by Susan Lewis
Celia removed her glasses.
Susan laughed and springing up from her desk walked across to the coffee machine they kept on the window-ledge.
‘How does this person know?’ Celia asked.
Susan’s eyes were shining. ‘Because Rhiannon Edwardes just told him,’ she declared.
Celia looked sceptical. ‘Do you believe that?’ she said.
Susan nodded. ‘Sure I believe it. This guy’s never let me down before and he’s got a real close relationship with Rhiannon.’
Celia was chewing the stem of her glasses, her thin, serious face tilted into the sunlight streaming through the windows. ‘So, can you use it?’ she said as Susan handed her a coffee.
‘You bet I can use it,’ Susan confirmed. ‘I’ve just got to work out the best way.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘What a bastard, huh? Screwing another woman the very night he gets married. Except it’s exactly the kind of thing Romanov would do.’ Her eyes were glittering, her hands clenched tightly on her cup.
‘You sure do have it in for that guy, don’t you?’ Celia remarked.
‘The son-of-a-bitch murdered his wife and got away with it,’ Susan retorted, her lip curling with loathing.
‘So you keep saying. But how do you know that for sure?’ Celia challenged.
‘I know,’ Susan answered. ‘And I’ll tell you something else I know. Galina Casimir’s got a serious mental problem that forces her to go out and get herself beaten and screwed by anyone willing to do it. At least, that’s the story Romanov’s putting out. The truth is, Romanov’s doing it himself.’
All traces of humour had vanished from Celia’s face.
‘Sick, eh?’ Susan said.
Celia’s eyes moved across the cluttered surfaces of the room until they came to rest on an old, liberally autographed plaster cast of Susan’s leg. ‘Look, I’m with you on the fact that he probably killed his wife,’ she said, turning back to Susan, ‘but this stuff with Galina . . . I mean, I’m not saying he wouldn’t do it, maybe he would, but . . .’
‘Not would, did and continues to do,’ Susan corrected. She sank down in the badly sprung armchair between the two sash windows and took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. ‘I wonder what he’s about with Rhiannon Edwardes,’ she said, almost to herself.
She was quiet after that as she mulled over in her mind everything she knew. Since Maurice Remmick, Romanov’s personal lawyer, had started feeding her information on Romanov she had been steadily building a profile of the man that, apart from all the other problems it was going to cause him, was eventually, and this time conclusively, going to nail the bastard for the murder of his first wife Carolyn.
There was a time when Susan had been convinced that Galina Casimir had pulled the trigger on that dark December night, but she knew better now. Galina had been in a hospital right here in LA getting herself stitched up after a particularly nasty mugging, or so the records said. Susan had her own theories on how Galina had come by her injuries and they had nothing to do with a mugging. Susan also had her theories on how Max Romanov had, at least so far, managed to get away with murder; her problem was getting them confirmed. But she would and when she did she was going to see that bastard go down for every god-damned crime he had ever committed – along with all those other mother-fuckers who were shielding him.
Chapter 23
ULA WAS ALONE in the spacious study of the Malibu mansion. The bright California sun was streaming in through the plate-glass windows and for once the sky, stretching out to the horizon, was a perfectly clear blue. Ula’s delicate face was creased in concentration as she gazed sightlessly out at the view and tried to get to the root of what had been bothering her for a while now. It was bugging Ellis too, for they had discussed it several times and neither of them had yet come up with an answer to what might be causing the coolness that had suddenly developed between Maurice and Max. For no reason she could fathom, Ula felt sure it had something to do with Galina and for once Ellis agreed with her. Not that he had any theories on what it might be either, but since Galina had moved permanently into the house there had been no cosy soirées that had included Maurice and Deon and Ula had noticed that any invitations Maurice and Deon had extended had been refused. Whether Maurice was feeling the chill was hard to say. He gave no outward sign of it, but he wasn’t a stupid man and he had to be aware by now that Max had started talking regularly with Kurt Kovar in New York – an attorney who had been recommended, Ula had recently discovered, by the ubiquitous Ramon Kominski.
