Last Resort

by Susan Lewis

‘Sure, I know you would. And the next thing it’d be my balls on a plate for David Villers to carve up.’

  Behind her sunglasses Marielle’s eyes darkened. All she wanted was that stupid little magazine, an oracle, a vehicle to make her a celebrity, a voice, an influence right here on the coast. What did she care about the rest of the world? All that mattered to her was this little pocket of paradise where the rich and famous had created a private world of exclusivity and privilege. She wanted to be a part of that, wanted to hold it in her hands and have them pander to her favour as the woman who could as easily make them a laughing stock as she could build their images as icons of power and wealth. Both David Villers and Robert Stirling had it in their power to give her what she wanted, but as things stood they were prepared to let Penny Moon, that hideously overfed English bitch, take the reins.

  But maybe, if Penny knew what David’s real intentions for the magazine were, if she were told that she was nothing more than a pawn in a game that was rife with danger, she’d go of her own accord. Unfortunately, though, there was no guarantee of that and since it wasn’t a gamble Marielle was prepared to take she turned her attention back to Stirling and tried another approach.

  ‘I don’t see why you won’t do me this one little favour of getting rid of Penny Moon,’ she said petulantly. ‘After all, I’ve kept my end of the bargain, I’m sleeping with David.’

  ‘And that’s all you’re doing, Marielle,’ he reminded her. ‘You got nothing to show me, nothing to tell me; you got zilch, Marielle.’

  Marielle threw out her hands in exasperation. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ she cried. ‘I need to get closer. I need that editorship if I’m ever going to be able to tell you anything.’

  ‘Which means I could be wise to throw in my lot with Penny Moon,’ Stirling commented.

  ‘You’d be a fool if you did,’ Marielle sneered. ‘She won’t give you what you want and you know it, or you’d have approached her by now.’

  Stirling looked impressed. ‘Didn’t know you had such a thing as powers of deduction, Marielle,’ he smirked.

  Marielle looked at him nastily, nevertheless she was pleased to hear that she was correct. Then, deciding to change tactics again, she warmed her expression, moistened her full, rosy lips and shaped them into a sultry pout. ‘You’d be surprised what I have, Bobby,’ she purred, unfastening her bikini top and letting it fall to the floor. ‘And, after all, what’s Penny Moon to you?’

  Stirling looked at her; then, yawning, he put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. ‘Tell me something, Marielle,’ he said. ‘Exactly what are you expecting me to do to get rid of Penny Moon?’

  ‘I’m sure you know the answer to that better than I,’ Marielle said huskily.

  ‘No, no, come on, I’m interested. Exactly what is it you’re proposing I do here? Send her back to London, or did you have something a little more, how shall we put it, incapacitating, in mind?’

  ‘It’s your choice, Bobby,’ Marielle replied, smiling as she trailed her fingers over his legs.

  Stirling gave a snort of laughter. ‘You been watching too many movies, Marielle,’ he said. ‘People like me don’t go round incapacitating people unless they need incapacitating. And by my reckoning Penny Moon don’t need it.’

  ‘But David Villers does, or so you tell me.’

  ‘Ah, now Villers is a different matter.’ He yawned again. ‘But stick around, Marielle – you never know, you might get what you want.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’ she challenged, her eyes glowing.

  ‘Shit,’ he groaned. ‘Did it sound like one?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Just leave Penny Moon’s address on the way out,’ he sighed. ‘I think I know someone who might be interested.’

  ‘And if they’re not?’

  ‘Don’t push, Marielle,’ he told her.

  ‘And these here,’ Esther Delaney said, turning another page in her enormous photograph album to reveal several more shots of major Hollywood stars, ‘were taken just after the Oscar ceremony last year. That’s me, there,’ she said, pointing to a frothy-frocked figure standing between Valentino Petralia, who had directed the winning film, and his wife, Claudia, who had starred in it. ‘And there I am with John Montana,’ she smiled fondly, tucking the capacious sleeve of her long, ivory silk evening gown out of the way. ‘Dear boy, he was awfully disappointed not to get best supporting actor – and, we all agreed, he really should have.’

