Chasing Dreams

by Susan Lewis

  ‘When do you go back to the States?’ he asked, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Next Monday,’ she said. There was a moment’s hesitation before she said, ‘Unless …’

  ‘Don’t do it,’ he interrupted. ‘Don’t ask, because the answer’s the same now as it was last night and it’s not going to change by Monday.’

  ‘Will it ever change?’ she said and the ambiguity affected him more than he wanted to think about.

  ‘No,’ he answered.

  They were quiet for a moment and as he watched a flock of birds soar through the sky he could only wonder at the amazing timing of it all, that she should come into his life now … But there was no point going any further with that so he let it go.

  ‘I’m sorry about the twenty grand,’ he said, ‘but at least you get to keep your job.’

  ‘Yes, I get to keep that,’ she confirmed.

  He would have given anything, to be with her right now, for he could almost see the hurt in her eyes at the way he was rejecting her. ‘What about the problem?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s mine,’ she answered. ‘Nothing you need worry yourself about.’

  ‘If Forgon reneges on the job, you know there’s one here,’ he told her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  He knew instinctively that even if Forgon did double-cross her, she’d never come to London and as he’d never move to LA he could only consider it a good thing that they were ending this now, before it even began. But even as he thought it he was forming the words to ask her to the opera that night, or wherever he was going. It didn’t matter as long as he saw her. Instead he said, ‘You take care of yourself, OK?’

  ‘You too,’ she said. ‘And if you’re ever in LA, remember I owe you a dinner.’

  He didn’t reply and after a few seconds the line went dead.

  It was a while before he turned back to his desk and hung up. He wondered what she was thinking now, if she was feeling as bad as he was, but it was better this way, less hurt, less complications. He suspected she’d go back to the States earlier than scheduled, now she knew there was no chance of persuading him to sign. In a way he hoped she would, as he knew the temptation to call her over the next few days was only going to get stronger.

  Swivelling his chair back to the window, he got up and sliding his hands in his pockets, stared down at the river below. Minute after minute ticked by as he stood there reflecting on the past twenty-four hours and how he was going to handle the next. He felt so bad about Sandy and the way he had treated her that he wondered if he should take her out tonight in an effort to make up for it. But then he reminded himself that he had already put her in Ellen’s place once and look where it had got him, so he’d be crazy to do it again. And cruel, for he knew how much it would mean to her, while all it would be to him was some kind of penance.

  He was sorry for his antipathy, but there was no point pretending he felt anything for her when the truth of it was he’d fire her right now if he could, just to get her out of his life. Not that it would get her off his conscience, of course, if anything she’d probably weigh even heavier, but it might be better than having to see her and deal with her every day. God-damn it, it was why he had the rule about no relationships in the office, to avoid exactly this kind of mess. And OK, he was a coward too, he didn’t want to face her, but what the hell kind of a bastard would he be if he were actually looking forward to telling her that all she had been was a one-night stand?

  ‘Confucius, he say, when man look out of window he run out of luck.’

  Laughing, Michael turned to Zelda who was closing the door behind her. ‘But not out of gin,’ he said.

  Zelda looked amazed. ‘Did you just read my mind?’ she exclaimed.

  Michael was still grinning. ‘No, but I think you read mine,’ he responded.

  Zelda’s eyebrows made a sardonic arch. ‘Not difficult when I see you standing there like that,’ she told him. ‘Is it personal or professional? No, don’t tell me, it has to be personal, because personal always gets you to the window. Professional just gets you mad. So let me see, where does that lead me? To last night and Ellen Shelby? Don’t tell me she turned you down.’

  ‘You’re right, she did,’ he answered, not wanting to do Ellen the disservice of telling anyone it was more the other way round. ‘But it’s not about Ellen,’ he said. ‘It’s about Michelle.’

  ‘Oh.’ Zelda’s expression was instantly grave, for she knew that he never mentioned Michelle unless it was serious and only then if he had to. ‘Have you heard from her?’ she asked, sitting in a visitor’s chair as he leant back against the window-sill.

