The Angel Tree

by Lucinda Riley

  And she realised that in the past, that had been her, too.

  When she thought about David, it brought forth a completely different set of feelings: it was a wonderful, warm sensation that filled her and made her feel content, secure and loved. There was no play-acting like there’d been with other men; with David, she was completely herself. He knew her inside out, faults and all, yet he still loved her.

  But . . . Greta closed her eyes. Was there that all-important stirring in her stomach when she thought about him? The two of them had never even kissed. She considered how she felt when she saw him on television; recently, she’d noticed how handsome he seemed to have become, but maybe he always had been and she simply hadn’t noticed, caught up as she had been in the fulcrum of her own dramas.

  Certainly, she felt proprietorial about him. She remembered the pang of jealousy she’d suddenly experienced a few weeks ago when she saw him in the newspaper, pictured at a premiere with a beautiful actress on his arm.

  Her life had been hollow . . . empty, since she’d refused him. Greta admitted to herself that she’d been unhappy for years. Being busy with Cheska’s career had papered over the cracks, but now . . .

  She sighed, stood up and walked into the kitchen to make herself her nightly Horlicks. She imagined David being here with her, how he’d find a joke about something, then maybe take her in his arms and give her one of his huge cuddles, then kiss her . . .

  Greta’s stomach fluttered at the thought.

  ‘Oh God,’ she murmured, ‘what have I done?’

  The dress had exactly the effect that Cheska had hoped for. As she descended the wooden steps into the candlelit bar every head in the room turned to watch her. By the time she was at the bottom Bobby was waiting for her. He swung her round in his arms and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Hey, baby. You look great!’ His hands moved over her body. ‘My little girl’s growing up, isn’t she?’ he whispered, nuzzling her neck. ‘C’mon, let’s go and find you a drink.’

  For the rest of the night Bobby was as attentive as he’d been that first week in Brighton. He didn’t leave her side, holding her hand as they moved from one group of people to another. She drank every drink she was given and even tried to smoke a joint she was offered. She coughed and spluttered as Bobby laughed at her attempt.

  ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  Cheska caught sight of the make-up girl he’d been talking to earlier watching Bobby and her gyrate together on the dance floor. It gave her a great feeling of satisfaction to see the disappointment in her eyes.

  ‘I’m gonna miss you,’ Bobby murmured as he swayed to the music, his body pressed close to hers.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, pulling away.

  ‘I mean, miss seeing you on the set every day.’

  ‘And I will, too. But we can still see each other often, can’t we, Bobby?’

  ‘Of course we can. Though I’ve got to go away, sweetheart. Just for a few weeks.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘France. I’m doing a few gigs there. My record label wants to raise my profile on the Continent.’

  ‘Oh.’ There were tears in Cheska’s eyes. ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘Before Christmas, I hope.’

  ‘Could I come with you?’

  ‘Not a good idea. I’m gonna be so busy, travelling from town to town. You’d be bored out of your mind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, as long as I was with you.’ Cheska put her head on his shoulder and smelt his familiar, spicy aftershave.

  ‘Hey, baby, as we won’t see each other for a while, how about a . . . quick goodbye present?’ His hands traced the contours of her body.

  ‘Where?’ she asked, feeling light-headed from alcohol and excitement.

  ‘Come with me.’ Bobby pulled her off the dance floor, out of the room and along a dim corridor. He opened a door and led her into a small office, then locked the door behind him, grabbed Cheska and pinned her up against a wall. He kissed her, one hand rucking up her dress while the other cupped her breast.

  ‘You are sensational,’ he moaned, parting her legs and ramming himself into her.

  ‘Bobby, shouldn’t we use a—’

  ‘All under control, baby, don’t worry.’ As Bobby lifted her up, Cheska’s legs left the floor and curled round his hips.

  ‘Doesn’t that feel great?’ Bobby crooned, moving rhythmically inside her.

