Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  Marian tensed, not wanting to say the name even though she knew she couldn’t avoid it. ‘Matthew.’

  Immediately Stephanie bristled. ‘What about him?’

  Marian sighed. ‘Stephanie, this isn’t easy for me either, but . . .’

  ‘Then why the hell did you come up here?’ she spat, planting her hands on the edge of the desk. ‘I didn’t ask you to. As far as I’m concerned . . .’

  ‘As far as you’re concerned there’s something going on between me and Matthew. But Stephanie, I want you to know that he still loves you, that he’s going through hell . . .’

  ‘How dare you come into my office talking about him as though you know him better than I do. “He still loves you”,’ she mimicked. ‘Just what do you hope to gain by telling me that?’

  ‘Nothing at all. I just wanted you to know that he does, and that despite what you think, I’ve done nothing to try and change that. Though, as you know, I’m . . . I have very strong feelings for him myself.’

  ‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing,’ Stephanie cried, throwing a hand to her head. ‘You are half his age! You are barely older than his own daughter, and knowing the way I feel about him you have the nerve to come in here and tell me that you have very strong feelings for him. Get out, Marian. Get out before I do something we might both regret.’

  ‘Stephanie, you’ve got to stop running away from this. Apart from anything else, Matthew needs you. You have to help him sort this out.’

  ‘Sort what out? The way he feels about you?’

  ‘Yes, if you want to put it that way.’

  ‘And you’re asking for my help? You really are amazing.’

  ‘Don’t you think it will help you in the end as well? Help all of us? We none of us can carry on as we are.’

  ‘You’re damned right we can’t. So perhaps you’d like to start by telling me what it is about you that Matthew finds so damned precious? Why he can’t keep away from you? Why he’s so defensive every time I mention your name? I think I know the answer, but I’d like to hear it from you, Marian. Have you got the guts?’

  ‘Yes, I have. However, I can’t tell you and neither can he. And the reason we can’t is for your own good.’

  ‘You patronising little bitch.’

  ‘No, it’s not patronising, it’s to do with a particular trust which has been placed in us both by Frank and Grace Hastings. But this much I will tell you; I know what Olivia did in New York and so does Matthew.’

  Stephanie had already drawn breath to speak, but at that her head snapped up and she stared at Marian, speechless.

  ‘We know,’ Marian went on, ‘and we – at least, I – could be in danger because of it. And if you want to be rid of me you can walk out into the street and tell the man who will probably be standing outside the newsagent’s, that Marian Deacon does know what happened and has a damned good idea who was involved in Olivia’s disappearance.’

  Stephanie slumped into her chair, shaking her head in astonishment, but her eyes never moved from Marian’s. ‘How do you know?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a long story, but I do, and so Frank and Grace Hastings decided to tell Matthew because they didn’t want me to be the only one on the film who knew. They felt Matthew could watch over me while we were in London – Frank’s people did it when we were in New York, and in fact they’re also in London now, but they check in with Matthew to find out when he can’t be with me. If he can’t be, they are.’

  ‘So that’s why Matthew wants you to talk to Frank about the end of the film,’ Stephanie muttered, almost to herself. ‘You know who and what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Marian was silent then, allowing Stephanie some time to take it all in. She had no idea whether she’d done the right thing in telling Stephanie even this much – but of course Olivia Hastings and her crimes in New York were only a factor in the problem. The real nettle was still waiting to be grasped.

  ‘Thank you for telling me that,’ Stephanie said tersely, ‘it explains a lot. But it still doesn’t solve anything, does it?’

  ‘No,’ Marian answered, ‘it doesn’t. Nor does it make it any easier for us to work together, which is why, if it’s what you want, I am prepared to resign.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Stephanie said with a bitter laugh, ‘don’t think I’m falling for that one. I’d like nothing more than to see you out of our lives, Marian; it’s pretty unpleasant harbouring a viper in the bosom; but if I accept your resignation, Matthew will say I pushed you into it. No, what I’m going to do is promote you. You’re going to be credited as the story editor of this film, and you’re going to have a joint credit with Deborah Foreman as the writer of the screenplay. Now, how below-the-belt does that feel? Doesn’t do much to ease the guilt, I’ll bet.’

