Vengeance

by Susan Lewis

  As the hustle and bustle started up again Kirsten stood frozen in the doorway. She had read their expressions only too well – how did she, the Kirstie Doll who had duped their beloved Paul Fisher, the man whose memory she had defiled – have the nerve to show her face in public?

  She could see people snickering behind their hands and suddenly, dressed as she was, she felt like the whore they intended her to feel. Somehow she managed to take a step towards Helena. ‘You’re wrong, Helena,’ she said. ‘I can’t do it. I’m leaving.’

  ‘The hell you are,’ Helena hissed back. ‘They’ve got over the initial shock now, so come on, show ’em what you’re made of.’

  ‘They’re reading that every day in Campbell’s column,’ Kirsten reminded her angrily. ‘They don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here, so I’m going.’

  ‘Kirsten! Oh, Kirsten, how lovely to see you. I’m so glad you could come.’

  Kirsten turned to see a petite blonde woman wearing skin tight blue leggings and matching overshirt pushing a path towards her. Kirsten had only ever seen Pippa once before in her life, the day she had found out about her and Laurence, but she would have known her anywhere. She was, however, a good deal more attractive than Kirsten remembered.

  ‘I’m Pippa McAllister,’ Pippa said, taking Kirsten’s hand and smiling up into her face. Kirsten was looking for the tell-tale glint of hostility, perhaps even triumph, in her eyes, but there was none. ‘Laurence is around somewhere,’ Pippa went on chattily. ‘Probably down in the kitchen sorting out the drinks. And you don’t have one! What can I get you? I think we have just about everything.’

  ‘Well, actually I was just about to . . .’

  ‘Champagne!’ Helena chipped in from where she was bopping around beside them. ‘She adores champagne.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Pippa laughed. ‘I’ll get one of the waiters to go down and get you some. Now there’s someone over here I’ve just been dying to introduce you to,’ and before Kirsten could object she was being led across the room towards a tall, slightly overweight, middle-aged man, with dusty-coloured hair, a swarthy complexion and whose half-glasses were perched pompously on the end of his nose while he waved around a huge fat cigar.

  The instant Kirsten saw him she tried to pull away from Pippa. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think . . .’

  ‘Dermott,’ Pippa cried, ‘just look who I have here.’ She turned to Kirsten and spoke softly so that Campbell couldn’t hear. ‘Give it your best, Kirsten, he deserves it after what he’s been doing to you,’ and she was gone.

  How Kirsten managed to stop herself running after Pippa she never knew, but with a supreme effort of will she made herself turn to face Campbell. His quirkily handsome face was pinched with, Kirsten thought, something like discomfort, but the arrogance was so pronounced it masked it well.

  ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said, glancing at the woman next to him in the hope she was listening. She was. So too were several others.

  The last thing Kirsten wanted was a scene, which she could see, was exactly what Campbell was hoping for. Well she’d be damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction, so after sweeping him from head to foot with her piercing green eyes she treated him to the sweetest smile she could muster and said, ‘I’ve frequently wondered what I would do on coming face to face with you and now I find that strangely you inspire nothing in me whatsoever, except perhaps a modicum of pity.’ In the brief moment before she turned away she saw the surprise on his face, and, just as she hoped, the outrage. But clearly he recovered quickly for, as she started to walk away, she heard him sneer,

  ‘The bitch has got one hell of an ass, what do you say? She could hump it over my dick any time. Hey, Kirstie Doll,’ he called after her, ‘come on, it’s got to be my turn!’ and he roared with laughter.

  Kirsten kept going. Burning with embarrassment and rage she walked out of the nearest door along a deserted hall and smack bang into someone coming the other way.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she mumbled, trying to get past him.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he answered. Then, ‘Hey, Kirsten. It is you, isn’t it? It’s me, David Gill. Remember me?’

  ‘Oh, David, yes. How are you?’ she said, taking the hand he was holding out.

