He had the measure of every one of them, knew exactly what to offer as a bribe or use as a threat. Politicians always did. Human beings were their stock in trade; they bought and sold them, manipulated and cheated them, used them without scruple. Somehow or other Don Gowrie would have cobbled together some sort of agreement with Steve and Paul.
Above their voices rose the sound of a vehicle. Was that Vlad? Sophie pushed the door wider and watched a Land-Rover parking right outside. Vlad stumbled from it, dishevelled as ever, brushing ash off his ancient tweed jacket and shabby raincoat. The man driving the vehicle drove off again and Vlad looked round, orientating himself, saw her, and held out his arms, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Sophie! Girl, I’ve been worried sick about you!’
She felt her spirits lift. Smiling as she ran, she threw herself into his waiting arms.
‘Vlad! Oh, Vlad, it’s so good to see you!’
He held her away after a warm hug and stared down into her face, searching her eyes, noting her pallor, her quivering lips.
‘You OK?’ His heavy features were anxious, concerned.
She made a face, shrugged. ‘I’ll survive.’
He hugged her again. ‘That’s my girl.’
Paul and Steve stood watching; she didn’t look their way because Steve’s shrewd eyes saw too much, she was afraid of what he would read in her eyes, and she didn’t want to give anything away to Paul, either.
In the house the phone began to ring again, rang on and on, and Paul turned his head to stare through the open door.
‘Where is everyone? Why doesn’t somebody answer that? Damn the thing! I’d like to have it cut off.’
The ringing stopped. They heard footsteps and the housekeeper came to the open front door. ‘It’s for you, sir. Mr Levinson.’
‘I’ll take it in my study,’ Paul said curtly. He glanced at the rest of them. ‘Sorry, excuse me.’
He vanished into the house and Vladimir turned to stare after him. ‘Is that the husband? The guy who married little Anya? I didn’t get a chance to take a good look at him. What do you think? Is he OK for her? Do you like him?’
Sophie nodded, ruefully smiling. ‘He has been very kind to me. Very sympathetic.’ She couldn’t betray her sister’s confidences, tell them that Cathy wasn’t certain of Paul, was afraid he might leave her now. Cathy might be way off the mark, her imagination working overtime. She was too upset to be able to think properly.
‘Where is she?’ Vlad demanded. ‘I am dying to see her. Last time I saw her she was a baby, just born – Jesus, that was a long, long time ago. Another world, nuh? This is going to make me feel very, very old.’
‘You are very, very old,’ Steve joked, and they grinned at each other.
Sophie was startled but loved the easy familiarity between them. How had they become friends so fast? But then they had so much in common: they were both newsmen, both cynical, hard-boiled, humorous, capable of great tenderness.
‘Anya is upstairs lying down,’ she said, then looked behind them. ‘Where’s Gowrie?’
‘He walked over to the helipad to talk to his security people,’ Steve told her drily. ‘He will be leaving soon, I gather.’ His eyes glinted with anger and contempt.
‘Having made a deal with you?’ She stared into those eyes, wondering why he had agreed to accept Gowrie’s terms. He was ambitious, but she couldn’t believe he would sell her and Cathy out just to help his own career.
‘Oh, yes, he got what he wanted, so he’s ready to leave. He says he wouldn’t feel safe here unless his men can stake out the house, and Paul won’t have that, he doesn’t want them around, so Gowrie is going. But first he says he’ll come to say goodbye to Cathy. He wants her to drive up to London to see his wife; they didn’t bring her with them in the chopper. In case something went wrong, Gowrie said, but he meant in case she overheard anything, picked up what was really going on here. The last thing he wants is for her to remember that Cathy isn’t . . .’ He broke off, gesturing.
‘Isn’t her Cathy,’ Sophie murmured, pitying the woman she had never met, a woman who had deferred her child’s death by nearly thirty years, yet had never been a real mother to Cathy, never close to her, because she had been in flight from herself and the truth, drifting between illusion and reality.
‘Could we have something to drink?’ Vlad asked wistfully. ‘I’ve been hanging about outside the gates for hours, they wouldn’t let me in for some reason. That wind is icy and I’m freezing.’
