by Susan Lewis
‘Come in, carry on,’ he called out to the room attendant, who was still at the far end of the suite’s passageway, waiting for permission to enter.
As the door clicked closed Oliver turned off the TV and wrapping the sheet around him, hauled himself up from the bed. He was still faintly light-headed and his limbs felt as though they’d gone three rounds with Tyson, but there was no doubt he was on the mend. ‘The towels need changing,’ he said, as the room attendant appeared in the sitting-room, ‘and if you’ll just give me a couple of minutes I’ll . . . Oh, Jesus Christ,’ he murmured as Theo Straussen, his two sons and a pair of thick-necked heavies filed into the suite.
‘Oliver,’ Theo Straussen said, holding out his hands.
Oliver’s eyes moved from one saturnine face to the next. Fear was growling in his gut as his heart rate accelerated and his skin broke into an icy sweat. Instinctively his hand clenched the sheet more securely in front of him as his panicked thoughts stripped the blood from his face and caused a vein to throb in his neck.
‘Oliver,’ Straussen repeated. His expression was mournful and vaguely incredulous. ‘What did you think you were doing, son?’
Oliver’s throat was too constricted to answer.
‘Why did you do it?’ Straussen said, shaking his head as though he couldn’t make himself believe that Oliver would treat him this way. ‘I told you at the weekend that our contract stood firm. I thought you heard me, son. I thought you were paying attention.’ He sighed and put a despairing hand to his head.
Several seconds ticked by until, looking up, Straussen said, ‘I’m not going to go into the details of our agreement, ’cos we did that at the weekend. I just want you to tell me what you thought was going to happen when you double-crossed me like this? I mean, did you think I was going to let you keep all I gave you? Did you think I was going to let you walk away from this, like your end of the deal didn’t need fulfilling? I gave you everything, Oliver. I made you what you are today. But you know that. You remember when we sat down and drew up the deal . . . Diamonds were what you wanted, so diamonds were what you got. Then later, London was what you wanted, so London was what you got. What more could I have given you?’
Anything Oliver might have wanted to say was silenced by the dread of the response it would provoke.
Straussen made a gesture towards his sons, who turned to the closets and began removing Rhiannon’s clothes. Oliver watched them, a terrible panic driving the fear in his chest.
‘I don’t like having to do these things, Oliver,’ Straussen said, ‘but you leave me no choice. I own you, son. I bought you and you got to abide by that.’
Oliver’s eyes fell away.
‘She’s here,’ Straussen told him, after a pause. ‘Marcia’s right here in Marrakesh. I brought her with me to remind you.’
‘Oh God,’ Oliver groaned, his face turning whiter than ever. ‘Theo, I tried to tell you,’ he said pleadingly, ‘at the weekend, I tried to tell you . . .’
‘I heard what you told me, son,’ Straussen cut in, ‘but it seems you just didn’t hear me. I stuck to my side of the bargain, Oliver, now you got to stick to yours.’
‘But I can’t do that,’ Oliver cried. ‘Not now. It’s just not possible.’
Straussen had him fixed with his sharp old man’s eyes. ‘Oh, but it is,’ he said smoothly.
Oliver’s stomach churned with a fresh onslaught of fear, for he knew only too well what Straussen meant. ‘For God’s sake, Theo,’ he breathed, ‘Rhiannon knows nothing about this.’
Straussen looked at him incredulously. ‘I didn’t imagine for one minute she did,’ he replied. ‘But it’s a bit late to be concerned about her now, wouldn’t you say?’
Oliver was silent as putting his hands in his pockets Straussen walked over to the window. ‘Tell me,’ he said, following the laborious path of a camel on the far side of the city walls, ‘what would you do if you were in my position and someone had done something like this to a person you loved?’ He turned back, his green eyes meeting Oliver’s in an ominously tragic gaze.
It was a trap Oliver wasn’t going to fall into, for he knew it would be as good as signing his own death warrant. Except they wouldn’t kill him, not while Marcia was still on the planet. What they might do to Rhiannon, though, was something that was whipping the heat of fear in his heart.