  He shook his head. ‘Not from her, from Cavan,’ he answered. ‘He called this morning, from Rio.’

  ‘Where Michelle is,’ Zelda added unnecessarily.

  Michael nodded.

  ‘So what did he say?’ Zelda prompted, when he showed no sign of enlarging.

  Michael’s eyes came back to hers. ‘As a matter of fact he didn’t mention her,’ he responded. ‘But I know Cavan and I know when he’s holding back.’

  ‘And you think it’s Michelle he’s holding back about?’

  ‘I know it is,’ he answered, ‘because there’s nothing else he’d have a problem mentioning. And he was definitely trying to tell me something.’

  Zelda looked perplexed. ‘So what was he saying, exactly?’ she asked.

  Michael shrugged. ‘He just kept telling me it was all right, he’s taking care of things and he thinks I ought to know but isn’t sure he’s the one who should tell me.’

  ‘But he doesn’t say what it is?’

  ‘No. I asked, obviously, but all he says is that I probably already know and he’s just making a mountain out of a molehill.’

  ‘Do you think he’s trying to tell you Michelle’s involved with another man?’ Zelda asked bluntly.

  Michael laughed. ‘I hope she is by now,’ he answered. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  Zelda’s expression showed how unconvinced she was by that, but she passed no comment. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t see there’s anything I can do,’ he responded.

  Zelda didn’t even hesitate. ‘Except call Michelle and ask her what’s going on.’

  His eyes were suddenly harsh and Zelda’s heart went out to him, for she of all people knew what it would cost him to do that.

  ‘It’s been a long time for you too, Michael,’ she said gently.

  ‘She knows where I am.’

  ‘So do you know where she is.’

  Michael’s eyes dropped to the floor and Zelda knew she’d hit home. But she’d done it many times in the past and he had yet to act on it, so she had no faith that he would now. She wished to God he would, though, for the pain and guilt he’d carried with him these past few years had to come to an end one day. If it didn’t, then Zelda just couldn’t see how he was going to get on with his life, for no matter how many women he met, she knew he was never going to let any one of them come close. The sad thing was that for a while there she had thought maybe Ellen Shelby could be the one, but obviously she wasn’t, which was a great shame, for a new life in another country could be just what Michael needed. Not with Ted Forgon as the puppetmaster, though, Zelda had to agree that, but to fall in love and let go of the past was very definitely something Michael needed to do. Although, were she in his position, she wondered if she’d be any better at moving on than he was. She doubted it, in fact she imagined she’d be a whole lot worse.

  ‘I was thinking about asking Sandy to join us at the opera tonight,’ he said.

  Zelda’s astonishment couldn’t have been greater. ‘You were?’ she said.

  Michael laughed wryly. ‘You can invite her,’ he said, ‘as a reward for getting off to a great start as an assistant. Have you seen Janey’s and Diana’s turnover for this month?’

  ‘No,’ Zelda said warily, ‘but it’s obviously impressive if you’re inviting Sandy to the o
pera.’

  ‘I’m not, you are,’ he reminded her.

  Zelda was watching him closely. ‘If I didn’t know better,’ she said, ‘I’d say there’s more to this than a simple reward.’

  ‘But you do know better,’ he told her, and pushing himself away from the window ledge he took his coat from the stand and started out of the office.

  At that moment he had no real idea of where he was going, though the name of Ellen’s hotel was emblazoned on his mind, as was the mistake he had just made about Sandy and the opera. But he knew he wouldn’t go to Ellen, any more than he’d go to Sandy. And right now it was hard to care about either of them when the memory of Michelle and what they had together had been brought so painfully back into focus. What he needed to know, however, was whether Cavan really was trying to tell him something, or if he was just using that as an excuse to be back in touch with her?