So what was it all about, Ula wondered, getting to her feet and wandering over to the window. Folding her arms, she stood staring out at the gardens. She was tempted to ask Galina, because Galina was the easiest and most disarmingly honest person imaginable when it suited her. The trouble was she could also be the most evasive and untruthful when it didn’t – and she and Max seemed so close these days that Ula sensed that even if she did pluck up the courage to ask she would draw a blank. To approach Max was out of the question, for he never welcomed anyone prying into his personal affairs, and to ask Maurice somehow didn’t feel right. Which in itself was peculiar, for none of them had ever had any secrets from each other before, nor had there ever been any reticence in confronting an issue if any of them considered there to be one. And there was one, Ula was certain of that; she just wished she knew what the hell it was.
She looked round as Max’s personal line started to ring and going to answer it, she flipped on her computer screen intending to get back to work.
‘Hello, can I help you?’ she said into the receiver.
There was no immediate reply and Ula was on the point of repeating her greeting when the line went dead.
Shrugging, she put the phone down again. Not such an unusual occurence, people often didn’t speak when they got wrong numbers, though Ula had the distinct impression that had Max answered the phone whoever it was would have spoken. Which meant that the mystery caller, who’d made the connection a couple of times lately, wasn’t prepared to speak to anyone but Max.
Going to pour herself a coffee, Ula wandered out of the study, through the family room and into the atrium. From there she could see Max and Galina playing with the kids in the pool. She watched for a while, then turned soberly back to the study. The picture of domestic bliss was a convincing one, but no matter how hard Ula tried she couldn’t buy it – what was more, she knew why she couldn’t.
Sitting back down at her desk, she cupped her coffee in both hands and began to chew her lip. She’d seen them, Max and Rhiannon, the morning after the wedding. She’d been up all night gambling and having decided to go and get some air before taking herself off to bed, she had wandered out into the sultry dawn heat and headed off towards Caesar’s Palace, where more weary and disillusioned gamblers were emerging from their own spectacular defeats. It was when she had returned to the Mirage that she had seen Max, standing outside the hotel with Ramon, obviously engaged in some kind of angry exchange. Then Rhiannon had appeared with her bags. Max had instantly gone to her and when she’d tried to turn away he’d pulled her into his arms. Then lifting her face up to his, he had spoken softly to her in a way that could leave no one watching in any doubt of their intimacy.
Unnoticed, Ula had continued to observe them as they got into a black saloon car and Max spoke briefly to Ramon before pulling away. As they drove past her, Ula could see how pale and strained their faces were. Then suddenly Ula had panicked, had even started after them, for in those few brief moments she had been afraid they were going away together. But Ramon had stopped her and told her that Max was simply taking Rhiannon to the airport and after that it would all be over.
It seemed that Ramon was right for, as far as Ula was aware, there had been no contact between Max and Rhiannon since that day. Furthermore, Max and Galina appeared so very much in love and were so obviously sharing a bed at last that Ula just couldn’t think why she should be so worried. The trouble was she couldn’t get that morning in Vegas out of h
er head, nor could she help wondering if the caller who wouldn’t speak to her was Rhiannon. She was inclined to think it was, though whether Rhiannon had actually spoken to Max, Ula had no idea. What she did know, however, was how very used Max was to getting what he wanted and what lengths he was prepared to go to to get it. She had only to consider the circumstances surrounding Carolyn’s death to realize just how powerful and resourceful her boss really was. But in his shoes, with his money and influence, Ula had to ask herself, wouldn’t she have done the same thing? The answer was yes, she would have, for no one, when faced with an alternative, would choose to spend twenty-five or more years in prison.
Ula’s eyes suddenly flew open as the Memphis photographer came unbidden to her mind. Her heart started racing and she felt sick inside. She’d almost rather die than be thinking what she was thinking now, but it seemed there was no way she could stop herself, for there was so much about all that that still didn’t add up. She looked across at Maurice’s desk and asked herself if maybe Maurice knew more than he was telling and if it was what he knew that was at the root of his foundering relationship with Max. Should she broach the subject with Maurice, she wondered? Should she get Ellis to? Or should she keep her thoughts to herself and pray to God that it would all just go away?
