by Nigel May
Which is why the idea of a few adventure-full days in India were stirring her senses into the first sense of vague normality she had felt in weeks.
Work had been totally understanding about her need for a few days off and had actively encouraged her to join Charlie for the trip. She had no intention of partaking in the cookery course but the idea of a few days doing nothing more challenging than reaching for a streak of factor twenty to smooth over her skin as she contemplated a swim in the pool or another cocktail from the bar was her idea of an idyllic Indian experience. Guilt streaked through her that she was enjoying herself while the mystery of Mitzi continued but she had to believe that the authorities were far more skilled in tracing any clues than she could ever be.
As Georgia piled her clothes – a combination of cooling silks and crisp, loose cottons – into her suitcase, she couldn’t wait to escape the UK. The constant 2.45am alarm calls for work and her worry over Mitzi’s disappearance were beginning to turn her brain into a maelstrom of panic and pent-up anxiety. At least a change of scenery, especially one with an architectural legacy of majestic monuments at every turn, was guaranteed to alter her mindset a little. Shutting her case and snapping the padlock into place, Georgia picked up her phone and rang the number of her local cab firm.
Within twenty minutes she was in a taxi and ready to head towards the airport to meet Charlie. She wound her window down and allowed the late summer breeze to caress her face as the taxi sped off.
Watching her Wimbledon Village cottage vanish from sight, she then closed her eyes and tried to envisage the colourful, sense-awakening delights that awaited her five thousand miles away.
She truly couldn’t wait.
There was no colour, no delight, nothing to sense apart from the dry, split, painful feel of her own lips. She tried to swallow, attempting to force some form of moisture into her throat. The binding clamped between her teeth made any attempt both fruitless and feeble. There was a stench in the air. Soiled and rotten.
She could still feel the burn inside her chest from when she had run. Away from what she had seen. The horror of the blood, it’s deep, deadly, finality evident to her even from a distance. Every muscle inside her stretched to the max as she tried to escape the barbarity of that night. The night that everything had changed. The night that would live with her for forever. Stay with her for her entire life.
But what life? What was left of it? All she could do was wait. Wait for an end … whatever that may be.
If Victoria had to read the Hello feature detailing the busty, dumpy ex-pop star and her ‘joy’ at finally finding Mr Right in the shape of her fifth husband one more time she was liable to scream. Not only did she know that the gobby blonde was having the best sex of her life, that her kids (all by different fathers) were already calling Hubby Number Five ‘Daddy’ and that she planned to reform the group she had once mimed her way through to try and have another crack at chart glory, she also knew that she was likely to deck the low-rent Z-lister should she ever meet her. ‘Odious’ had a new dictionary definition. And seeing as Victoria was sitting in the VIP Lounge at London’s Heathrow waiting for Scott to join her, there was actually a slim possibility. The article did state that the talent vacuum (unless you considered diet yo-yoing and releasing fitness DVDs a true talent) was considering India as a honeymoon destination, although she wasn’t sure as ‘the kids prefer spaghetti hoops on toast to curry and all those hot dishes would shoot through her like a bullet from a smoking gun as she was strictly a meat and potato pie kind of girl’.
At least the speedy evacuation of her holiday fare would help with the dieting, contemplated Victoria as she flicked the pages to stop herself from reading the article again. If it hadn’t been for a juicy Victoria Fox eBook, a behind-the-scenes magazine feature on Evie’s last film in her Hello magazine and her supply of anti-depressants, then the last three and half hours of waiting for Scott would have been unbearable.
Where was he? Last time she had spoken to him he was ready to leave the office and head to the airport. She’d not heard from him since and every time she rang his mobile, it went directly to the messaging service.
Still, the flight wasn’t for another hour and a quarter so there was still time. She’d just have to wait.
Throwing the magazine down onto the glass table, Victoria contemplated her next move. Scott had reluctantly agreed to the trip, not that he had been given a huge amount of choice considering she’d served him with a fait accompli, in the form of a set of tickets, an Indian itinerary and a severely depleted bank account.
Chloe had been given her orders that she was to be nanny twenty-four/seven for the next few days, something that the kids had revelled in when Victoria had told them. The next few days were to be a chance for her and Scott to rekindle the embers of whatever heat their marriage still housed.
But there would be no rekindling without a husband to rekindle with. Where was he?
Victoria scanned the lounge. She recognised a couple of faces. A young actor from one of the TV soaps and a Loose Woman seemed to be chatting cozily a few tables away, obviously aided by the two glasses of fizz they were clinking together with a flirtatious regularity. I wonder if they’re on my plane, pondered Victoria. Could make for amusing in-flight entertainment. Thankfully there was no sign of the woman from the magazine and her brood of hoops-loving offspring.
