by Susan Lewis
‘You’re an amazing woman, do you know that?’ Matthew said, as he and Stephanie waited to hear Marian’s door close upstairs. Stephanie gave him a smug grin and followed him into the flat. ‘Nightcap?’ he offered.
‘Just coffee.’
She leaned against the kitchen door, patiently listening as he objected to Marian’s over-indulgence of grief in – of all places! – a restaurant. The expression of distaste was punctuated by the clattering of crockery and three trips to the fridge, where he opened and closed the door without taking anything out.
‘Milk,’ Stephanie said eventually. ‘I’d hazard a guess you’re looking for the milk.’
‘Thank you,’ he muttered, not without irony. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, she’s a nice enough kid, reminds me of my daughter in a way. Not so pretty as Samantha, of course, but then Samantha takes after her father.’ He grinned, waiting for her reaction, but she only lifted her eyebrows. ‘But you didn’t have to offer the girl a job. Or my money!’
‘Don’t be stingy. And I offered her the job because I really do need a secretary. Tanya’s leaving at the end of the month, and quite frankly I don’t fancy taking on one of those bright young things that parade about Soho – they frighten me with their widow’s weeds and ghoulish make-up. Marian could be just what I’m looking for – and her lack of sophistication will be a refreshing change for us all.’
‘Lack of sophistication?’ he laughed. ‘I didn’t know it was possible to be so green in this day and age. If you ask me . . .’
‘Which no one did . . .’
‘. . . the girl adds a whole new dimension to the meaning of gullibility.’ He picked up the tray and she followed him into the sitting-room. As he poured the coffee Stephanie kicked off her shoes and curled up in a corner of the sofa.
Until then they’d spent the best part of the evening concentrating on Marian and her predicament; Stephanie had found it rather endearing, the way Marian livened up when she’d considered what Madeleine would say if she knew she was going to be moving to London. Matthew had swallowed his irritation and tried several times to manoeuvre the conversation round to Disappearance. He hadn’t had much success, except to talk about what Marian’s role would be. Then came the question of where she would live. For one alarming moment he thought Stephanie was going to suggest Marian moved in with him. His glass had hit the table and he’d already drawn breath to protest before he realised that Stephanie was quite expertly sending him up. Now it seemed that for the time being Marian was going to take up residence in Stephanie’s spare room. At that point Matthew had thrown up his hands – what wasn’t Stephanie prepared to do for this girl?
‘A degree in philosophy, who’d have thought it of her?’ Stephanie mused.
‘Me, for one. It’s just the sort of useless thing kids go for these days. Well, it hasn’t got her very far, has it?’ he added in response to Stephanie’s look.
‘I wonder what did happen to that boyfriend and cousin of hers?’ she said. ‘Still, not our problem. If you ask me, she’s better off without them. They sound a very dubious pair, don’t you think?’ She looked up. He was standing over her and her heart kicked against her ribs when she saw the lambency in his eyes. ‘Are you going to stand there all night, holding that cup of coffee?’ she said awkwardly.
The corner of his mouth dropped in a grin as he relaxed onto the sofa beside her and put his cup on the table.
‘Now tell me how pleased you are to be doing Disappearance,’ she said.
‘How would a bit of obeisance do you?’
‘Oh yes. I could go for that.’
He made a noise that said ‘fat chance’, and she laughed.
‘What made up your mind?’ he asked. ‘I mean, about me. And how come the visit? Not that I’m not honoured, of course.’
‘I wanted to tell you in person,’ she answered, avoiding the first question, ‘so we could celebrate together. And I thought it would give us a chance to catch up, bury the hatchet, or whatever it is we need to do.’
‘So you invite Marian Doolittle to join us?’
‘Don’t be unkind. She was unhappy and frightened, surely even you could see that. And in case you’d forgotten, I’ve been there myself.’
His eyes shot to hers, held them for a moment, and then he shook his head, laughing. ‘God, I’m slow. It’s the broken hearts club, isn’t it? That’s why you’re doing all this for her. And I suppose that I, as a distinguished member of the offending sex, have to be grateful I’m home in one piece.’
