by Joanna Rees
The lift pinged open and they were moving at breakneck speed across the hotel lobby. The noise was unbelievable. Frankie could hear the shouting as she looked at her shoes and continued to be shuffled by the bodyguards through the glass doors to the kerb outside.
Then, suddenly, she was at the door of another limousine. One of the bodyguards pushed her head down and she fell inside, opposite Sonny Wiseman and another man.
‘Good luck,’ she heard Debbie call.
The door closed, sealing off the noise. Frankie caught her breath.
The car was already moving, gliding away from the entrance of the hotel. Frankie stared back and saw a bank of photographers scrabbling against the bodyguards to get a shot of the car.
‘Wow!’ Sonny Wiseman said. ‘You scrub up pretty well, kiddo.’ He smiled at her.
‘But I thought you said it was just a party. I never thought—’
The man next to him was slowly taking off his shades. Frankie’s sentence remained unfinished. She gasped.
Todd Lands was sitting opposite her.
The Todd Lands.
‘There’s no time to explain,’ Sonny said. ‘Frankie, this is Todd. Todd, Frankie.’ He waved his fat hand between them.
‘She’s perfect, Sonny,’ Todd said. ‘Just right. You OK, sweetheart?’ he asked Frankie.
His voice was so familiar, his smile, his face, so recognizable from all the films she’d seen him star in, that she must have gawped even further at him. His teeth were a dazzling white.
But no, she wasn’t OK, goddamnit. She was going to be sick. This was way too scary. She was sitting opposite the biggest star in Hollywood. In the world, even.
And why? That’s what she now desperately wanted to know. And what did he mean perfect? And just right? Just right for what?
‘Has she signed the contract?’ Todd asked Sonny.
Sonny Wiseman picked up a sheaf of papers beside him and handed Frankie a pen.
‘OK, kiddo, just put your name here,’ he said, putting the pen into her hand and the finely typed sheets on her lap. ‘It’s nothing at all. Just a confidentiality agreement. We get everyone to sign them to protect Todd. Go on, hon, there’s no time. Just put your squiggle on it. We can go over the details later.’
Stunned, her stomach churning, Frankie signed the paper and handed it back to Sonny Wiseman.
‘Good girl. OK. It’s Todd’s big night. My big night, too,’ Sonny Wiseman continued. ‘We’ve just heard our film’s tipped to win the Palme d’Or. So listen up. There’s nothing to it. It’s an easy gig. Just step out on to the red carpet with Todd here and walk up to the Palais entrance.’
Oh my God! Frankie thought. He can’t be serious.
‘But, Mr Wiseman,’ she said, ‘I couldn’t! I’ve never—’
Sonny Wiseman waved his hand. ‘All you gotta do is make sure you don’t trip over,’ he continued. ‘But Todd will keep hold of you. Then you’ll stop with Todd on the steps whilst he talks to the press. There’s nothing to it. It’s a walk-on, walk-off part. Just make sure you don’t say anything, OK? OK? Anything at all. Let Todd do all the talking. Just smile and look your radiant self.’
‘But where’s Alex? I thought—’ Frankie glanced around for somewhere to run to but she was trapped. And already the limo had started to slow.
‘Don’t worry about Alex for now,’ Sonny said.
Frankie looked outside, horrified. The limo was in the centre of a press swarm. Cameras flashed. Muffled voices yelled.
‘But when will I see him? Mr Wiseman, I’m really not sure I—’
‘You know the drill, honey?’ Todd interrupted. She could hear the nervous energy in his voice. She watched him shake himself, stretching his face muscles. ‘Just do as Sonny says and don’t let me down.’
If he was nervous, how the hell was she meant to feel? Her legs wouldn’t move. She was petrified. How had she let herself get sucked into this? She didn’t want to escort anyone anywhere. Not even if it was Todd Lands. She only wanted Alex.
But Alex was nowhere to be seen.
The car stopped. Now the noise from the crowd outside was growing louder.
‘Make sure you talk to CNN first, Todd, OK?’ Sonny called.
CNN!
