by Exley Avis
The lyrics now played inside her head – dreams turned to dust, you breached my trust – reawakening the feelings of desolation and the pain of losing Aiden. Putting an ocean between us. Running to prove myself.
And suddenly it was as if she’d stepped back in time and was standing in the arrivals hall, not knowing which way to turn.
“It was June,” she began, still hearing the unfamiliar buzz of American accents around her. “A week after I’d graduated from York University…”
And so Erika told Catherine the whole sorry story, reliving it for the very last time.
Erika turned and looked out of the window when the two bodyguards climbed into the front seat of the Range Rover, refusing to make eye contact. They weren’t bad men – heaven knows they had enough to put up with from Marty – but she didn’t have the heart for small talk that morning.
The two men looked at each other, obviously thinking she was lovesick over Ben’s imminent departure, and Erika didn’t rush to disillusion them.
Let them think what they liked. She had enough on her mind. She closed her eyes to the world and let the road to Heathrow airport slip by unseen. Her courage ebbed with every mile and she worried she might not be bold enough to follow the plan Aiden and Ben had put together so meticulously. She didn’t want to let them down.
Couldn’t afford to let herself down, either.
“Nothing will go wrong,” Aiden had told her when she’d called him in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep for crying. “Don’t over-complicate it. Do exactly what we’ve planned and everything will be fine.”
“I wish you were here now. I need you so much,” she’d said, breaking down again, her tears ripping his heart out. She longed to feel Aiden’s arms around her, keeping her safe until the worst was over. “I don’t know whether I have the courage to go through with it.”
“You don’t need courage. I’m brave enough for us both. Once we’re together again I won’t let Marty anywhere near you. Trust me.”
In theory, it sounded so simple.
Rather than disguise her identity, Aiden had told her to dress and act like someone who expected to be recognised. Erika had therefore bought a vibrant red coat from Versace, carried a Hermes handbag and wore very high heeled, black boots from Manolo Blahnik that made her as tall as her bodyguards. Her long, brunette hair fell around her shoulders in lustrous curls, eye-catching enough on its own, and she’d carefully applied her make-up to reproduce the look that magazines and fashion editors adored for their front covers.
Even her jewellery made a statement including the exquisite five carat diamond engagement ring she wore conspicuously. Anyone seeing it would assume her smile was for the love it represented and not because it was an outrageous fake Richard had bought for a few pounds the week before.
Erika’s sole aim was to attract attention and, when she’d finished dressing that morning, she knew no one would need a second look to recognise her.
The Range Rover followed Ben’s limousine from Claridges all the way to Heathrow and pulled into an adjacent parking bay. She took a deep breath to steady herself and counted to ten before getting out, emerging pale and shaky. Ben was beside her in an instant and took her in his arms to calm her.
“Be strong,” he whispered close to her ear. “This will soon be over.” He smiled at her and wiped away a threatened tear. “You’re a better actress than I thought. You look genuinely upset.”
“That’s because I was up half the night crying,” Erika said, forcing a smile. “I’m terrified.”
“In which case, let’s hurry up and put on a show for our public.”
He took her right hand – making sure the left hand with its ostentatious ring remained very much on show – and lead the way inside the terminal building, his luggage and entourage following closely behind.
In order to create the maximum amount of publicity, Ben had forgone the VIP lounge in favour of the regular check-in desk, and Richard had anonymously leaked details of Ben’s departure on social media sites. The result was a swarm of fans and photographers waiting just inside the main doors, eager to catch a glimpse of the hottest actor on screen and his beautiful fiancée.
Head down, and trying not to show how much he was enjoying the adventure, Ben forced his way through the crowd, pulling Erika behind him toward the check-in desk while their respective bodyguards struggled to clear a path for them.
Erika realised they couldn’t have created more of a stir had they walked naked through the departure hall.
After checking in, Ben took Erika to one side, giving the illusion of seeking privacy but still ensuring they could be seen by fans and photographers alike. He kissed her so passionately she half believed he was in love with her, and that Richard didn’t figure in his future plans after all.
“Can you imagine the Ben-Fenn headlines in the newspaper tomorrow?” Ben joked in a whisper. “You know you’ve made it as a couple when the paparazzi give you a nickname.”
Erika tried to laugh but her throat had dried up and she coughed nervously instead.
“Be careful,” Ben went on, tightening his hold on her and ensuring the words couldn’t be lip read. “Stay calm and stick to the plan.”
“I will. And thanks.”
Fear reduced Erika to tears but, this time, Ben didn’t wipe them away. They’d convince onlookers they were watching a beautiful couple, very much in love and too upset to say goodbye.
But eventually they were forced to break apart. Ben walked away toward passport control, glancing back three times at Erika who stood staring after him, trying to stop shaking long enough to move.
Despite Ben’s departure, most of the crowd remained to block her exit and she found herself grateful for the bodyguard on either side of her, fending off photographers and guiding her back to the car.
“I must look terrible,” she said, thinking out loud. “I need to fix my make-up before I go any further.” She pointed toward the ladies’ toilets. “Please. Marty will kill me if I’m photographed looking like this.”
