Vengeance

by Susan Lewis

  As she lifted her coffee to her lips she was aware of how searching his eyes were as they swept over her face. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on, but inside she was willing herself not to break down in front of him. She had no idea what he was thinking, or of what he was going to say next, but she knew that whatever it was her resolve was absolute. She wasn’t going to change her mind and right now that was all that mattered.

  Laurence continued to look at her, silently, almost wonderingly. In the shimmering soft light she looked so unbelievably lovely and so heartrendingly vulnerable. He knew her so well it was easy for him to see through her bravado. He knew too that she believed in it, that she thought her inner strength would support her, and maybe, at least for a while, it would. But he wasn’t going to let her go through this alone. This time he was going to be there for her. He wanted so much to tell her he loved her. How he had never stopped loving her. But how was he going to explain all that he had done when he hardly understood it himself? Why was it that he had fought so hard to keep her out of his life when she was all he had ever wanted? Why had he married Pippa knowing that it would break Kirsten’s heart? How could he have allowed anger to have governed his life that way? He knew what pain he had caused her, he knew it so well because it had been there for him too. It had all but destroyed Kirsten, and who could say, perhaps in a way it had destroyed him too.

  What a lie he had lived these past six years, and how many people he had hurt. And he’d gone on and on hurting, Pippa, Kirsten, Anna until it was almost as though he couldn’t stop. Yet Kirsten was the only one who mattered. All he had ever cared about was her and she, because of his shameful inability to face up to his mistakes and his feelings, had been the one he had hurt the most. Making love to her that day in New Orleans had been like re-awakening his soul and if he’d been honest with himself then he’d have admitted that a part of her lived inside him just as a part of him lived inside her. Perhaps if Pippa hadn’t called him right after and mocked him, taunting him with his inability to face his own emotions, he wouldn’t have done what he had. Goddammit, why had he been so desparate to prove Pippa wrong? What the hell did it matter what she thought? Kirsten was all that mattered and the love they shared that neither of them would ever be able to defeat.

  He didn’t want to defeat it now, he wanted to give in to it, to take her in his arms and feel her against him, moving into him as though their very souls were joined. He wanted to feel the luxuriant softness of her hair sliding through his fingers, to feel her lips moving beneath his. He wanted to feel the beat of her heart, the warmth of her skin, the unbelievable depth of her love.

  He watched the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed and felt an overpowering need to touch her. He was afraid, he knew that, afraid of the resolve still glittering in her eyes. Her life was being torn apart by one woman’s rabid jealousy and so far she had struggled with it alone, but now he was going to help her. He had to make her go on with this film, she had to have a sense of purpose and a chance to succeed in the face of all that was being pitched against her. He owed her that, but how in God’s name was he going to do it, when she was right, he couldn’t get the cover they needed because of her?

  His heart turned over as she lowered her head, trying to escape his scrutiny.

  ‘Kirsten,’ he said softly and as his hand covered hers Kirsten’s eyes closed.

  ‘No, Laurence,’ she said, her voice strangled by the tears in her throat.

  ‘Kirstie, look at me, please.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she murmured pulling her hand free.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh God, don’t say that!’ she cried covering her face with her hands. ‘Please don’t say it! No, Laurence,’ she choked as he took her by the shoulders.

  ‘Kirsten, listen to me, please,’ he said. ‘About Anna. Let me tell you about Anna.’

  ‘No! I don’t want to hear it. Laurence, please,’ she sobbed as he tried to take her hand again. ‘Can’t you see how hard this is for me? I just can’t let you go on hurting me . . .’

  ‘Darling, I’m not going to hurt you. I love you . . .’

  ‘But for how long, Laurence? For tonight, while you’re feeling lonely? For the next week, the next month, until you find someone else? No! It’s over between us, Laurence. It was over six years ago. I’ve never really been able to make myself believe that, but I do now. So I’m leaving. I’m saying goodbye, because I can’t keep pretending that one day you’ll be there for me when in my heart I know I can’t trust you anymore.’