‘Yeah, I guess you’d do the same as me,’ Straussen responded to the silence. ‘And who could blame you? But I want to tell you, Oliver, that I have tried to understand you. I know my girl’s no beauty, I know it’s hard for a woman like her to satisfy a man like you, but to do what you’ve done to her, Oliver . . . To go right ahead with your craziness and marry another woman, like my girl don’t exist no more . . . Now that I just can’t understand. You see, the world don’t change its shape ’cos you’re uncomfortable with the one it’s got. And deals don’t just disappear because they don’t suit you no more. You got to face up to reality here, son. Closing your eyes don’t mean the rest of the world can’t see you. And getting yourself a wife don’t turn my girl into some clause in a contract that’s too minor to count.
‘Now, I know and you know that you didn’t really believe you’d get away with this. You been committed to Marcia for three years, and three years is a long time to be telling a woman you’re gonna marry her and doing nothing about it. So we’re not going to let that continue. She’s a good girl, she cares about you, and she was prepared to wait until you said the time was right – and this is what you do to her. It wasn’t clever, son, not clever at all. And think about how that poor wife of yours is gonna feel when she finds out about all this. ’Cos she’s gonna have to know, Oliver. You realize that, don’t you? She’s got to be told why you can’t stay married to her.’
‘Theo, you can’t do that,’ Oliver said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.
‘Oliver, this is me you’re talking to,’ Straussen reminded him. ‘I can do it.’ He paused. ‘Or, I can take back everything I’ve given you,’ he said. ‘So you see, I’m a reasonable man. I’m giving you a choice. Your wife or your life.’
Oliver looked at him; sweat was pouring down his face as denial raged through his mind.
Straussen watched him, waiting for him to speak; his expression was a mask of incalculable patience.
‘My engagement to Marcia is a farce,’ Oliver suddenly blurted. ‘She knows that, the whole damned world knows that. And you said,’ he went on, pointing a furious finger at Straussen, ‘you said, when I agreed to the deal, that you would turn a blind eye to my affairs. You said I was free to . . .’
‘An affair isn’t the same as getting married, boy,’ Straussen interrupted.
‘And turning a blind eye isn’t the same as fucking around with my money, stealing my car, raiding my flat or removing fifty-thousand-dollar diamonds from my briefcase.’
Straussen’s eyebrows showed his interest. That ring didn’t belong to you, son,’ he reminded him. ‘It belonged to me. You were just taking delivery.’
‘Which is exactly what I did. But then you got someone to lift it from my briefcase and plant it in Rhiannon’s bag. So what was I supposed to tell her when she found it? That it wasn’t for her?’
Straussen’s amusement was registering in his eyes. ‘Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, Oliver,’ he said. ‘Most people would have found an excuse.’
‘I’ve paid for that ring,’ Oliver raged.
‘You did?’ Straussen said, obviously surprised as he looked to his sons for confirmation.
‘What you’ve taken from me in the past six weeks amounts at least to the value of that ring,’ Oliver blustered. ‘So yes, I’ve paid.’
Straussen nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’m a fair man,’ he said, ‘and I got to admit that you might have a point there. Yeah, I reckon you could be right. The ring I bought for you to give my girl is now on another woman’s finger. So, we could either remove the ring – and the finger – or we could, as you say, accept tha
t the ring is paid for.’ He took a few moments to think it over. ‘You know,’ he said in the end, ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem with my girl getting second-hand goods, so you might have struck lucky here, Oliver. Your woman might just get to keep that ring. Yeah,’ he nodded, seeming pleased with his quick decision, ‘I think we can look on the ring as a kind of compensation for all the heart-break you’re gonna bring her.’
‘Jesus Christ, Theo!’ Oliver yelled in frustration. ‘You can’t play with people’s lives like this!’
‘Oliver, quit telling me what I can and can’t do,’ Straussen said. ‘We got a contract between us, a legally binding contract, that says you got to marry my daughter or you’re obliged to surrender everything you own, everything I gave you, back to me.’
‘I can’t marry, Marcia,’ Oliver replied desperately. ‘Why do you think I’ve dragged it out all this time? She repulses me, Theo. She makes my skin crawl. Do you really want your daughter to be married to someone who feels like that about her?’
Straussen was nodding, the corners of his mouth were pulled down and his eyebrows were raised as he appeared to mull over everything Oliver had said. When finally he spoke he said, ‘You know, I’m going to do something here, Oliver, that is generally against my nature. I’m going to let you get away with those ugly things you just said about my girl. I’m going to let you get away with them because I understand you’re troubled and you’re not really thinking about what you’re saying. But when you took those marriage vows two days ago you knew exactly what you were saying, and an insult like that, well now, it can’t be overlooked, son – it just can’t.’
