After the accident, there was just Caroline, her big sister. She loved Caroline, but Caroline wasn’t Mummy, and she wanted Mummy.
‘So deep down, you know,’ Gloria had said, full of the importance of her newfound psychological wisdom, ‘you are always going to be suspicious of people, you’re always going to suspect that one day they’ll just disappear and leave you. That means–’ she tapped the article ‘–that you’ll have commitment issues.’
Annabel hadn’t even been sure what commitment issues meant. But what Gloria was saying rang a bell. Somewhere deep down, she had the feeling that no-one could be trusted, that one day she’d wake up and whoever had been there for her, Caroline, Margaret, Birdie, they would all be gone. Better not to let herself get too attached. Better to be the one who walked away than the one who was left behind.
And that, she thought with a fresh burst of tears, was what had happened with Claudio. She had let herself get attached, more than attached, hooked, dependent, unable to do without him. He had infected her like a virus, her body needed him, ached for him. And look where that had left her.
She had been pushing the scene at the Ritz to the back of her mind, but now the memory of it rushed back in full force. The lift doors opening, the two of them stepping out, the mist of rage that had descended like a veil before her eyes and her sudden headlong rush towards Claudio, hands outstretched, nails reaching for his eyes, she wanted to claw them from their sockets those dark burning eyes that had looked into her very soul, that turned her into a quivering wreck, that fixed stare that held her mesmerised as he told her what to do in such a soft silky voice.
She had scarcely realised what was happening around them, she had been so focused on her attack. Dimly, she was aware that a woman screamed, a man had thrust a camera in her face, people were shouting. Then somebody had hold of her, was pulling her away. She had fallen to the floor, her dress had ridden up, one shoe had come off, she remembered seeing her legs splayed out in an ungainly fashion, wondered how that had happened, then someone was helping her up, leading her away, a woman was talking to her, pressing her bag into her hand, taking her through a corridor, towards another entrance to the hotel. Then there was a taxi, and she had arrived back at Julian’s flat. The woman had patted Annabel’s shoulder as she got into the taxi, told her to get home, try to rest. The woman had been kind.
How long ago was all that? Was it only yesterday?
Annabel’s tears started anew.
***
Edward switched on his phone as he came out of the terminal. There were three messages, all from Julian. He made his way to the taxi rank, listening to his answering machine. The three messages were basically the same, insisting that Edward call before he saw Annabel.
‘Where to, mate?’
Edward gave the Docklands address, sat back and dialled Julian’s number.
‘Eddie? Thank God. Where are you?’
Julian sounded agitated.
‘In a taxi. I’m on my way to the flat. What’s happened? Are you alright?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, well I’m not fine, but that’s not the point. I need to tell you something before you speak to Annabel, I wasn’t thinking straight earlier, I forgot to mention it. There’s... there’s something you don’t know.’
Edward sat up straight. His friend’s voice sounded strange, a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment.
‘I’m listening.’
‘I was too upset to say anything when we saw the photo. It was all such a shock, then I felt mixed up, horrified, furious, oh, just...it was all beyond me.’
‘You mean about Annabel and this Claudio bloke?’
‘Yes that, obviously, but not just that. It was the other person in the picture.’
Edward blinked trying to recall the third person in the photo, the other woman.
‘The woman?’
‘Yes. God, I don’t know if he’s seen it or what. Every time the phone rings I’m dreading it’s him.’
‘Who, Jules? What are you talking about?’
‘The woman in the picture. She’s married to Klaus, my partner in Bonn. Susie. She’s Klaus’s wife.’
Edward sat back against the seat. Klaus’s wife? And Julian’s wife?
‘Eddie?’
‘Yeah, I’m here. Shit, Jules. What a total bloody mess.’
Julian gave a bitter laugh.
‘You’ve said it. Makes you wonder how many other women the bastard was shagging while their husbands were toiling away at the office.’
They continued to talk. How was Edward going to play it? Julian asked. They discussed various possibilities.
‘The only thing that counts, whatever you have to offer her to get it, the only thing that means anything to me is Joshua. She can have everything else. The flat, money, whatever it takes. But I don’t want her getting her hands on him. Do what you have to do.’
Julian’s voice had become hard.
‘The cost isn’t important. You were right to ring GG. He’s the best. And he’s a friend. He’ll work out the details. It’s tomorrow afternoon you’re seeing him, right? The sooner we get this sorted the better. I don’t want her coming over here, trying to take Josh. I know the way her mind works.’
When he disconnected, Edward’s face was grim. So there was another poor sod in Germany who sooner or later was going to have a newspaper thrust in his face by a well-meaning colleague and come face to face with his wife coming out of a lift with another man.
He opened the zipper compartment of his case, took out the print of the photo they’d seen on the internet. There she was, Annabel, like one of the Furies, caught in mid-flight. Argiro rearing back, clutching at his face. And, to one side, wearing a look of total horror, a striking woman in her forties with long dark hair. Susie, wife of Julian’s partner. Edward’s murderous impulses now had two targets. Annabel, and that slimy son of a bitch Claudio Agiro. If he could just lay his hands on the bastard for five minutes...
