Vengeance

by Susan Lewis

  ‘I know,’ Campbell said. ‘But like I said, it’s not an easy story to tell . . .’

  ‘Dyllis will find a way,’ Laurence said, turning back.

  ‘But she still doesn’t know what happened. And she’ll never find out through me.’

  ‘What about the person who told you?’

  Campbell shook his head. ‘I can’t give any guarantees on that, but I don’t honestly think there’s a problem there.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything you can do to get Dyllis to back off?’ Laurence asked.

  Dismally Campbell shook his head. ‘I’ve got no sway with the woman,’ he answered. ‘I doubt anyone has in this instance. She’s out to destroy Kirsten in every way possible. Not even with all that money Kirsten’s got is she going to be able to work again. I know for a fact she’s considered financing herself, but no one will work with her. Dyllis will see to that. And as far as Kirsten’s private life goes Dyllis has got me over a barrel. Either I write it or I’m out. And it’s better that I do it than some hack you don’t even know. At least this way I can temper it a bit . . .’

  ‘But from what I’ve read, from what you’ve said here, it sounds to me like you’re gunning for Kirsten yourself.’

  ‘In a way, yes, in a way, no. I don’t want to see her coming between you and Pip. I meant it earlier when I said I was trying to warn you. The Kirstie Doll is still in love with you. She wants you back and making friends with your nanny is just the start of it. Dyllis knows that and Dyllis is going to do all she can to prevent it. So am I.’

  Laurence laughed without humour. ‘Pippa and I don’t need your help, Dermott. Sure, we have our problems, but it’ll take a damn sight more than Kirsten Meredith to bust us apart.’

  ‘That’s what I want to hear,’ Campbell said. ‘But the Kirstie Doll, well, she’s one hell of a lady. I can see why you were so crazy for her . . . Hell, I almost found myself falling for her . . .’

  Laurence laughed and pushed himself away from the window ledge. ‘That kind of misery you can well do without, my friend.’

  When Campbell had gone, Pippa and Laurence sat in the kitchen reading through the article again, until Pippa looked up to find Laurence grinning at her.

  ‘And what’s so funny?’ she asked.

  ‘Campbell. I sure as hell would have liked to be there when Kirsten clocked him one.’

  Pippa giggled. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Come here,’ Laurence said, pushing the paper away and sliding his chair back from the table.

  Pippa went to him and as she settled into his lap he wrapped her in his arms. ‘You’re not worried about any of this, are you?’ he said.

  ‘Should I be?’

  ‘You know the answer to that,’ he murmured sliding a hand under her sweater and gently caressing her breasts.

  Pippa sighed contentedly and rested her head back on his shoulder. ‘Are you still sure you don’t want me to come to the States with you at the end of the week?’ she said after a while.

  ‘I do want you to come,’ he answered, ‘but I thought you were going to Zaccheo’s.’

  ‘I could always cancel.’

  Laurence laughed. ‘Zaccheo would never forgive me for taking you away from him.’

  ‘What about him taking me away from you? Doesn’t that bother you?’

  ‘Put like that it does,’ he said, squeezing her.

  ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, too.’

  Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Pippa’s eyes filled with tears, but with her head where it was Laurence didn’t see. ‘What time did you get back last night?’ she said after a while. ‘It must have been late because I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Almost three,’ Laurence answered. ‘Ruby’s come up with some pretty amazing stuff, believe it or not. She was on a roll last night, I didn’t want to do anything to . . . Mmmm,’ he groaned as Pippa turned his mouth to hers and pushed her tongue deep inside.

  ‘What was that for?’ he asked as she pulled away.

  ‘For being you.’

  ‘Then how about,’ he murmured slipping his other hand inside her sweater, ‘I get another. For being me.’ He smiled then as she turned to sit astride him pressing her groin to his. ‘I kind of reckon you’re after something, Mrs McAllister,’ he grinned.

  ‘I could be,’ she said, running her fingers around his neck and up into his hair.