  Whether it was the alcohol, the danger of being caught or just Bobby, Cheska didn’t know, but she’d never felt so happy, free and uninhibited. A great wave of exhilaration was building up inside her belly. She moaned in ecstasy, moving to meet his thrusts, her body begging for release. She screamed out in pleasure as it came for both of them.

  Panting, they sank in a heap to the dusty floor.

  ‘I love you, Bobby, I love you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Sorry about that. I lost control.’ Bobby looked down at her and smoothed back her hair. ‘It wasn’t meant to work out like this, but, boy, you’re one of the sexiest girls I’ve ever met.’

  ‘What do you mean, “It wasn’t meant to work out like this”?’

  ‘Nothing, darlin’.’ He stood up, tucked in his shirt and fastened his trousers. ‘I only meant that I didn’t expect to fall for my leading lady. C’mon.’ He pulled her up from the floor and unlocked the door as she hastily straightened her dress.

  ‘Bobby, you will call me when you get back from France, won’t you?’

  ‘’Course I will.’ He kissed her nose. ‘I gotta go now. A friend’s playing in a band at another club. Said I’d meet some people there and check out the scene. Goodbye, sweetheart. It’s been a real pleasure.’

  ‘But, Bobby, I haven’t given you my telephone num—’

  But he was off along the corridor and into the crowd before she could finish her sentence. Cheska’s euphoria evaporated. She made her way to the lavatory, went into a cubicle, pulled down the toilet seat and sat with her head in her hands.

  Tears fell down her cheeks as she contemplated the next few weeks without seeing Bobby. How could she possibly stand it?

  29

  Greta took far more time than usual to get ready to meet David at the Savoy. Over the past few weeks, as she’d watched Cheska moon miserably around the apartment pining over Bobby Cross, she had grown more and more certain how she felt about David.

  She did love him, as she’d told Cheska, but now, since those first butterflies had circled her stomach, she knew she wanted him in another way, too.

  ‘He’s been right under my nose for years and I didn’t see it,’ she chastised her reflection in the mirror. ‘Stupid, stupid woman!’

  As she’d let her heart emerge from its prison, Greta had begun to tentatively imagine the life she could have had with David: how the easy, comfortable way they’d always been with each other could have given her the inner contentment that was so missing from her life. How full of love, companionship and physical closeness it would have been. Having David there to protect her, support her and enjoy the simple things in life together, rather than struggling defiantly through it all alone.

  ‘Is it too late?’ she asked her reflection.

  She didn’t know. All she could do was find a way to ask him.

  David stood up as he saw Greta enter the Grill Room. He smiled as she walked over to him and kissed her warmly. ‘How are you, Greta? It’s lovely to see you. You look wonderful.’

  ‘Oh, er . . . thank you. You too,’ she said nervously.

  ‘Did you have much trouble getting here? Most of London was brought to a standstill by the smog yesterday.’

  ‘I walked. Getting a taxi was impossible. Mind you, I should never have worn these new shoes. My feet are killing me.’ Greta indicated the Charles Jourdan alligator winkle-pickers Cheska had bought her on a shopping spree.

  ‘They say it should have cleared by tomorrow morning,’ David replied as the two of them sat down.

  ‘Let’s hope so.’r />
  ‘Are you all right? You look a little harassed.’

  ‘No, I’m, er, fine.’ Greta knew she would need a couple of glasses of wine before she could pluck up the courage to speak to him about her recent revelations. ‘I’m just having a bit of a time with Cheska.’

  ‘She’s not ill, is she?’ He signalled to a waiter and ordered a bottle of Chablis.

  ‘No, she’s not ill, or at least, I don’t think she is.’

  ‘Would you like to order, sir?’ asked the waiter politely. ‘The soup of the day is tomato and basil.’

  Greta glanced down at the menu. ‘I’ll have the soup and the Dover sole, please.’

  ‘Good choice. I’ll have the same, please.’

  The waiter nodded and left them alone.

  ‘So what exactly is the problem?’

  ‘L-O-V-E.’ Greta spelt out the letters. ‘A particularly nasty case of the first-time type.’