Both bodyguards already had the measure of Marty’s quirks and his heavy-handed treatment of Erika, and escorted her across the terminal. She dodged inside the toilets, bypassed the queues and, as arranged, knocked on the door of the nursing mothers’ room. Inside, she was overjoyed to find Catherine Walker waiting for her, dressed for a skiing holiday.
Despite her anxiety, Erika laughed when she saw the lawyer had a doll in a baby carrier hanging from her shoulders. “Is there anything you won’t do for your clients?” Erika asked, trying hard not to giggle as she took off her new red coat.
“Most of my cases aren’t this adventurous,” Catherine admitted. “And I’ve never had to smuggle anyone out of the country under the noses of the paparazzi.”
“Then let’s hope it’s first time lucky.”
In less than a minute, Erika had changed out of her coat, dress and high heeled boots into jeans, chain-store trainers and a cheap ski jacket. Catherine handed her cleansing wipes so she could take off her make-up and a hair tie to put her long hair into a pony tail Heavy glasses completed the transformation and, while it wouldn’t have fooled Aiden, Erika hoped she’d be able to cross the terminal without alerting the bodyguards. As a final precaution, Catherine strapped the baby carrier around Erika and covered the doll’s head with a blanket.
“No one will give you a second glance looking like this. Keep talking to the baby and don’t make eye contact with anyone. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
Erika wondered how Catherine could remain so calm when her own heart hammered loudly enough to be audible above the noise in the departure hall. She held her breath and walked out of the door, passing the queue and crossing the sightline of hundreds of people waiting to catch a glimpse of Erika Fenn in her red coat and high heeled boots.
But no one paid her a speck of notice.
Following Catherine’s advice, Erika pretended to fuss over the baby and kept her face aw
ay from the crowd. The bodyguards, with their back to the toilet door, only caught a glimpse of a dark-haired mother in a navy anorak, and were more intent upon restraining the rush of women trying to follow Erika into the loo.
Once outside the two women began to run and Catherine steered Erika toward an ancient Vauxhall in the short-stay car park. She drove them the short distance across the airport to the far end of Terminal 5 where they pulled up in front of an unmarked door: the Windsor Suite, Heathrow’s exclusive VIP lounge, used by diplomats, politicians and anyone wealthy enough to afford its privacy.
Erika knew she’d be safe from Marty as soon as she made it inside and fumbled with her seatbelt, terrified she’d be caught in the last moments and dragged back to him. Only when she’d stepped into the glass-roofed entrance hall, with its exotic art and air of understated calm, did she allow herself to exhale, realising she’d been holding her breath since they’d escaped from the terminal.
All at once, the last few stressful days rushed in on Erika and her body lost its solidity. She began to shake, feeling incredibly foolish, but Catherine was beside her in an instant and took her arm.
“I need you to hold it together for a few minutes more, Erika,” the lawyer said, her voice low and soothing, “and then we’ll be free and clear.”
Gathering reserves of strength from deep inside her, Erika squared her shoulders and walked with Catherine out of the back door of the building. A black saloon took them across the tarmac to a private jet Aiden had chartered to fly them first to New York and then on to California.
He’d once told Erika that he’d take care of her, even if she ended up barefoot and bankrupt. It occurred to her that she was almost that now, climbing the aircraft steps in borrowed clothes, with little more than a few pounds in her purse.
If ever Erika needed Aiden to stand by his word, it was now.
Erika ducked inside the cabin and looked toward the far end where Aiden stood waiting, a triumphant smile on his face. Conscious they were being watched, she walked slowly into his arms, his strong embrace crushing out every shred of doubt and chasing away every last drop of the fear that had haunted her for days.
“I can’t believe we did it,” she breathed, her face pressed into his sweater, her arms wrapped around his waist, comforted by the warmth, strength and size of him.
“I told you not to worry.” Aiden lifted her chin and dropped the briefest of kisses onto her cheek, constrained by the presence of Catherine and the aircraft’s crew. “I wish we were alone,” he whispered.
“Me too. I’ve missed you so much.”
The stewardess coughed discreetly, breaking them apart. “The captain’s anxious to leave. If we miss our slot we could be delayed for hours.”
Not wanting to waste any more time, they strapped themselves into their seats, ready for take-off and taxied toward the runway. Erika forced herself not to reach for Aiden’s hand across the aisle even though the desire to touch him was overwhelming. To the outside world, she was still Ben’s fiancée, and they couldn’t allow the pretence to slip, even now.
When the jet eventually lifted from the tarmac, Erika’s heart rose with it. How different was this departure from the last time she’d fled England?
Her future was no more certain, but she was running toward it eagerly this time, not running as fast as she could away from her past. Five years ago she’d been dreadfully alone.
But now she had Aiden. Her constant. The man who promised to kiss it all better and make her brand new.
Snatches of lyrics for a new song jumped into her head – a song of hope and the beginnings of love.
The moment Catherine Walker set foot in California, her legal team leapt into action. Before Marty Cooper had even managed to catch a flight back from London, she’d lodged proceedings to revoke Erika’s contract, claiming deception, exploitation and duress. Simultaneously, she’d frozen Marty’s fraudulent accounts in several tax havens around the world and set about seizing assets wherever she found them.