But Frankie didn’t have time to ask any questions, because the limo door was suddenly opening and the crowd’s screams were deafening.
‘Smile,’ whispered Todd, leaning in as close as he could to her ear as he took her hand and helped her out of the limousine. ‘Like you mean it.’
This was terrifying. She wanted to run. There were so many people . . .
Todd was much smaller than she’d imagined. In her heels she was a few inches taller than him, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in sheer star quality. He held her hand in a vice-like grip as the crowd behind the photographers went wild. And there it was – his film-star grin – as he held up her hand in his and acknowledged his adoring fans.
Frankie felt his hand on the small of her back, guiding her, and she was walking next to him, slowly up the red carpet. She sensed a million eyes on her. There were so many cameras she felt dizzy, as if she were in front of a relentless strobe.
And then they were standing in front of a bank of black TV cameras like a plague of overgrown bugs. She could just about make out the CNN logo of the one nearest her.
‘Hey, Todd, is this your new leading lady?’ someone shouted out.
Todd Lands grinned. ‘Well, guys, since you ask, this is Frankie, the new love of my life,’ he said, and before Frankie could protest, he held her firmly and tipped her backwards. And then he kissed her fully on the lips.
The crowd went wild as the assembled members of the world’s press burst into an overwhelming and delighted round of applause and the sky lit up with camera flashes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In Lechley Hall the rain hammered on the lead-pane kitchen windows. Emma slugged back the whisky shot and slammed the glass down on the table. Above the Aga, on a hinge on the wall, the small television was tuned into the news and Emma watched as the perfunctory report of Julian’s death was replaced by showbiz news and a sunny report about Todd Lands kissing a pretty girl at the Cannes Film Festival. Emma couldn’t bear it. She pointed the zapper at the small TV and put her head in her hands.
How could the newsreader do that? Move from something so serious to something so flippant and inconsequential?
Didn’t they realize that Julian’s death meant everything?
‘I don’t know how they got hold of the story,’ Susie said to Emma apologetically.
Emma rubbed her face. Of course the news channels were going to pick the story up. The table was strewn with the day’s papers, all detailing Julian’s suicide and the financial disaster he’d left in his wake. She couldn’t help resent the gloating tone that some of the papers had taken, delighting in the downfall of many of Julian’s investors.
‘Those bastards,’ Emma said, wiping her eyes, which seemed to leak continual tears. ‘Can’t they leave anyone alone?’
‘There’s a Lady Whiteley for you,’ Pim said, coming into the kitchen. ‘I left the phone on the bureau in the hall.’
Since they’d heard the news of Julian’s death, five days ago, Pim and Susie had been amazing, but Emma could tell from the strain on her brother’s face that he too was reeling from the financial consequences of the platinum mine being a hoax.
Because that’s what it had been: a hoax.
The worst part was that deep down, on a very subconscious level, Emma realized that she’d known. She’d known from the moment she’d first seen Dimitry Sergeyokov’s evil face. Yet she’d allowed Julian to go ahead with it. She’d ignored her intuition and looked the other way. And now he was dead.
Poor Julian had arrived in Russia to find panicked engineers at the mine site telling him that the mine he’d purchased was full of sand. The geologist’s report that Sergeyokov had given him was totally fraudulent.
The next
discovery was even worse. Sergeyokov had been offloading his own shareholding secretly and steadily at the top of the market. When Julian tried to contact him, he discovered that Sergeyokov had vanished into thin air.
The shambles that had followed had been inevitable. When word got out about the mine, the shares went into freefall. Within twenty-four hours of Julian’s arrival at the site, the shares were as worthless as the mine itself.
In addition came the catastrophic news that most of the money that was supposed to have been transferred from Platinum Reach in the BVIs to the bank in Norilsk had never arrived.
Julian hadn’t been able to bear it – or so Emma assumed because of what he’d done next.
He’d jumped. After midnight. From the twentieth floor of his hotel. A kitchen porter had found his bloodied body frozen in the gutter the next day.
Hugo had been distraught at the news of Julian’s suicide, explaining to Emma that he felt partly responsible.