  ‘This is a very impressive collection,’ Penny commented, meaning it, but also saying it because she sensed how much it would please this extraordinary old lady whose mode of dress was about as subtle as Dame Edna’s and was so seriously at odds with her Vera Duckworth face that it was the very eccentricity of it, Penny realized, that was warming her to the woman.

  Indeed, Esther Delaney beamed. ‘It’s my pride and joy,’ she said, laying the album down and picking up her glass of red wine from the coffee table. Though she didn’t appear to be drinking much, her speech was slightly slurred and the stain on her lips told Penny that she’d probably been at it for quite some time before Penny had arrived.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Penny said, ‘but how do you come to know all these people?’

  For a moment Esther seemed perplexed, then out in the kitchen the cooker gave a timely buzz and she jumped to her feet. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she said. ‘I do hope you like salmon. It’s a little recipe of my own, you know.’

  ‘Can I do something to help?’ Penny offered.

  ‘No, no. You just stay right where you are and finish your drink. Everything’s under control.’

  Left alone in the sitting room, where a cooling evening breeze was drifting in through the open windows, Penny looked around at the fake-Victoriana that cluttered the surfaces. On closer inspection, however, she thought that maybe some of them were the genuine article. It would make sense, seeing Wally was into antiques – though she was sure he’d mentioned something about oriental crafts. Still, that aside, what really didn’t make much sense was all this hobnobbing Esther Delaney was doing with the rich and famous. Unless, of course, she was supplying them with antiques. Penny grimaced. It didn’t feel like a particularly satisfactory explanation, but all things being equal it might just have sufficed had Wally not tried so hard to rouse her curiosity the night he’d come over to repair the light.

  That was weeks ago now and since Esther’s bombardment of invitations had ceased after a few weeks, with so much else on her mind Penny had all but forgotten about her neighbours. She’d also forgotten, she now realized, exactly what Wally had said about his antique business, but now she had met Esther she was reminded of how he had made some kind of derogatory remark about his wife in an attempt to make himself look big. Penny had never had any time for men who did that and was of the opinion that it was only those who knew that their wives had a lot more going for them than they did who indulged in such repugnant disloyalty. And added to that, as Sammy had said, there was something, apart from the physical, that was fundamentally unpleasant about the man.

  However, a chance meeting with Esther at the gates a couple of mornings ago, when Esther had been all decked out in a Rita Hayworth-style peignoir and fluffy white mules, not to mention a diamond necklace, had produced another invitation, and hearing that Wally was away Penny had accepted. And now she was glad she had come, even though she’d been dreading it all day, since it was giving Esther such obvious pleasure to have her here.

  As Esther came bustling in with the meal Penny got up to help her, taking Esther’s matches from the table to light the candles.

  ‘Oh gosh, silly me, I forgot about them,’ Esther chuckled. ‘Such a good girl. Now, you sit here at the head of the table and I shall sit here next to you. Would you like some more wine? Yes, yes, of course you would.’ She giggled. ‘I’ve plundered Wally’s cellar for something special,’ she confided, ‘but shush, not to tell him.’

  ‘My lips are seale
d,’ Penny smiled. ‘Incidentally, where are all the puppies? I didn’t notice them when I came in.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Esther said, looking suddenly downcast. ‘Wally took them to the Zoo Market in Villeneuve-Loubet. Said we couldn’t keep them. Too many, you know.’

  As Esther’s head went down Penny wondered if she was crying and sure enough as she searched for something appropriate to say Esther pulled a white, lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and gave her nose a delicate little blow.

  ‘Said he took them to the Zoo Market,’ she went on brokenly. ‘But they were mongrels. No one wants mongrels. Afraid he’s had them all put down.’ Then, lifting her head, she plastered a sunny smile to her face and said, ‘But we don’t want to talk about those sort of things, do we? Let’s talk about you. I’m sure you must have a very interesting life.’

