by Susan Lewis
‘Oh, they’re all right. God knows, we meet enough in this job. Anyway, tell me about the cosmetic range.’
‘Well, apparently it’s going to be ozone-friendly. Deidre wanted us to be thoroughly up-to-date, you know what she’s like. L’Oréal or is it Lancôme, are manufacturing the stuff and they’re calling it . . .’
‘Don’t tell me, The Look.’
‘You got it! But it’s not all fixed yet, I expect that’s what Deidre wants to see me about. If it comes off I’ll be even more famous than that silly cow who does Estée Lauder. What’s her name?’
‘Lillie Toppit. Ever heard such a ridiculous name? Actually, I’ve got a wonderful story about her. I don’t know if it’s true, but if it is I have to say she goes up in my estimation. It seems her boyfriend – he’s a struggling photographer or something in Paris – well, he got drunk one night, came home and buggered her. Can you imagine? It must have been agony. Anyway, you’ll never guess what she did. She only waited until he was asleep, got out her vibrator and rammed it up his bum.’
Madeleine’s shrieks of laughter brought frowns to the other faces in the room and one old lady actually told her to shush. ‘You’re not serious,’ she gasped, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘Are they still together?’
Shamir, who had been observing her friend’s hysterical mirth with cool amusement, said: ‘Apparently they are. Maybe he liked it.’ She smiled. ‘Anyway, back to the cosmetics. What does Paul think?’
‘He’s delighted for me. Well, he will be once I tell him.’
‘You haven’t told him yet!’ Shamir was amazed.
‘I haven’t had much of a chance. The day I came back from Ireland, where I was doing those shots for Penthouse, he went off up north researching. He only got back last night.’
‘And don’t tell me you had better things to do than talk about make-up?’
‘Last night we did, yes. This morning was a bit different, though.’ The light had dimmed in Madeleine’s eyes, and as she lowered her head Shamir noticed that her lips had started to tremble.
‘What is it?’ she asked, an expression of mild interest crossing her flawless face. ‘You haven’t had a row, have you?’
Madeleine tried to laugh it off. ‘A bit.’
‘What about?’
‘Oh, nothing really. But . . .’
‘But what?’ Shamir said impatiently.
‘No, it doesn’t matter. No doubt we’ll make it up tonight. What about you? Are you still seeing your rock star?’
Shamir shrugged. ‘God knows. He’s still in Los Angeles, but he’s staying at my house there so he’d better not be screwing anyone in my bed.’
‘What about that guy you met when we were at Annabel’s? Have you heard from him?’
‘Morning, noon and night. He’s got a title, I found out.’
‘What, you mean, like a book?’
Shamir choked on her tea. ‘Yes, the most boring one you can think of. Still, he should be good for a few weekend parties at that country house of his. I’ll keep you posted, we can all go.’
‘Fantastic. And if they’re anything like the one we went to in . . . where was it?’
‘Cocking.’
Madeleine giggled. ‘That’s it. How could I forget? Well, if they’re anything like that one then we’ll all be back in the Sunday newspapers. Wasn’t it a scream? Paul loved it.’
‘Paul loved it! So did everyone else. Where did you learn to strip like that?’
‘Oh, here and there. But the best bit was when we all went out driving in the nude. Do you remember that man and woman at the bus stop?’ She screamed with laughter.
Shamir smiled. ‘If the traffic lights hadn’t turned green when they did, I reckon the old boy would have died of a heart attack. And did you see Tony Rudley-North in the car behind? He only waved his willie at the old dear.’
‘That’s right! I’d forgotten that,’ Madeleine gulped. ‘Well at least he was safe when it came to the pictures in the Sunday papers. I mean they can’t show a man’s thing, can they? Who told the press we were there, anyway?’
‘God knows. But they were lurking in the bushes outside all weekend with their zoom lenses.’ Shamir narrowed her eyes. It was Madeleine they’d been after, of course.