As the five of them stood there, like a rare family portrait, Oliver’s eyes shifted from one to the other, knowing what was coming and that he was powerless to stop it. For one incredible moment he thought he had found salvation in a genuine housekeeping call, but the knock on the door produced only a whispered message, then whoever it was went away.
Oliver was still standing beside the bed, the sheet draped in front of him, the terror of what was to come finally surpassing the insanity that had made him think he could get away with it.
Theo Straussen was listening intently as the message was relayed to him by his eldest son. His moss-green eyes were rooted in space as he nodded, pursed his lips, then nodded again. Finally Reuben stood back, spoke quietly to his brother, then returned his attention to Oliver.
Straussen took a breath to speak, then creasing his brow he drew a hand over his mouth as though so saddened by what he was about to say that he was finding it hard to speak. ‘Oliver,’ he said finally. ‘Oliver, my son. I wish to God you’d never put me in this position. It gives me no pleasure to do this, boy, no pleasure at all. But remember, it was you who loaded the gun, you who put my finger on the trigger and now . . .’
As his voice trailed off Oliver’s eyes darted frantically between the five impassive faces. It was as though he was watching the mourners at his own funeral.
‘That was a message from Jordan,’ Straussen went on. ‘You remember, Joe? Sure you remember Joe. Well that message was from him. I’m sorry, son, I’m sorry to the bottom of my heart to tell you this, but your new wife . . .’
Oliver’s eyes were bulging with terror, his heart was a furnace of denial.
Straussen glanced at one of the heavies, then returning his eyes to Oliver he said, ‘Did you ever hear of Fulbert’s revenge?’ he asked pleasantly.
Oliver merely looked at him.
‘Fulbert,’ Straussen prompted. ‘French guy, had a niece by the name of Héloïse. Back in the twelfth century.’
Though Oliver could hear the words, none of them was penetrating the horror of what might have happened to Rhiannon.
Straussen stood aside for one of his men to step forward.
Suddenly Oliver’s eyes dilated. Fulbert. Fulbert, the uncle who had avenged the breach of his trust, the abuse of his favour and the honour of his beloved niece by having a man castrated.
Oliver’s face turned yellow as he took a step back, pressing a hand to his groin. There was no knife in sight, but he didn’t doubt its existence, nor did he doubt Straussen’s deadliness of intent. His heart rate slowed, then suddenly picked up, crashing against his ribs in utter panic as he sank to the floor and watched the men come.
‘It was her fault, Theo,’ he sobbed wretchedly. ‘She asked me to marry her . . . You can’t blame me. It was her fault.’
Chapter 14
THE DAY’S SECOND call to prayer was beginning to wail through the minarets as two heavily robed men came out of a deserted mosque on the far edge of town. In the midday heat the surrounding rose-coloured walls and turrets seemed to undulate like a mirage and the golden waves of sand dunes ebbed lazily away, melting into the far horizon.
As the men looked up and down the street the only witness to their presence was a solitary stork nesting at the corner of a nearby roof. A car came out of a side-road and pulled to a stop in front of them. As they got in, a woman turned from the front seat to watch them. Her face was grey and sweat oozed from the open pores on her cheeks. For a moment it looked as though she might speak, but seeming to decide better of it, she returned her gaze to the mosque. The driver watched her, waiting as her pale, close-set eyes travelled the ancient walls, fixing for a moment on the narrow arched windows of an upper storey, before falling to the scuffed and broken mosaics of an empty courtyard. Her profile was lit by the midday sun; her coarse mousy hair was tugged into a tightly knotted plait and the copious soft down on her top lip glistened with beads of perspiration.
When she’d finished she turned to look straight ahead and stayed that way until the car drew up outside the Mamounia Hotel.
Maintaining their silence, they rode an elevator to the second floor where Joe Jordan, the larger of the two men, led the way to the honeymoon suite. All Marcia had wanted was to take a look at the woman, which she had done yesterday at the carpet shop; then to see where they were holding her, which she had just now when the driver had taken her to collect Jordan and Taylor from the mosque.