He’d told Emma about a terrible row he’d had with Julian about the platinum mine and the whole financial deal surrounding Platinum Holdings and more specifically Platinum Reach in the BVIs. A row that had ended so bitterly that Hugo and Victoria hadn’t felt able to come to the ball.
Emma still couldn’t believe that Julian hadn’t told her he’d fallen out with Hugo. Hugo was his best friend, his most trusted business partner. And Victoria had kept quiet too. She hadn’t said a word to Emma because Julian had made them swear not to. He’d told them not to interfere or to upset Emma.
‘He wouldn’t listen,’ Hugo had told Emma as she’d sat on the McCorquodales’ sofa and tried to take in the magnitude of what he was saying. ‘I tried. Believe me, I tried. I told him that the mine was too risky. That the facts in the geologist’s report didn’t stack up. That he should have got it double-checked, no matter how much it cost.’
‘But Sergeyokov? What about him?’ Emma had asked.
‘I contacted all my associates in Russia and he simply wasn’t connected to anyone reputable. All his credentials were bogus. I begged Julian to pull out, but he refused. He had other City backers who said I was talking rot. He decided to trust them instead of me.’
‘But why?’ Emma had asked. ‘Why would he do such a thing? How could he be so reckless?’
‘For the oldest reason in the world,’ Hugo had said sadly. ‘Because he wanted to be right. And because he had so much money invested in the scheme by then, and so much at stake, he couldn’t afford to be wrong.’
But Emma had felt – and still felt now – that she was to blame. She’d let Julian go alone to Russia. She’d let herself be blinded by his enthusiasm.
And now he was gone. For ever.
His body had been flown back from Russia and driven in an unmarked black van to Lechley Park, where the funeral would take place tomorrow. Emma didn’t care how many people would come. She just wanted to disappear into a hole herself and never come out.
Now, wearily, Emma shuffled into the draughty hallway and picked up the phone. She already knew what was coming. Lady Whiteley sounded genuinely sorry, but Emma was hardly listening.
‘So you do understand, Emma, I hope. I know you’re always the first to defend the reputation of the charity. Owing to the recent adverse publicity . . . we no longer think it’s suitable to have you as a chairwoman when so many of our members have lost their investments—’
Emma put down the phone, cutting her off. For a moment, she stared at the dusty oil portraits in the shadowy stairwell. They stared back at her with betrayal in their unseeing eyes. After all she’d tried to do – Julian had hoped to do – to protect their ancient home and their descendants who lived here now, everything would have to go. Pim and Susie would almost certainly lose Lechley Hall and the park. They’d be left with nothing. Nothing at all.
A door slammed, making her flinch. Cosmo was marching down the black and white tiles of the corridor, leaving muddy footprints in his wake. Emma’s heart leapt. She’d been worried sick about him all day. Poor Cosmo. He was devastated by Julian’s death. Emma wished she could support him, but he seemed too distant and her own grief was too great.
‘Darling, where have you been?’ Emma said, going to him, but he shook her off.
‘They found this, in with the body,’ Comso said. She could see that his face was strained with fury. ‘The undertaker gave it to me.’
‘What?’ Emma asked, taking the note from him. Her hands were shaking.
‘From Dad. Read it.’
Emma sat with a thump on the small Queen Anne chair in the hallway. How could she have let Cosmo get hold of this? She was so shocked at seeing Julian’s handwriting that she hardly had time to register that Cosmo had opened a letter addressed to her.
I’m sorry, she read, for letting you down . . .
Cosmo was standing above her, watching her read. Emma felt a wail inside her. She bit down on her lip, determined to stay strong in front of her son.
I’ve made a fool of myself. And of you. I’ve lost everything and I cannot expect you to stand by me. I cannot live with the shame. You married a coward, Emma. I’m sorry for your pain, but you are better off without me.
She shook her head, rereading the short note. It couldn’t be. It went against everything she knew about Julian. He wasn’t a coward. He embraced life. He loved life. How could he throw it away over a business deal that had gone wrong?
It didn’t make sense.
She stared in mortification down the dark corridor, as if it were the barrel of a gun.