  ‘I see,’ said David. ‘I must admit I find it hard to think of Cheska experiencing adult emotions. I still think of her as a child.’

  ‘Well, she’s grown up very quickly in the past few months. Since the filming of Please, Sir, I Love You finished, she’s hung around at home like a lost soul. She refuses to do anything except sit in her bedroom and listen to that stupid new song by Bobby Cross.’

  ‘Oh, “The Madness of Love”? Good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, if you heard it fifty times a day like I have to, you might just go off it.’ She raised her eyebrows and David chuckled as the waiter arrived with the wine. He opened it and poured two glasses. Greta took a large gulp from hers.

  ‘Are the feelings reciprocated by the young man in question?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s been away for the past few weeks, which accounts for Cheska’s behaviour. He might not be exactly what I had in mind as a first boyfriend but, to be honest, anything’s better than seeing her so unhappy. She says she’s certain he wants to marry her one day.’

  ‘I see. And is he serious?’

  ‘Who knows? Cheska believes so, but of course the whole idea is ridiculous. She’s not yet sixteen, for goodness’ sake. And he’s a grown man.’

  ‘And who exactly is he?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I’d said. It’s her co-star, and crooner of that appalling song, Bobby Cross.’

  Greta watched his forehead furrow. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he sighed.

  ‘David, I know it’s hardly ideal, but why do you say it like that? Do you know the man?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t count him amongst my friends, but I have met him. He was a guest on my TV show a while back and he’s been at a couple of Leon’s parties. Leon looks after his fledging film career. I also happen to know he’s married,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Greta swallowed hard and wiped a hand across her forehead distractedly. ‘Are you sure? I’m absolutely positive Cheska doesn’t know.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. It’s a well-kept secret, as are Bobby’s two young children.’

  All thoughts of what she’d been so eager to tell him receded into the distance. Greta reached for her glass again and noticed her hands were shaking. ‘David, I’m speechless—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Greta, but it’s better that you know. And so should Cheska. Bobby married very young, before he became a star. When his records started to sell his record company suggested that his wife and children never be mentioned in any publicity. They wanted his young female fans to think he was available.’

  ‘But I’ve seen endless pictures in the papers of Bobby out with models and actresses! I just don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, as Leon puts it, Bobby and his wife have an “understanding”. He’s obviously become very rich and she loves a comfortable life out of the spotlight. She doesn’t mind him seeing other women as long as he never divorces her. She’s a devout Catholic, you see, and she’s told him if he ever tries to do that, she’ll blow the whistle and go public. It’s what you might call a Faustian pact.’

  ‘My God, David! If only I’d known, I could have—’ Greta wrung her hands. ‘So Leon knew all about Bobby?’

  ‘Of course he did.’

  ‘That bastard!’ Greta rarely swore, but she was beside herself with fury. ‘How could he?’

  The waiter arrived to serve their soup. They sat in silence as he went about his business. Once he’d departed, Greta continued, ‘Leon knew about Cheska’s relationship with Bobby right from the start. In fact, he positively encouraged it. Cheska admitted she asked him to call me and lie to me about why she was staying in Brighton for the weekend. He must have known she was going to be with Bobby.’

  ‘But why would Leon do that? He knows Cheska isn’t even of age.’

  ‘I don’t know, David, unless it was to spite me. He’s always resented the fact that Cheska listens to me rather than to him. I suppose he saw a way of coming between her and me. To become her confidant, her partner in crime. He disgusts me!’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Greta. If it’s true that he encouraged the liaison, then it’s unforgivable of him. She’s such an innocent, with absolutely no experience of dealing with men. And certainly not one as confident as Mr Cross. When will you tell Cheska?’

  ‘As soon as possible. There’s a producer in LA who wants her to go across to America for a screen test, but Cheska has refused even to contemplate it until she’s heard from Bobby. She’s obsessed, David. She really believes he’s going to marry her. And that they’ll live happily ever after.’