‘I’ll ask the housekeeper to make us some coffee,’ Sophie said, and he grimaced.
‘I was thinking of something stronger, nuh?’
Paul walked into his office, closed the door and sat down behind his desk. The telephone was already ringing; his housekeeper had switched the call through.
‘Hello? Freddy?’
‘Yes. Paul, I –’
‘I hope this is important. I’ll be back in town in a couple of hours. Can’t it wait?’
‘I saw Salmond last night,’ Freddy abruptly said, and Paul stiffened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone. What was Freddy going to tell him? Had he sold out? Had Salmond bought him? Then he thought: no, not Freddy, Freddy wouldn’t rat on me, he never has and he never will. He’s been loyal to me from the beginning. Loyalty is his middle name. What the hell is the matter with me? I’ve been spending too much time with shits like Don Gowrie.
‘I was having dinner with my cousin and his wife last night,’ Freddy was saying. ‘Celebrating their wedding anniversary. I was paying, my present to them – she wanted to go to the Primavera, that new Italian place that’s all the rage at the moment, she’s that sort of woman, you know, loves to be in the latest fashion and –’
Paul erupted. ‘Freddy, for God’s sake – never mind your bloody family – what about Salmond?’
‘Sorry, I’m in quite a state this morning. Can’t think straight. I almost rang you last night, but we drank too much over dinner, you know how it is, cocktails, then wine, then brandy afterwards, and I don’t usually drink, as you know and –’
‘Get to the starting-price, damn you, Freddy!’
He audibly swallowed. ‘Yes. Sorry. I saw Salmond as we walked into the restaurant. He was at a corner table; he was having dinner with . . . you’ll never guess, I couldn’t believe my eyes –’
‘I don’t have time for guessing games, Freddy. Just tell me, will you?’ Paul was on tenterhooks waiting for the crunch – why wouldn’t Freddy spit out whatever bad news he had to tell?
‘Chantal Rousseau,’ Freddy gabbled out, and Paul jerked as if someone had kicked him in the guts.
‘What?’
‘I couldn’t believe it, either, when I saw them – I didn’t even know she knew the guy, after all he lives in the States, I had no idea . . .’
‘Salmond’s trying to persuade her to sell her shares to him, of course,’ Paul thought aloud.
‘That was the first thought I had. But I sat there for two hours and watched them,’ Freddy told him grimly. ‘And they never even noticed me, never once looked round, they were too engrossed in each other. There was no two ways about it, they kept touching hands, looking into each other’s eyes, I could even see under the table, their knees touching . . . he was moving his leg against hers. Paul, they’re having an affair.’
‘Shit,’ Paul said thickly. ‘That bitch, that two-faced bitch. Sweet as honey to me on the phone the other day, when all the time . . . She’s going to sell me out.’
Freddy sighed. ‘I remembered after a while that she had been going over to the States regularly over the last six months; her firm are associated with some American firm now, aren’t they? That’s how she and Salmond must have met. But of course that doesn’t mean she’ll sell him our shares. Well, we can’t be sure she’d do that. I mean, she wouldn’t confuse her private life with her business – she’s quite a cold-headed bitch, isn’t she? That was the impression I always had of her.’
‘I wouldn�
�t be surprised to find out that it was her who suggested he targeted us,’ Paul said flatly. ‘Chantal has always been one of those people who enjoys revenge served cold. She’s never forgiven me.’
‘She must have been crazy about you to feel that bad,’ Freddy said, sounding pitying, and Paul laughed angrily.
‘It was her ego not her heart that got hurt, Freddy! Don’t be so sentimental. Everyone knew we’d been dating; she felt I’d humiliated her. If she had had any warning she’d have publicly dumped me first, but I was over in the States when I met Cathy, and half the gossip columnists had the story before I got round to ringing Chantal. She never forgives an injury. Oh, she’s put on a good act this past year, pretending to be very friendly whenever we met, but she must have been waiting her chance to hit back at me, and when she met Salmond she had the idea of plotting with him to take my firm away from me.’