  ‘You’re right, it doesn’t. But I’m quite happy being a secretary, thank you.’

  ‘Perhaps you are, and that’s just what you’re going to continue to be, but you’ll have the damned credits whether you like them or not.’

  ‘If you’ve made up your mind, there’s nothing I can say. After all, you’re the producer.’

  ‘Yes, I am, aren’t I? The same producer who hired you, Marian, who took you out of that garret in Bristol and gave you a life when you had nothing. Do you hear me, nothing! And this is how you repay me. I don’t know how you found out about Olivia, Marian, but I do know that you’re more devious, more conniving and more disloyal than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. Jesus, you’re even more poisonous than his wife, who, just by happy chance, happens to like you because you sat there and listened to her pour out her problems. That’s a nice little ingratiating technique of yours, isn’t it, listening to people pour out their problems. You want me to fight you for Matthew, don’t you? Well, you can forget it! If he wants you he can damned well have you, because I have no intention of fighting a fucking teenager for a man who has asked me to marry him, and whom I intend to marry. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then get out.’

  Marian walked to the door, but as she was leaving she turned back. ‘Stephanie,’ she said, ‘whatever conclusions we’ve reached here this morning – and I’m not sure yet if we’ve decided anything – don’t let’s either of us forget that the person who will make the final decision is Matthew.’ And closing the door behind her she walked slowly down the stairs, leaving Stephanie sitting at her desk with her head in her hands.

  Deidre pushed her way through the crowd, edging towards the back of the room. Make-up artistes, stylists and dressers flanked the walls, watching as photographers angled their cameras and adjusted the lights. Madeleine and Paul were sitting together on the sofa, whispering to one another and laughing. Their closeness was unmistakable, and made Deidre feel like an intruder, which was ridiculous, given the relentless attention they were receiving from the press. It had been Madeleine’s idea to hold the conference at home, and Deidre had to agree it wasn’t a bad one. The domestic setting was so much in contrast with the glitz and glamour they were normally associated with that it gave them an attractive air of wholesomeness. Deidre murmured a quick hello to a journalist from the Daily Mirror, then sweeping her unruly hair over her shoulders, she sat back on the windowsill to watch the public reunion of the world’s golden couple.

  The initial idea of a press conference had been Paul’s, mainly because he wanted to refute any suggestion that either of them might still be involved with Shamir or Enrico, and Deidre had jumped at the chance of one last flourish of publicity before she took Madeleine to Italy. But, as she watched them now, her spirits plummeted – she still had no idea how she was going to do it, and she didn’t want to be the one to do it, either. Sergio had been almost violent with her when they’d discussed it that morning. If only Paul would suggest a holiday, then she could recommend Tuscany and his would be the burden of responsibility for taking her there – which was utter nonsense: hers would be the crime of procurement, or kidnapping, if that was wha
t it amounted to in the end. And even supposing Paul agreed to take Madeleine to Tuscany how would she get him to move quickly enough? Time was running out. Sergio wanted Madeleine next week.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  Deidre looked up. It was Phillipa Jolley, Madeleine’s dress designer. ‘Just a bit of a headache,’ she smiled. ‘Nothing serious.’

  ‘What do you think of the dress?’ Phillipa asked.

  ‘I’ll let you know when I see it,’ Deidre chuckled, as she attempted to peer through the throng of journalists who were homing in on the couple now that the photographers had finished.

  Paul was relaxed, sitting with an ankle resting on his knee and one arm along the back of the sofa. Deidre was touched to see how he was giving Madeleine centre stage; she was perched on the edge of her seat, eager to let everyone know that they were still in love. After she had put the phone down on him, the day Madeleine had returned from Sardinia, he had called back to apologise for making her angry, and after seeing him with Madeleine the night before and being reminded of how much they meant to one another, Deidre had understood and sympathised with the desperation he must have been feeling at the time.