  With Esther being such an appreciative audience Penny found herself doing most of the talking as they ate, entering into the kind of name-drop routine that normally repelled her, but doing it because it was so clearly what Esther wanted to hear. It was uncanny, she was thinking, when Esther finally got up to make coffee, this desire she had to please the old lady, and she wondered if it had something to do with trying in some way to make up for the way Wally treated her. Not that she had much evidence of ill-treatment – perhaps oppression was a better word – it was just something she sensed and it was making her feel quite protective towards Esther. Nevertheless, she wasn’t much inclined to make these cosy little evenings a regular event, for it wasn’t hard to see how easily Esther could become attached to her and, like her as she did, Penny didn’t particularly relish the idea of playing surrogate daughter to a woman whose childless state was so obviously at the root of her desire to befriend her – as well as what was turning her to the bottle.

  ‘Where did you say Wally was?’ she asked, as Esther set a tray of coffee on the ornate table between the sofa and armchairs.

  ‘Oh, he’s in Toulouse,’ Esther answered, going over to the little bar to fetch a bottle of Courvoisier and two balloon glasses.

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ Penny said with a smile, as Esther started to pour. ‘I have to work tomorrow. When’s he coming back?’

  ‘On Wednesday. Oh, that’s the telephone!’ she said, as though needing to explain what the noise was. ‘Dc excuse me, dear. I won’t be long.’

  When she came back she poured herself a large measure of brandy; then, perching on the edge of an armchair, she said, ‘So, you’re going to the vernissage the baron is holding for his latest protégé? How perfectly splendid for you. You know, everyone who’s anyone will be there. It really is quite the invitation to have.’

  ‘Will you be there?’ Penny asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  ‘Me! Heavens above, no!’ she laughed. ‘I only socialize with the old duffers. Nice bunch, of course, but not very exciting.’

  ‘Unlike the people you mix with when you travel,’ Penny responded, glancing at the photograph album that was still on the table.

  Esther’s eyes widened, as though realizing she had said something she perhaps ought not to have. In fact, she really ought not to have shown Penny the album at all, but she hadn’t been able to resist it, not when she so very much wanted Penny to know that she was a little bit more than just the silly old woman who lived next door.

  Her lips formed a tremulous smile as she looked into Penny’s eyes. ‘You won’t tell Wally I showed you the album, will you?’ she said.

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to,’ Penny answered. ‘But why wouldn’t you want him to know?’

  Esther looked momentarily baffled. Then her eyes lit up as she seemed to find an answer. ‘He gets cross when I show people,’ she said. ‘Says it’s showing off.’ She glanced off to one side; then, bringing her eyes back to Penny’s, she smiled again. ‘This has been such a splendid evening,’ she said brightly. ‘I do hope we can do it more often. I don’t get much opportunity to spend time with young people since Billy died. Well, why would anyone want to spend time with me? I’m such a silly old thing. Probably drive everyone mad, what?’

  Penny smiled. ‘Who’s Billy?’ she asked gently.

  Esther’s eyes darted about the room as a hand went to her throat. ‘Billy was my son,’ she answered, seeming to sink in on herself. ‘Died, ten years ago. Silly thing. Got a tumour in the brain. Would have been thirty-three next week. Still, we won’t talk about that. Wally doesn’t like it. Says I should be over it by now. Still hurts, though. Miss him a lot. No one young to talk to now. No one except—’

  She stopped and, as her eyes shot to Penny’s, Penny realized that she had been on the point of revealing something she either couldn’t, or didn’t want to, reveal.

  Intrigued as she was Penny decided not to push it, for she could sense how much it would confuse and upset the old lady if she tried. Besides, there was every chance she’d find out what it was sooner or later, if for no other reason than both Esther and Wally, in their own different ways, were absolutely bursting to share their secret with someone. She considered herself a strange choice of confidante, if indeed they did end up choosing her, for as a journalist she would surely be the very person they’d want to steer clear of if they were involved in something crooked – which she more than half-suspected they were. Some kind of art fraud was the most obvious choice and considering the number of celebrities Esther Delaney had managed to get herself photographed with over the past couple of years the story, if indeed there was one, might prove quite a scoop for Nuance.