Freddy groaned. ‘What are we going to do, Paul?’
‘There’s nothing we can do. Her people hold a quarter of our shares – that, combined with what Salmond has already acquired, will give him control.’
‘We can’t just sit here and wait for the blow to fall!’ Freddy broke out.
‘What do you suggest we do, Freddy? Oh, use your head. Salmond knew he would win before he went public with the bid. They’ve just been having fun with me. It’s a foregone conclusion. We’ll go ahead with the shareholders’ voting, it will give us time to work out our next move, but we’ve already lost, take it from me.’
‘I can’t believe you’re taking this so calmly!’
Paul laughed shortly. ‘I’m not calm, Freddy. I’m shellshocked, believe me, but facts are facts and there’s no point in hiding our head in the sand.’
‘But there must be something you can do! You always have in the past. Couldn’t you talk to her? Persuade her not to sell?’
‘Persuade a shark to give up the body it has between its teeth, you mean? What do you think? She has the taste of my blood now. She won’t let me go until she has the rest.’
‘But we’ll still have our own shares, Paul. If we sell those to Salmond we’ll release all that money, we can start again.’ Freddy tried to sound optimistic, daring, but that had never been his nature. It had always been Paul who was the high flyer, the reckless one.
‘I’ll come back to London at once, Freddy. We’ll talk then,’ Paul said.
Cathy was almost asleep when she heard the soft footsteps outside her door. They paused. She heard muffled breathing and lay with closed eyes, suddenly knowing it was Paul. Her heart began to beat fast and hard; shaking her body. Was he going to come in? But after a moment he walked on, past her room, and opened his dressing-room door.
Was he changing his clothes? She lay still, listening, and heard him getting down a suitcase from the top of one of the long wardrobes which ran the length of the narrow room. As if she were in the room with him, she could see what he was doing, heard him snap open the case, heard the rattle of hangers as he took down clothes, shirts, jackets, suits.
Why is he packing? What is he packing? He had clothes in London, in the penthouse flat he used when he could not get home. He had everything he might need there.
Why was he packing all that stuff? More rattling of hangers; other clothes going in, and now he was opening drawers, getting out socks, underwear, pyjamas. How many cases was he taking, for God’s sake?
Cathy sat up, trembling, stumbled off the bed, tying a dressing-gown around her; she had taken off her clothes so that she could sleep. Under the dressing-gown all she wore was a silky slip, bra and panties.
Paul was so intent on packing that he didn’t hear her open the door into his dressing-room. He was closing the lid, locking the case, his head bent; the wintry sunlight striking his hair made it look quite white. With a shock Cathy thought, He looks . . . old. Overnight he had begun to look his age. His face was so gaunt, so haggard, and the silvery hair had no life in it at all.
He straightened to shut the wardrobe door, and saw her. They stared at each other without speaking; the abyss between them had been growing ever since he had discovered that she was not Don Gowrie’s daughter. Now it was so wide, so deep, she felt she would never be able to reach him again.
‘What are you doing?’ she stupidly asked, wanting to howl and scream like a wounded animal. How was it possible to feel such pain but talk in such a normal voice?
‘Packing a case.’ His face moved, then, with some thought she saw but could not identify – what was he thinking? His bones had tightened as if he was in pain, but his eyes stared at her from that terrible distance.
‘I can see that. Why? Why are you going? Where are you going?’
‘Back to London. I’ll be staying at the flat there for a while, I’ve got problems to deal with . . . it looks as if we can’t be at Salmond, I’m probably going to lose the company.’
‘Oh.’ It was another shock; the news shook her. ‘Oh, God, Paul, I’m so sorry.’ What did that mean? For them? If he lost the company would he leave her? Or not? ‘Can’t my father . . .?’ She stopped, shivering, at having used that word – she couldn’t stop thinking of him as her father yet, she didn’t know how else to think of him. She needed time to get used to the real truth. ‘Can’t he help?’ she huskily finished.
Paul shook his head. ‘Nobody can help. It’s all over, bar the counting.’
‘What happened? I thought various of your shareholders had pledged their votes to you.’