‘Oh, look at the time,’ Madeleine groaned, glancing at her watch. ‘I’d better get going or I’ll be late for Deidre, which will mean I’ll be late getting home – and with the mood Paul’s in at the moment I don’t think that’s a very good idea. We’re cooking dinner tonight for his editor and his wife. Paul’s doing the main course – I’ve got to do the starter. Oh please God, let him be in a better mood when I get home. You don’t mind me not giving you a lift, do you?’
‘Not at all.’ Then, as Madeleine put on her coat and picked up her shopping, Shamir added, ‘Give me a call later, if you can. Let me know how it goes.’
Madeleine smiled, and when Shamir gave her a cool kiss on the cheek, she responded with an especially warm hug.
Madeleine’s movements were jerky and self-conscious. As she spoke her words tumbled over each other, and neither her heart nor her hands were quite steady. ‘So anyway,’ she was saying, wandering about the kitchen while Paul lolled in a chair, watching her, ‘Deidre thinks it could be launched sometime in the next few weeks. You see, it’s already in production and they were just starting their search for the right face. They like mine, so we’ll be signing the deal any day now.’ As she sliced into an avocado she waited for him to comment. He didn’t, so she went on, ‘She also said something about me having my own designer collection. She’s been talking to this fashion designer, and I’ve got to go and meet her the day after tomorrow. Deidre’s pretty certain that the meeting’s just a formality, though; the girl – Phillipa, I think her name was – was really keen when Deidre first talked to her. If it goes on like this, Deidre said, the next few months could be amazing. She reckons I’ll be in every newspaper and magazine going, and on the telly too. Not only in commercials, but on chat shows and things like that. And she said she wants to do the same in the States, so it’ll probably mean going to America quite soon. I told her I’d have to ask you if it was all right.’
Paul picked up his glass from the table next to him and took a sip of wine. ‘And how much is all this amazingness going to cost?’ he asked.
It was the question Madeleine had been dreading. Even she had balked at the amount Deidre had asked for. But it was vital, Deidre said, for the ‘promulgation’ – whatever that meant – of her plans, and the rewards to be reaped were even greater than Madeleine had dreamed of: international fame, and a style and image all her own.
‘Well?’ Paul prompted.
Madeleine braced herself, and with her back still turned she tripped the answer out as lightly as if she were telling him what she was making for dinner. ‘No more than a hundred thousand. Investment now, dividends later,’ she added, quoting Deidre. ‘Do you think I should put the prawns in the microwave to defrost them?’
He waited until she had no choice but to turn and look at him. When she finally did, he smiled. Then, as her eyes filled with tears, he got up and went to put his arms round her.
Women were the strangest creatures. It seemed that the worse you treated them, the more they loved you. Before he’d left the house that morning they’d had a blazing row and he had hit her. Now, here she was at the other end of the day, nervous and contrite, ready to do anything to make it up with him. He was relieved to see that he hadn’t left a mark on her face, it might have given rise to unwelcome speculation when their guests arrived later.
‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ she said, her voice muffled by his collar.
‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry.’ He held her tighter.
‘But you had a big day ahead of you, I shouldn’t have needled you the way I did.’
He kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘And I shouldn’t have been so jealous about you spending the day with Shamir.’
S
uddenly she was kissing him frantically. ‘I love you, Paul. More than anything else in the world. I don’t want any friends, all I want is you.’
‘You deserve better, but you’ve got me. For richer or for poorer.’
Madeleine drew back and looked searchingly into his eyes, unsure whether he had just made a proposal.
‘A hundred thousand pounds.’ He shook his head, laughing. Deidre would very likely end up taking Madeleine for every penny she was worth. He knew he could stop it, but he wouldn’t – if anything, it fitted in rather neatly with his own plans.