‘What do you mean, Matthew?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ he answered lazily. ‘But perhaps we should change the subject before I start choking on my own foot.’
Stephanie sipped her coffee. She still felt trapped, even though he’d given her a way out. But the lid of their own Pandora’s box was open now, and despite the fear of going on, there was nothing she could do to stop the words that were clamouring for escape. ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking since we last met,’ she said finally. She hoped he might help by asking what her thoughts had been about, but he didn’t. ‘I did and said a lot of things on that last night – things I’m so ashamed of now that I don’t know where to begin to . . .’
‘Don’t,’ he said. And when she turned to look at him, ‘It’s in the past, Steph.’
‘But we have to talk about it. If we’re going to work together we can’t pretend that nothing happened. And I want to tell you how awful I felt about everything I said, the way I behaved. I knew, even as I was saying it, that I shouldn’t be talking about Samantha like that. But God, Matthew, I was so desperate I hardly knew what I was saying.’
‘I know that. And I’m the one to blame, Stephanie, not you.’
She gave a dry laugh. ‘Oh, I blamed you all right. You’d promised me so much, I’d built my whole life round it – so that when you went, you took everything. Everything. And then, after you’d told me there couldn’t be any future for us, you never called again, you didn’t even write, not even to answer my letters. God, I hated you then.’
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor. ‘I had to do it that way, Steph. I didn’t know any other. It was touch and go whether Samantha would live, and Kathleen was on my back with threats every minute of the day. I won’t go into all the guilt I suffered, but it was as much because of what I’d done to you as it was because of them.’ He turned to face her. ‘The letter you sent, the one you put in my birthday card?’ She nodded. ‘I don’t think I realised quite how much I loved you until then. Leaving you was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.’
She sighed and half laughed. ‘I wish I’d known, it might have made things easer – does that sound dreadful? But I needed a reaction from you, something that told me I had mattered, even if I didn’t any more. That was the worst part of it, really – not knowing how you were feeling.’
He took her hand and locked his fingers through hers. ‘I’m sorry.’
She looked at their hands and felt the stirrings of an almost forgotten warmth. It was a long time since she had allowed herself to remember that dreadful sense of meaninglessness and confusion she’d felt when he had gone. Eventually she’d managed to fill the void – or thought she had, until the other day. Abruptly she drew her hand away. ‘Listen to us,’ she laughed. ‘And you accused Marian of over-indulging.’
‘Oh no, not her again,’ he groaned, then ducked as she made to hit him.
They were both sorry the moment was broken, knowing there was still a great deal to be said, but Stephanie changed the subject to Disappearance and he followed her lead. They discussed who might be suitable for the role of Olivia Hastings; how long they would need to shoot in New York; when would be the best time to go to Italy; and, inevitably they speculated on what had really happened to Olivia. All the time they talked, the old wounds and long-stifled feelings were unfurling, snatching their smiles, tugging at their hearts, until emotions were running amok inside them like dormant imps g
iven a new lease on life.
‘Are you going to tell me,’ he asked, swallowing what he really wanted to say, ‘what the new evidence is concerning Olivia?’
‘I wondered when you were going to ask,’ she answered, looking at her watch. ‘You can read the note when you come to London. It was sent about a year ago, to Frank Hastings.’
His mind was racing. He knew she was on the point of leaving, but he didn’t want her to go yet. ‘When do I get to meet him?’
‘We’ll go over to New York in a couple of months. Probably when this film you’re doing now is at the dub stage.’ She wanted to ask him more about the film, anything to prolong her stay, but at the same time she needed to be alone – to think.
‘At the dub stage?’ he repeated. ‘Could be tricky.’
‘We’ll work something out.’ She looked at him, and he didn’t look away.
‘And what about us, Steph?’ he asked eventually. ‘Will we work something out for us?’
She tensed, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse. ‘You said once that there couldn’t be any us.’
‘I was wrong.’
‘Were you?’
‘Stephanie, you’re the only woman I’ve ever . . .’