  ‘Kirsten, come back!’ he cried, leaping to his feet as she ran to the door, but as she dashed down the front step he stayed where he was, letting her go because he knew that right now he had to. Nothing he said tonight was going to get through to her, she had set herself against him and after the way he had treated her who could blame her for that? But there had to be something he could do, there had to be an answer for them somewhere.

  26

  Despite her resolve of that night over the next few days Kirsten found herself hoping beyond hope that Laurence would call. She wanted more than anything in the world to hear him persuade her to believe he loved her, to know that she meant so much to him he was prepared to do anything to get her back. But as the days passed and still he didn’t call, she knew that she had finally to admit that he wasn’t going to. Jane called her often, but every time Kirsten heard her voice she made some excuse as to why she couldn’t talk and rang off. In truth she longed to speak to Jane, but keeping contact with her was only going to prolong the pain over Laurence.

  She’d spoken briefly on the phone to Helena just before Helena took herself off to spend Christmas in Scotland where she and Dermott were going to give it another go. Kirsten knew, because Helena had told her before leaving New Orleans, that Helena felt horribly torn between her and Dermott Campbell, but it seemed now that Helena had made her choice. Kirsten guessed that was why Helena hadn’t made much of an effort to be in touch with her lately, and she couldn’t help wondering if Helena’s decision might have been different if she knew what was going on in Kirsten’s life right now. But Kirsten wasn’t into emotional blackmail, which was why she hadn’t told her. In the end they had wished each other a Happy Christmas and made a tentative arrangement to meet up in the New Year.

  On Christmas morning Kirsten got out of bed early and went downstairs to light the fire. She already knew how she was going to spend the day and in a perverse sort of way was almost looking forward to it. She flicked on the TV, hummed gently along with the Christmas carols as she padded about the place in her dressing-gown and slippers knowing that come what may she wasn’t going to let herself get down. It didn’t matter that she was alone, self-pity was no companion for a Christmas day, especially when her sitting room was by now filled with glittering cards, all from the cast and crew of Moyna O’Malley. Alison had gone so far as to enclose a note telling her what a dream she was to work for even though she was as stubborn as a mule, and how much everyone was looking forward to starting afresh in the New Year. Obviously Laurence hadn’t told any of them yet and Kirsten wondered if maybe that task shouldn’t actually fall to her. Whether it should or shouldn’t she wasn’t going to think about it today.

  After tidying up the magazines and newspapers she had left strewn across the coffee table she went into the kitchen and gave a wry laugh when she saw the turkey through the glass door of the oven. It was huge. But she hadn’t wanted anyone in the supermarket to know that she was spending Christmas alone so she had stuffed her trolley full to the brim with the things she’d watched other people buy.

  Still humming along tunelessly she turned on the oven, poured herself a glass of champagne and went back to the sitting room to open the three gifts tucked neatly under the tree. One had come through the post from Helena and Jane had put two more into her bag the night she was at Laurence’s.

  When she opened the first she felt a lump rising in her throat. It
was a beautifully framed photograph of her and Helena looking so happy on the set in New Orleans. She turned the tag over to read the message. ‘For a very special friend, all my love, Helena’.

  The second gift was a book from Jane. It was all about Hollywood and the inscription inside read: ‘May all your dreams come true’. Kirsten smiled as she recalled a conversation she’d had with Laurence after their first week of shoot when they were so excited they’d talked about taking over Hollywood. Jane had been there at the time and had obviously remembered.

  Her third gift was from Tom and when she saw the little gris-gris bag to ward off bad luck that he had obviously made himself her emotions rose so close to the surface that she got briskly to her feet, stoked up the fire and went to check on the turkey.

  Around midday, having showered and changed into a pair of silk pyjamas and matching robe, she found herself standing at the window watching a family party in the house opposite sit down to their turkey dinner. They were all wearing paper hats and looked so happy that Kirsten wandered over to the Christmas tree, tugged on each end of a cracker and took out a hat for herself. Then catching sight of herself in the mirror, with her bright yellow hat, chaotic hair and mascara smudged eyes she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to ward off the terrible, agonizing loneliness much longer. Quickly she poured herself another glass of champagne and went to baste the turkey.

