Cruel Venus

by Susan Lewis

  Getting sharply to his feet he went into the bathroom and began rummaging around in the the flower basket on the window sill where Tessa kept her nail polish, hairslides, perfume samples and … Yes, it was still there – the little white wand with two blue stripes across its centre window that showed that even if Tessa hadn’t been truthful when she’d first told him she was pregnant, she was certainly being truthful now. So let Allyson and Shelley laugh, let them laugh all the way to hysteria and back if that was what they wanted, because it was going to be a whole different story when they found out Tessa was expecting a baby.

  His eyes closed, and despite the anger that was usually so effective in deadening everything in its path, he was having a hell of a struggle to beat down the fear and misgivings that were erupting all over his mind. For, in truth, the last thing he wanted was to tell Allyson about the baby, because no matter what she did to hurt him, he’d rather die than use this pregnancy to punish her for depriving him of his money. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of this, but as usual his miserably inept conscience was attempting to put in an appearance long after its chance to make a difference had passed.

  He dropped the test back in the basket, and went to find his clothes. He had to have a drink, something to help him escape the hideous mess he was in, and maybe, if he drank enough, he’d manage to link up with the feeling of liberation he’d had when he’d first believed Tessa was pregnant. Oh, what delightfully deluded times they had been, when he’d actually thought that her pregnancy was a God-given sign to the path of his destiny, providing him not only with the permission to walk out on his marriage, but with an absolution from guilt and indecision because he’d had no choice. Well, it certainly didn’t feel like a heavenly blessed liberation he was experiencing now, in fact it was so far from anything that even resembled liberation he might just as well consign himself straight to hell and be done with it.

  A few miles away, in the centre of London, Allyson and Shelley and a few of their friends were applauding loudly as the final curtain came down on an exceptionally spirited and imaginative production of La Bohème. Still clapping, Shelley leaned over to speak in Allyson’s ear, and Allyson nodded that yes, she was feeling OK. She’d thrown up during the interval, and in truth she was feeling a bit nauseous again now, though not in any real danger of imminent disgrace. Were she not one hundred per cent certain that she wasn’t, she’d probably be surfing around happily in the belief she was pregnant right now, but her body was currently and aggressively engaged in a refute of that, which was why she was looking so pale and drained, and feeling unspeakably tired.

  As they got up to start making their way outside Allyson was only too aware of the way people were whispering and muttering to each other, watching her and making her feel so horribly pitied and conspicuous that she could feel cracks appearing in the veneer of airy laughter and interest she was affecting as she and her friends discussed the performance. This wasn’t actually her first excursion back into the social scene, but tonight was proving particularly hard, even though she’d managed to enjoy the opera, and had actually stumbled right into some genuine laughter earlier, when Shelley had told her how her mother had called Bob to offer him some help with the menopause. But though she’d found it funny, she secretly wished that Shelley hadn’t given Peggy the number, for Allyson was very protective of her parents, and the last thing she wanted was Bob turning on them and hurting them even more than he already had.

  Still, it had provided a moment’s light relief, and might have provided even more than that were she not feeling so awful about what she’d done today. At the time she had felt so driven and vengeful that she’d derived a deliriously vindictive enjoyment from instructing the bank and her lawyers, she’d even flounced into Shelley’s office after and declared herself an empowered and surviving woman. It had taken all of ten minutes for that to wear off, and now she hated what she’d done – not because of how enraged she knew Bob would be when he found out, but because it had been necessary to do it at all.

  However, other motives aside, it was all part of her attempt to be practical about the break-up of her marriage, and afterwards, because it wasn’t a programme day, she’d taken herself off for one of her regular visits to a women’s refuge in Ealing. She’d been going there for years, getting to know the women, talking to them and listening to stories of the kind of break-ups she doubted she could ever survive. She never discussed her own, though obviously everyone knew about it, but since the size of her pain couldn’t even be measured against that of women who had been beaten and abused, abandoned while pregnant, left penniless and battered, and in some cases were lucky to be alive, she felt it wholly inappropriate to mention her own small acquaintance with suffering. However, she did derive some kind of therapy from going, for while reaching out to the women she was able to set her own hurt aside and think only of them. It was also helping her to cope with the wild swings of her emotions, and the burning need for revenge she felt every time she thought of how happy Tessa and Bob might be.