‘You’re not angry?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Not a bit. It’s your money, my darling, you must do as you want with it. And if that’s what makes you happy, it makes me happy too.’ He kissed the tip of her nose and let her go. ‘By the way,’ he said, when he reached the dining-room. Madeleine looked up as he leaned in through the serving hatch. ‘I love you too.’ She rushed across the kitchen and gave him a lingering kiss, then after she’d demanded that he say it again, she went contentedly back to her cooking.
As he showered and changed for dinner, those last words rolled around his mind – he even said them aloud once or twice. The most curious thing was that there was every chance he might mean them. Lately, her affection had got to him in a way that surprised him. It was as if the Russian doll was slowly coming to life, and beneath the first shell he had detected a vulnerability he had so far thought her incapable of. It made her shallowness seem less abrasive and her vanity more acceptable. But whatever his feelings for her might be, or become, he had no intention of allowing them to deflect him in the slightest degree from the achievements of his objectives.
She hadn’t asked him yet how his day had gone. After their scene that morning, he guessed she was afraid to. That was good. It meant she would be prepared to do almost anything to avoid another confrontation – which should make the task in hand somewhat easier. In fact his day had been bloody awful, and he was now convinced that he and Harry Freemantle were never going to see eye to eye. But whatever Harry said, Paul was adamant that not only was his book going to be published, it was going to be published as he wanted it. The only solution to this dilemma, as far as he could see, was to execute the plan which had been forming in his mind ever since the day he and Madeleine had lunched with Philip Hoves at Julie’s Wine Bar. His initial idea had been to get Madeleine to buy Harry Freemantle’s co-operation. He had been fascinated to find out how much it would cost, and to what extent Freemantle’s greed could be exploited. However, since then another solution had presented itself, one that was far more nefarious and therefore far more appealing.
When he went back into the Smallbone kitchen, which he had had installed while Madeleine was somewhere in Ireland spreading her legs and pouting her lips for the camera, she was pouring dressing – from a bottle – over the prawns she had spooned into avocado halves. He winced; but now wasn’t the time to tell her that one never served avocado and prawns as an hors d’oeuvre these days.
‘Everything under control?’ he asked.
‘I think so. I don’t know which wine to serve, though.’
He sat down. ‘Leave the wine to me. Now, we’ve got an hour before Harry and his wife arrive, so off with your clothes.’
As she was still wearing her polo neck and jeans, it was a matter of seconds before she had complied.
‘Turn round,’ he said.
She revolved slowly until she was facing him again. He pulled her forward and kissed her navel. Her skin was so smooth it was almost like caressing a baby, and her hair, when he touched it, was so sleek and soft it ran through his fingers like spun gold. Despite her height and the strength of her bone-structure there was, even in her slightest movement, a femininity that made him feel as powerful as a god. It was only when she opened her mouth to speak, and the broad tones of a West Country accent spewed out like frogs, that the alluring image crumbled.
‘God, I hardly know what’s happening to me when I look at you,’ he murmured, pulling her to her knees so he could kiss her. ‘Why am I spending so much time trying to impress a boring old publisher with my boring old book?’
‘Was today all right?’ she asked tentatively.
He shook his head. ‘He’s not listening to a thing I say. He wants it his way or not at all I’m not going to win this, Maddy.’
She didn’t know what to say, so she combed her fingers through his hair and smiled sympathetically.
‘Look at you,’ he whispered, as he blew gently on her nipples. ‘If he knew what I had in you, he’d think differently about me.’ He raised his eyes to her face and felt a driving surge of desire at the sultriness of her full mouth and the slant of her eyes. ‘Do you love me, Maddy? I mean really love me?’
She ran her tongue over her lips, leaving them moist and slightly parted. ‘You know I do,’ she breathed.
‘Enough to sleep with Harry Freemantle?’
The lazy, seductive look retreated from her eyes, leaving them unsure and bewildered. She looked at him for several moments before she finally pulled away, shaking her head. ‘But you’ve always said you’d kill any man . . .’