  Thank God, he was thinking to himself, as she started to suck gently on his lips while pushing herself harder against him, that her jealousy, which had been threatening to run out of control these past few weeks, seemed to have disappeared altogether, and even Campbell’s warning that Kirsten was aiming to come between them didn’t seem to have fazed her. Laurence was profoundly glad of it, for having Kirsten back in London was, for him, too close for comfort. The year they had spent together still lived all too vividly in his mind and though he would never admit it to anyone, he knew that despite what had happened at the end he had loved Kirsten in a way he would never love any other woman. What they had shared together came only once in a lifetime, but what he had with Pippa was something he would never give up the way he had given up on Kirsten. In a way he was grateful to Kirsten for she had, in coming back, reminded him just how much Pippa meant to him. For a while though, it had scared the hell out of him to find that he couldn’t make love to Pippa. Mercifully it hadn’t lasted as the past week had proved and his love for Pippa had deepened immeasurably for the way she had handled what she must have guessed was a real problem for him. And that was why Kirsten would never be able to come between them, for Pippa’s unspoken support, loyalty and love was the very mainstay of his life.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ he said as Pippa drew herself up from his lap.

  ‘To lock the door,’ she smiled over her shoulder. ‘OK, I know you’ve got a meeting at the bank . . .’

  ‘It can wait,’ Laurence said wryly, knowing it couldn’t but he wanted her so much right now it would just have to.

  She came back and stood beside him, looking down at the bulge in his jeans.

  ‘Take off your clothes,’ he whispered as he started to lower his zip. ‘Take them all off and come sit right here.’

  As he spoke Pippa’s eyes fluttered closed showing him how turned on she was. She loved to be naked while he was still dressed.

  Seconds later she was astride him again, slowly lowering herself on to him while looking deep into his eyes. He held her about the hips one thumb gently massaging her between the legs.

  ‘What was she like in bed?’ Pippa murmured.

  Laurence frowned. ‘What?’

  Pippa’s head fell back and she groaned ecstatically as he reached full penetration. ‘Kirsten,’ she said. ‘What was she like in bed?’

  ‘Oh Christ, Pippa! You sure as hell pick your moments.’

  ‘Was it as good as this?’ Pippa asked, bringing her head back up and gyrating her hips as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. ‘Do you ever think of her while you’re fucking me?’

  ‘Quit talking,’ he said lifting her with him as he stood up.

  ‘You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?’ Pippa said, smiling up at him as he laid her across the table. ‘Do you want to fuck her again, Laurence? Do you want to push it right into her the way you’re pushing it into me? Oh God, Laurence,’ she suddenly gasped as he pushed her knees wide and thrust into her. ‘Fuck me, fuck me hard. Are you thinking of her now? Can you see her? Do you want to screw her this way? She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Laurence? So beautiful you can’t get her out of your mind. Pretend I’m her, Laurence. Fuck me as though I was her.’

  Laurence’s eyes were closed. He wouldn’t listen, he couldn’t, but the turbulence in her voice was driving him crazy. He pounded into her, holding her tiny waist as her legs circled him, locking him to her.

  ‘Can you feel her, Laurence? Can you see her? Did she ever fuck you like this? Oh my God!’ she cried as suddenly he started to hammer into her
harder than he ever had before. ‘Is this what you did to her?’ she gasped breathlessly. ‘Are you with her now?’

  He pulled back, rammed himself into her, pulled back and did it again. She sobbed for more and yet more, begging him never to stop. Then suddenly the semen was spurting from him. He ground into her feeling the strength start to seep from his legs. But still it came and still he pushed into her.

  ‘Oh Christ!’ he seethed as he felt her start to come too. ‘Jesus Christ!’ and snatching her up from the table he pressed his mouth hard against hers. ‘I love you. Dear God, I love you.’

  ‘Oh Laurence, I can’t stop,’ she sobbed, clinging to him. ‘I just can’t stop. Hold me. Please, hold me.’

  His arms tightened around her as her whole body vibrated with the force of her orgasm, but his legs felt so weak he knew he couldn’t stand much longer. Scooping her up he carried her back to the chair and sat down. Their arms were still entwined, their bodies joined and they stayed that way for a long time, just holding each other and waiting for the steady rythmn of their hearts to return.

  At last Pippa lifted her head. ‘Are you angry with me?’ she whispered.