***
She must have dropped off again. If only she could sleep for hours and hours, if only she could forget.
Annabel sat up, pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked around her. Her head was throbbing. The sitting room was a mess. Julian would have a fit if he could see it. His precious designer sofa had got itself a new look. Red spots. A giggle rose to her lips. She blinked, focused on a half-concealed object. Her bag, it must have got pushed under the coffee table, knocked over. It lay open, contents scattered on the floor. She remembered the phone ringing several times, she hadn’t even bothered to see who it was, had turned it off in the end. Empty bottles had rolled under the table along with it, staining the pale blue Persian rug. Naughty Annabel. It was an antique rug, silk, the stains would never come out, she was in for it now. Plates were piled haphazardly on the floor, she counted three of them, felt her gorge rise as she remembered stuffing the pasta into her mouth, slurping in the strands of spaghetti covered in cream and parmesan, washing everything down with red wine, more red wine.
She pushed herself up, staggered to the bathroom and threw up until her sides were sore. The tiles were hard and cold. She wasn’t wearing stockings. The dress she’d had on since yesterday was a wreck, stained and smelling of sweat. She slid sideways onto the floor, resting her head against the wall. She should have a shower, go to bed and sleep properly. That was it, she needed a good night’s rest. There were going to be some problems, she had to decide how to fix things. Lots of water, a sleeping pill, then tomorrow, she would make a plan.
She had just forced herself to her feet when the intercom buzzer sounded.
She was so startled she jumped back, banging her hip against the washbasin. Her first, panicked reaction was that she must not answer. Nobody must see her like this. She met her reflection in the mirror, horrified. Her face, her hair. And her dress, she had to get out of the dress.
It buzzed again, more insistently.
What if it was Claudio? The thought flashed into her mind. He knew where she
was. Knew Julian’s address. He’d never been to the flat, they were not that stupid, but what if he had come round now, full of remorse, ready to beg her forgiveness, to grovel at her feet as she had grovelled at his? She couldn’t let him see her like this, no, she wouldn’t answer. But what if he went away? What if he thought she’d gone back to Germany? Had he been trying to call her?
She stumbled across the living room, into the hall, to the video display, peering at it just as the buzzer sounded again. She had to know. If it was him, she’d tell him to come back in an hour, make him wait.
A familiar face looked up at her.
She gasped, recoiled, and shrank back against the wall.
Edward! What was he doing here? Instinctively she fled back to the bathroom, shut the door, put her hands over her ears. Go away! Go away! She realised she was muttering the words aloud.
The buzzer sounded again, several times, then fell silent.
After five minutes she dared to open the bathroom door. Night had fallen, the dark living room was lit only by the glow cast by the glittering panorama of London on the other side of the window. She could make out the silhouettes of the furniture, the cream leather couch, the armchairs, the glowing LEDs of the stereo.
She moved forward silently on bare feet, not daring to switch on a lamp even though there was no way Edward could see inside Julian’s penthouse from down in the street and anyway the windows were tinted glass. Oh God, what was he doing in London? Had Julian come with him? No, he would never have left the baby. But there was always Nadia, he could have left Joshua with Nadia. And Caroline of course, Auntie Caroline would be over the moon to have the baby all to herself. She thought fleetingly of her son, she sometimes forgot entirely that she was a mother, remembered with surprise the existence of a baby she’d carried, a baby she’d given birth to. Whenever she was in Claudio’s arms she was someone else, a stranger, with no existence outside that overheated room with its thick windows and dark drapery muffling the sounds from the outside world.
Now a feeling of panic rose like a wave.
The damned phone. It was because she’d not been answering her phone, that was it, they must have got worried, maybe Edward had had to come over on business, and Julian had asked him to check on the flat. She’d been stupid, she’d have to ring, there was no way round it. Otherwise there’d be a posse of them at her door. When had she last spoken to Julian? Two days ago? Three? Where was her bloody phone anyway, she could hardly see in the shadows, she’d tossed it down somewhere. If only her head didn’t hurt so much, she was still hung over, even after being sick. Her eyes fell on the bottles littering the floor and she winced.
There it was. She reached out her hand and at the same time a scream of terror burst from her lips. A dark figure was standing by the window, half-hidden by the heavy curtains.
As she recoiled, gasping with fear, the figure stepped forward and in the glow of light from the city she recognised Edward Rayburn.
Silently, he showed her a key, in the palm of his hand, then tossed it in the air, caught it and slipped it in his pocket.
‘Shall we sit down? Maybe switch on a lamp? Or do you prefer to remain invisible, Annabel?’
His voice was like Arctic frost. She made out the glitter of his eyes as he moved towards her.
She scrambled back, away from him, bumped the edge of the couch and fell among the cushions.
He pressed a switch and the room was suddenly full of light. Without a word he looked down at her.
Annabel felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. She turned her head, shrank into the cushions. She knew exactly what he was thinking, as clearly as though she was the one standing, looking down on herself. The stained and wrinkled dress, the dishevelled hair, the smeared makeup, the bottles, the plates. Never, even in her worst tantrums, had she allowed herself to get into such a state of physical wreckage. And the smell. She started to gag again, pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Tears of humiliation sprang to her eyes.