  ‘The dress is beautiful,’ she whispered to Phillipa as the crowd parted for a moment. ‘You’ve surpassed yourself, again.’

  ‘I know. I simply don’t know how I do it,’ Phillipa grinned.

  The fashion editor for Café Society was at that moment asking Madeleine about the dress, and everyone took notes as Madeleine reeled off the details Phillipa had given her, smoothing her hands over the soft blue wool that clung to every curve of her body.

  ‘And your perfume?’ someone asked. ‘Is that doing well?’ Then there were questions about ‘The Look’ cosmetic range, and other campaigns yet to be launched, all of which Madeleine handled with her usual panache, making everyone laugh by throwing out outrageously flirtatious looks, and delivering a great many more double entendres than she was actually aware of. It was amazing, Deidre thought as she watched Madeleine’s glowing face and listened to her excited laughter, what an effect Paul had on her. But that was what it was like, being in love, she mused; the sun shines no matter what the weather. Then Roger Harper from The Sun took the initiative and steered the interview in the direction everyone wanted to take. Deidre listened intently.

  ‘Now that you’re back together,’ he said, ‘will you be taking up your old lives? Will you be gracing page three of my newspaper again, Madeleine, and the centrefolds of girlie magazines? Will Paul continue to write?’

  ‘Of course Paul will continue to write, won’t you darling?’ Madeleine said, turning to him. He nodded and caressed her cheek with his fingers as she gave him a look of pure devotion. ‘As for me,’ she went on, turning back to Harper, ‘that’s up to Paul. We’ve been talking about retiring quietly to the country, you know?’

  There was a flurry of hands across paper at that, and a bombardment of questions. Then Judith Wratten from the Daily Express asked: ‘Does this mean you’ll be getting married?’

  ‘Yes,’ Paul answered, and as he reached for Madeleine’s hand his eyes moved to Edward Bingham of the Daily Echo who was sitting on the fender.

  Bingham straightened up. ‘So we can all safely say that there is no longer a romance between you and Enrico Tarallo, Madeleine?’

  ‘There never was,’ she answered.

  ‘You mean to say that you spent, what was it, at least three days with him at his villa in Sardinia, and nothing happened between you?’ He laughed. ‘Either the man’s considering holy orders, or you must be losing your charms, Maddy. Come on, tell us, which is it?’

  Madeleine’s answering laugh was uncertain. She turned to Paul who smiled encouragingly – just be honest, he had told her earlier, that way there can be no mistakes and no come-backs.

  ‘Neither,’ she said. ‘As you know Enrico’s wife has just died. He didn’t want to . . . Well, he couldn’t . . .’

  ‘How did it feel to be rejected?’ Bingham leapt in.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ she answered, heatedly.

  ‘But you just said he didn’t want to. Does that mean you asked him?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Well, yes, I did, but it wasn’t quite . . .’

  ‘So you didn’t sleep together?’

  As a matter of fact, we did, but we didn’t make love. Actually, he told me a story because I couldn’t get to sleep.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have preferred it if he’d made love to you, Maddy?’

  Paul immediately sat forward. ‘I think we’re getting a little personal here,’ he said. ‘Both Madeleine and I deny any intimate relationship with Shamir and Enrico, I think that’s what you came to hear. However, if there’s anything else you’d like to ask, such as when and where we plan to get married, please feel free.’

  The press stayed for a further half an hour until, satisfied with their stories, they started to pack up. Edward Bingham tucked his notebook into an inside pocket and strolled across the room towards Madeleine. ‘I’m happy for you, Maddy,’ he said, shooting a glance at Paul as he shook her warmly by the hand. ‘At long last you’re getting everything you’ve always wanted – that man of yours is one hell of a lucky guy. And may I say you’re looking more radiant than ever. Not pregnant, are you, by any chance?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ Madeleine laughed.

  He shrugged. ‘No harm in trying. You know me, always looking for a scoop. Anyway, pregnant or not, you look stunning.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Madeleine said, and as she slipped an arm through Paul’s he kissed the top of her head, so that she didn’t see Bingham’s brief nod or Paul’s answering smile.