  ‘Great. Just great. Thanks to you.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘Well you were the one who gave me my break all those years ago, weren’t you? I’m writing the big stuff now, you know? Nine o’clock slots and all that. Still jobbing, obviously, haven’t got an original thought in my head. But I earn a buck or two. How about you? What are you doing with yourself these days?’

  ‘Not very much,’ Kirsten answered.

  ‘No, well, I guess it’s a bit soon after Paul. I was really sorry to hear he had died. He was a great guy. Well, you don’t need me to tell you that, do you? And by the way, all that crap they’re writing about you in the press, well, here’s one guy who’s on your side.’

  ‘That’s nice to know,’ Kirsten smiled.

  ‘If I could,’ he said, ‘I’d stand up and speak out for you. Well, a lot of us would, but you know how it is. The Fisher woman’s got a lot of clout and I sure as hell don’t want the poison flowing through Campbell’s pen about me. Not that anyone’d be interested to read about me, I suppose, but they’d find some way to finish me. Still, if there’s anything else I can do . . .’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Kirsten assured him. ‘I’ll survive.’

  From the look on Gill’s face she could see how much he doubted that. But it was nice of him to bother saying it, not many would have, and when he suggested they go and get a drink she went with him.

  As they walked into the kitchen she found herself scanning the room nervously for Laurence. Hadn’t Pippa said he would probably be down here? But there was no sign of him and Kirsten smiled wryly to herself at the relief she felt. She’d have just this one drink then see if she couldn’t get away without actually running into him.

  In no time at all David had dragged her into a group who were discussing Laurence’s next movie project. All of them, without exception it seemed, thought he was mad to have taken on Ruby Collins as the screenwriter – whoever the hell she was.

  ‘Dermott knows her,’ a woman beside Kirsten remarked. ‘I think he might have been the one who introduced them. Anyway, she’s a Yank. Perhaps Laurence thinks she’ll give him a foot into Hollywood.’

  ‘But no one in Hollywood knows who she is. I’m telling you, she’ll crucify him. Have you met the woman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s a dipso. Can’t function without gin. Now tell me, who the hell in their right mind is going to take on a writer like that when there’s so much at stake? She’s got no credentials, no talent by all accounts and no, absolutely no, finesse, darlings.’

  ‘Perhaps Laurence knows something the rest of you don’t,’ Kirsten heard herself say.

  The man who had spoken arched his eyebrows haughtily in her direction then continued as if she hadn’t spoken, turning his back slightly as though to ease her out of the group.

  ‘I told him,’ he continued, ‘I said, Laurence, you’re committing professional suicide taking on a project like that with an unknown writer. But you know what Laurence is.’

  ‘I’d have thought he’d have been only too willing to take your advice, Baz, after his last disaster,’ a woman with purple hair chipped in. ‘He can’t afford another or he’ll be finished.’

  ‘What’s his next movie about then?’ a rather dowdy middle-aged woman enquired. She had to be the wife of one of these pumped up know-it-alls, Kirsten reckoned. Someone who was only ever wheeled out for occasions, and the fewer the better.

  ‘Oh, some woman who lived during the last century, went to New Orleans, became a prostitute then got herself hanged or murdered, I can’t remember which,’ the pompous man answered. ‘Pretty banal stuff, if you ask me. And period! He’s out of his mind. He’ll never get the finance. I told him, Laurence, I sa
id . . .’

  Kirsten stopped listening. How many conversations like this had she endured in her life, and how she detested them. Everyone thought they knew better than the producer and everyone thought the producer was mad. Of course, should the film prove a success they’d find a way of sharing in, if not taking all of, the credit.

  As she turned away her eye was caught by the childish drawings pinned to the refrigerator. Instantly her heart froze. God, she would never forget the terrible setback she had suffered when she had first found out that Laurence had a son. But that was all behind her now, she reminded herself taking a deep breath and forcing herself to move on. Just please God don’t let me come face to face with the child tonight.

  She was on the point of leaving the kitchen when she heard someone say, ‘Hello there.’

  Kirsten turned round. ‘Hello,’ she said, wondering if she knew the woman standing at her elbow.

  ‘Molly Forsyth,’ the woman said. ‘And you’re Kirsten Meredith.’