  Quite what time it was when she drifted off to sleep Kirsten couldn’t say, but before she did she had managed to eat part of her lunch and finish the entire bottle of champagne. Vaguely she remembered holding an imaginary conversation with Paul over the dining table, but she had no idea now what it had been about. Obviously she had cried herself to sleep. Her eyes hurt, hardly wanted to be prised open and her whole body ached. However, that could be because she’d fallen asleep in the chair.

  She looked around the room. What time was it? It was dark outside, the fire had gone out and the routine action-adventure film was on the TV. Oh God, isn’t Christmas over yet, she groaned? It was hard work entertaining herself when all she really wanted to do was howl like a baby and give in to her self-pity.

  It was only when the doorbell sounded again that she realized what it was that had woken her. Wearily she pulled herself up and went to find the packet of cigarettes she always kept for the old lady next door who was continually running out.

  Raking her hands through her hair and tightening the belt of her dressing gown she went to the door, wondering whether or not to invite the old lady in. Deciding she would, she put on a welcoming smile and pulled open the door.

  Almost instantly her smile froze. She had to blink several times before she could actually register who was standing there, his face almost lost in shadow, the shoulders of his black overcoat spattered with rain.

  ‘Laurence?’ she said, uncertainly.

  ‘Were you expecting someone else?’ he said, his eyes narrowing with irony.

  ‘Uh, no.’ Her hand flew to her hair. ‘Oh God, I look like a nightmare.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve seen you better,’ he grinned. He looked past her down the hall. ‘Do I get to come in?’

  Still somewhat dazed she stood back for him to pass her then followed him into the sitting room.

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ she asked, feeling her heart starting to pound as he turned to look at her.

  ‘With Pippa.’

  ‘In Italy?’

  He shook his head. ‘With Pippa’s parents. I would have come earlier, but he kicked up a bit. He didn’t want to go . . .’

  For a moment or two Kirsten was at a loss and glanced nervously about the room. ‘Uh, can I get you a drink?’ she offered.

  ‘Mm. Sounds good. Have you got any more of that?’

  Kirsten followed his eyes to the empty bottle of champagne. ‘I expect I can find another,’ she said, pursing her lips in a smile.

  ‘You do that.’

  As soon as she left the room Kirsten ran upstairs to freshen up and change. When she came back with a new bottle and two glasses on a tray Laurence was still standing where she had left him, his hands in his trouser pockets, his coat bunched behind him as he gazed thoughtfully down at the TV.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he said, as she picked up the bottle of champagne.

  Kirsten handed it to him and for a brief moment their eyes met. He winked and Kirsten looked away, a reluctant smile curving her lips.

  ‘OK,’ he said when both glasses were full.

  Kirsten took one, then felt herself turn weak as he put a finger under her chin lifting her face so that she was looking at him and said, ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she whispered.

  They drank, then Laurence turned to look at the dead fire. ‘I reckon we could do with that going again,’ he said.

  Kirsten watched him as he started to pile on the kindling. His movements were deft and quick despite the heavy bulk of his coat. Should she ask him to take it off, she wondered. ‘Laurence?’ she said.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Laurence, I don’t understand . . . Why are you here?’

  ‘To give you a Christmas present, of course,’ he said, as though she should already have known that. He continued with the fire until the flames were roaring up the chimney then standing up again he put a hand inside his overcoat and pulled out an envelope.

  Kirsten took it watching him closely and wondering why his eyes were dancing the way they were. As she tore it open he took off his coat and threw it across a chair. All the time he was watching her as she read what she’d taken from the envelope, waiting for her reaction.

  Finally Kirsten looked up. Her smile was a little shaky but she managed to say, ‘Congratulations. I’m really pleased for you. I told you you’d get it if I was out of the way.’

  ‘I got it,’ Laurence said, taking the insurance documents from her and throwing them on to the table, ‘without telling them that you’d resigned. So now, would you like to make my Christmas by withdrawing the resignation?’

  Kirsten looked at him for a long time before lowering her eyes and searching through the flickering fire-lit shadows as though to find the words she needed to say. He waited, but in the end, when she continued to say nothing, he reached for her hand.