  They strolled out into the mews to wave everyone off, and as the last car pulled away Madeleine caught sight of Marian coming down the street. Abruptly she let go of Paul and ran up to Marian, flinging her arms round her. ‘Paul and I have just announced to the press that we’re getting married,’ she cried. ‘Isn’t it fantastic? You will be the bridesmaid, won’t you? She must, mustn’t she?’ she added to Paul as he ambled up.

  ‘We both insist,’ he answered, giving Marian a curious look.

  ‘It would be an honour,’ she said, but she was unable to smile and she turned away, not knowing whether it was because of her mistrust of Paul or her jealousy of their happiness.

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ Paul said, as they watched Marian walk into the house.

  ‘It’ll be about Matthew,’ Madeleine whispered. ‘I’d better go and see if she’s all right.’

  She found Marian upstairs, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring angrily into space.

  ‘I know he says he’s going through hell,’ Marian cried, when she saw Madeleine standing at the door, ‘but what does he think it’s doing to me – and Stephanie? She hates me so much now, she can barely look at me. I know he’s bang in the middle of directing a film – but if only he’d put us out of our misery, make up his mind who he wants.’

  Madeleine walked over to the bed and sat down. ‘Have you seen him today?’

  ‘Yes, I popped out to location just after lunch but he was talking to the actors. No time for me. That’s why I’m in such a bad mood, I suppose.’

  ‘What did you expect? Him to sweep you into his arms and kiss you right there in front of all those people?’

  Marian turned to look at her. ‘Well, it would do for starters.’ And Madeleine laughed as with a long, weary groan, Marian lay back on the bed. ‘This is hell, Maddy. I know he said he cares for me, but not knowing how much and having someone like Stephanie as a rival – God, I can’t bear it. Do you know, I had the damned nerve yesterday to walk in on Stephanie and practically challenge her to a fight over Matthew. No wonder she told me to get out, I’d have hit me if I were her. Mind you, I’m pretty glad she didn’t, she’s bigger than me.’

  ‘And older. She’ll be all crinkly soon.’

  Marian burst out laughing. ‘If you look at it like that, then he’s older than her, so . . .’
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br />   ‘You’ll be buying him a zimmer frame on your tenth wedding anniversary,’ Madeleine giggled.

  ‘Oh, don’t say things like that,’ Marian gasped, ‘you don’t know what it does to my stomach. And how can you sit there talking about wedding anniversaries when he hasn’t even told me he loves me. Do you think he does, Maddy?’

  ‘Of course he does, it’s impossible not to love you.’

  ‘You’re biased.’

  ‘I know, but I’m right. And just think, you’re off to Italy next week . . .’

  ‘Oh no!’ Marian wailed, ‘I don’t want to think about it, I don’t even know if I want to go.’

  Madeleine hugged her. ‘Of course you do. It’s so romantic there, I’ll bet you anything you like that everything sorts itself out and you come back an extremely happy woman.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Marian sighed. Then taking Madeleine’s hand she said, ‘It’s so good to have you back, Maddy, to have someone to talk to. I wish you could meet him – properly, I mean. He’s so . . . He’s so . . .’

  ‘Well, come on, spit it out,’ Madeleine giggled. ‘Say something really wicked.’

  ‘He’s so sexy!’ Marian exploded.

  ‘Oh wick-ed!’ Madeleine laughed, as they rolled over on the bed together. ‘What about his muscular thighs, his powerful arms, his smouldering eyes, his throbbing . . .’

  ‘Get out of here!’ Marian cried.

  ‘Go on, I’ll bet you think about it all the time.’

  ‘I try not to, and don’t make me, because he’s got an uncanny knack of reading my mind sometimes. Besides,’ she added, suddenly gloomy again, ‘it’s about more than sex, isn’t it? It’s about being together, working on the script the way we do, watching him laugh when I say something that’s not even particularly witty. It’s about knowing that he’s thinking about me, that he’s . . .’

  ‘In love with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He is, Marian, I know it. And just you wait until this film’s over, everything will be sorted out and . . .’