  For some reason Kirsten didn’t like the look of this woman. There was something shifty in her eyes and her thin, heavily lipsticked mouth was, to Kirsten’s mind, spiteful.

  ‘I have to tell you,’ Molly said ‘that I heard what Dermott Campbell said about you just now. Quite vulgar, I thought, though I imagine you’ve heard a lot worse.’

  Kirsten simply stared at her, wondering why some people enjoyed being nasty to people they didn’t even know. Then, to her dismay, she realized that those behind her had stopped talking and were now listening to Molly Forsyth.

  ‘I have to tell you that I told Campbell he’d be insane to hump you over his dick, as he so eloquently put it,’ Molly continued, ‘after all, there’s no knowing what he might catch, is there?’

  As the blood rushed to Kirsten’s cheeks she heard someone behind her snigger. Her luminous green eyes were still holding Molly’s showing nothing of what she was feeling inside, but for a fleeting instant it was as though she was a child again, surrounded by mocking, sneering faces who wanted to hurt her in any way they could. She almost felt herself begin to take a step back, but somehow managed to stop herself. ‘Do you feel better now?’ she heard herself ask. ‘Are you glad you’ve got that off your chest, or is there more?’

  Molly pulled down the corners of her mouth and raised her eyebrows as she glanced round at the others. ‘Just one question,’ she said sweetly, turning back to Kirsten. ‘While you’re here wallowing in all that cream you juiced out of Fisher do you feel at all guilty about the fact that it was you who gave him AIDS?’

  It was all Kirsten could do to stop herself gasping. This was the first time she’d heard that rumour and for one blinding instant she wanted to hit that supercilious face so hard she’d knock it right into next week.

  Instead she took a deep breath. ‘As you already know Paul died of a heart attack,’ she replied. ‘But if it makes you happy to insult someone as profoundly as you just have me, and to soil Paul’s memory into the bargain, then I can only say that right now you must be ecstatic. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  She brushed past Molly Forsyth, but not before hearing David Gill say, ‘What’s she ever done to you, Molly?’

  ‘Obviously not what she’s done to you, lovey,’ Molly answered with lightning wit and everyone laughed.

  Kirsten would have left then and nothing and no one would have stood in her way, except Zaccheo Marigliano. When she saw his beaming face heading towards her as she walked into the sitting room to tell Helena she was leaving Kirsten instantly felt tears burn the backs of her eyes. Zaccheo’s felt like the first friendly face she’d seen and right now, feeling as she did, one kind word was highly likely to bring the tears flooding.

  ‘I’m not going to say anything about Paul,’ he whispered in her ear as he swept her into his arms and held her tight. ‘It’s not the time and I can see you are suffering. But no matter what they say about you or do to you, Kirstie, I am your friend. Remember that. Zaccheo, he loves all the women, but you I love most of all.’

  ‘Don’t or I really shall cry,’ Kirsten sniffed, turning her head away so that no one in the room could see the way her eyes had filled with tears.

  ‘But these beautiful cheeks are made for the kisses of a lover, not the tiny droplets of pain,’ Zaccheo’s voice rumbled in her ear, and then he gave a protracted, ostentatiously romantic sigh, which made Kirsten laugh.

  ‘By the way, thanks for going to the funeral,’ she said, ‘I know Paul would have appreciated it. And thanks for taking my flowers. She sent them back, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I know. But he knows you loved him, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘You’re right.’ She took a breath and forced herself to smile brightly. ‘So, what brings you to England, Signor Marigliano?’

  ‘Pippa McAllister. She is my editor. And Laurence, of course, he is my friend. I stay here with them until the end of the week. Maybe I come to see you before I go?’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  Zaccheo moved to one side then to let someone pass and as Kirsten looked across the room she saw Helena dancing with Dermott Campbell. He was holding her extremely close, too close for such fast music, Kirsten thought, but Helena didn’t appear to be objecting. Kirsten was momentarily disturbed by that, she’d thought that Helena found the man repulsive. But, as Helena lifted her head, Kirsten smiled at the conspiratorial wink she received. Obviously Helena was over there doing her stuff in getting Campbell to back off.