  ‘I also know Bobby’s had countless affairs, but that’s all they ever amount to. He can’t risk his wife spilling the beans. He’d be shown up as the charlatan he is.’

  ‘Well, at least Cheska hasn’t gone that far. I asked her whether she was sleeping with Bobby and she told me she wasn’t.’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘She swore to me it was the truth. Really, David, I think we’re dealing with some kind of schoolgirl crush here. Or at least I hope so.’

  ‘Tread carefully, Greta,’ he advised her. ‘As you’ve already said, Cheska has got it bad. And first love can override any moral code you’ve instilled in her. She’s always been emotionally fragile and . . .’

  ‘What do you mean, “emotionally fragile”?’

  ‘Well, she’s so young and therefore vulnerable – easy meat to an experienced Casanova like Mr Cross.’

  ‘You said it,’ murmured Greta. ‘Look, Cheska’s meeting me here early this evening for a drink before we go on to the theatre. I’ll break the news to her, but I doubt she’ll believe me. Could you by any chance join us? She’s always been so fond of you. Maybe she’ll listen if you tell her Bobby’s married.’

  ‘Of course, if you think it would help. I’ve got to go to Bush House after lunch to see the producer of my radio show, but it’s very close and I can be back by about quarter to six.’

  ‘Thank you so much. I don’t think I can do this by myself.’ Greta reached across the table and offered her hand to him. And despite years of trying to rid himself of his feelings for Greta – having realised it was a road to nowhere – the fact that she was again turning to him for help made him reach for her hand and squeeze it tightly.

  Feeling the touch of his hand on hers reignited the thought of what she had come here to tell him. ‘Actually, David, there’s something else I wanted to . . . er . . . talk to you about.’

  ‘Really? Fire away.’

  ‘I—’ Greta’s courage failed her, and she sighed. ‘Actually, with what you’ve just told me, it’s not the moment, but could we meet up again for lunch early next week?’

  ‘Of course. Is there anything wrong?’

  ‘No, definitely not “wrong”. It’s just that—’ Greta shrugged. ‘I promise I’ll explain next week after we’ve sorted out this Cheska problem. So’ – she pulled herself together and gave him a weak smile – ‘how’s the television series going?’

  Cheska sat nervously in the waiting room. She picked up a ma
gazine from the pile on the scratched coffee table and flicked through it unseeingly.

  The past few weeks had been dreadful. She hadn’t heard from Bobby since the night of the party, nearly two months ago. She understood that he was busy in France, but the least he could have done was ring her to say hello. She’d been through hell and back, imagining all sorts of scenarios: Bobby with other girls, Bobby not loving her any more, Bobby dead . . . The only thing that comforted her was him singing to her on her gramophone, like he’d done that night in Brighton. And then she remembered and felt better. And Christmas was coming. Surely he’d be back in England for that?

  But the voice had come back, tormenting her when she was awake and haunting her dreams when she managed to sleep.

  Bobby’s gone . . . Bobby’s gone . . . he doesn’t love you any more . . .

  Cheska wondered whether it was because she hadn’t taken her pills for a while that she was once more experiencing the terrible black headaches and hearing the voice, but she didn’t think so. It was all because Bobby wasn’t here.

  Also, her monthlies had stopped coming. She’d ignored it the first time, but when nothing had happened again the previous week Cheska knew she had to see a doctor. She might be dying, and she’d need to tell Bobby if she was.

  Four days ago she’d booked an appointment with a different doctor to her usual one. Dr Ferguson, a middle-aged woman, had taken Cheska into her consulting room and asked her a lot of questions, some of which had made Cheska blush. As the conversation had progressed, it began to dawn on her how little she really knew about the workings of her own body. Dr Ferguson had also given her a thorough physical examination, taken blood samples and suggested she take a pregnancy test. Cheska had gasped in horror but had agreed. Every night since then, she’d tossed and turned in bed at the thought of what might have happened to her.

  And when she did sleep she had the nightmares and heard the voice. She knew the only thing that could take it all away was Bobby. He’d make her feel better.