  God, how badly she tormented herself with that.

  ‘See you in the morning then,’ Shelley said, turning to her as they finished saying goodbye to their other friends outside the Opera House. ‘The news of Stella’s retirement should’ve had time to sink in by then.’

  ‘More press on our heels,’ Allyson commented. ‘At least it’ll be for a different reason this time. When’s it actually being made official?’

  ‘Sometime next week, as far as I know. Stella’s in control. The new takeover should be announced at the same time.’

  Allyson nodded thoughtfully, then, after embracing Shelley, she headed off through the late-night glitter and bustle of Covent Garden to where she’d parked her car. She knew Shelley was excited about the takeover, and probably she would be too, were she able to conjure a clearer picture of what it might mean. Not that she imagined the programme to be in any jeopardy – the ratings were good again, and it had a pretty high profile, as well as a dedicated following – but her near-constant state of insecurity was making her suspicious and mistrustful of the world, and terrified of where the next blow might come from and just how devastating it might be. To combat it she tried counting her blessings, like her parents; her friendship with Shelley; her many other friends whom she’d been neglecting lately but who still called to make sure she was all right; the wonderful flat she lived in; her success and the programme – there was so much for her to be thankful for. And though there were times when none of it meant anything without Bob, she tried to cut those thoughts short and move past them.

  Tonight, though, it was proving hard, obviously because she’d just put the end of her marriage in motion. Everyone had said it was too soon, that she didn’t need to do anything yet, but they were wrong. She had needed to do something, and if that was what it took to get Bob to face the absolute reality of what he had done, then so be it. It was a drastic measure, and one she discovered, when she replayed her messages when she got home, that didn’t appear to have paid off in the way she had secretly hoped.

  As she listened, she could be in no doubt that he was drunk, for she barely understood half of what he said he was slurring his words so badly, and there was so much background noise from whatever pub he was in. But his fury reached her loud and clear, so did the fact that he had somehow twisted events round in his mind to enable himself to blame her for the break-up of their marriage. He should have left her years ago, he ranted. She’d never needed him, had always considered herself to be better than him, just because her family had money and property and his father was only a dirty old labourer on a building site. Well, she could stick her money and her damned property. He was well out of it, and happier now than he had ever been.

  Though the harshness of his words cut right through her, the very fact that he was so drunk told her not only that she’d hurt him very badly, but that his suffering was perhaps greater than she’d imagined. Because it was instinctive she found h
erself wondering what she could do to help him, the way she always had when he was feeling insecure and beaten down by the world. The sudden recollection of where he was and who he was with ripped that impulse out by the roots, providing even more space for the fiercely bitter urge to cause Bob and Tessa every bit as much pain as they were causing her.

  Chapter 7

  THE NEWS OF Stella Cornbright’s retirement and impending death had brought the Soirèe offices to a standstill. It was early in the morning, Shelley had told them all just after the previous day’s recording, and now, after a night to think about it, everyone had something to say. With Allyson and Shelley yet to put in an appearance, they were free to air their views and recycle the gossip they’d already managed to glean about Stella, and about Mark and Nicholas Reiner, whose takeover of the entire company was apparently going to be officially announced the following week.

  ‘Someone told me the Reiners are actually British, not American,’ Debbie, one of the researchers, said.

  ‘They are,’ Jerry Milne confirmed. ‘I directed the show that Mark appeared on back whenever it was. He sounds American, but apparently that’s because he grew up over there. His roots are here in Blighty.’

  ‘I remember him,’ Hayley said. ‘He’s quite young, isn’t he?’

  ‘If you call thirty-six young,’ Frankie, the production manager, who rated anyone over the age of thirty as past it, said bitchily. ‘Didn’t his wife have a problem with drink?’

  ‘All that money, and still the woman has problems,’ Jocelyn, the PA, lamented.

  ‘I heard they were divorced,’ Debbie chipped in.

  Alan was shaking his head. ‘I read an article about them in one of those county magazines a couple of months ago. They were still together then.’