‘This is different, Maddy. I’m asking you to do it because I love you so much that I’ve come to share all your dreams – the ones you have for us. I want to be successful with you, be up there at your side, but I’m not going to make it without your help.’
‘Why can’t I offer him money?’
‘Because he’s got enough.’
She stood up and he waited, wondering what was going through her mind. Silently she put on her clothes, and when at last she turned to face him her eyes were suffused with pain. ‘If you really loved me, you wouldn’t ask me to – don’t look at me like that, I can’t do it, Paul. I won’t.’
His smile was resigned as he slowly nodded his head and got up from the chair. She watched him, as if in a stupor, while he opened the oven door, checked the roast duckling, then walked past her and out of the kitchen. After a minute or two she followed him upstairs to the bedroom.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked from the doorway.
‘Calling Marian.’
The blood drained from her face. ‘What for?’
He replaced the receiver and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Come here,’ he said.
She walked over to him, expecting him to reach for her hands, but he didn’t touch her.
‘You think asking you to go to bed with Harry Freemantle is the worst thing I could do to you, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Well, it isn’t. The worst thing I could do would be to tell Marian what you have done to her. And I think, after all Marian did for me, that I owe it to her to tell her. You see, I realise now that she is someone who has more decency and more compassion in her little finger than you have in the whole of your body. What’s more, she loves you more than you could ever deserve. You know that, and that’s why you’re so riddled with guilt that it keeps you awake at nights. Well, it does me, too. And now I know that I’m never going to be published the way I want to be, I’m going back to her, because I’d rather be a failure with her than with you.’
Madeleine’s eyes were wide with shock. ‘You can’t,’ she breathed. ‘You don’t mean that. You’ve got to understand, Paul, it’s as if you were asking me to be a prostitute.’
‘No, all I’m asking is that you use your talents for me. That’s what being in love is – sharing all that you have.’
She looked at him, too stunned to answer.
‘You said you loved me, that you’d do anything for me. And now I’ve been forced into putting you to the test . . .’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘It’s not even as if you were a virgin. Think about all the men you slept with before me.’
‘You bastard!’ she gasped.
‘But it’s true. And now I know that you are incapable of doing anything for anyone, even someone you claim to love.’
‘No!’ She was frantically shaking her head, and fear and confusion had turned her fac
e to an ugly purple. ‘No. It’s because I love you that I can’t do it. You understand that, you must.’
He got up. When he reached the door she threw herself after him, but he pushed her away. ‘Paul!’ she cried, grabbing at his sleeve. ‘Paul! Listen to me! Please!’ Again he shrugged her off, but as she fell against the banister he gripped her shoulders and turned her so that she was looking into his face. There were tears on his cheeks, and she tried to embrace him. ‘What is it? Why are you crying? I don’t understand!’ she sobbed.
‘Stop it, Madeleine,’ he snarled. ‘Just stop! You’re making me hurt you. You’re making me torment you when we both know I love you so much that if it was for any other reason than this I’d rather kill myself than ask you to sleep with another man. But what else can I do? I can’t change the book, so if you refuse me this I’ll end up losing you anyway – you won’t be able to take me as a failure, Madeleine!’ He threw her away from him and buried his face in his hands.
‘No! You won’t lose me. You won’t be a failure. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t go. Please, say you’ll stay.’ She managed to prise his hands from his face and pulled his head onto her shoulder. ‘It was just the shock of you saying it, that’s all. It’ll be all right, Paul. If you think it’ll work, we’ll give it a try. I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you.’
‘Oh God, Madeleine. If only you knew how it’s tearing me apart just to think of it. But . . .’
‘Don’t! Please don’t say that.’
He looked into her face, then suddenly grabbed her and kissed her savagely on the mouth. ‘I love you,’ he raged. ‘I love you. Hold me, don’t let me go.’
‘No, I won’t let you go. I love you. Look, let me show you.’ She started to fumble with his trousers but he clasped his hands over hers and stopped her.