  Kirsten was already half turned back to Zaccheo when suddenly the smile froze on her lips; it was as though a giant vice had taken hold of her heart. Zaccheo was still speaking though she had no idea what he was saying, all she knew was that she was looking straight into Laurence McAllister’s eyes. He was standing at the other side of the room, just in front of the bay window, but for the moment, as though by some extraordinary preordination a space had opened in the crowd between them. Kirsten felt she might be swaying, that her entire body might be dissolving. Not even for a moment had she forgotten how incredibly handsome he was, how compelling his eyes, nor how physical his presence, but neither for a moment had she expected that seeing him again would affect her so profoundly. Suddenly the blood was beginning to pound through her ears and her chest felt so tight she was unable to breathe. So many memories were passing before her eyes, so much love, so much passion and so many promises. This man had once been her whole life, she had loved him so much and even now, looking at him she felt as though he was still hers. They had meant so much to each other, how could they be apart?

  And then it was as though a smothering fog was being lifted from her senses and she realized how insane she had been to think she could handle this. She felt herself start to falter, as though a dam in her mind had broken and everything she had suppressed for so long was rushing at her. It might have been only yesterday that he had told her he didn’t want her. She could almost hear herself begging him to stay, pleading with him to love her, to give her another chance.

  This can’t be happening, she told herself vehemently. It just can’t. She was over him, she had to be because there was simply no way there could ever be anything between them now. She was just in some kind of shock and in a few minutes she’d be herself again. The new self. The woman who could hold her head high and know that she had been through hell for this man and come out the other side. The woman who had spent the last five years learning how to come to terms with her past so that she could at last deal with all that life threw at her and survive.

  Yes, that’s all it was, shock, she decided with relief, and how ridiculous she was to have allowed herself to be taken in by it. She found herself smiling over at him then, a shaky calm spreading its soothing warmth through her. He smiled too, then turned his attention back to the man he was talking to.

  Kirsten guessed that very soon now he’d come over to say hello. She experienced a childish sort of excitement at the prospect, felt herself start to tingle even, which almost made her laugh and for
one breath-taking moment she felt almost deliriously happy.

  She carried on chatting with Zaccheo, though thankfully they were continually interrupted for Kirsten’s powers of concentration were eluding her. Unable to stop herself she kept glancing in Laurence’s direction and though their eyes didn’t meet again, she was certain that he was watching her too. Then Helena came to join them and when Kirsten looked up again Laurence had disappeared.

  Excusing herself Kirsten went off to the bathroom, but as she walked out of the door, still looking back over her shoulder and laughing at something Zaccheo was saying, she collided with someone coming the other way. Before she could do anything to stop it there was Campari and soda all over the front of her dress.

  ‘Oh no! I’m sorry!’ the girl gasped. ‘Oh, heavens, what can I do? Your dress, your lovely dress! I’m just so sorry, I didn’t see you . . .’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Kirsten said, irritated but at the same time slightly amused by the girl who was clearly mortified at what she had done. ‘I’m sure it’ll come off.’

  ‘But please, let me . . .’ the girl stopped suddenly as she looked up into Kirsten’s face. Kirsten was momentarily startled by the expression in the girl’s eyes. Was it fear? Shock? In a way it was like recognition. And then Kirsten remembered, that of course the girl would recognize her, who wouldn’t these days? And, by the look of the girl she was quite simply horrified at having come face to face with the infamous Kirsten Meredith. And now that she had, and had ruined an extremely expensive dress into the bargain, what was the infamous Kirstie Doll going to do? Beat her? Scream at her? Humiliate her in front of all these people?

  ‘Really, it’s all right,’ Kirsten smiled, closing the door behind her so that they were alone in the hall. ‘Please, don’t worry about it. I’ll send it to the cleaners, I’m sure they’ll be able to sort it out.’

  The girl was obviously still shaken, couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that there were no disastrous consequences to be faced for a simple accident, so Kirsten tried again.