Maybe a glass of something bubbly would be a good idea while she waited for Scott to arrive. A quick trip to the executive lounge bar later, Victoria returned with the requisite champagne in hand. She eased herself back into the comfort of her lounge chair and picked up another magazine, which thankfully somebody had deposited while she had been ordering her drink. She glanced over the headlines emblazoned across the cover. ‘MY TATTOO TRAUMA BY TALENT SHOW TV TOTTY’. Where would magazines be without a bit of alliteration? smiled Victoria, the comforting glow of the champagne washing through her. ‘SOAP STAR MONTANA PHOENIX’S LATEST FAMILY NIGHTMARE!’ Oh, Victoria liked her, she’d been at school with her daughter. That could be a juicy read. ‘NOVA’S BOTCHED BOTOX FEARS!’ Nova Chevalier, the US’s latest reality star discussing her worries about ‘growing old gracefully’. Ironic, thought Victoria, seeing as she’s had more plastic inserted into her than a cashpoint. Victoria found herself reaching for the magazine in order to pass the time.
Twenty minutes later, her flight to India now announced as boarding and her knowledge of Spongebob tummy-tucks and buttock implants somewhat enhanced by her time reading, Victoria’s phone sounded.
It was a text message from Scott. ‘Vic, we have to cancel. Am needed by major client at the office. Can’t let him down, he brings in millions. Sorry. Will make it up to you. Forgive me xx’
So that was it, no more India. Money wasted – not that finances mattered – and her dreams of a few cardamom-scented romantic days in the land of the Kama Sutra smashed into pieces. And to add insult to injury, by text message.
The screen of Victoria’s phone flashed another message, a battery warning that her phone needed charging. She read the words, but the message that suddenly weaved through her thoughts was completely different. Say her phone had died, say she hadn’t read Scott’s text, say she’d just assumed he’d been delayed and was on the next flight out to Delhi. Say, say, say ...
Without any further contemplation, Victoria switched off her phone, drained the last few drops from her champagne glass, grabbed the magazine – she had soap stars to read about – and marched determinedly towards the departure gate. She should have been thinking about Scott, but instead found herself imagining what she would look like with a buttock implant. The notion amused her. She was still smiling as she watched the runway disappear beneath her from her first class seat on the plane, another glass of champers in hand.
‘Now, you see, Jacob, that man would look fabulous on TV. Bel-Air has never seen the likes,’ cooed Nova Chevalier as she waltzed into the lobby of the Wyndham Grand Hotel in Agra, India. ‘Did you
see his red turban and that cute little outfit, and that bushy little mutton-chop beard of his. He’s like some fabulous Dickensian character, just with darker skin of course. And he’s very skilled at bringing in the luggage too. He was balancing those cases like a seal in the circus. Seriously, we need him on Super Nova. Why the bigwigs aren’t here is beyond me. You need to convince them that Nova Goes to Bollywood would make an unmissable episode. Me, stirring some goat curry in a beautiful figure-hugging sari with a pretend ring through my nose would be a ratings grabber. Now, give the darling man some poopies, or whatever this currency is called, and we’ll settle into our suite, angel. And pass me my electric fan will you, Jacob, I am borderline clammy over here. It’s hotter than hell, and I can’t be sweating in front of fans. We are syndicated here, aren’t we? And take photos of everything. If it’s Indian, snap it.’
And with that, a deliriously happy and playfully giddy Nova Chevalier and her husband-slash-manager-slash-dogsbody, Jacob, arrived in India. Ready to try out the cookery course, ready to await the arrival of Nova’s beloved son, Charlie, and his girlfriend Georgia, and ready to convince the telly execs back in LA that sending Nova back to India for a future episode of TV’s most talked about reality show would be an idea hotter than the rays of the midday sun currently baking the Agra skyline.
Eleven
Jack by name and Jack by nature, Jack Christie was definitely a Jack the Lad. Freedom had never felt better. His balls unloaded, he walked down the street away from last night’s lay’s flat and felt the warming rays of the sun against his skin. He considered his options.
He could head to the nearest station and catch a train to his mother’s house. He hadn’t even told her he was out and to be honest he doubted very much if she would care. She’d pretty much disowned Jack the moment he’d been put away and hadn’t visited him in the entire time he’d been inside. She was deeply religious and had always hoped that she and her vicar husband had raised Jack to a lifetime of righteousness. Their hopes had been dashed with his first conviction, and despite their love of a ‘higher power’, they had never actually seen the light as far as Jack was concerned and been able to turn the other cheek. Not that Jack cared. The thought of returning home to a house full of crucifixes and ‘thou shalt not …’ verses decorating every surface was about as appealing as a full body wax. And probably more painful.
No, it was time to reestablish a few contacts of old. He needed money and excitement and those were definitely two things that would not be readily forthcoming if he returned to the unwelcoming bosom of the family home. He needed to get his life back on track, and he knew exactly where to go.
Twelve
‘This is what I call five star luxury,’ sighed Georgia, as she let her naked feet sway from side to side in the Wyndham’s swimming pool. The cooling waters were the perfect complement to the feeling of heat kissing her shoulders from the Indian sunshine as she perched on the edge of the pool.
‘I tell you the viewers will freaking love it. Take some photos, darling Jacob.’ It was Nova’s words that cut through the serenity of the air. ‘Didn’t I tell you this was the perfect idea for a family reunion, Charlie? Could life be any more glamorous?’