‘No, don’t.’
He pulled her round to face him. ‘You can’t run away from it, Stephanie.’
‘No! What I can’t do is go through it all again,’ she said angrily. ‘No, please don’t touch me. It’s too soon, Matthew. No Matthew, please . . .’ She sobbed as his mouth closed over hers.
When he let her go she was shaking, and he smiled at the confusion in her eyes.
‘Please don’t smile at me like that,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know any other way.’
She turned her head away. ‘Oh God, Matthew, if only you knew how often I’ve dreamt about that smile, about this, about the way you . . .’
‘The way I what?’ he chuckled.
She pushed him away. ‘I’m not ready for this, Matthew. I’m . . . it’s come as a shock, seeing you after all this time and finding out that . . .’
‘A shock? But you admitted yourself that you’d bought the rights to the book because you knew I’d want to do it. Surely you must have known then . . .’
‘No! You’re wrong! I didn’t know anything then. Except that maybe I could hold it in your face and then snatch it away.’
‘Revenge?’
She nodded.
‘Why didn’t you do it?’ He waited. ‘Because . . .?’
‘Because my feelings for you haven’t changed!’ she shouted. ‘Is that what you want to hear? Well, it’s true, they haven’t. Seeing you again has been just about the worst thing I could have done. For Christ’s sake, why do you always have this effect on me? I don’t even know what I’m saying!’
‘Why are you getting so angry?’
She leapt to her feet, kicking around for her shoes. ‘Oh, it’s all so easy for you, isn’t it? You haven’t suffered the way I have these past six years. And now you tell me you’ve left your wife and expect me to come running. Well, I’m not going to, Matthew. I’m telling you, I’m not!’
‘OK, OK.’ He was laughing and holding up his hands in defence.
‘Please don’t laugh at me, I feel undignified enough as it is.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘Now, if we are to work together, I think it’s better that we never refer to our past again. This is to be a purely professional relationship, and I’d like you to respect me as a producer, as I shall obviously respect you as a director. Are we agreed?’ By this time she was at the door, but turned back when he didn’t answer. ‘I said, are we agreed?’
He tugged a forelock of his black hair. ‘If that’s what you want, Stephanie, then agreed. Purely professional.’
‘Good. Please call me when you’re back in London; by that time Bronwen, my partner, will be anxious to see you. I take it you’ll want Woody as a first and Bob Fairley lighting?’
He nodded.
‘Goodnight, then. I hope you can sleep through that terrible din,’ she said, referring to the music that had just set the ceiling shaking. Then she left, hating him for agreeing to her conditions, but hating herself even more for behaving in the way she had.
As she sat at the upstairs window, watching Stephanie drive away, Marian could feel fate creeping up on her, and she wrapped her arms more tightly round her body, as if resisting it. Now that the initial excitement of meeting Stephanie and having her life taken in charge had worn off, she was again being sucked into a vacuum of loneliness. Everything she’d done in her life had been done with Madeleine, and it panicked her to think that in a few weeks she was going to embark on a new life without her.
But she would do it, if for no other reason than that she could no longer bear to look in the mirror and see herself shrivelling inside a cowardly shell of defeat. Because she missed them so much, because without them there seemed no purpose to her life, she had become ugly again, her hair was lank and the very pores of her skin seemed to close in the misery. But for a while, for a few short months, she had been alive, vibrant and happy – there had been no cowardice, no weakness, because Paul had loved her and . . .
Her breath caught in her throat, and as she turned from the window and walked slowly towards the bed, tears ran silently down her face. ‘Where are you?’ she whispered into the darkness. ‘Paul, Maddy, where are you?’
– 8 –
The long, low whistle came from a hole in the ground. Looking down, Madeleine saw two workmen peering up from under their helmets and surveying her legs appreciatively. She laughed and waved, then crossed through the busy Knightsbridge traffic to the row of shops opposite. Glancing at the piece of paper she clutched in her hand, she checked the address, then inspected herself in a shop window before carrying on down the Brompton Road. Finally she arrived at a set of glass doors with two rows of intercom bells on a side panel. The Crabb Agency was on the third floor. She announced her name, and the door was released. Though she strolled nonchalantly up the stairs, her stomach was a tight knot of nervous excitement.