He sat down in one of the armchairs, without speaking.
The silence went on for ages, while he studied her, like some kind of bug under a microscope. She was the first to crack.
‘You scared the hell out of me.’
She struggled to look defiant, to summon up anger at his unexpected presence, but seeing the downturn of his lips, she turned away again.
‘I know what it looks like. But I’ve been rushed off my feet, everything to do with the wedding, nobody to help.’
And that was true! She was the one doing all the work, dealing with hoity-toity bakers and jumped-up dressmakers. She gave an injured sniff.
‘I was so stressed when I got back last night, I just needed a drink or two. Then I fell asleep. I was exhausted, simply...’
Her voice trailed off.
‘You weren’t answering your phone.’
‘My phone.’ She looked distractedly at the object she was holding in one hand. When did she pick it up? The little envelope on the screen flashed an accusing yellow.
‘It was the battery, I couldn’t find the charger, I was just this minute going to call, I hadn’t realised how late it was, I lost all track of time, I’ve been racing all over London, the cake, the cards, the flowers, you have no idea, and I had no-one, no-one to help–’
She realised she was gabbling, broke off, made an effort to stand up.
‘I’m just going to freshen up, change out of...this. I fell asleep on the couch, I was worn out, I must look a real mess...’
She gave a self-deprecating laugh.
‘Sit down.’
She bridled at his tone.
‘What? Who do you think you are giving me orders? And marching in here, as if you owned the place, you could have given me a heart attack!’
‘I said, sit down.’
Annabel hesitated, then sat. Something about the way that Edward was behaving was off kilter. Even allowing for the fact he hadn’t been able to stand her months, had found her tonight looking like a wreck. There was something else.
‘Poor Annabel. All alone, with nobody to help you, that’s it?’
His words sent a rush of adrenalin through her body. What had Julian been saying, whenever those two got together, who knew what they talked about? But in any case, whatever suspicions he may have had, Julian had no proof, she’d made sure of that. No-one, but no-one knew about her affair with Claudio. No-one knew about this week, the arrangements they had made the nightly assignations. That’s why she’d not said anything, even to her best friend Susie–she checked herself, she couldn’t think about that now. And that’s why she’d not made contact with any of her old girl-friends in London. A drink too many, who knows what she might have let slip? The restaurants where she and Claudio had dined were known for their discretion. The clientele was exclusive. Everyone was there for the same reason. The wedding rings on display were all fake, the genuine ones hidden in bags and pockets. No un-curtained windows for prying-eyed paparazzi with long lenses. It was the same with the hotel, a discreet establishment, not known to the guidebooks. There was no proof. Julian could suspect, but he couldn’t prove a thing. He’d obviously sent Edward over to reconnoitre, it was her fault, OK, she realised that she’d slipped up there, should have phoned more often, but the time just seemed to fly and the conversations with Julian were always the same thing, ‘were the wedding arrangements going alright, did she want to say hello to Joshua?’
At the thought of her son she felt an unexpected twinge of guilt. She had thought about him, when she wasn’t with Claudio, she could honestly say that she did think about him from time to time, like when she was showing his photograph to the Chef’s team, they had all said what a lovely baby he was, and it had helped get things back on track with the Big Chief about the changes to the cake. But then everything had started to fall apart, somehow, slip out of her control.
Her thoughts were wandering, she had to get a grip. She focused on Edward again. He had reached for his briefcase and was taki
ng something out.
‘I’m beginning to assume you’ve been having your little rest all day as well as all last night. In which case, you won’t have been out, seen today’s papers.’
What did he mean, seen the papers? His face was bleak. Different scenarios raced through her mind. Had there been a financial crash, was that it? Was Julian bankrupt? She felt a moment of panic.
He threw a sheet of paper towards her. It landed on the floor, at her feet. With a tremor of alarm she bent to pick it up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. A photocopy, some text and a photograph...
Edward saw her frown, blink, look more closely.
With no warning, Annabel’s body went rigid. She snapped back her head with a violent movement and a howl burst from her lips. It was a sound so shocking, so primeval, he felt the hairs on his arms stand up in reflex.
In a flash she was on her feet, ripping the page to shreds, scattering the bits around like confetti. He ducked as she raced round the room, picking up objects at random, vases, paperweights, lamps, decorative boxes, flinging them at the walls, still uttering the awful howls.
‘Annabel! Annabel!’
He tried to grab her but with astonishing strength she wrenched herself out of his grip, shoved him backwards and ran into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.
‘Annabel! Stop!’
In the few seconds it took him to recover his balance and push open the door, she had grabbed a knife from the wooden block on the counter.
‘No!’
He launched himself across the room but was too late. The blade flashed and a bright spurt of blood from her wrist spattered the worktop. He recoiled instinctively, then managed to grab her as she was transferring the knife to her other hand, ready to slash her right wrist.
For what like an age they wrestled together, body to body, Annabel’s howls ringing in his ear, ‘no, no, no’ as he tried to pinion her flailing arms. She kicked out at his shins, tried to knee him between the legs, writhed and twisted and bit.
Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2 Page 24