  ‘You’re going to think this frightfully presumptuous of me,’ Esther said, puffing inexpertly on a cigarette, ‘but do you think . . . ? well, do you think you might possibly see your way to gracing one of my little soirées one evening? It would be such a coup for me having someone like you here and everyone’s just dying to meet you. Do feel free to say no, of course. I know it won’t be much fun for you mixing with all us old codgers . . .’

  ‘I’d be delighted to come,’ Penny interrupted. ‘And maybe I’ll bring my boss, David, along too.’ If she had to suffer it, then she didn’t see why he shouldn’t too. And it was high time they both made an effort to mix a little more with the expats.

  ‘Oh, no, no! I couldn’t possibly impose on him too,’ Esther cried, blanching at the very idea of taking up the time of such an important person as Penny’s boss. ‘I’m sure he’s far too busy to be bothering with people like us.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Penny said, getting to her feet. ‘I’m afraid I really must be going now, though. It’s been a lovely evening and the salmon was absolutely delicious.’

  Esther glowed. ‘I’m sorry your sister couldn’t make it,’ she said. ‘Maybe next time?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Penny said, picking up her bag.

  ‘And not a word about the photographs, mm?’ Esther whispered as they walked to the door.

  ‘Not a word,’ Penny promised, feeling like a complete heel when she knew that if there was a scandal involving so many celebrities to be uncovered here she was most definitely going to go for it.

  A few nights later, Penny was laughing at the way Sammy was overdoing her ecstasy as she sipped champagne cocktails in such exalted company at the eighteenth-century château of Baron von Bergenhausen on the outskirts of Vence. Esther Delaney was right, everyone who was anyone was there: all the resident celebrities, aristocracy, political high-fliers and patrons of the arts were swarming around the château’s recently renovated ballroom on the occasion of this spectacular vernissage.

  The young artist whose works were adorning the newly plastered walls and being admired with the usual intellectual pomposity and claptrap such private views invariably induced, was, in Penny’s opinion, exhibiting more awe at finding himself in such celebrated company than he was talent in his monumental eyesores. He’d disappeared into the crowd some time ago now, having been introduced to Penny by the baron himself, who, until this evening, had been playing cat-and-mouse with Penny since receiving her request to inter
view him for Nuance. However, having checked out her credentials with ‘unnamed sources in London’, he had tonight informed her that he would be happy to throw open the doors of his château to a photographer while availing himself of the pleasure of being interviewed by such ‘a highly esteemed and attractive young lady’.

  Recognizing him for the lech he was, Penny had smiled winsomely, stiffening slightly as he’d patted her bottom, then had excused herself, saying that she would be in touch soon to fix a date. Moving on around the room she began talking to those she knew from her time on Starke and availing herself of the opportunity to be introduced to others who might prove suitable subjects for the future. David should have been with her tonight, but he had backed out at the last minute, saying he had to fly over to London for a few days. Which was how Sammy came to be there with her, all togged out in a skintight, sequinned little number from one of the boutiques on the rue d’Antibes and only just resisting the urge to get out her autograph book.

  ‘I had no idea you knew so many illustrious people,’ she said, holding her glass steady as a waiter refilled it.

  ‘It goes with the job,’ Penny answered, blushing slightly as she looked away from the man who had just turned and caught her watching him. She had no idea who he was, but it wasn’t the first time this evening that their eyes had met and though neither of them had smiled, or gone any way towards acknowledging the other, Penny felt sure that he was as aware of her presence as she was of his.

  Like all the other men there he was dressed in black tie and with his rather unruly dark hair and unshaven chin he was, to Penny’s mind, extremely attractive. Not handsome, she thought, as her heart tripped on the excitement and anticipation she always felt on these occasions, at least not in the conventional sense of the word; he simply had that indefinable quality about him that made him stand out from the crowd.

  ‘Shame about the rain,’ Sammy was saying, looking out through the tall, old-fashioned french windows on to the beautifully terraced gardens with their view of the valley and, Penny guessed, on a good day to the sea in the distance.