  Before she could stop herself Kirsten snatched it away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t. You don’t understand, Laurence. I can’t go on with it . . .’

  ‘Darling . . .’

  She closed her eyes tightly. ‘Laurence, don’t call me that. We said, at the beginning, that ours was to be a professional relationship. Well we both know that we’ve failed at that, but don’t you see, I can’t go back into it the way things are. You frighten me, Laurence. It’s so easy for you to hurt me and as much as I want to do the film . . .’

  He made to take her in his arms but she backed away.

  ‘No, Laurence. I know what you’re going to say, but you’ll walk out on me again, I know it, and I just can’t bear for that to happen.’

  ‘Kirstie, listen to me for a moment . . .’

  Her eyes were flashing as they came up to meet his. ‘I love you, Laurence, I want you so much you’ve got no idea what it’s doing to me. But I told you, I can’t trust you any more – no, Laurence, don’t touch me! Laurence, don’t!’ she cried as he pulled her into his arms.

  ‘At least give me the chance to explain,’ he said. ‘Then if you tell me to go I’ll walk out of here and never try to see you again.’

  She despised herself for being so helpless in his arms, but the feel of him was crushing her resolve, and the temptation to give in was overpowering. Nevertheless, she managed to push him away and moved to the other side of the sofa. ‘I’ll listen,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want you to touch me. I want you to stay right where you are . . . Laurence!’ she cried as he started towards her.

  Laughing, he threw up his hands. ‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘I’m rooted to the spot. Now, are you going to turn off the TV?’

  For a second or two she eyed
him suspiciously, then reaching behind her she fumbled around on the mantelpiece to find the remote control. The room fell into silence and suddenly realizing how cosy and intimate it was with just the soft glow of a reading lamp and the fire-light Kirsten moved to the door and switched on the overhead light.

  Laurence was still smiling, but then, as she turned back to him, the challenge clear in her eyes, his smile melted away and he wiped a hand over the dark stubble on his chin.

  Kirsten waited, staying right where she was at the door. How desperately she wanted to return to his arms, but too much had happened, too many times in the past he had let her down, she couldn’t take that risk again.

  ‘Hell, I hardly know where to begin,’ he said, lifting his head to look at her.

  Kirsten said nothing.

  He sighed. ‘Damn it, Kirstie, can we at least sit down?’

  She waved an arm towards the sofa, but remained where she was.

  ‘I guess I should tell you about Anna,’ he said, sinking into the feather-filled cushions.

  Still Kirsten was silent as his eyes returned to hers as though asking her if he should go on.

  ‘I wasn’t in love with her,’ he said. ‘Christ, I can’t even say I liked her very much, but she came on to me so strong, and . . . Hell, I slept with her to try and prove to myself that it was just a woman I wanted. Any woman. That it wasn’t you I was getting so screwed up over, it was just the need for sex. I guess I knew I was still in love with you, but goddammit I didn’t want to admit it. If I did then I’d have to admit to all the other mistakes I’d made and I just didn’t have the guts to face up to them.’

  ‘When was the first time you slept with her?’ Kirsten asked after a pause.

  ‘The first night we were in New Orleans. There I was back in the room where we’d made love. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It was driving me insane seeing you day after day and wanting you so badly . . .’

  ‘Don’t lie!’ she cried.

  ‘I’m not lying, for God’s sake! And you can’t tell me you didn’t sense it, Kirstie, you must have known what it was doing to me seeing you all the time, I could hardly keep my hands off you. Like I said I tried to persuade myself it was just sex, but it was you, Kirstie, I was going goddamned crazy for you. It was like I was possessed by you. You’ve got to remember the way we always used to talk about being a part of each other. For me that’s never changed. When I was making love to Anna I was with you. Every time I made love to Pippa I was with you. You were there, in my head, you never went away. I wanted to get over you, Kirsten. I convinced myself I was. Hell, I couldn’t handle the fact that you could have so much damned power over me. I hated you for that. It drove me so crazy I hardly knew what was happening to me. My whole fucking life has been a mess since we broke up. My marriage failed, my career . . .’