  Laurence’s face was grim, though he couldn’t say for sure whether he was angry or not. But what he did know was that as much as he wanted that he and Pippa should have another child he hoped to God she hadn’t conceived then. The very last thing in the world he wanted was for Pippa to carry a child that had been conceived while in his head he had been making love to Kirsten Meredith.

  It had been dark for hours. So dark, so very, very dark, that her eyes couldn’t adjust. She lay silently and still, her shallow breathing not even disturbing the covers. She could almost be dead, she mused to herself. Lying here in the inky black silence was like lying in the swallowed cavern of a grave.

  After a while she moved. Reaching out a hand she pressed the switch beside her bed. A dim, greyish glow spread a circle over the floor. As she lifted herself up her distorted shadow loomed large across the wall. It stalked her as she moved to the door. She turned the key, locking herself in. Securing her tomb.

  Very gently she eased open a drawer and lifted out the book. Such a precious book. Bound in leather, embossed in gold. As she folded back the cover a rush of air sucked at the first, transparent page. She pulled it back. A smile hovered on her lips, tears stung at her eyes.

  Using her fingers she began to trace the outline of the photograph, as though reading brail. She closed her eyes as though to sink the memory of the face into the very depths of her mind. After a while she could hear the voice, the longed for voice, murmuring words of comfort, of love. Pulling her elbows to her sides she felt strong, caring arms go around her. Very slowly, like a flower coming to bloom, a warm, cherished glow spread through her heart.

  After a while she opened her eyes. The face was still there, gazing up at her in the misty light.

  Suddenly she closed the book. She didn’t want to look at it anymore.

  She tiptoed across the room and peered into the cot. Flushed, tender cheeks lying on a pillow of lace. A tiny fist clenched. Soft, downy head turned to one side. The warmth and smell of new human life. How God had blessed her with this one, unexpected happiness.

  8

  It was no wonder that so many artists chose to live in this wonderful place, Kirsten was thinking dreamily to herself, as she stood on the bougainvillea-covered terrace of Zaccheo’s Tuscan home and looked out on the endless rows of olive groves sloping gently into the valley far below. The light was incredible, so soft and mysterious as it shimmered on the silvery green leaves and cast spectacular cloud shadows over the slumbering mountains. She inhaled deeply, reaching high above her head as though to open her entire body to the bracing, early morning air and thought of the last time she had stood on the terrace of this magnificent hillside villa. She smiled, relishing the memory, and looked to the sky as though turning her face to the voice which now existed only in her mind.

  Hearing the gentle clatter of a tea-tray she turned to see Mañuella coming on to the terrace with her breakfast. The table was already set, but only for one – Zaccheo was in Rome and Kirsten wasn’t too sure when he’d be back.

  He’d called her two days before to invite her here, saying he felt she should get out of England for a while, at least until things had calmed down. How he had learned about Dermott Campbell’s latest attack, Kirsten wasn’t sure. Maybe he had got hold of an English newspaper, or it could be that Pippa McAllister had told him. Whichever, it didn’t matter, for he was right, she had needed to get away to somewhere where she could concentrate on how she was going to bring her ideas to fruition. Dyllis might be doing all she could to destroy Kirsten’s attempts at a comeback, but Kirsten was simply not going to allow herself to be beaten.

  A few months, perhaps even a few weeks from now, Paul’s death and her inheritance would be old news. No one would want to read about it any more, other events would be under the spotlight and by that time she should be ready to make what she hoped, given the project she had in mind, would be quite a comeback. Meanwhile, no one in the world knew where she was with the exception of Helena and Zaccheo.

  She chuckled quietly to herself as she sat down at the delicate wrought-iron table and filled her cup with piping hot tea. Helena had been incensed at her coming here, had accused her of running away and had demanded to know how they could possibly work together on Kirsten’s ideas when Kirsten was so far away. It had been hard for Kirsten to stop herself laughing outright, for she knew only too well that Helena was piqued because she hadn’t been invited too. Zaccheo’s reputation as an expert lover was too much for Helena to resist, she was simply dying to find out for herself if it were true, but though Kirsten was sympathetic, for she herself was not impervious to Zaccheo’s charm, she had explained that Zaccheo was going to be in Rome and that she was looking forward to spending some time alone.

