by Susan Lewis
It was odd how even the air in the set was giving off a vibe that was chilling. He knew there was still much more dressing to come, mirrors flecked with mould, chains on the bed, dingy paintings, cracked china, an incongruously cheerful rug, but already he was getting a sense of how it was going to look – and worse, how it must have felt.
He stood looking at it for some time, very quiet, and still, allowing himself to be drawn into the ambient menace. After a while he could almost hear the distant echoes of Rachel’s screams. It was as though they were coming out of the walls, pulling him in to her nightmare, guiding him with silent, agonized cries to the terror she had known as she was raped and beaten, tossed from one man to the next, punched so hard in the face that her nose was broken and her teeth knocked loose. He felt his hands tighten at his sides, his muscles tense, as though there were something he could do to stop it. But it was over, finished, locked in the past, a brutal, irreversible moment in time.
His eyes remained on the bed as he considered again how it must have been for Chambers. But that kind of anguish was impossible to imagine. It was no surprise the man wanted revenge, because, God knew, if it had happened to Ellen there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make those responsible pay for their crime. But still the killers lived, not only at liberty, but no doubt in some kind of perverted glory for sending one American to hell everlasting, while the other remained in hell on earth.
He turned away, knowing that whatever personal issues he and Chambers might have, he was right not to have let them get in the way of the film. This story needed to be told, those who had committed the rape and murder had to face justice.
As he walked away he was still bound in his thoughts, so affected by the last few minutes that he was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. Gradually the sound of workmen began to reach him, as a distant square of daylight popped in over a graffiti-covered wall. He glanced off to his right, to a set that was almost lost in darkness. Then, without really knowing why, he felt his whole body turning slowly to ice. Maybe it was because of the shadow, or maybe it was because of the strangeness of his thoughts, whatever it was, it was a moment before he could really connect with what he was seeing. When he did so, his head started to spin and emotions sprang through his chest that shut down his breath. It seemed like an eternity that he was held there, looking at Ellen, so lost in the depth of Chambers’s embrace that she hadn’t even noticed Michael’s presence.
He continued to watch her, bound by the refusal to believe, yet compelled by the fact that he must. His heartbeat was starting to pound – he felt his life falling apart. He wanted to reach out, tear them apart, stop whatever was between them from happening. But it was too late for that, she was carrying Chambers’s child, so without uttering a word he turned and walked quietly away.
Chapter 18
AS ELLEN PULLED back from Tom’s arms she could feel her cheeks warming with colour. She looked up into his face and smiled, awkwardly, even shyly, then laughing she said, ‘I guess it was me who needed that. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he told her, in the droll, self-mocking way he so often assumed.
Ellen laughed again. She’d intended the hug to be a comfort to him, but when he had put his arms around her she’d realized just how much she had needed it too. It had gone on perhaps a little longer than either of them had intended, but there had been such a warmth to it, such a shared yet unspoken understanding, that neither had been in a hurry to let go. It was the first physical contact they’d had since the night they’d made love, and though she still couldn’t deny how attractive she found him, there wasn’t a moment’s doubt in her mind that the arms she really wanted to hold her were Michael’s. She missed him so much, and some days, like today, were much harder to bear than others.
Glancing quickly around she said, ‘I should be going. I’ve got a plan for this evening that I really hope is going to work out.’
His handsome face showed yet more irony. ‘Then I wish you luck,’ he responded.
Ellen knew it was a mask, one he hid behind rather than let anyone see the anguish, or sadness, he was feeling. Or perhaps it was anger he was disguising, fury even, at the still unfinished business in Colombia. Though she didn’t imagine he ever forgot it, seeing the hostage set had to have been the most brutal of reminders, and with the shoot date coming so close, he was surely thinking, wondering, how effective the movie would be. Would it be enough to bring Rachel’s killers to justice, and in turn would that be enough for him?
Ellen hoped to God it would be, for the last thing she wanted was to see him returning to Colombia to try once again to take his revenge on the men who had destroyed his and Rachel’s lives. Though she could certainly understand his need to do that, it wasn’t the answer, for if he killed Molina and the Zapata brothers he would be allowed no future other than behind the bars of some godawful Colombian jail. However, one thing was for certain, he needed some closure on this or he was never going to get on with his life.
‘Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,’ he said, starting back towards the newspaper office and general chaos that was going on beyond.
‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked, falling in beside him.
‘Me?’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘I don’t know. I’ll probably catch a movie, or go over some of the stuff our estimable star is testing me with.’
Ellen smiled, for Richard Conway’s attempt to get inside Tom’s head for the purposes of his role wasn’t an exercise that Tom was enjoying. ‘Sandy not around?’ she said.
He stopped to pick up a wrench that one of the builders had just dropped. ‘She flew over to New York yesterday,’ he answered, passing the wrench over. ‘One of her clients is auditioning for some Broadway show next week, she’s gone to lend some moral support. I think she’s got other business while she’s there, so she doesn’t reckon on being back until the end of the week.’
‘She’s coming back here?’ Ellen said, standing aside as a couple of drapers carried past a ladder. ‘How’s she managing to be out of London for so long?’
