspiracy, which pricing alone suggests you must be, why you are using someone as young as Galina to promote it? Or has she already been using the age-eliminator serum?’
Everyone laughed as the vision-mixer in LA punched up the feed of a second camera to show who’d asked the question.
‘How old did she look before she started using it?’ someone shouted from the back, sparking another round of laughter.
‘How long has she been using it?’ someone else wanted to know.
To everyone’s surprise Galina stepped forward. Fortunately, being as stunning as she was, all eyes were focused on her so no one saw the panicked look that suddenly afflicted Maribeth’s face, nor Peggy’s instinctive though quickly arrested gesture to block.
‘Beauty’, Galina said, in her charming, upper-class English accent, ‘is not about looking young. Beauty is about looking good.’
There was no more than a split-second’s silence before the whole room broke into spontaneous applause. Maribeth’s mouth fell open and Peggy’s sharp intake of breath brought a steadying hand to her chest. Of course, everyone knew that women the world over would pay a king’s ransom for the serum that would make them look younger, but a statement like the one Galina had just made was quite staggeringly brilliant in its profound marketability. In fact it was such an outstandingly commercial slogan that every writer in the house was busily scribbling it on to their pads as though it were a line Galina had been handed by the marketing executives of Primaire, rather than a priceless aphorism she had just come up with herself.
The executives in the New York conference suite were applauding too, their murmurs of approval interspersed with the wondering of who, in the LA office, had come up with such a shit-hot winner of a slogan.
Lanny Harman looked at Max, who returned the look with a single raise of an eyebrow.
After that Galina very wisely made no attempt to upstage her moment of glory, she merely listened, again attentively, to Peggy’s eloquent and effusively delivered exhortation on how very thrilled everyone at Primaire was that Galina was joining the Conspiracy – ha, ha! – to help women everywhere realize their own beauty potential and get in touch with their own inner-Galinas and learn the fundamental importance of loving themselves.
‘Together, Conspiracy and Galina will help us to do that,’ she cried, with an almost evangelical fervour. ‘And now, before I invite you to take part in our open forum, I would like to ask you all to join me in showing our sincere appreciation to Galina for coming here today and helping us to see how a healthy and radiant soul is not only our link to the Universe, but is also a key player in the conspiracy of attainable beauty.’
Max turned to Harman in profound astonishment.
Harman shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘The woman has been known to get a tad carried away at times,’ he explained.
Max’s dark eyes were alive with humour, though he refrained from comment as the LA audience broke into yet more applause and Harman breathed a sigh of relief as he’d been half expecting a prayer.
The next ten minutes or more were taken up with a quick-fire question-and-answer session on whether or not it was true Galina’s contract was for five million dollars; what exactly her schedule would be and when it would begin; what she had done to date – was she famous in England; was it true she was descended from a Russian countess; did she plan on staying in the US; how did she like the States; and a hundred more inconsequential but necessary questions to help build her celebrity profile. Each and every question was answered by Peggy and her team with the occasional comment from Maribeth and much laughter and amused interest from Galina.
It wasn’t until Maribeth was making moves to start ushering Galina out of the room that Susan Posner, the journalist who had first penned the Murder to Mishap line, and who had made it her mission in life to uncover what had really happened the night Carolyn Romanov died, finally rose to her feet. ‘I was wondering, Galina,’ she called out, her distinctively high-pitched voice cutting a swathe through all the others, ‘what Max Romanov feels about your imminent rise to stardom? And why he isn’t here today?’
Beside him Lanny Harman felt Max tense.
As Galina drew breath to answer Maribeth stepped quickly in front of her. ‘Thank you once again, everyone, for coming,’ she smiled, giving Peggy the chance to get Galina out quick. ‘It has been a great pleasure seeing you all . . .’
‘Is it true, Galina,’ Susan Posner shouted, her attractive, almost childishly pretty face an unnerving contrast to the vitriol that flowed so fluidly from her pen, ‘that you and Romanov are lovers and have been since before his wife was murdered?’
Harman’s head swivelled towards Max as a murmur of shock and excitement started to buzz about the Los Angeles ballroom. ‘Just get her out of there,’ Harman seethed under his breath as he turned back to the screen, though he was secretly delighted at what was happening for the added publicity it would bring.
‘And is it true,’ Posner went on, ‘that you were at the Romanovs’ mansion in upstate New York the night Carolyn Romanov died?’
Peggy and her team were all but manhandling Galina out of the room, but it was clear from the way Galina was trying to shake them off that she wanted to respond. And short of lifting her bodily from the ground there was nothing Peggy or Maribeth could do to stop her.
‘Ms Posner,’ Galina said, smiling sweetly, then blinking and laughing as the cameras started to flash. ‘I’m sorry,’ Galina said, putting a hand up to shield her eyes, ‘I can’t quite see you now, but I’m sure you can hear me. Max Romanov, like all my good and close friends, is extremely pleased and supportive of my contract with Primaire. He isn’t here today for the same reason none of my other friends are here, they all have busy lives of their own. As for your questions about a romantic involvement between Max and myself
and my whereabouts on the night his wife so tragically died – both these issues have been dealt with thoroughly and exhaustively in the past by the courts and by the few members of the press who experienced some curiosity about me and my friendship with the Romanovs at the time of the investigation and trial. Therefore, could I respectfully suggest, Ms Posner, that you make a visit to the local library, or perhaps surf your Internet, to get the information that for some unimaginable reason you appear not to have.’
Her impeccable English accent, coupled with her inherently aristocratic bearing and devastating politeness, added such weight to the putdown that, had it been delivered to anyone else, Harman might almost have felt sorry for them.
But Posner wasn’t so easily beaten off. ‘Where were you the night Carolyn Romanov died, Galina?’ she persisted with brazen audacity.
Despite the audible murmurings of disapproval Galina’s lovely face showed only a curious kind of pity. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said with a note of gentle indulgence, ‘I’ll let you find that out for yourself. It won’t be hard, but if you’d like to call Peggy here when this press call is over she’ll give you some advice on how to get started.’
‘Maybe you can tell me, Galina,’ Posner continued, undeterred, ‘as such a “good and close” friend of Max Romanov’s, why he never returns my calls?’
Galina’s eyebrows rose in amazement. ‘He doesn’t?’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ and as everyone laughed and applauded she stalked gracefully out of the room.
Though Max wasn’t laughing Harman could see the humour in his eyes and shaking his head to convey how royally impressed he was, Harman said, ‘I really don’t think we’re going to have any problems. Not after that. She’s a natural.’
‘I’ll tell her you said that,’ Max smiled, getting to his feet.
‘Is there anything we can get you before you leave?’ Harman offered, keen to get to know this man better.
‘Thanks,’ Max said, taking a card from his inside pocket and handing it to Harman. ‘If you could just have someone call my driver and tell him to meet me at the corner of 7th and Bleeker right away.’