  ‘More to the point, what’s he going to do with the company?’ Edmund demanded.

  ‘I can answer that,’ Marvin said, coming in the door.

  They were all ears. As Shelley’s assistant, Marvin’s information was sure to be good.

  ‘Apparently,’ Marvin said, enjoying the attention, ‘he’s moving the transmission to eleven thirty and bringing in another presenter.’

  Tessa’s eyes rounded.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Alan chided. ‘He doesn’t know any more than we do.’

  ‘Straight up,’ Marvin insisted. ‘My sister’s friends with Melissa, Stella’s secretary. I got it from her.’

  They all looked at each other, still not sure whether to believe him. Even so, they were impressed with his source.

  ‘It’ll kill the show if he does that,’ Hayley protested.

  ‘It’s Allyson’s show. He’s not going to change the presenter,’ Edmund pointed out.

  ‘If he does it’ll be over Shelley’s dead body,’ one of the editors piped up.

  ‘I also heard he wants the programme to go live,’ Marvin added.

  ‘At eleven thirty!’ Jerry exploded. ‘Does the man think we don’t have lives?’

  ‘And who the hell watches at that time of night?’ Alan said. ‘We might as well all pack up and go home now.’

  ‘You might have to,’ Edmund responded. ‘If he’s planning to change the presenter, he could be planning to change all of us too.’

  ‘Oh, listen to him,’ Jocelyn grumbled. ‘And aren’t we all forgetting something? Stella Cornbright’s dying, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Say it a bit louder and you’ll save Variety the print space,’ Shelley commented as she and Allyson walked in. ‘I know the official announcement’s not until next week,’ she continued, ‘but these things have a way of leaking out, so if anyone calls from the press beforehand, trying to get some inside information, play dumb. Stella wants to handle it her way, we should pay her that respect. When I spoke to her last night she was hoping the Reiners’ arrival on the scene will overshadow her departure. As for any of the rumours you may have heard, I’ll be better placed to put you in the picture after my meeting with Mark Reiner.’

  ‘Which is when?’ Alan wanted to know.

  ‘Today.’

  Allyson was staring across the room at Tessa, whose shaggy dark head was bowed over a newspaper. Allyson was certain the engrossment was feigned, and felt a dizzying rush of hatred, for it was thanks to that little bitch that she and Bob wouldn’t be spending today, their nineteenth wedding anniversary, together. And the story the bitch was reading – was it the one about Bob’s drunken rampage last night, when he’d got himself thrown out of a pub and threatened to beat up a policeman? How was Tessa Dukes feeling about that, Allyson wanted to know, sitting there in all her plump, oversexed glory looking like butter wouldn’t melt? Did she feel any kind of responsibility for the state Bob was in? Did she know what the word meant, even? Maybe Allyson should go and drum it into her head with a blunt object. And what kind of rumours had the girl been listening to, just before Allyson and Shelley arrived? Allyson hadn’t heard any yet, but there were never any departures and takeovers without gossip and conjecture, and Allyson was blistering with outrage that Tessa might have heard something before her. Then Tessa looked up, and realizing she was in danger of drawing everyone else’s attention to the moment, Allyson turned away, saying, ‘Marv, I’ve got a mountain of mail to get through, can I hijack you for the morning?’

  ‘If it’s OK with Shelley,’ he answered.

  Shelley waved an assenting hand. ‘OK, everyone, let’s get past the spleen and speculation, we’ve got a show to get on the air. And today’s guests are?’ She looked at the board. ‘Mm,’ she grunted when she saw the names that were chalked up for Cocktails. Then her face brightened. ‘Josh Burrows for Night Cap. I’d forgotten he was coming in. New film?’

  Edmund nodded. ‘I gave Ally the video …’

  ‘Which she sat up and watched last night,’ Ally finished. ‘Totally absorbing, absolutely forgettable.’

  ‘Film insert?’ Shelley enquired.

  ‘We’re shooting it this morning,’ Edmund answered. ‘It’s one of Tessa’s stories.’

  Shelley’s eyes lost their warmth as they moved to Tessa.