‘They changed their minds.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘They just did.’
‘Talk to me, Paul! Tell me what is going on!’
‘I haven’t got time now. I have to go.’
‘Why don’t I come with you?’ she pleaded. ‘Let me come! You shouldn’t be alone with all these worries, let me come.’
‘No!’ He took a long, rough breath, shuddering with it. ‘I’m sorry, no.’
A chill certainty seeped into her. ‘You’re leaving me,’ she half accused, half stated. ‘You aren’t coming back, are you?’
He looked away, his face stiff and set, nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. It’s over.’
‘What do you mean – over? Just like that? You’re leaving me without a word? Why? Why, Paul? At least tell me, to my face, why you’re going?’
‘There’s nothing to talk about. I’m sorry,’ he said again in a terse, harsh voice, and picked up the case, moving towards the open door.
She couldn’t just let him go without trying to hold on to him, she needed him too much. She kept remembering their nights together, their bodies moving in hot desire and then, when they had exhausted themselves with love, how they had slept closely entwined, arms and legs around each other, skin to skin, breathing as one creature, totally at ease one with the other. He couldn’t just have married her for her father’s money: he had loved her, she could have sworn he loved her, or he was the greatest actor in the world.
She stepped between him and the door and threw her arms round his neck, clinging, pushing her body into his. ‘Don’t go, please don’t leave me, I can’t bear it, I need you.’ She lifted her face to kiss him but he sharply jerked his head aside so she buried her mouth against his throat, kissed him with desperate urgency, her mouth moving, inviting, begging, breathing in the scent of his skin.
For a second she felt the surge of emotion rising in his body like sap in a tree. His hands gripped her shoulders, the fingertips moved, caressingly, he was breathing as if he were drowning, then he groaned, ‘NO!’ and suddenly thrust her away with a violence that sent her sprawling backwards on to the smooth white carpet.
By the time she had struggled back to her feet, Paul had gone. Cathy was crying by then, wildly, helplessly, her whole body shaking with the force of her sobbing. She ran into the bedroom and threw herself on her bed, face down.
Downstairs, Steve, Sophie and Vladimir were standing in the hall, beside the open fire, arguing. Steve had given Vladimir a brief sketch of the discussions w
ith Gowrie which had gone on while he was waiting outside the gates of Arbory House. Vladimir listened, glowering, a large half-drunk tumbler of whisky in his hand. It was his second. After his first he had asked to be shown around the hall. He wanted to have a closer look at some of the pictures hanging on the walls.
As Paul came down the stairs, Steve and Sophie looked round, and immediately noticed the case he was carrying.
‘Going somewhere?’ Steve asked drily.
‘Where’s Cathy? Is she OK?’ demanded Sophie anxiously.
‘Why don’t you go up to her?’ He was brusque, unsmiling; she saw a darkness in his eyes and was afraid for Cathy – had they quarrelled? Surely to God Cathy hadn’t been right? He wasn’t leaving her because she wasn’t Gowrie’s daughter?
Vladimir, in his obsessed way, was still thinking about what they had been discussing. In Czech he burst out, ‘I don’t care what you two say, Sophie, unless that bastard Gowrie is nailed and we tell the world just what sort of creep he is, he’ll end up president of the United States – and God help all of us then! Doesn’t that bother you?’
Paul harshly said, ‘It bothers the hell out of me.’
There was a silence. Sophie and Vladimir stared at him, then at each other, with shock and surprise. He had spoken in Czech: fluent, unaccented Czech.
‘You didn’t say you spoke Czech,’ Sophie said, in her own language.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Steve asked in English, looking from her to Paul.
‘Do I know you?’ Vladimir asked Paul slowly, eyes hard and thoughtful. ‘I thought I recognized you earlier, when I first arrived, then I wasn’t sure. But I was right, wasn’t I? We have met somewhere.’
Paul laughed with an odd sort of defiance and recklessness. ‘Maybe. Sorry, I have to go.’ He turned towards the front door and Vladimir drew a sharp breath, staring at his face in profile.
‘My God. Pavel.’
Paul turned to look at him again, not speaking.
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