So he’d been conned? So what? It wasn’t the first time it had happened to a British businessman and wouldn’t be the last. Julian had said himself at the outset that business dealings in Russia for Westerners like himself were notoriously tricky. And if anyone could bounce back from a bad business deal, Julian could.
He’d been bankrupt before, for God’s sake. He’d lost everything and built it all again from scratch. And they’d done it together. Side by side.
So to do this? Her Julian?
Yet here it was, in front of her own eyes: the evidence of what he’d done. It was Julian’s handwriting. Unmistakably. Handwriting that she recognized from a thousand cards and gift tags and love letters, from the Post-it notes he left around the house, from the stories he’d written Cosmo when he was little . . .
Emma felt as if her heart was breaking all over again.
How could her Julian have done such an unspeakable thing?
Helpless anger overtook her. Did he know her so little that he would think for a moment she wouldn’t have stuck by him? That her financial discomfort or social embarrassment mattered compared to losing him?
‘You see, Mother . . .’ Cosmo said. Emma looked up at him, surprised to see him standing above her still. His voice was strong, but tears brimmed in his eyes. ‘It’s your fault.’
Emma felt as if she’d been stabbed. ‘My what?’
‘He couldn’t let you down. Dad decided to take the coward’s way out because he couldn’t face your disapproval. Because you’re so fucking materialistic.’
‘No,’ Emma gasped.
Cosmo’s eyes darkened. ‘It’s true. You just don’t want to admit it because all you care about is money. And how it makes you look.’
Emma couldn’t breathe. She staggered to her feet. She wanted to hit him. Claw out at him. Punish him for saying something so cruel.
‘No, no,’ she sobbed. Anger flooded her again. ‘Take it back. Take it back,’ she shouted.
‘No, I won’t!’
Emma reached out and struck him hard across the face.
Cosmo barely flinched. She stared at him, reeling, watching the red mark appear on his cheek. She couldn’t believe she’d hit him, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. He really believed what he’d just said. He really thought this was her fault.
His face was bereft of pity; only anger and hurt remained. He didn’t so much as blink. ‘Well, just so that you know, I’m not going to stick around and
pick up the pieces,’ he said, holding his hands out and backing away from her. ‘You did this to him, Mother. You did it.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked as he turned to leave. It was no more than a whisper.
‘Away.’
‘But you can’t. Cosmo, please—’
‘I swear, as long as I live, I’ll never forgive you.’
Emma reached out to him, but he turned on his heel and strode away from her. Outside. Beyond her reach. He slammed the front door behind him, shutting her back in the gloom. Emma lifted her shaking hand to her mouth and the silent wail inside her was silent no more.
‘He’ll calm down,’ she heard Susie say as she lifted her from the seat. But Emma couldn’t stop crying.
‘I want to go home,’ she gasped. ‘I want to be alone. Please, Susie. Just let me go home.’
‘You’ll have to talk to Sebastian first, I’m afraid,’ Susie said, ‘Pim’s with him. They’re in the drawing room.’
Sebastian Gatsworth had been the family lawyer for as long as Emma could remember. She’d never liked him.
He stood up as she entered with Susie. He was dressed in a dark-navy pin-striped suit and a striped tie. As if this was just another day. How could everyone else’s world keep turning when hers had smashed to a bloody stop in a gutter in an unknown street in Russia?
The drawing room was vast and under-furnished, with an oppressive ceiling of low beams. Shabby blue wallpaper was peeling off, revealing plaster dotted with mould. Without the normally roaring fire in the large hearth, it was chilly.
Emma had spent most of her childhood in this room, family Christmases and long evenings playing cards with Julian, Susie and Pim. And yet now these familiar surroundings seemed alien, as if any attachment or sense of belonging had slipped from her grasp.
‘I’m terribly sorry about all this,’ Sebastian said once Emma had composed herself. Emma nodded, sitting down on the sofa, which was covered in dog hair.
Sebastian paced by the fire for a moment.
‘I can’t tell you how difficult what I have to say is, Emma, and I know this isn’t the best time, but it really can’t wait.’