  ‘Uh, it’s this writer in North London,’ Tessa said, stammering slightly. ‘She’s got one of the world’s biggest collections of dolls. It’s seriously spooky. The neighbours swear they hear them screaming in the night.’

  ‘Sounds like something for Hallowe’en,’ Shelley remarked.

  ‘Collectors always give me the creeps,’ Jocelyn piped up.

  ‘I’ll remember that next time you all club together for an art deco piece for me,’ Shelley responded drily.

  ‘Obviously we’ve missed Hallowe’en,’ Tessa said. ‘Do you want us to shoot it and keep it for next year?’

  ‘Shoot it, yes. Then let’s schedule a couple of interviews around it and use it another night. Get a horror-movie star in for Cocktails and something suitably ghoulish for Night Cap. Who’s producing today? Alan? Take a look at the inserts on the shelf and see if there’s something we can use for tonight.’

  ‘Debbie, did you manage to get a selection of reviews for this film?’ Allyson asked.

  ‘Still working on it,’ Debbie replied. ‘But you’ll have them by lunch time.’

  ‘I also want to know how it went down in the States,’ Allyson added. ‘And whoever’s working on the Hobson Brothers for Cocktails, I only want the lunacies of the past couple of months.’

  Deciding it might not be a good idea to let the North London author know that her precious dolls were going to feature as part of a horror special, Tessa called her and simply confirmed their filming schedule for later in the day. Then she went to check the crew had the right directions, before going over everything with the reporter to prepare him for the interview.

  Allyson stayed in her office all morning. She knew Shelley was on edge about her lunch with Mark Reiner, but they were both too busy to discuss it. However, no amount of work was going to allow Allyson to forget the significance of the day, nor would it stop her remembering that cold sunny afternoo
n, nineteen years ago, when her father had walked her down the aisle and she had looked into Bob’s eyes and known, beyond any doubt, how deeply she was loved. And she’d always felt that way, throughout all the years of their marriage, especially when he’d sprung such anniversary surprises on her as a cruise down the Nile, weekends in Paris or Rome; tickets to a concert in Rio. So many romantic and memorable gestures from a man who had ended up smashing it all to pieces with his lies and deceit, and was probably too hung-over this morning even to read the date on the newspaper, never mind the sordid details of the obscene spectacle he’d made of himself the night before.

  Obviously he was in a much worse state than she’d imagined, to be going around getting himself into fights and threatening to assault a policeman, and the anniversary present she’d sent him, a taxi full of his bills and belongings stuffed into bin liners, wasn’t going to do much to cheer him up either. She felt bad about doing it now, but what was concerning her more was the article’s cutting, though maybe exaggerated, account of his ailing career. No-one, it claimed, wanted to use him any more, because since the break-up of his marriage he had become unreliable and abusive and was all too regularly turning up to the job drunk. One editor had actually been quoted, and the fact that the man had agreed to his name being published was a sure sign of how bad it was. And coming on top of the blow she herself had dealt him yesterday with the bank …

  She looked out of her office, across to where Tessa was talking on the phone. Her heart twisted. Was she talking to Bob? Was she trying to soothe the humiliating effects of the article? The very thought of such an intimacy, of the girl shoving her fat ugly feet into yet another pair of Allyson’s marital shoes, sent all sympathy for Bob fleeing for cover as another storm of hatred broke.

  ‘Allyson Jaymes,’ she snapped into the phone.

  ‘Hi. It’s me.’

  Her heart stopped dead, as the sound of his voice slammed a lid on all the raging frustration and anger. God knew how she had hoped for a call this morning, though in truth she’d never expected it to come. It was why she had bundled up his clothes and his mail, and despatched them in the oldest, smelliest taxi she could find, out of sheer anger that he wouldn’t remember. So she’d punished him before he’d even had a chance to commit the crime, and now here he was, remembering. Except she was worse than a fool for even thinking that way, because, of course, he was about to start ranting about the cab full of symbolic resentment, and then he’d get onto the blocked bank accounts, and from there he’d revisit her responsibility for all his ills … But maybe she could give him the benefit of the doubt. Wait to see what he said before she started letting rip in defence. So, in her best neutral voice, she said, ‘Hello. How are you?’