  He drove and didn’t stop until finally he reached the south coast, where the wind was chopping at the waves and the sun was beating down on the barren cliffs. It was no real surprise to find himself there, for it was where he and Michelle had said their final goodbye. But coming back to the place wasn’t going to turn back the clock, nor was it going to eliminate the guilt that time had only intensified rather than lessened. Through the sough of the waves and the cry of the wind he could hear her voice echoing softly in his ears, telling him she was going, and as the pain flooded his heart he wondered bitterly why he was searching for an excuse to call her, when he already had one that not only gave him the right to speak to her morning, noon and night should he care to, but to force her to come back to England too.

  He wouldn’t use it, though, for the sin was as much his as it was hers and no matter how much love there was between them they had chosen their paths and it was too late now to turn back, or to forgive. But Cavan’s call had unnerved him and he just hoped to God that she was all right, because Rio was a dangerous place and … He stopped, knowing that if he wanted to keep his sanity then he mustn’t even begin to go down that road, for there were times, like now, when her death seemed like it might be the only way out of this hell.

  Chapter 14

  THE DRUMS, JUST like the city traffic outside, were getting louder and increasingly frantic, as Michelle crossed the crowded play yard of the São Martinho Shelter for Street Children towards the main gates. Locked deep in the heart of downtown Rio, at the foot of the high white Lapa Arches, the shelter wasn’t only a refuge for the starving and homeless, but a centre for culture, dance and education. As usual her progress was slow, for she was constantly assailed by children wanting to show or tell something, or draw her into the game they were playing. She stopped for a while to admire the painting three eight-year-olds were daubing on the high grey stone wall surrounding the yard. Then, hearing shrieks of laughter behind her she turned and burst out laughing too as Cavan, who was attempting to take part in the capoeira workshop, began cart-wheeling around the yard, back-flipping and swinging his legs in dangerously high arcs in imitation of the twelve- and thirteen-year-old experts. Actually, he wasn’t too bad, though he certainly lacked the grace most of them were blessed with and, as Michelle took the pandeiro – tambourine – from little Maria and began banging it wildly, the entire yard rang out with laughter at the way Cavan launched into a hectic routine all his own.

  Loving him for the way he had become so involved with the children and gave them such pleasure with his craziness and kindness, Michelle caught him as he rotated clumsily into her arms, then delighted them all by planting a kiss on his lips, before handing the pandeiro back to Maria and continuing on to the reception hut that was just inside the gates. It was the recreation hour, just before lunch, when the children got to do whatever they wanted, before returning to lessons or craft shops or the various tasks they had been assigned by Sister Lydia and Senhor Roberto.

  She was on the point of entering the hut when she noticed Tania, the thirteen-year-old mother of a mentally retarded baby, standing alone behind the fraying goal net gazing up at the arches that crossed the busy street outside. The doctor who held surgeries at the shelter four times a week had informed Sister Lydia just that morning that both Tania and her baby were HIV positive. Michelle wondered if anyone had broken the news to Tania yet. It was possible, given the way the girl was swaying from side to side and hugging her frail little body. But it wasn’t unusual to find her like this, standing slightly apart from the others and seeming to be reaching out for something only she knew was there.

  As Michelle walked up to her, she turned her lovely young face from the sun and smiled into Michelle’s eyes. ‘Bonita,’ she said, reaching up to touch Michelle’s face.

  Michelle smiled, took her hand and held it. ‘Tudo bem?’ she said softly. Are you all right?

  Tania’s liquid dark eyes dilated slightly and seemed to be filling with an emotion Michelle doubted she would ever understand.

  ‘Where’s the baby?’ Michelle asked in Portuguese.

  Tania pointed towards the three-storey building that housed the shelter’s workrooms, canteen, surgery and offices. The dormitories were scattered about the district in decrepit old houses that were kept as comfortable and clean as their meagre funds allowed. ‘Con doutar,’ she answered. With the doctor. ‘We have AIDS,’ she added in Portuguese. ‘Does that mean we are going to die? Alfonso said it does.’