Tom glanced at her with comically raised brows and Ellen laughed.
‘So there is something between you two?’ she said.
‘We’re good friends,’ he answered.
Though she longed to know more, she reined in her curiosity, sensing it wouldn’t really be welcome. And why would it be when his love life was none of her business, nor was it a subject she’d be entirely comfortable discussing. Though she had to confess that she wouldn’t be too happy to learn that he was getting it on with Sandy, for despite Sandy’s recent morph into a reasonable and sane individual, she certainly wasn’t Ellen’s idea of the kind of woman Tom needed.
‘Looks like Joe and the others left already,’ she said, referring to the designer and line producers. ‘I needed to speak to him, but I’ll call him later. Are you going to be there for the press call tomorrow?’
Tom grinned. ‘Can you see Michael letting me get out of it?’ he responded.
Ellen laughed. ‘And no more should he,’ she replied. ‘You’re a major bonus in the publicity package, whether you like it or not. People are going to want to see you every bit as much as they’re going to want to see Richard Conway.’
‘I think that might be overdoing it a bit,’ he commented. ‘For a start he’s younger and better-looking.’
‘Younger maybe,’ she teased. ‘And you don’t have a manager who’s a royal pain in the butt.’
They’d reached her car by now and as she opened the door to get in, she said, ‘Why don’t you give Matty a call? I don’t think she’s doing anything later, maybe you could take in a movie together.’
He shrugged. ‘OK, I might do that,’ he answered.
Ellen looked up into his warm grey eyes and was fleetingly tempted to hug him again, for no other reason than she was feeling horribly anxious about her plans for the evening, and a squeeze from Tom might just help bolster her nerve.
>
As she pulled out of the parking lot a few minutes later a quick glance in her mirror showed him walking back towards the sound stage. Her heart sank, as she didn’t want to think about him returning to the set and trying to deal with everything it must be evoking. It was why she had called him earlier and asked him to meet her there, so that she could be around when he first saw the re-creation of Rachel’s final surroundings.
Though he’d hidden it well she knew it had shaken him deeply, but that was probably nothing to what he was going to feel when it came to the re-enactment of what had happened in that room. There had been extremely long and detailed discussions on how those scenes were going to be handled, discussions that Tom hadn’t always taken part in, preferring to leave it to Vic Warren to decide. God, this had to be a difficult time for him, and Ellen could only feel dismayed at herself for depriving him of the one friendship he could probably really do with right now, the one with Michael.
But she was about to try and do something about that, for the way she and Michael were going on couldn’t be allowed to continue.
Pulling down her sun-visor to block out the dazzling afternoon sun, she motored on for a while, swinging the car up onto Sunset, then continuing until she reached Chalet Gourmet, a pricey and exclusive grocery store not far from the Director’s Guild. Despite being a Sunday, there were still precious few spaces in the parking lot and the guy in the car behind was so close on her tail that she was tempted to slam on her brakes just to annoy him. He’d been with her almost since she’d left the studio, and it seemed he was keen on staying there. She hated being hassled like this, but rather than get into a fight, she pulled over to let him pass. As he came up alongside her she was sorely tempted to give him the finger, but there were so many crazies in this town it probably wouldn’t be wise, especially not as he was slowing right down.
Looking over at him she saw that he was like a hundred other Latinos who drove that kind of old Betsy, with rusted paintwork, balding tyres and no tax or insurance. What the hell he was doing in the parking lot of a place like Chalet Gourmet had to be a whole other story, except in his deluded state he was obviously trying to pick her up. She glared at him, then felt her skin crawl at the smile he gave back. It was a smile that was missing teeth and conveying lechery in such a repugnant way that she actually shivered. Men like that were so loathsome they should be locked up just for existing.
He was signalling for her to lower her window, and since she could go neither forward nor back, she pressed a button and complied. By now she was too angry to be afraid, which was probably exactly what he was getting off on, so in as pleasant a voice as she could muster she said, ‘Drive on, buster. I’m due at the AIDS clinic by four.’
His eyes were hidden by shades, but she saw his smile broaden before he treated her to an obscene, masturbatory gesture, then finally drove on. He said something too, something that sounded familiar despite his accent, but it must have been her imagination for there was just no way he could know her name. Besides, not even she referred to herself as Mrs McCann, so it had to have been something Spanish that just sounded like that.
An hour later she was carrying her shopping into the apartment and exchanging a quick hello with Matty who was on her way out.
‘Don’t wait dinner for me,’ Matty said, ‘there’s some kind of panic going on with a couple of the costumes. I’m going over there now, and God only knows how long it’s going to take. Oh, and I’ve got wig fittings in the morning, Vic wants you and Tom to be there so we can get the look right. Pierre’s going to do the cut, and he wants to know if we need any more hairdressing assistants. He’s got four on stand by.’
‘Tell him to talk to Lucy, she’s in charge of all that,’ Ellen responded, dumping her bags in the kitchen. ‘What time’s the wig fitting? Don’t forget we’ve got a press call.’
‘It’s before. At nine. The press call’s at eleven, so plenty of time. Oh, by the way, Michael called.’
Ellen turned round. ‘When?’ she said.