Despite the barking of her orders, Georgia had to admit that it was good to see Nova and Jacob again. She may be larger than life, but she always raised a smile. Didn’t they say that you should always surround yourself with people who are going to lift you higher? Nova always did that. And with thoughts of Mitzi and Foster still filling her mind, Georgia needed every distraction she could find. Nova was a tonic for sure. Jacob might not have agreed as he quit the slumber and comfort of his canopied poolside chair and grabbed his camera for more photography duties. He must have already taken about a hundred photos since their arrival at the hotel a few hours earlier.
‘No, indeed mother, this place is pretty special,’ agreed Charlie, smoothing a layer of sun tan lotion onto his chest and arms. ‘This hotel is the perfect setting for the course. I can’t believe you’re doing it. I seem to remember your speciality in the kitchen when I was growing up was corned beef hash and eggs. Not exactly exotic.’
‘Your mother likes to travel, Charlie,’ said Jacob, his camera clicking as he spoke. ‘I think it was the lure of the location and not the urge to beef up her culinary skills that brought us here. Now, how about a family portrait? Charlie, Georgia … in with your mother, please?’
‘As long as this is not used to promote your blessed programme,’ stated Charlie, moving into position alongside his mum. ‘I’m tickled pink by your success but I want nothing to do with that show, okay?’
‘Oh, you’re tickled pink, are you? How very Mary Poppins, darling. You are too British for your own good,’ mocked Nova, her accent clipped and pinched. ‘A spoonful of sugar for my son.’
Charlie had always distanced himself from his mother’s show. Not that he wasn’t proud of her, he was. Immensely. But he wanted his own career to be about his skill as a reporter and not merely the nepotistic link that he was Nova’s only son. He had made it a rule that neither he, nor Georgia, would feature in her mother’s televisual adventures. It was an arrangement that both he and Georgia were adamant they would stick to.
‘Anyway,’ stated Nova. ‘You should be thrilled I heard about this course, it’s managed to blag you a free working trip that you could bring dear Georgia on. We all love a freebie even if we could afford to splash out for it anyway. That’s the madness of the world we live in. Jacob and I could pay for everything but quite often we pay for nothing. It’s fabulous! Now, come and sit down next to me, darling girl.’ She patted the seat alongside her and motioned for Georgia to join her. ‘I need to ask you some questions, Georgia, woman-to-woman.’
Georgia, knowing that opposition was futile, settled herself alongside Nova.
‘Why don’t you go and grab us some cocktails, Jacob? I see the bar is open.’ Nova flicked her fingers dismissively – a reality TV diva tendency she had picked up without realising – and pointed Jacob towards the submerged pool bar at the centre of the hotel pool. The gesture from anybody else would have incensed Jacob, dented his masculine pride, but Nova was her own woman, and if Jacob knew two things in life it was that his wife loved him deeply and that her actions, although sometimes seemingly rude, were always served up from a heart of pure adoration. There were moments when Nova played a caricature of herself, but Jacob knew her well enough to see beyond that. Underneath any adopted TV mannerisms she was definitely more gratitude than attitude. And he knew how to play her to both his own advantage and hers. Nova was a breeze after some of the players he’d dealt with over the years. A man like Jacob Chevalier had climbed the Hollywood ladders of business by playing the right tune to charm many a snake along the way.
‘And you Charlie, be a sweetie and fetch Georgia and me a list of treatments from the health spa would you?’
Charlie headed off as instructed, mouthing ‘good luck’ to Georgia as he did so and blowing her a kiss. Georgia couldn’t help but smile, an inner glow melting her heart as only Charlie could.
The two men in her life dispatched at her wishes, Nova turned to Georgia, making sure that her son was out of earshot. ‘Isn’t Charlie divine? He’s always been such a good lad, as you well know. Now, what are your thoughts on getting married? Has he even hinted at setting a date as yet?’
Marriage. Nova’s number one topic of conversation.
‘No, not at the moment, Nova,’ grinned Georgia. The thought pleased her immensely but she was aware they hadn’t discussed the actual wedding yet. ‘Charlie and I are really happy as we are. A long engagement suits us just fine. If anything changes then you’ll be the first to know.’ Georgia had lost count of the number of times she had indulged in the same, identikit conversation with Nova.
‘Well, you’re not getting any younger and neither is Charlie, Georgia. Just saying. You think you have all the time in the world and then, boom, your body clock has ticked past its sell by dat
e and then there’s no-one to carry on the Chevalier name.’
‘Cooper,’ said Georgia. ‘I’d be Georgia Cooper.’
‘Of course, darling, of course. But a Chevalier wedding would work wonders for the ratings. Kanye and Kim anyone? Are you sure you can’t persuade Charlie to be in our little show?’
Oh yes, you could always rely on Nova to be a tonic, that was for sure, and for a while all thoughts of Mitzi disappeared from her mind.
Victoria’s mind was full of Mitzi as she made her way across the terraced lawns of the Wyndham and headed towards the pool area. Mitzi had always been such a ball of energy at the Zumba classes. It was tragic to think that maybe that energy was no more. Her thoughts drifted to days gone by …