  For no apparent reason, as she bit into a succulent pastry, Jane suddenly came into her mind and with the thought came a pang of guilt. Laurence had delivered an ultimatum – either Jane stopped visiting Kirsten or Jane was fired. Hiding her own pain at the harshness of Laurence’s response, Kirsten had told Jane during their brief telephone conversation that it would be for the best. Saying goodbye to Jane though was more of a wrench than Kirsten wanted to admit, for she couldn’t deny that she had come to see Jane as a link to Laurence and it was a link that, as much as she despised herself for it, she just didn’t want to break. But she had and now, as she smiled grimly to herself, she realized she was going to miss Jane, for despite all that giggling and sometimes annoying self-consciousness she was often quite relaxing to be with, so undemanding and easy to talk to.

  Kirsten spent the next few days ambling through the hills with her tape recorder or sitting amongst the ornamental palms around the swimming pool transcribing plots and breakdowns on to the portable typewriter she’d found in Zaccheo’s study. The flow of ideas was like a bubbling stream, hitting obstacles, but never long deterred from its purpose. It was so exhilarating to find that she still had the ability to take a simple concept and turn it into something dramatically powerful. Not that there was anything simple about the ideas she was working on now, but her confidence was riding high.

  It was early in the evening on the fifth day of her visit that she finally plucked up the courage to take a swim. The clear blue water looked so utterly irresistible that even the knowledge that the spring sunshine wouldn’t have warmed it much could no longer deter her. She hadn’t thought to bring a swimsuit with her, but didn’t see that as a problem since Mañuella wouldn’t return to the villa for at least another hour and she’d waved Raimondo the gardener off home a few minutes ago.

  As she stepped up to the edge of the pool she could feel the thrill of the balmy air curling itself around her naked skin. Strangely it felt like a lifetime ago that she had last done this, when she and Paul had swum together each evening before going to sit on the veranda looking down over Cannes
and out on to the magnificent expanse of the Mediterranean sea.

  Feeling as though his eyes were on her now she poised herself ready to dive. The shock of the cold water when it came was breathtaking, but she swam on down the pool, somersaulted a turn and swam back again. She’d done several lengths by the time her body had become acclimatized and her breathing was steady again, then rolling on to her back she floated lazily across the surface gazing up at the rosy sky. It was like being in paradise, she laughed to herself, as she turned again and, using long languorous strokes, began several more laps of the pool. A few minutes later she was again drifting aimlessly on her back, listening to the distant sounds of the valley when she heard a stirring in the bushes nearby. Her eyes came open and she looked across to the vast stone wall from the where the noise had come just in time to see a lizard scuttle back into the undergrowth. She relaxed, letting her arms drift from her sides as she gently moved her legs and was just deciding to do a few more lengths before going to take a shower when she heard someone say,

  ‘Twas not for the want of beauty he rested his eyes on the nymph, but for the want of mortality and the satiation of his dreams.’

  Kirsten could feel herself smiling even before he had finished. ‘Good evening, Zaccheo,’ she said still looking up at the sky. ‘As you can see, I wasn’t exactly expecting you.’

  She heard him chuckle then rolled over to look up at where he was standing on the veranda. His arms were resting on the lobelia covered wall, his dark eyes were sparkling.

  ‘If you were a gentleman,’ she said, ‘you’d turn your back while I climbed out of here.’

  Zaccheo’s grin widened. ‘I am a gentleman, Kirsten, bellezza mia, but I am not a fool.’

  Kirsten tried and failed to suppress a smile, then tossing back her hair she hauled herself up over the steps and having no choice but to walk towards him, for she had left her clothes on the veranda, she put her shoulders back and stalked through the garden never taking her eyes from his as though challenging him to lower his gaze to her body. He watched her, every step of the way, until she was standing beside him waiting for him to hand her the towel he was holding. Still their eyes were locked, then Kirsten felt her smile widening as his body started to tremble and his deep resonant laughter seemed to erupt from his very depths. His head fell back as he roared his amusement and laughing too, Kirsten snatched the towel from him and wrapped herself in it.