‘So how’s it going with Lucy Goldblum?’ Lizzy asked, as she and Rhiannon pressed their way through the Harrods Christmas shoppers into the Egyptian Hall.
‘Not bad,’ Rhiannon answered, pausing at a cluttered table and hooking her shopping on to one arm to reach out for a pill-box engraved with hieroglyphs. ‘Still early days, though, and her current contract with Thames doesn’t finish until the end of the month, but in principle we think we can work together. What about this for my stepmother?’ she added, showing the pill-box to Lizzy.
‘Will she know what it is?’ Lizzy asked.
‘No.’
‘Then get it. Have you pitched the In Focus idea anywhere else, besides Lucy?’
‘Mmm, I’ve talked to a couple of people,’ Rhiannon answered, counting out the change in her purse and handing it and the pill-box to an assistant. ‘I’ve got a meeting with someone in the City next week to try to raise some money there, but I don’t hold out much hope, no one’s parting with any cash right now.’
‘How much do you need for a pilot?’ Lizzy asked as they merged back into the seething mass of shoppers and headed towards fashion jewellery.
‘Twenty thousand. Twenty-five would be more realistic, but I can call in a few favours.’
They were parted for a few moments as the crowd proved impossible to penetrate and Rhiannon was swept sideways by an onward surge from the Food Hall. Grabbing her, Lizzy yanked her back and pressed a path through to Butler and Wilson.
‘So, you really think you’re cut out for a life in the bush?’ Rhiannon said, changing the subject as she spun a laden carousel of ear-rings.
Lizzy’s eyes rolled as they moved on to the next counter. ‘It’s incredible, I know,’ she said, ‘but I’ve spent the past two months up to my eyes in rhino shit and cat spit, dealing with know-it-all tourists and celebrity conservationists and it just gets better all the time. I mean, obviously it’s because Andy’s there, but I really am starting to love it. It’s so different from anything I’ve ever had in my life before, and I just can’t get enough of all the things he’s teaching me about the animals and getting involved in the day-to-day running of the camp. There’s so much to do, you wouldn’t believe it, especially now Doug’s spending less time there.’
‘Is he?’ Rhiannon said. ‘You never mentioned that before.’
‘Didn’t I? Well, he is, which is why he was so thrilled when I turned up, because he didn’t want to leave Andy in the lurch, but he does want to spend more time in Jo’burg with his girlfriend. She runs a local radio station there and Doug’s keen to go back to university and . . . Well, I guess it’s all working out.’
Rhiannon looked impressed. ‘It certainly sounds like it,’ she commented. Then smiling as she moved on around the display cases she said, ‘I’m so glad you’re here, you know. I’ve missed you.’
Lizzy watched her as she picked up a bracelet, laid it on her wrist, then put it back again. Rhiannon was looking so pale and had lost so much weight since Lizzy had last seen her that it was obvious she had been a great deal more affected by what had happened with Max than Lizzy had realized. And with everything else that was going wrong in her life . . . Lizzy’s heart went out to her, for she remembered how afraid and alone she had felt all those months ago when she had been struggling so hard to keep her own life together. She recalled all too clearly the way she had shut Rhiannon out and tried to deal with things alone, the way Rhiannon was doing now. Except there was something different about Rhiannon, something that was baffling Lizzy as much as it was concerning her, for it wasn’t like Rhiannon to hold back on her and it very definitely felt as though she was now.
‘Aren’t you going to ask about Sharon Spicer?’ Rhiannon prompted as they moved on towards the escalators.
‘Oh God, I forgot about her,’ Lizzy cried. ‘Did you meet her?’
Rhiannon laughed. ‘I did and you’re a genius,’ she said. ‘The woman’s a born presenter. I’ve seen her at least half a dozen times since you suggested her and she can’t wait to audition. In fact, she’s so excited she’s even offered to put in some money – providing we take her on, of course.’