  Michelle’s heart contracted, for in the eyes of this child mother was an uncertain intelligence and a need for understanding that circumstances could only deny. She had been abandoned by her own family when she was only seven years old, had lived on the streets since then, stealing, begging, running drugs and prostituting herself until Antônio, one of the street educators from São Martinho, had found her, eight months pregnant, barely clothed, unfed for days, unwashed for weeks and sleeping under a lorry.

  Michelle’s Portuguese wasn’t up to dealing with this, but nevertheless she tried, until finally Tania grew bored and drifted back across the yard to go and find her baby. All that really mattered to the child now was that she had something to eat, somewhere to sleep and people around her who would care for her to the end. After all, what was the sense in wanting to go on living when all life was ever going to offer her was more of the misery and terror she had known out there on the streets?

  With those words still echoing in her mind, Michelle turned back to the hut and let herself quietly inside. The room was small, but light and airy, and the large open window looked out on to the yard where the Afro-Brazilian dancing continued, though Cavan was now undergoing football instruction from a group of ten-year-old fanatics. As Michelle went to sit at the table Andréa, a beautiful and dedicated Brazilian lawyer, looked up and smiled a greeting. With Andréa was Márcio, a lanky, fifteen-year-old boy who had sought refuge at the shelter two nights ago and young Antônio, one of the shelter’s most popular educators, who had grown up on the streets himself. Right now Antônio and Andréa were in the process of persuading Márcio to stay a while longer at the shelter – it was an argument they were likely to win, for as uncool as it might seem to the teenager to be in here hanging out with a bunch of dumb kids, the alternative, Antônio had discovered, was to go back out there and face almost certain death from the drug dealers who had declared him past his prime.

  Michelle listened quietly, her blonde head bent in concentration, her exquisite features drawn as she struggled to understand the language. She was learning fast, but was still no match for Tom Chambers, the American journalist she had met in Sarajevo who had talked her into coming here. It hadn’t been a hard decision to make, for she’d heard a great deal about the atrocities in Brazil, the children who were terrorized, tortured and executed by death squads who were paid by wealthy Brazilians to clean up the streets and make the city safe for people to live in. As if the children themselves didn’t qualify as people. No one knew for sure how many death squads there were, but that they were military policemen acting both on- and off-duty was a well-document
ed fact. And it was one death squad in particular that Chambers was aiming to expose, for it was an élite force of a dozen or more men, mostly active policemen, who were boosting their meagre incomes by working for Pedro Pastillano, an ex-army colonel. Pastillano was now one of Rio’s most prominent businessmen and a self-publicizing philanthropist, who not only employed his own grupo de extermínio, but was reported to have a private prison known as the ‘Inferno’ somewhere outside the city where young boys were taken to be beaten, brutalized, sometimes raped and often killed. There was even, some said, a graveyard nearby, where the dead bodies were dumped.

  Had Pastillano not decided to run for state governor, he might never have come to Chambers’s attention, but he had and now Chambers was out to get the man in much the same way he had gone for the murdering soldiers of the Serbian army. Thanks to him, more than three hundred men were now facing trial for the crimes they had committed during a war that had been so bloody and senseless that the world could still not comprehend it. He’d had to leave the country fast, for there was a price on his head and too many were eager to claim it. Michelle had been ready to go too, for her friend, Cara Rejisto, a young primary school teacher whom she had found being raped by a group of drunken soldiers in front of her class of eight-year-olds, had been desperate to get her own children away from the madness and terror that had already claimed her husband and torn their lives apart.

  Rio de Janeiro, with all its poverty, crime and corruption, might not have been the perfect answer for Cara and her young family, but when Michelle had explained what she was going to do there, Cara hadn’t even hesitated. Exposing a monster like Pastillano would be dangerous for Michelle, very dangerous indeed, for the reason Chambers wanted her with him was to help get as many depositions as they could from those who had managed to survive Pastillano’s Inferno. Chambers had watched Michelle at work in Sarajevo; he had seen how men and women alike were ready to trust her, to give her information they would never even tell their confessors and Michelle had never let any one of them down. In every case he knew of she had got the family to safety, often at even greater risk to her own life than to theirs.