She reached the third floor and pushed open the swing doors. A receptionist looked up – but before either of them could speak, a dour-looking woman emerged from an office and introduced herself as Deidre Crabb’s secretary.
‘If you’d like to come this way,’ she said, standing back for Madeleine to walk ahead. Madeleine smiled her thanks, but the woman’s face remained lifeless as she ushered her into a small office. At the far side of the office was another door, which the secretary opened without knocking. ‘Madeleine Deacon,’ she announced, and turned to look up at Madeleine, whose silver and gold tin bracelets jangled at her wrists as she raised a hand to sweep the mass of dishevelled hair from her eyes.
Deidre Crabb turned from her computer screen and stood up. Her dark auburn hair frizzed round her head and fell in jagged points far below her shoulders. There was so much of it that it made her body appear more willowy than it actually was, and her handsome face softer. ‘Ah, Madeleine,’ she smiled, holding out both her hands and walking across the room. ‘Come in, do come in.’ Even taller than Madeleine, she was able to put an arm round her shoulders as she guided her to a pair of black leather sofas in the corner. Glancing back, she nodded to Anne, who went out, closing the door behind her. ‘This is splendid,’ Deidre intoned. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you since our little chat on the phone.’ Her voice was low and melodic, and when she smiled Madeleine felt herself responding to the warmth she exuded.
‘Me too,’ she said chirpily, as Deidre pushed her gently onto a sofa. ‘I feel really honoured to be here. I mean, everyone’s heard of you, and everyone told me that you were really difficult to get to see.’
Deidre’s feline eyes narrowed as she looked down at the frank, upturned face. So this was the girl who was waving ten grand in the face of anyone prepared to give her a chance. She chuckled. ‘It’s true that I don’t see every girl who gets in touch, where woul
d I find the time? There are other people in the agency who deal with the day to day enquiries; it would have been more usual for you to see one of them first.’
Madeleine watched Deidre as she moved round the coffee table and relaxed onto the opposite sofa. She crossed her slim legs and tugged at the cuffs of her mustard suit. Then resting her head on a loosely clenched fist, she said, ‘So you want to be a model, Madeleine?’ She laughed. ‘But of course, why else would you be here?’
Madeleine giggled; but then, as a gentle glow of admiration suffused Deidre’s eyes, she experienced a swell of confidence that turned her smile to one of languid self-satisfaction.
Deidre inclined her head, quietly impressed by such a rapid, yet nonetheless remarkable transformation in the girl’s poise. ‘How much modelling work have you done?’ she enquired.
Up to now, in all the other interviews she’d had, Madeleine had lied, but there was something about Deidre that told her it wasn’t necessary. ‘None,’ she answered.
Deidre nodded. ‘I don’t think that should prove too much of a problem, I suspect you’re a remarkably beautiful young woman beneath all that make-up. Turn your face to the light a little, would you?’
Shrugging off the comment about her make-up, Madeleine raised her face so that it was bathed in the yellowy glow of the lamp beside her. So far she’d been to see four other agents, and though they’d all seemed interested at first, they’d all of them turned her down in the end. Of course, she had no idea that Deidre Crabb was behind the rejections, because she had no idea how much power Deidre Crabb wielded in this exclusive world. But there was something about Deidre that made Madeleine want to impress her, and somehow she knew that if she succeeded, this woman would change her life. Her pulses started to race as the prospect sent a quick, electrifying thrill through her body. It aroused her in a way that stained her cheeks with colour and made her lips tremble as she circled them with her tongue. She thought of Paul, and suddenly she was hot, burning, and as a dark fire seeped from the violet depths of her eyes, Deidre leaned forward, mesmerised. The look was charged with such powerful yet indolent eroticism that she felt a jolt of excitement flash through her veins – an excitement so vivid that it seemed to seize a beat from her heart. She had never, in all her years as an agent, seen such a look.