Matty shrugged. ‘A couple of hours ago. No message. He just said he’d catch up with you later.’
Ellen’s insides had gone watery. ‘He didn’t want me to call back?’ she said.
‘Mm, mm,’ Matty answered, shaking her head as she popped a grape. ‘Boy, these are good. But call him anyway, if you want to. He’s your husband, after all.’
‘He’s also a co-exec. producer,’ Ellen reminded her. ‘Meaning the call will have been work-related.’
‘But you were hoping otherwise,’ Matty said. ‘I could see it in your eyes. You know, if you ask me, this has gone on long enough …’
‘Spare me the lecture,’ Ellen said, holding up her hand. ‘I’m in total agreement, which is why I’ve got all this food – I’m going to invite him – and Robbie and Clodagh – over for dinner tonight. I thought it would be a step in the right direction.’
‘I won’t argue with that,’ Matty responded. ‘Now I’ve got to fly. Have a good time, all of you, and save a couple of mouthfuls for me.’
‘You mean you’re eating?’ Ellen called after her. ‘What about dieting for those love scenes?’
Matty scowled at her menacingly, then, coming back for a handful of grapes, she kissed her on the cheek and left.
Ellen carried on with her unpacking, picking up the phone as it rang and tucking it into her shoulder. It was Sandy calling from New York, wanting to know if Ellen had the latest budget forecasts for the twenty-six-parter. As it happened there were copies in Ellen’s briefcase, so they spent the next fifteen minutes going over them, in preparation for a meeting Sandy was having the next day.
When finally she rang off Ellen was even more perplexed and irritated by Sandy than usual. There was just no way she was taken in by this new, saintly persona, although she found herself responding to it as though she were. It was hard being frosty with someone who seemed so friendly, but as chatty and agreeable as she was being Ellen remained convinced that the woman was a bitch, and maybe an increasingly dangerous one now that she was finding more effective ways to hide it.
Going back to the kitchen she finished unpacking her bags, then, allowing herself no time for nerves or procrastination, she picked up the phone to call Michael. But before she could dial it rang, and for the next half-hour she was tied up again on all kinds of problems and decisions concerning the movie. Knowing it had taken over Michael’s life too, she couldn’t help wondering how he was feeling right now, just a week away from the cameras rolling. No doubt he was as nervous and apprehensive as she was – or perhaps terrified would be a more accurate description – that something might go wrong.
She didn’t want to be thinking about all that now though, she wanted to put it to one side and let them have at least this one evening as a family before everything rolled past the start line. It would be their first time together for more than three months, since before the wedding, and before the bombshell that had all but torn their lives apart.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said when he answered the phone.
She waited, feeling her heart trip on his silence, but reminding herself it was his pride again, she put a laugh in her voice as she said, ‘I was in the mood for cooking and thought you all might like to come and join me.’
There was a moment’s pause before he said, ‘I don’t think so.’
She was stunned. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might turn her down, so she wasn’t at all prepared for what to say next. ‘Why not?’ she finally managed.
‘I just don’t,’ he said.
She was trying hard to establish some sense here, as his manner was nothing like it had been these past few weeks in the office, when she’d started to believe that he might at last be coming round to the idea of working something out. She felt suddenly panicked, as though everything was slipping away from her, but pulling herself quickly together she said, ‘You must have a reason.’
‘You know the reason,’ he told her. ‘We can put on a front for other
people, but the pretence ends there.’
‘What pretence?’ she said, feeling her head start to spin. ‘I love you, Michael, there’s no pretence about that.’
His answer was so harsh she could hardly believe he had said it. ‘I don’t know what your game is, Ellen,’ he snapped, ‘but if you think you can string us both along until you know who the father is, then think again.’
‘What do you mean? What are you talking about?’ she cried.
‘You know what I’m talking about,’ he responded, and before she could protest any further he hung up.
She gazed around the apartment, momentarily stunned, then snatching up her bag, she took out her address book and rapidly started to dial. Joe, the designer, wasn’t home, so she tried his mobile, while flicking through the pages to find a number for one of the line producers. No reply from Joe’s mobile, and as she clicked off the line a call came in from one of the cast which she dealt with, then started to dial again.
She knew it was guilt that was driving her, that the chances of Michael knowing about that shared moment with Tom were minimal, but it was standing out so sharply in her mind that she had to find out if someone had seen, and then told him. At last she tracked down Ron Hubbard, one of the stage managers who’d been on the set earlier.
‘No, I didn’t speak to Michael today,’ he said when Ellen asked. ‘But I saw him.’
‘Saw him?’ she said, her heart starting to beat even faster. ‘Where?’
‘He was over at the set, looking for you. I guess he didn’t find you, huh?’
‘Oh my God,’ Ellen breathed, then remembering who she was talking to she mumbled a quick goodbye and rang off. ‘Oh my God,’ she muttered again. ‘What timing! What lousy rotten timing!’
The phone rang.
‘Yes,’ she barked into it.
‘Ellen, I’ve got someone from The Gossip Show on the other line,’ the senior publicist told her. ‘They’re asking if you want to comment on some rumour they’ve heard about a romance between you and Tom Chambers.’