Lizzy’s eyebrows went up. Then laughing she said, ‘She’s a real whacko, but she could very well end up doing for people in crisis what Barbara Woodhouse did for dogs. Is she still a Samaritan?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I thought they weren’t supposed to tell you anyway.’
‘They’re not. She only told me because she was trying to persuade me to become one myself. She thought I had what it took.’
‘Remind me how you know her?’
‘She lectured in psychology when I was at Birmingham,’ Lizzy laughed. ‘I’m telling you, the woman is loaded to the brim with talents you’d never expect her to have. She’s a concert violinist, did she tell you that?’
‘No,’ Rhiannon grinned.
Lizzy was shaking her head in fondness. ‘She can drive you nuts at times, but she’s got one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever come across and a totally brilliant mind. She’s Magnus Pike in a skirt. And she’s got time for people like you just wouldn’t believe. Have you camera-tested her yet?’
‘We’re doing it Friday. Jolene’s managed to get us a studio down at Teddington for a morning for a third of what it would normally cost.’
‘Well done, Jolene,’ Lizzy commented, her tone reminding Rhiannon what she thought of the way Rhiannon had confided her relationship with Max in, of all people, the office gossip.
‘Did I tell you, by the way,’ Rhiannon said, as some twenty minutes later they wandered on to the platform at Knightsbridge station, ‘that I had a Christmas card from Galina?’
Lizzy’s eyes rounded as she turned to look at Rhiannon – this was the first time she’d mentioned Galina’s or Max’s names since Lizzy had arrived, and for some unimaginable reason Lizzy hadn’t been able to find a way into the subject herself. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you didn’t tell me.’
‘Oh, well, it arrived the other day,’ Rhiannon told her, following her on to the train. ‘She put a note in with it telling me that she’s coming over to London in February – Conspiracy are launching some new fragrance apparently – so she’ll be doing a whistle-stop tour of Europe before Max flies over to join her and take her on a belated honeymoon somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Gstaad, I think she said. Anyway, she says she realizes what a busy schedule I’ve probably got, but if we can work out something between us, she’d love to see me for a coffee, or even a lunch, while she’s here.’
Lizzy took a breath, gave herself a moment to assess all that, then said, ‘So are you going to see her?’
Rhiannon shook her head. ‘No.’ She looked down at her shopping as someone
squeezed past, trying to get further down the train. ‘Have you got many more presents to get?’ she asked, turning back to Lizzy.
Lizzy blinked at the sudden change of subject. ‘Only a couple,’ she answered. ‘How about you?’
‘The same,’ Rhiannon answered.
Lizzy watched her for a moment, waiting for a crack to appear in the demeanour, but Rhiannon only widened her eyes and started to laugh.
Realizing she was going to get no further, Lizzy struggled to bring her wrist up to look at her watch. ‘Andy’s supposed to be calling me at six.’ she said, ‘and my sister’s expecting me at seven, so I guess that means I should go straight home. Damn it, I was hoping to come back to yours for a quick drink. What are you doing this evening?’
‘Probably writing a script for Sharon’s camera test,’ Rhiannon replied.
‘I could come over tomorrow,’ Lizzy offered, as though trying to make up for a disappointment she wasn’t even sure she’d sensed.
‘Why don’t you give me a call in the morning,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I’m not sure what I’m doing yet.’
Lizzy looked at her, trying not to be hurt, then nodding she said, ‘OK. I’ll do that.’
Still smiling, Rhiannon lifted her gaze to the Underground map above them. Lizzy looked away and tried to imagine how she would feel if she were in Rhiannon’s shoes, what might be going through her mind now, so that she could at least try to get a handle on what was going on here. In the end she decided she just had to come right out and ask. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ she demanded.
Rhiannon looked slightly startled. ‘Like what?’ she said curiously.
‘I don’t know,’ Lizzy answered. ‘That’s just the way it seems. Like you know something and you aren’t telling me.’
Rhiannon shrugged. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t know anything – at least nothing that I’m keeping back from you.’