Someone, Marcia thought it was probably her brothers, had gone to the mosque last night to talk to the woman. Marcia wondered how she was feeling now. She didn’t think her brothers would have harmed the woman, but really there was no telling and not wanting to think about it, she blanked it from her mind and walked past Jordan through the door of the suite into her father’s embrace.
As he hugged his daughter, Straussen’s affection was clear in his eyes, for this ugly duckling that had never made it to a swan was every bit as predous to him as the rest of his children. Or maybe, as though to make up for her homeliness, he loved her just that little bit more.
‘Did you see the place?’ he asked, holding her face between his hands and smiling indulgently into her eyes.
Marcia nodded and returned his gaze with her habitual uncertainty. Then, seeming to sense what he wanted, she broke into a smile. It was almost a travesty, for Marcia’s fear of the dentist had prevented Theo from spending a small fortune to rectify the cruelty of nature.
‘Where is he?’ she asked, turning to look around the room. There was no sign at all of the business that had been conducted there yesterday; the chairs were in place, the curtains were perfectly draped and every vase brimmed over with vibrant white flowers. The bed was made, the cushions were plumped and in the bathroom the towels and toiletries were neatly displayed.
‘I’ll take you to him,’ Straussen answered, walking over to the closets. As he pulled open the doors he turned back to look at her, wanting to witness her pleasure when she saw her own clothes hanging beside Oliver’s. ‘We’re going to do things a bit different,’ he said, glancing at Jordan and Taylor and winking. ‘We’re going to give Oliver his honeymoon, but you, Marcia, are gonna be the bride. We’ll get the details of the wedding fixed up just as soon as we get back to New York, but there’s no point wasting a honeymoon while it’s right here on offer, now is there?’
As the me
n chuckled Marcia blinked, then laughed too.
‘Good idea, hey?’ Straussen smiled, beckoning to his sons to come in as one of them put his head round the door. The honeymoon before the wedding.’
‘Hi, Marce,’ Reuben said, greeting his sister with a brotherly kiss. ‘How did it go at the mosque?’
‘All I did was take a look,’ Marcia replied.
Reuben looked surprised. ‘You didn’t go inside?’ he said, going to help himself to a beer at the mini-bar while his younger brother embraced Marcia. ‘Didn’t you want to meet her?’
‘No,’ she answered. There wasn’t time.’
Reuben looked at his father.
‘Where’s Oliver?’ Marcia said. ‘I’d like to see him now.’
‘He’s right along the hall,’ Straussen answered.
‘Still sleeping,’ Reuben added.
Marcia looked from one to the other.
‘Oren’s going over to the mosque later,’ her father told her, referring to her younger brother. ‘Joe and Taylor’re going with him and I think you should go along too.’
‘Me?’ Marcia said in surprise.
Straussen nodded and smiled, then speaking to Oren he said, ‘I take it you won’t be needing me.’
Oren shook his head. ‘No, we can handle it,’ he answered.
Straussen’s approval was expressed in a warm grasp of his son’s shoulder, for both Oren and Reuben knew how upset their father was by all this – in fact, he couldn’t stomach it any more than he could a man who squealed and blubbered the way his future son-in-law had the night before. OK, the guy thought he was going to lose his dick, so you’d expect him to be a bit upset, but the way Maguire had carried on just wasn’t dignified in a man. Whatever Marcia saw in him he would never know – what any woman saw in him, come to that, was a god-damned mystery to Straussen. Oh sure, he was a good-looking guy who could turn on the charm like few others Straussen knew, but when it came to things that mattered the man almost deserved to be parted from his chum for being such a god-damned coward and liar. But Marcia was devoted to the son-of-a-bitch, had wanted him from the minute she’d set eyes on him, which was how Straussen had come to strike up the deal with Maguire that had promised his daughter a husband and Maguire a very elevated place in the diamond world. And now, despite what the bastard had done, Marcia had made Theo promise not to hurt him too much, which was god-damned lucky for Maguire, ’cos if Straussen had had his way the man would be propping up freeways in a dozen different States. As it was, he was going to be a bit sore for a while, though the broken nose would mend and not many of the bruises would show. However, it wasn’t over yet. No, they still had a way to go, ’cos the woman had to be made to understand that it was in her own best interests to let Maguire go. And that little bit of persuasion was something Straussen was happy to leave in the capable hands of his sons.