It soon became obvious that Aiden’s initial estimates of Marty’s dishonesty fell a long way short of the mark and that Erika was owed at least twice as much as they’d originally thought.
Not that Marty would give any of it up without a fight.
He countersued for breach of contract, claiming colossal damages and loss of royalties on the three songs from YouTube. Although Erika had always known she’d have a battle on her hands, she’d underestimated quite how personally Marty would take her defection, or how fiercely he’d denounce her to any journalist prepared to give him a hearing. Eventually Aiden had no choice but to engage high-profile media consultants to limit the damage caused by Marty’s increasingly slanderous and unfair allegations.
They warned Erika not to retaliate.
“Why can’t I?” she asked, frustrated at having to fight with her hands tied behind her back. “I want the entire world to know what a devious, dishonest creep Marty is.”
“Because this is trial by media,” the consultants warned. “You’ve always been the darling of the press, especially now you’re engaged to Ben. Start trading insults with Marty and you’ll be no better than he is. If you want to win, let the lawyers and the evidence make your case for you.”
Thinking all their Christmases had come at once, the news-wires burned red hot with stories of Erika’s split from Marty and a flock of reporters set up camp outside Ben’s house where Erika had taken refuge. No one passed in and out without being photographed, meaning Aiden was imprisoned along with the rest of them.
Not only would Aiden’s involvement in the case have antagonised Marty, it would also have had him asking why Erika’s ex-boyfriend had taken up residence in Ben Ridley’s pool house. It wouldn’t take a huge leap of imagination to then begin questioning Ben and Erika’s relationship, and Erika couldn’t have Ben endangered in any way.
“How the hell do you both live like this?” Aiden demanded over lunch one day when the security guards had advised them to keep indoors. A helicopter had been flying over the estate all morning, trying to take long range photographs. “There is literally nothing private about your lives.”
Ben and Erika had looked at one another and shrugged simultaneously. “You get used to it,” Ben said. “It’s the price of fame. Given my time again, I’d rather be a builder like you. Harder work, but far more anonymous.”
He’d obviously not seen the photographs of Aiden falling out of nightclubs in the early hours.
“Now you know why Ben and I are such good friends,” Erika added. “It’s impossible to understand this life unless you’re in the middle of it. Normal rules don’t apply.”
Instead, Erika, Aiden, Ben and Richard contented themselves with long days of relaxing by the pool, leisurely lunches, late dinners and even later mornings in bed. Erika loved that Aiden got on so well with her two best friends, the four of them forging a deep, comfortable friendship that often made words unnecessary.
In the lazy weeks over Christmas and running up to the trial, Erika grew completely well again, starting to regain the weight that stress had stripped from her and exercising daily to rebuild her strength. Her breasts grew fuller, her hips more rounded and a healthy, sun-kissed glow replaced her skin’s unhealthy, blue-veined transparency.
Secret consultations with throat specialists led to her voice problems being averted and she began singing again, abandoning popular music for operatic arias that returned her to her classical roots.
“I can’t remember ever feeling so happy,” she said, lying beside the pool one unseasonably warm day when it was too hot to move.
“Well get used to it,” Aiden warned, touching her back to check she wasn’t burning and trailing his fingertips down one arm. “Every day will be like this soon. When all this is over, you can have your life back. Away from prying eyes and out of Marty’s reach. I don’t think we’ve begun to appreciate the meaning of the word happiness yet.”
So far away from the real world, time took
on an unearthly quality, days slipping by unnoticed and hours passing unheeded while Marty scrambled to put his defence together. When Catherine felt he’d delayed long enough, she applied to fix a trial date, suddenly reminding everyone that they couldn’t exist in limbo for ever and that the real world had kept turning beyond Ben’s gates.
Erika’s stress levels rocketed, and she grew anxious, even though she had Aiden there to comfort her in the small hours when she couldn’t sleep. Exhausted and unable to settle, she grew short tempered and irritable, picking arguments with Aiden at the slightest excuse. Each day she half expected him to pack up and leave, but he remained gentle and loving, kissing or laughing her out of her bad moods and trying to put her mind at ease.
A week before the trial, the nightmares began; vivid, terrifying dreams that had Erika waking in tears, her body shaking until Aiden took her in his arms and rocked her back to sleep.
After one particularly frightening dream, Erika fell back asleep around dawn and sank into deep unconsciousness, waking mid-morning and reaching automatically for Aiden. When her hand fell onto the cold sheet beside her she woke with a start and sat up, for a moment terrified that the last month had been an illusion and that Marty still had her under house arrest in a London hotel suite.
“Don’t worry, I’m here,” Aiden said from the far side of the room, sensing her alarm and rushing to reassure her. He laughed. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
He lay down beside Erika on the bed and slipped his arm under her neck, pulling her head to rest on his shoulder. His skin smelled of chlorine and sunshine and she guessed he’d already been out for a swim.
She felt sorry to have missed it.
“You should have woken me up,” she said, slipping her hands under his T-shirt and running her fingertips along the outline of his shoulder blades. His skin felt hot where he’d caught too much sun across his shoulders and he flinched when she touched it.